CONTENTS 

FIRST NIGHTER 
Karen Haber 

THE ROOM KEY 
Terry Kepner 

TELLING HUMAN STORIES 
Margaret Ball 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF IADY DISDAIN 
Michael Coney 

RHUUM SERVICE 
Brad Feiguson 

SOFT IN THE WORLD. AND BRIGHT 

M. Shayne Bell 
TO CARESS THE FACE OF GOD 
Dove Wolverfon 

GLASS WALLS 
Krfsfine Kafhryn Rusch 

FACE TIME 
Janet Kagan 

IT'S A GIFT 
Esther M. FriQsner 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 
Kevin J. Anderson 

VOLATILE MIX 
Jerry Off/on 

FIRST NIGHTER 

Karen Haber 

Lekvich Tor was excited, perhaps'even a bit overly excited.
But why not? he told himself. Tonight was going to be abig night. The biggest. 

He stared at his image in the holomirror and saw exactlythe same thing that he had seen when he had looked at himself 
not two minutes before: a short, stocky young man ofeighteen, with pale purple skin, red hair cut into fashionableswirls, and amber-colored eyes. wearing a blue uniform withthe logo of the Hotel Andromeda set in golden glowstitchagainst the right shoulder. 

Proudly, Lekvich Tor shot his glowstitched cuffs. Helooked fine, even if he did say so himself. It was his firstnight on full duty at the Hotel Andromeda concierge desk and 


he couldn't quite believe that he was actually working forsuch a wonderful place. He, Lekvich Tor, fifth son of VeliaTor, bom and raised on the fringes of the galaxy on the colony 
world of Vladimir's Folly, beginning his career at the 

Karen Haber 

biggest orbital hotel complex in the sector. Not just a hotel, hereminded himself, but a space terminal and stopping point forevery liner passing through the area! He took one last approving 
look at himself, then turned and hurried to his new postin the main lobby of the hotel-

The grand lobby of the Hotel Andromeda was a huge circular 
affair, well lit and alive with people, noise, and movement. 
Its circumference was lined by curving service desksabove which hung holosigns indicating their different functions: 
reception, cashier, messages, concierge. Robot dollieshovered inches above the deep blue carpeting, ferrying baggage 
to and from the hotel's main portals. Public announcements 
in every known language in the galaxy resounded frommultiple speakers. 

The din would have overwhelmed a smaller space butsomehow the great arcing gold-flecked dome of the lobbymanaged to contain and reduce the noise until it was a constant 
buzz, unobtrusive but electrifying. 

Enormous viewing bays were set into the north and southpoles of me lobby, providing tantalizing glimpses of distantstars, nebulas, and passing asteroids. The constant flow ofspace traffic could be seen as well: liners docking, modulesuncoupling and chugging toward the hotel terminal while others 
returned to their mother ships. There was an endlesschanging show taking place just outside those windows andmany guests had assembled in the viewing lounges to take abetter, more leisurely look. 

Lekvich Tor forced his eyes away from outer space andgazed around the lobby in ever greater excitement The vasthanging chandeliers with their yellow glow globes moving upand down! The people hurrying to and fro in every manner ofdress imaginable! The sense of urgency, of important businessbeing transacted just inches away, was palpable and intoxicating. 
He was dazzled by the sophistication of the decor, thecosmopolitan mix of people. Every shape, every size, everycolor. He couldn't help staring in fascination. Perhaps someday 
he would become accustomed to all of this, possibly eventake it for granted. He smiled at the thought of that distant,
sophisticated Lekvich Tor, then shook his head. How could heever take all this wonder for granted? Impossible. There wastoo much to see: everything was new and amazing. 

FIRST NIGHTER 3 

His supervisor. Ranee Franklin, was monitoring the concierge 
board. She was a middle-aged woman with green eyes, 


white hair, and a cool, professional demeanor, which he envied. 
She greeted him with a nod. "You're early, Lekvich.
Good." 

Lekvich Tor smiled. He felt dazed and suddenly tongue-
tied. 

"Nervous?" Ranee asked. 

"Nervous? Who, me?" He shook his head too many times.
"Ranee, do you think that tonight I will see a great manyaliens?" he blurted, barely able to contain himself. 

"Of course." She looked at him in surprise and saidsharply, "Is that going to be a problem?" 

"No. I mean, I hope not. What I mean is, I've never seenany before." 

"You're in for a treat, then." Her smile was a bit sour at theedges but Lekvich Tor didn't quite understand why. 

"Look," she said. "Do you think you can handle the console 
for a couple of minutes? I've got to run to the loo." 

Lekvich Tor blushed with pride and embarrassment. Already, 
she trusted him enough to leave him in charge. Toshare intimate information about bodily needs! His purplishskin glowed with pleasure. "You can count on me." 

"I hope so." She handed him the concierge headset. 

He watched her broad back as she strode away toward thestaff lavatory. A powerful woman, not unlike his mother.
Carefully, almost reverently he fit the headset around his earsand mouth. 

The con board lay before him, its glittering display of lightswinking lazily, red and blue and yellow and green. He wouldfax his mother tonight and tell her that he had been selectedfor extra responsibilities and for once she would boast abouthim to his brothers instead of the other way around. 

Bzzzzzt! 

A call! Someone was ringing from—he checked the screencarefully—room 1522. And Ranee had not returned. Whichmeant that he, Lekvich Tor, must take the call. Hands trembling, 
he filled his lungs with air and punched the appropriateflashing button


"Hotel Andromeda, concierge," he said. His voice soundeda little high, he thought. He'd have to watch that. He took a 

Karen Haber 

deep breath, pressed his hand against his diaphragm, and tried 


to modulate his tone downward. "Good evening." 

"There's a Voltorran bat in my room!" 

"Sir?" 

"I said, there's a Voltorran bat in my room! Hanging from
the chandelier." 


"I'm afraid you want Housekeeping—" 


"I distinctly ordered a Mykonian bat, in fact, four of them.
With hot mustard." 


"One moment, please," Lekvich Tor said. "I'm cross-
scanning the net. Ah, yes. I see. It was room 527 that requested 
the live Voltorran bat with implant and sonar control.
I'll send someone up to collect it and deliver your order at
once. Our apologies for the inconvenience." 


"Make it fast. I'm starving." 


"Yes, sir. And to compensate you for the inconvenience,
the bats will be on the house." Ranee had often told him: 


"Smooth frayed tempers with freebies." 


"Good. Appreciate it." 


Lekvich Tor shut down the line and grinned happily. His
first official call and he had handled it without a hitch! If only
Ranee had been there to hear him. Certainly she would have
approved. But she was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, women
spent more time than men in the WC. he knew that. He would
be patient and wait, and perhaps he would even be able to
take another call before Ranee returned. 


Sure enough, he had no time to savor his triumph. The call
line was buzzing once more. 


"Good evening. Hotel Andromeda, concierge. Can I help
you?" 


"No. I mean, yes. That is to say, I'm not quite sure." The
speaker had a pleasant baritone voice and sounded like a
middle-aged Terran. 


A high, shrill voice cut in. "Don't listen to him, he's lying." 


"No, he's not," said a silky female contralto. "Oh, this is all
terrible, just terrible." 


Lekvich Tor was taken aback by the jumble of voices.
"Hello? Excuse me, please," he said. "Is this still room 1274?
I'm afraid there's been some mistake. Two calls seem to have 
crossed. I hear more than one voice on this line." 



FtRST NIGHTER 5 

"No, there's been no mistake." The baritone sighed deeply.
"We're all in here, together." 

"I don't understand, sir. Your room is listed as single occupancy." 


"I'm from Veroni-Anspel." 

"Oh." Lekvich Tor was stunned. He had read about the 
Veroni-Anspelians but he had never expected to talk to one,
much less one apparently in estrus. He felt his cheeks growing 
hot at the very thought. 

"Forgive me," he said- "I hadn't realized." One fact blazedin his mind, remembered from his hotel training: Veroni-
Anspelians developed multiple personalities during estrus.
Lekvich Tor didn't know what to say next, or to whom hewould be saying it. Luckily, the Veroni-Anspelian rescuedhim from his confusion. 

"I'm afraid that I miscalculated the onset of my period," hesaid. "And so I've arrived completely unprepared." 

"Not to worry, sir," Lekvich Tor replied, thinking rapidly.
"Our pharmacy can supply you with personality dampers." 

"Do you have super absorbent?" 

"Yes. Five- or ten-day supply?" 

*Ten. And please tell them to hurry." 

"No, forget it," said a basso-profundo voice. 

And the high, shrill voice cried, "Leave us alone! That'sall. Just leave us alone!" 

"Shut up, all of us'" bellowed the Veroni-Anspelian. 

"Don't worry," Lekvich Tor said. "I'm sending the order tothe pharmacy right now." 

"Thank you." 

'To hell with you," said the high, shrill voice. 

"Good-bye," Lekvich Tor said quickly. 

He hung up feeling a bit unnerved but quite pleased by theway in which he had handled the call. He couldn't wait to tellRanee about his progress—but she still had not returned fromthe ladies' room. Perhaps she had fainted. Women had thattendency, he knew, because his mother would often faintwhen her children did something of which she disapproved. 


Should he send someone to look for her? Anxiously hescanned the lobby. No Ranee. Well, don't panic, he told himself. 
At least wait a few minutes more. Surely she'll comeback soon. She's probably on her way right now. 

Karen Haber 
Bzzzt! 
"Hotel Andromeda, concierge." 
"Yes, this is room 3251. I have a euthanasia appointment 
tomorrow at noon." 
Lekvich Tor scanned the records quickly. "Mr. Ediin, yes."

"I'd like to reschedule. Something came up."
"Same time next week?" 
"That would be fine." 
Lekvich Tor made the notation. "I'll see that Euthenetics 


gets the message." 
Bzzzzt! 
"Hotel Andromeda—" 
"I want to talk to robodealer forty-five in the casino." 
"I'm sorry, sir," Lekvich Tor said smoothly. "Those lines


are busy. But I'd be happy to place your bet for you." 
"Swell. I'd like to bet on the cyberraces." 
"Which steeds?" 
"Halley's Snowball." 
'To win, place, or show?" 
"Place." 


"Very good, sir. As you know, your winnings or your fee 
wilt be applied to your hotel account." 
"Much obliged." 
Lekvich Tor shut down the call, sat back on the web seat


behind the con board, and crossed his arms in satisfaction.
Maybe Ranee was never coming back. And maybe he didn'tcare-

Bzzzt! 
"Good evening. Hotel Andromeda, concierge." 
"I need an unabridged edition of Dante's Slippers by Rock



well, translated into English III." 
"An English III version?" Lekvich Tor scanned the library
scrolls and his spirits fell. "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am. The


only edition we currently have available on line is in
English II." 
"Can you have it updated?" 
"Let me check the translation grid. Hmnun, they're not too


busy right now. Yes, ma'am, they should be able to have it for
you in roughly half an hour." 
"That's fine." 


FIRST NIGHTER 7 
"Very good, ma'am. I'll have it delivered to you when it's
ready." 


As he rang off he saw that the woman had tabbed a generous 
tip into his account. Lekvich Tor grinned broadly. 

Bzzzt! 
Lekvich Tor nearly flew to the console. "Hotel Andromeda,
concierge." 


"Lekvich?" 
"Yes?" 
"This is Ranee. They were cleaning the ladies' room so I


went down to deck five. But that one was filled with 
Mantarian troglodyte nurses and I couldn't hear myself thinkstraight so I'm on deck nine now. It shouldn't be muchlonger." 

She hung up before he could say a word. 

Lekvich shrugged philosophically. She would be back soon,
surely. 
Bzzzt! 
"Hotel Andromeda, concierge. 
"Yes, I've just conceived a child." 
"Beg pardon?" 
"Are you deaf? I said I've Just conceived a child. Ten min


utes ago." 
Lekvich Tor scanned his memory but could not find any
appropriate reference or response from his training. Nervously, 
he improvised. 



"Um, congratulations." 

"But I'd like to take a few prenatal precautions. If this oneturns out to get my nose the way the last one did, I'll justscream." 

"I'm sorry, ma'am?" Now he would have given anything tosee Ranee's broad figure barreling toward him and her handreaching for the headset. 

"A splicer. Do you have a gene splicer on staff?" 

"Oh. Right. I'll have to check." He began to understandwhat the caller wanted. But as he flipped through his servicedirectory, two other lights came on, two other calls buzzingfor his attention. Where was Ranee? He wasn't supposed toleave any call unattended for more than two rings. 

"I'm sony, ma'am," he said. "I'll be right back. Pleasehold." He punched up the blue button. "Hotel Andromeda, 

Karen Haber 

please hold." He punched up the red button. "Hotel Andromeda." 
A voice began squawking. He cut it off, "Please hold,"
and returned to the original caller. 

"Ma'am, we can have a technician with splicer outsideyour door in an hour. I see from our records that she's justfinishing up with a litter of Monosikhs." 

"Well, I hope it won't be too long. I can just feel all thoselittle nasal cells dividing inside me even as we speak." 

Lekvich Tor frowned. "Actually, ma'am, as I understandTerran reproductive processes, it's really too soon for that sortof cell specialization, isn't it?" 

"Don't be so literal, silly. I was joking. And tell yoursplicer to hurry just the same. Who knows what kind of trouble 
an unsupervised zygote can get into?" 

"She'll be there in a flash." In a blaze of inspirationLekvich remembered a key note from his training manual: 

meet all needs, cover all contingencies. "And," he said, "incase you have any complications, ma'am, you might be interested 
to know that we can also provide termination services." 

"Really? Excuse me for a moment"—her voice grewmuffled—"honey, they're offering terminations as well.
What do you think? Still want to go through with it? Remember 
what happened with the last one, the police, themutations, and all that fuss. Still want to? Honestly, you'resuch a sentimental softy. Of course if you want him or her 


then I want him or her." 

Lekvich Tor watched the other calls blinking and wishedthat he had six ears, three mouths, and six arms. Why hadn'tthey hired an Arcadian arachnian to handle this job? "Verygood, ma'am," he said, putting a bit more volume into hisvoice to regain her attention. "Room 2651?" 

"That's right." She sighed theatrically. "He always gets soattached to his own children." 

As Lekvich watched in horror, one of the blinking lights onthe console went out. A caller had actually hung up! Lekvichwanted to hang his head in shame, but the con line receiverwould have cut off his circulation. 

"Good-bye, ma'am." With an urgency bordering on paniche snatched up the remaining call. "Concierge. I'm terriblysorry you had to wait." 

"Who's this?" demanded a deep male voice. 

FIRST NIGHTER 9 

"Lekvich Tor." 

"Isn't Ranee on tonight?" 

"She just stepped away from the desk—" 

'Tell her to call Scadool when she gets back." 

"Would you like to leave a message? A number where youcan be reached?" 

"She knows." 

Before Lekvich Tor could say more, the caller hung up. 

Ranee had now been away from the console for almost anhour. Lekvich Tor was growing more and more worried abouther. Surely she had found an acceptable bathroom by now in mehuge hotel complex. He couldn't leave his post to look for her.
Should he send someone else? If he alerted the night manager,
Ranee might get in trouble. But what if she were already introuble? Lekvich felt his head swimming. He decided to waitanother five minutes and then to inquire—discreetly—if someone 
could please look for his supervisor in me ladies* room. 

An orange, fur-covered humanoid from Fragis Ipsilon approached 
the desk on three of its six limbs. "Excuse? Excuse?" 

Lekvich Tor took a deep breath. It was his first alien, face-toface. 
Luckily it seemed to speak some English. "Yes? How canI help you?" he said. 

"Halp, yesh- Halp." 


"That's what I said. How can I be of service?" 
"Servish?" The Fragis Ipsilonian seemed puzzled by the


concept. His eyestalks drooped in what must have been confusion. 
"Servish? Thish one?" 
Lekvich Tor felt his patience begin to unravel. "Yes, I'm


the concierge," he said. "At the moment, anyway. What can
I do for you?" 


"Rum," said the Ipsilonian. 
"You want the bar?" Lekvich Tor said. "But I thought alcohol 
was poisonous to Ipsilonians. 


"Rum, plish." 
Lekvich stared at the matted orange fur in growing confu


sion. What did it want? To drink? To commit suicide? To 
drive Lekvich Tor crazy? 
Bzzzt! 
"Excuse me," he said, turning to the board. "Concierge." 
"This is room 2651, again." The caller sounded tearful. "I 


Karen Haber 


want to cancel the genetic splicer and order a relationship 


counselor instead." 


"Yes, ma'am. Any specialization?"
"No! Just get one up here!" She blew her nose noisily. "And 


huny." 


"Of course." 
"Excuse." The orange Ipsilonian was still standing there. 


"Rum, plish." 


Lekvich Tor felt tears of frustration forming in his eyes.
What did this creature want from him? If only he had paid
more attention to languages during training. Was a rum plish
an exotic drink? He had a sudden hysterical image of the
Ipsilonian sitting at a table in the Andromeda bar, a pink
drink with a parasol in at least three of its six paws. Then he
imagined the Ipsilonian keeling over. The screams. The lawsuits. 
The unemployment office. 


"Ah, Ambassador Syxxxch, there you are."
Blonde and immaculate Terralynne Stag, the assistant night 



manager, hurried up and took one of the orange fur paws in
her hands, shaking it energetically. "We've been waiting for
you, ma'am. Your translator has been delayed. I'm so sorry."
She smiled brightly at Lekvich Tor, a smile containing absolutely 
no recognition but an endless supply of professional 


goodwill. 


"Rum, plish," said the Ipsilonian.
"Yes, of course, we'll see to your room immediately."
Before Lekvich Tor could raise the issue of his missing supervisor, 
Terralynne had swept the ambassador away toward
the main desk and reception area. 


Bzzzt! 
Lekvich Tor snapped to. "Hotel Andromeda, concierge." 


"This is room 3975-" 


Lekvich Tor saw that he was talking to someone in the water 
wing. No wonder the voice sounded so muffled and peculiar. 
The water-breather was using a voice synthesizer. 


"How can I be of service?" he said quickly. 


"Our fenestres—ah, portholes—are opaqued again. We 


posit algae as the culprit." 


"I'll call Amphibious Housekeeping immediately." 


"Much gratitude."
Lekvich Tor hung up and saw four call lights flashing pink 


FIRST NIGHTER 


n 


and blue and green and red on the console. He hadn't even
noticed them- His purplish skin began to shine with perspiration. 
He reached for the nearest light but a scaly green hand
with claws enameled in bright orange intercepted him. 


"Hello there." The voice was husky, insinuating, slightly
slurred. 


Lekvich Tor looked up into the face of a Saurian matriarch
from Telos XVI. He had never expected to see one at such
close range. 


She was twice his size and width. Her jaw extended a good
five inches in front of her forehead and her smile—if that's 
what it was—revealed rows of needle-sharp white teem. Her
dark eyes were split by a red pupil and she appeared to have
no eyelids. Rubies set in golden studs dotted her eye ridges. 


Lekvich Tor fought back a shudder. The guest is always 



right, he thought. Always. 

"When do you get off?" the Saurian said. 

"Beg pardon?" 

Her smile widened—a terrifying sight. "You're very attractive 
for a humanoid. Has anyone ever told you that?" 

"Never," said Lekvich Tor. In fact, before he had been recruited 
for this post from Vladimir's Folly, no one had everpaid much attention to him at all. 

"Mmmmhmmm." She nodded languorously. "Love thatpurple skin." 

Lekvich Tor had an awful feeling that he knew exactlywhat this Saurian wanted. He blushed. He looked awaythrough the view portals at the stars but there was no helpcoming from those distant points of light. He took a deepbreath. "Ma'am, may I direct you to our Pleasure ServicesDepartment? We have the very best selection of live professionals, 
robots, or virtual experiences to be found in six quadrants." 


"But I like you." 

Lekvich Tor gulped. He had heard rumors of the Saurians'mating techniques and he had no intention of learningwhether or not any of those rumors were true. "I'm very flattered," 
he said. "But I'm on duty." He pointed to the wallclock behind him. "All night" 

"Don't you ever get a break?" 

Karen Haber 

"Uh, no. Never." Ranee, where are you? he thought. Where 

is the Security Force? Where is my mother? 

A robot security drone rolled by and Lekvich wanted tocall out to it but something kept him from doing so. Hemusn't insult the guest. He looked around the lobby at theendless flow of people, desperately hoping to catch the eye ofsome functionary. He could always press the Security button,
but he had not yet been told what would happen if he did so. 

"Well, I can wait." The Saurian looked as though she wereplanning to lean against the console all night.
"So there you are!" a high voice cried.
A Saurian male half the female's size came hurryingthrough the crowd toward the concierge desk. He wore ashimmering cloak woven from the rarest full-spectrum textilesand had a diamond stud embedded in one green and scaly 


nostril. "There you are," he said again even more shrilly, "i


can't turn my back on you for a moment." 
The female rolled her dark eyes and turned to face her accuser 
with a condescending air. "Raoul, calm down, dearest. 


You'll have a stroke if you don't relax." 
"Don't try to get around me, Celeste. I know what you're 
capable of." 
She gave Lekvich a long-suffering look. "I've been waiting


for you, darling. You know you always take longer to dress 
than I do." 
*'I thought you would be waiting in the cafe," Raoul said, 
sniffing. 
"I just paused to ask this charming young man for direc


tions." Celeste winked at Lekvich. He smiled wanly. 


"I know where the cafe is even if you don't," Raoul said.
"Come along, now. Don't dally. I'm hungry enough to eat a 
dozen mice." 
"But, Raoul, your digestion." 
"And don't lecture me, Celeste. I said come along." He


took her by the arm and steered her toward the restaurant 


transport tubes.
Celeste looked back over her shoulder and blew Lekvich a 
kiss. 
Numbly, he waved.


Bzzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! 
FIRST NiGHTER 


The console! Lekvich gasped and dived for the nearest
light. 


"Concierge." 
"Lekvich, where have you been?" It was Ranee. He could
have kissed her voice. 


"I was talking to a guest." 
"You know the rules about two rings per call." 



"Yes, Ranee, of course. Forgive me." 

"Now listen to me, Lekvich. I'm on deck seventeen. I gotcaptured by Wolf Rackham—you know, the maintenancechief—on my way down from deck nine. He says he has totalk to me right now. Think you can handle things a bitlonger? I'll be there just as soon as I can. How are youdoing?" 

Lekvich looked at me rainbow of call lights blinking urgently 
and swallowed. "Fine. I think." 

"Good. Hold the fort." Ranee hung up. 

The fort was bunking at Lekvich in every color imaginable. 

"Hello, concierge, please hold. Concierge, please hold.
Concierge, please hold. Concierge, may I help you?" 

"Yeah, I was just swimming on deck five when a robotcame in and dumped a load of sand in the deep end of thepool." 

"Are you sure?" Lekvich said. "They're not programmedto do anything like that." 

"Of course not," the caller said. "But some kids were playing 
around with its controls—they probably reprogrammed it.
There it goes again." 

Lekvich could hear a faint splash and outraged cries. 

"I believe you, I believe you," he said quickly. "I'll contactMaintenance right away." He hung up, buzzed Pool Maintenance, 
and reached for the next call. 

"Concierge." 

"My Poltronian guppy isn't doing well," the caller said ina waspish voice. "I was just down at the kennel and I thoughtit looked a little pink. 1 don't think you've got the right mixture 
of gases in its cell." 

"Did you tell the kennel master, sir?" 

"Of course, but do you think he'd listen to me? I wantsomething done about this at once." 

"Sir, it's really not my job—" 

Karen Haber 

"I don't care what your job is. If my guppy dies because of 


mistreatment I'll sue this hotel!" 
Lekvich wanted to tell him to go ahead and sue: only a foolwould bring a Poltronian guppy into an oxygen-rich environment- 
But he was also worried that this man might just makegood on his threats- He sounded like a troublemaker. And

trouble must be avoided. The guest is always right, he reminded 
himself once again. Always. 
"I'll see what I can do, sir." Before he could say more, the 
guest hung up on him. 
Lekvich turned to the next call. "Hello, thank you for hold


ing." 
"Is the null-g gym closed?" 
"I don't know, ma'am. Have you asked at the fitness cen


ter?" 
"Yeah, I tried there. The door's locked. They told me to 
call you." 
"Oh." Lekvich Tor scratched his head. Why had they told 
her to call him? "Ma'am, I'll have to get back to you on


that." He scribbled down her room number and went on to the 
next call. 
"Thank you for holding." His feet hurt and he was begin


ning to feel pressure in his bladder. Would Ranee never come 
back? 
"This is room 2360. We're checking out and we'd like a 
robot to bus our luggage." 
Lekvich almost sighed with relief at the routine request. 
"Right away, sir." 
He notified the mech station and took the next call. 


"We'd like to reserve a table for dinner tonight."
"This is the concierge. You want to call the restaurant."
"Isn't this the extension for the restaurant?" 
Lekvich swallowed an impatient retort. "No, ma'am."
"Well, could you connect me to the restaurant?"
"It would be faster if you dialed direct, ma'am." 


"I see. Thank you."
The next caller wanted a better room and Lekvich told him 
to call reservations. 



The caller after that wanted to know where the environmental 
control in his room was, and if it could decrease the 

FIRST NtGHTER 

gravity at all, and what exactly would happen to alcohol atzero-g. 

"You're not planning to drink in zero-g, are you?" Lekvichasked in alarm. 

"Why not?" 

"You can't do it unless you use a closed container and suction 
straw," he said. "With a glass, you'll just get floatingglobules, which will splash on the rug and stain the upholstery 
when you restore the room to normal g." 

The caller giggled, said, "Sounds like fun," and hung upbefore Lekvich could check the room number and notifyHousekeeping and/or Security. 

For a moment the board was quiet Lekvich indulged himself 
in a hearty sigh and looked at his notes. 

Now, let's see, he thought, room 5627 wanted me to callthe kennel master about the guppy. Or was that room 5427?
Horrified, Lekvich realized that he couldn't read his ownscrawl. Well, he did remember the guppy—he would call thekennel master first and worry about the owner later. 

But what about that woman who wanted to use the nuli-ggym? Had he already called about that? And the man whowanted to experiment with drinking in zero-g, or was it thewoman who wanted to do that and the man who wanted the 
gym? Lekvich Tor rubbed the bridge of his nose where it hadbegun to ache. His head was swimming. He checked theclock: had it really only been three hours? It felt like threedays. 

Bzzzt! 

"Concierge," said Lekvich listlessly. "Can I help you?" 

"Listen, you'd better get somebody down here right away,"
a frantic voice said. 

"Where is here?" Lekvich asked. 

"Pardon?" 

"I mean, what's your room number?" 

"Thirteen sixty-eight." 


"What seems to be the problem?" 
"It's raining in my room." 
Lekvich frowned. "Do you mean the pipes are leaking?" 
"No. It's the environmental control. It's out of whack or 


something." 
Of course, Lekvich thought. The environmental controls. If 


Karen Haber 
it's not that it's the gravity. If it's not that it's the guppy. Orthe Saurian with a diamond in his nose. 
"I'll see that somebody gets to it, sir."
"Hurry, please. My portfolio is getting soaked!"
Lekvich thought that it would be very nice to lie in a quietroom on a soft bed somewhere and have warm rain trickle 

down onto his body. What was this guy complaining about,
he wondered. Why didn't he just lie down and enjoy it? 
Bzzzzt! 
"Concierge." 
"Lekvich, this is Ranee." 
"Oh, Ranee, thank goodness. You won't believe — " 
"I can't talk," she said. "I'm on deck thirty-five. Winnie


Payne, the second assistant night manager, saw me with Wolf
and hauled us both into a meeting. 1*11 be back as soon as I 
can get loose." 


Before Lekvich could say another word, she was gone. 
Bzzzt! 
"Concierge," he said hopelessly. 


"Ranee?" 
"I'm sony, she's not here." 
"Not back yet?" It was Scadool, her mysterious caller 
again. He didn't sound pleased. 
"I'm sorry, no," Lekvich said, and thought: You don't 
know just how sorry I am.


Scadool hung up.
Lekvich was beginning to get angry. Didn't anyone believe 



in basic good manners anymore? 


"Hello again."
It was Celeste, the Saurian, leering over the console at him 


and waggling her ruby-studded eye ridges. 


"Where's Raoul?" Lekvich said. 


"Oh, he's still eating. I told him I had to visit the ladies'
room," she said, and winked slyly. "Now arc you certain you
can't take a break?" She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together 
in a mercenary way. "I promise you that you'll enjoy
many rewards, and not all of them on the physical plane." 


Lekvich Tor felt the growing pressure in his bladder and
began to despair. He was really getting uncomfortable, and
this lustful Saurian was not making matters easier. He mustered 
his best and iciest manners. 


FIRST NIGHTER 


"I'm sorry, madam. I'm flattered, truly. But as you can see,
there's nobody here but me. I simply can't leave the desk." 


"What about a robot? Can't you order one to come and sub
for you?" 


"I beg your pardon." Lekvich drew himself up to his full
five feet and five inches. How dare she imply that a robot
could do a job as complicated as mis. 


"Now don't get huffy," Celeste said. "You're obviously a
sensitive and intelligent young man. How would you like a
job as a personal valet? I'll just talk to your boss—" 


"Celeste"" 


Raoul bore down upon them, eyes flashing. "I knew I'd
find you here. You're shameless, utterly shameless. I can't
turn my back on you for a second." 


"Now, Raoul—" 


"Don't you 'now, Raoul' me! So you had to go to the ladies' 
room, eh? I can't trust you at all. I might as well divorce
you right here and now. Young man, can you provide me with
some assistance?" 


"Sir?" Lekvich stared at him in horror. Was he going to be
involved in a divorce suit on his first night on the job? 


Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! 



The console was lighting up in a crazy array of colors, but
as Lekvich reached for a call, Raoul interceded, grabbing his
hand. 


"Are you deaf as well as stupid? I asked if you could pro


vide the services of an attorney." 
"Raoul," Celeste wailed. "You don't mean it. Please, darling, 
don't kick me out. I'll be good, I promise." 


"I'm tired of your promises." 
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! 
"Concierge." Lekvich said desperately. "Please hold. Please


hold. Please hold." 
Raoul yanked on his wrist. "Well?" 
"Please, sir. Let go of me. I'll request an attorney for you


in a moment if you'll just be patient." 


"I've been patient long enough. You don't know how I've
suffered with this bitch." 
Lekvich was tempted to tell him that he could actually


imagine what a trial Celeste had been to him. But Raoul 


Karen Haber 


didn't seem interested in commiseration, especially from
Lekvich Tor. 
Bzzzt! 
"Please. I must answer the call," Lekvich said. He pulled


himself free of Raoul's grasp. "Concierge." 


"Quick, we need Housekeeping down here in wing seven.
A water-breather tipped over his tank." 
"Can you hold on?" 
Bzzzt! 
"Concierge." 
"I'd like to arrange for personality enhancement." 
"Sir, you want implants, extension 75." 
Bzzzt! 
"Concierge." 



"Which department handles tattoos?" 
"You want Dermatology, ma'am, line 89." 
Bzzzt! 
"Concierge." 
"This is room 842. Something's wrong with our environ


mental control. In fact, everybody on this floor seems to be
having trouble. We're all floating around in null-g." 
"Could you please hold?" 
"I'm getting tired of waiting!" Raoul roared. 
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! 


"What's going on here?" a familiar voice demanded. 
"Ranee!" Lekvich Tor could have fainted with mingled relief 
and horror. 


His supervisor stood and glowered at him. "It's absolute
bedlam here and I've only been gone for half a shift." 


"I'm sorry. Ranee." 
She ignored him and turned to Raoul. "Sir, what seems to
be the problem?" 


"Are you this young man's supervisor?" 
"That's right." 
"I'd like to report him for insubordination. And slowness.


I've been waiting for him to provide me with the services of


a good divorce attorney." 
"I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, sir. What is your
room number?" 


"Eleven seventy." 
FIRST NIGHTER 19 
"I'll have a lawyer sent immediately. Do you prefer human


or robot?" 


"Robot. At least my soon-to-be ex-wife won't be able to
flirt with one of those." 
"Very good." Ranee typed a command into the net and


nodded. "It will be there in five minutes." 
"Now, Raoul," Celeste said. "Don't get so excited. Think
of your blood pressure." She wound a meaty arm around her 



husband's neck and tickled his cheek with one long orangetalon. "Darling, you're so attractive when you're enraged." 

"Stop it, Celeste." 

"No, it's true. You're magnificent This is the Saurian Imarried, come back to me." 

"Do you really think so?" 

"Oh, yes, my darling, yes." 

They embraced passionately and several Terran guests scurried 
out of range of their madly flapping tails. 

When Raoul came up for air, he waved a hand vaguely atRanee and Lekvich. "Cancel that robot," he said. "I don'tthink we'll need it after all." 

"Very good, sir." Ranee retrieved the request and killed itas, arm in arm and tail in tail, Raoul and Celeste made theirway to the tube for rooms 1165-1280. 

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzt! 

"Just don't stand there, Lekvich. Answer the phone!" 

"Right away. Ranee." 

Lekvich sent a maintenance crew down to wing seven tomop up, and an environmental engineer to room 842 to restore 
gravity. He also arranged for the null-g gym to beopened, stopped the rain in room 1348. and double-checked(MI the Poltronian guppy. Then, with a sigh of relief, he leanedback in his web seat. The console was suddenly quiet.
Lekvich wiped his sweaty forehead on the back of his hand. 

The silence lengthened. He became aware that Ranee wasstaring at him. Probably she was going to fire him. Well, hewas so tired that he almost didn't care. His first night at theHotel Andromeda had been chaotic and maddening. He didn'tdeserve to be there- Perhaps he could get a job on the maintenance 
crew, mopping up after water-breathers


"Well, Lekvich," Ranee began. 

Here it comes, he thought. 

20 Karen Haber 

"You had the con for almost four hours and in that time 
there were three environmental accidents, postponed euthanasia, 
twenty-seven complaints, and one near-divorce." 

Lekvich told himself he would be a man about it, andwouldn't cry when she dismissed him. 


She nodded thoughtfully, then said, "All in all, not tooshabby." 

"What?" Lekvich said. "I mean, do you really think so?" 

"Sure." She gave him a quick smile. "In fact, I've seenmuch worse debuts." 

"But the swimming pool—the guppy—Raoul and Celeste." 

"Forget it." 

Lekvich Tor glowed with pride. He hadn't done badly, afterall! He had weathered his first night alone at the console andRanee was pleased. He began to relax and even look forwardto the remaining hours of his first shift. He gazed dreamilyabout the lobby. Once more it seemed magical and filled withexotic, glamorous, exciting people. 

"Excuse me." 

He looked directly into the most hideous face—if that waswhat it was—that he had ever seen. It was a heaving mass ofquills and boils in which three nostrils, a slash of a mouth,
and several white staring eyes somehow managed to be in'both the right and wrong places simultaneously. 

"I'm the liaison with the hotel for the Wugmump convention," 
it said. Its breath was rancid and its voice harsh andgrating. "I want to go over some details before the rest of uscheck in." 

"How many are coming?" Lekvich asked, fascinated andrepelled at the same time. 

"About six thousand. I imagine you and I will be workingtogether very closely indeed over the next six days." 

Lekvich looked at Ranee. 

Ranee nodded encouragingly. 

Lekvich leaned close, until he was able to whisper in hissupervisor's ear. "Will you excuse me, please?" he said. "Ihave to go to the loo." And he left Ranee staring, mouth open,
at the Wugmump as he hurried away. 

THE ROOM KEY 

Terry Kepner 

Ooooh, are oou da one?" a voice whispered softly, closeto her ear, "Modher sad oou would be ere soon." Shevaguely heard the soft sibilants of two other voices, but thewords were unclear. "Bud oou hab long lide fur and zhe sadoou hab dark short fur." 


"Mmmmm?" Pal mumbled, more asleep than awake. 

"Ooooh," the same voice said, "Oou smell 'onderfull.
Modher musd made a misdake. Ooou are da one. 1 yesd knawid." 

A soft fur blanket drifted to her side. Ah, thought Pat, a robot 
maid dropping off a blanket. They must have realized theroom wasn 't ready for occupancy. She put her arm out anddiscovered that it wasn't a blanket, but a large pillow. Oh,
well, she thought, that's okay; it's nice and warm. She turnedon her side and snuggled closer to it. 

"Zhe likes me!" the voice said. A fur strip draped acrossher side and back, and another across her tegs; a pillow with 

22 Jeny Kepner 

tassels. "Modher waz 7.0 worried oou would nod like uz." 

The fur pillow was very soft and silky, and Pat found herself 
rubbing against it to feet it sliding across her skin. Shehad always liked the feel of fur, but these sensations werewonderfully erotic. She sleepily ran her hand gently acrossthe pillow, enjoying the texture. 

She felt a soft puff of air ruffle the hair by her ear. Anotherfur pillow pressed against her back. Part of it draped overher side. 

She puzzled on it for a moment, then decided that RoomService must have sent up two pillows to make up for notsending a blanket. Maybe they were out of them. Two furropes twined around her legs. She felt yet another rope touchher foot. She shifted slightly and a pillow draped itself acrossher feet. 

Well, with three warm and furry pillows on her bed, shedidn 't have to worry about getting cold tonight. She snuggledclose to them and drifted into a pleasant, and erotic, dream. 

Pat stretched and stared at the wall in front of her. For the 
first time in days, she felt rested. She blinked slowly, thinkingabout her dream. 

As erode dreams go, she decided, that one was pretty good.
She felt her face grow hot just thinking about it 

It had to have been that fur coverlet Room Service had 
dropped off. It had been so silky smooth and sensual. Shewondered if she would have another dream like that one tonight. 


She must have kicked the blanket down in the night—andno wonder! She barely could feel it covering her feet Funny, 


she didn't remember Room Service dropping by, but thenagain, she wouldn't have noticed if Attila the Hun had walkedinto her room last night. 

Room Service? Room Service. What had happened to herwake-up call? She flipped over and sat up. She froze, hermouth hanging open in surprise. 

Seated at the foot of her bed were three non-humans. She 
closed her eyes. They were still mere when she opened them.
The aliens resembled weasels, with long thin snouts thatended in black noses. A dozen long, graceful silver whiskerssprouted from both sides of their snouts, much like those ona cat or a dog. Forward-facing soft brown eyes that were only 

THE ROOM KEY 

a bit larger than a human's met her gaze briefly beforeblinking and looking down at the bed. Their rounded earswere on the sides of their heads, but more toward the back ofthe head, with light-colored tips projecting slightly above it.
The insides of their ears were almost completely black. 

Covering each of them was a thin coat of long fur, but eachof them was a different color. Their long arms ended in thinhands with very, very long claws, and long, thin musculartails. All three had their tails draped possessively across herfeet. There was no coverlet. And she was naked. 

As a Terran Stellar Lines spaceship third-class copilot, shehad been taught to keep her cool under any circumstance. Thecompany couldn't afford to have panicky pilots at the controlsof their city-sized spaceships. One mistake made by a distracted 
or hysterical pilot could cost the lives of everyoneaboard the ship, not to mention the loss of the cargo and theship itself. Staying calm no matter the situation was an important 
job criterion. 

Dealing with alien races had been only a small part of hertraining, but that had focused mostly on the major languagesand customs of the races with whom TSL primarily dealt.
Nothing had been mentioned about finding one's self naked ina strange room with three aliens, male or otherwise. Shewould have to wing it. 

She scooted backward to the wall. She pulled her legs upuntil her knees were in front of her breasts and her feet flat 
on the bed. She folded her arms across her knees. 

The middle alien, a dark strawberry blonde in color—sheknew friends who would practically kill to get their hairthat particular shade—bowed deeply, followed instantly bythe other two. They kept their eyes chastely on the foot ofthe bed. They were clearly males. Embarrassingly clear, shethought. From the small pile of belts and pouches she now 


saw in one comer of the room, they obviously did not wearclothes in public. 

While the others remained unmoving, the one on Pat'sright, a beautiful calico, stood and walked over to a tray onthe shelf of the computer terminal. He brought the tray to thebed, then dropped to his knees and held the tray out to her. Hekept his attention locked on the tray. It held a glass and asmall plate with what looked like a roll on it. 

24 Terry Kepner 

From the way they acted, so stiff and formal. Pat felt thather next action would be vital to these aliens. That it was a 
test of some type. She had a momentary vision of her refusingthe offering on the tray and provoking a major interstellar incident. 
Her chance for a career with any of the major shippinglines, especially TSL, would be ruined. 

Hesitantly, she lifted the glass and cautiously sniffed it- Itsmelled like plain water. She took a sip. It was water. Suddenly 
thirsty, she tipped the glass and drank half of it. Shesaw the alien's eyes briefly flick up to her face to watch. Sheglanced at the other two. They didn't appear to have moved,
but their long whiskers quivered slightly. She thought whatmight have been a smile temporarily flitted across the face ofthe strawberry blonde. 

She replaced the glass and picked up the plate. She sniffedat the roll, took a nibble, then a bite- She watched for a reaction 
in the aliens as she chewed. The blonde was positivelygrinning now. 

The roll was dry, and had a rather bland taste, but shehadn't eaten at all yesterday. She finished off the roll in justa few bites, following it with the remainder of the glass ofwater. She gave them a hesitant smile. 

When the glass hit the tray. the alien whisked it away to thetable by the computer terminal and rejoined his companionsat the foot of her bed. All three sat upright and looked straightat her now. Two were rocking back and forth, their four-footlong 
tails swaying around behind them. One, with solid darkbrown, almost black, fur, was bouncing in place, humminghappily. They seemed rather pleased with themselves. 

She was not. Who were they and why were they in herroom? She absolutely had not requested Hotel Personal Services 
to send up a gigolo, much less three non-human gigolos! 
And they did not act like hotel employees. 

A quick look around the room revealed that her luggagestill had not arrived. And without the blanket, she had no wayto cover herself. 

Her first inclination was to wait for someone to rescue her. 
But that might take all day, and she had to report in to her su



pervisor on the Terran Stellar Lines' Star Cruiser Africa bynoon, local time, or lose her assignment. She would have to 

THE ROOM KEY 25 

extricate herself from this predicament. She took a deepbreath and forced herself to move. 

Keeping her plastic smile firmly in place (the one she usedwhen dealing with passengers asking idiotic questions), shestood. All three aliens kept their eyes on her, barely blinking.
Having the aliens watch as she walked to the cleaning binmade her intensely self-conscious. 

Pat's smile vanished and her teeth clenched as she stared 
into the empty bin. Where were her clothes? Just what theheck was going on here? Had the aliens hidden them? Shewished someone would rescue her. 

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what else could gowrong. Her eyes popped open and she darted to the computer.
Only the cleaning tag and her watch were there. She had amomentary memory flash of dropping her room key into herpants pocket, now lost somewhere in the laundry. And, shesaw, she had already missed her noon report-in time. 

On the table beside the computer was the tray with itsempty glass and plate, and another two glasses and plates, almost 
empty. The aliens plainly had started with three platesand glasses, and must have decided to give her one set whilesplitting the other two among themselves. She wondered whyas she frowned. 

She turned and gave the aliens another plastic smile. "Ann,
excuse me, I need to freshen up a little." She pointed at thedoor to the bathroom and started to sidle over that way. 

The aliens, still seated, bowed again. 

With the door solidly closed behind her, she slumpedagainst the sink counter. "Oh, God. I don't believe this!" shegroaned. Focusing her eyes on the mirror in front of her, shegroaned again. Her shoulder-length hair, which her motherhad always called dirty-blonde, was snarled and awry, including 
one small batch that stood straight up. She patted it down,
vainly hoping it would stay that way. 

At least, thanks to last night's sound sleep, there weren'tany dark circles under her blue eyes. Anytime she missedsleep her light complexion tended to make such shadows thatmuch more apparent. 

But worse, much worse, the towel rack behind her wascompletely empty. That shattered her hope of fashioning acouple of the towels into the semblance of a halter top and 

26 Terry Kepner 


skirt. The bathroom was as devoid of furnishing as the otherroom. 

Splashing cold water on her face did not help. She brieflyconsidered drowning herself in the bathtub, then noticed thehot-air vent. Mom had always said a good hot shower helpedone to think. 

She stood in front of the blast of warm air, drying off. Theway she figured it, with even a halfway decent lawyer, sheshould come out of this owning a hefty percentage of the hotel.
Or at least wealthy beyond any dreams she had ever had. Shedecided that an out-of-court settlement would be best. That 
would protect her career. 

She cautiously opened the door. Yep. They were still there.
Giving them her plastic smile again, she stepped over to theterminal. The display was built into the wall behind the simple 
touch pad on the abbreviated table below it. Fortunately,
the terminal design was such that only the person in front ofit could hear what was said. The aliens would not hear her reporting 
them to Hotel Security. 

"Andromeda Security, please," she said, pressing the activate 
button. 

"I'm sony, honored guest, but access to that function fromthis terminal is blocked." 

She stared at the computer, astounded. "Andromeda Security, 
please," she repeated. She got the same response. 

Why would access to hotel security be blocked? All right,
she would try something else. "Room Service, please," shesaid. 

"I'm sony, honored guest, but access to that function fromthis terminal is blocked." 

A few minutes later she stood leaning against the terminalwith both hands. This, she thought, cannot be happening. Shetried the last standard function she could think of. Emergency. 

"State the nature of the emergency, please, honored guest." 

At last! "I have three uninvited aliens in my room." 

"Is someone injured?" 

"Uh, no." 

"Is there a medical emergency or a fire?" 

"Now." She did not like the way this was going. 

"This function is for emergencies only. If you need secu



THE ROOM KEY 27 

rity, please use that function. If this is not an emergency,
please do not use this function." 

"But the terminal says that access to that function isblocked'" 

"I am sorry, honored guest. Unless this is an emergency, Imust terminate this call." There was a click. 

"Damn computer." She stared at the blank display. 

'Terminal, my clothes were not returned from Laundry Services 
last night." 

"I'm sorry, honored guest, but you "must access LaundryServices for assistance in locating lost items." 

"But access to that function is blocked," she wailed. Sheleaned her head against the cool surface of the wall above theterminal in exasperation. Terminal," she said quietly. 

"Yes, honored guest?" 

"Why are functions blocked at this terminal?" 

"The party booking this room requested that all functionsbe disabled." 

"That's nonsense," she said, shocked. "I made no such request." 
She chewed on a fingernail for a moment as shethought. 'Terminal, what about Emergency Services? I calledthem." 

"Emergency Services cannot be blocked. All other servicesare blocked." 

"But this is my room. I did not request that calls beblocked. I order you to remove the blocks." 

"I'm sorry, honored guest, but access to that function fromthis terminal is blocked. If you desire to change the terminalsettings, you must make that request to the registration desk." 

Arguing with the terminal was useless, she knew. It wouldsimply parrot back similar responses to her questions. 'Terminal, 
get me the front desk." 

"I'm sorry, honored guest, but access to that function fromthis terminal is blocked." 

Pat slammed her hand against the terminal in frustration.
She was stuck. Access to any function that might lead her toa sentient being was blocked. In the meantime, she was nakedin her room with three furry aliens



She turned to look at the aliens, and nervously chewed herlip. They sat by the bed, looking for all the world like theywere waiting for her to say or do something important. 

28 Jerry Kepner 

She took a deep breath. Naked she may be, but she wasn'tgoing to let that stop her; she had to get her clothes. Makingher parade through the hotel naked to get to a working terminal 
would just cost the hotel that much more in court. Shewalked over to the door and put her hand on the handle. Shesteeled herself for the upcoming ordeal, then opened the door. 

Or, at least, she tried to open the door. The handle refusedto move. She pushed harder. No reaction. She put her fullweight on the handle. It still did not move. 

The door was security-locked both ways. No key, no opendoor. She was locked in. Why would Terran Stellar Lineskeep a block of rooms with such a security lock? 

"Damn!" She leaned her head against the door, strugglingto keep control. A quick look at her wristwatch revealed shewas already an hour late for her noon report-in time, and hadonly an hour before her ship left. 

If she could make it to the ship before it left, she might beable to talk her way around her late arrival and convince hersupervisor to either overlook her infraction or, at least, merelymark it down as reprimand instead of a dismissal. While a replacement 
copilot may have been requested, her showing upcould still save her job. 

If she didn't make it to the terminal before then, her contract 
would automatically be terminated. Only a proven medical 
emergency or rare special circumstance could get hercontract reinstated. 

With a contract termination on her record, getting anotherof the major carriers to accept her services would be almostimpossible. She would be stuck on the second-tier job level,
with short-haul small ships, tramp freighters, and other lessdesirable posts for the rest of her career. 

The aliens' Maybe one of them had a key. 

She took a moment to compose herself and put her plasticsmile in position. She turned slowly and faced them. Speaking 
carefully, she asked in Universal, "Excuse me, but do anyof you have a key to the door?" 

All three froze and their tails stopped in mid-swing. Thehumming trailed off into silence. They stared back at her,
clearly not having understood her question. 

"Key? Door?*' She pantomimed holding something againstthe door and opening it. 


THE ROOM KEY 29 

They looked from her to the door, then to each other. Finally, 
each gave a whole-body convulsive shiver, and simplygazed back at her. 

While there were ten major languages in this quadrant, shehad studied only the three that TSL regularly traded with. Shestarted with Spacer's Talk, sort of a polyglot that had evolvedover the last few hundred years. "My name is Pat McCreney.
What are your names?" 

No response was forthcoming. 

"I'm a pilot for Terran Space Lines. Actually I'm a copilot," 
she said, hoping they might recognize some of thewords. "I just came in last night from Terra on the TerranSpace Lines California. I'm supposed to transfer to the TSLStar Cruiser Africa for the next three years." 

They blankly stared back at her. 

She sighed, then tried Mulphridean. "I don't know how wecame to be in the same room. I know I was really tired lastnight when the supervisor in the TSL offices here in HotelAndromeda gave me a registration pass." Blondie's earstwitched at the mention of Andromeda. 

For a moment, she thought they might have understood her.
but she realized the only thing they had understood was thename of the station. She tried Universal Language next. 

"I was tired because most of the command crew of the TSL 
California came down sick about four days ago, and the restof us had to work double and triple shifts. Because we starteddocking at the end of my shift, I had to stay on duty for athird shift. I went without sleep for almost twenty-fourhours." 

While they were paying close attention to her every word,
they clearly did not understand a single one of them. Actually, 
this was also helping her to retrace her steps from lastnight. Maybe she could figure out how they came to be inher room. She switched to Persiean. 

"I almost didn't find the TSL offices, I was so tired. But Idid remember to check the assignments board." She smiledwanly. "The TSL Star Cruiser Africa had come in that dayand would be leaving at fourteen hundred hours tomorrow; 

that is, today. I was supposed to check in at least two hoursbefore then." She sighed and glanced at her watch again.
"Unfortunately, Registration never gave me my wake-up call, 

30 Terry Kepner 


and I seem to have overslept by a wide margin. Now I onlyhave an hour before the ship leaves." 

Again, they merely stared at her. She couldn't begin toimagine what they must think she was doing. Only Altairianwas left of the spoken languages she knew. 

"Anyway, after I picked up my key from Registration, I goton an elevator, but I dropped the key and it rolled under thebench at the back. I had to reach under it pretty far to get itback." She paused as what she had said repeated itself in hermemory. 

"Damn. That must have been it," she muttered, "when Idropped my key. I must have found a lost key." And becausethe room keys also doubled as destination designators for theelevators, it had brought her to this room, already occupied bythe three aliens. They must have been out when she arrived,
returning after she fell asleep. 

Why they had let her sleep on, or why they didn't leaveand bring back Security was a mystery. However, they werealiens. They probably had their reasons, strange though theymay be to her. They were polite, though. They were still listening 
attentively- If it were not for their lack of reactions, shewould think they knew exactly what she was saying. Theywere cute, too. 

She licked her lips hesitantly. Her getting the wrong roomkey certainly explained why the hallway outside had been soopulent. She had thought TSL was giving her a perk forworking so hard the last few days. 

That her luggage, left with the registration clerk, had notbeen here when she walked in should have tipped her off thatsomething was wrong. And then she had been dumb enoughto drop her clothes in the cleaning bin with the cleaning tagsupplied by the clerk. That tag had probably returned herclothes to her real room, leaving her naked and without a key. 

If she had not been so tired she would have realized that 
the hotel clerk would never have given her a room that wasn'tpropped for a Terran. While the bed had been comfortable andready to use, it had not had any blankets or pillows. And thecomputer terminal/table in one comer had not had a chair tomatch it 

Instead of immediately trying to call Room Service forsome blankets, she had decided to wait for them to deliver her 

THE ROOM KEY 31 

luggage. And had fallen asleep waiting for a delivery not destined 
to arrive. 

She tried Spacer's Sign Language, usually used in emergency 
situations where speaking was impossible. Clearly, the 


three aliens hadn't a clue as to what she was doing wavingher hands and arms around. Blondie seemed quite taken withwhat she was doing and started mimicking her until Calicowhispered something to him. Then he stopped and looked embarrassed. 


Universal Sign Language, developed for communicatingwith most races incapable of speech, garnered her just as littleunderstanding. Whoever these aliens were, they were remarkably 
ignorant of any method of communication to outsiders oftheir group. Just how they had managed to get to Hotel Andromeda 
and in this room mystified her. 

She leaned back against the door. Great, she thought, whatnow? If this really was their room, then Security would-bemore than a little displeased with her. Instead of suing Andromeda, 
she might be looking at a difficult time herself. Ifnothing else, the time she lost explaining what had happenedwould cause her to miss her posted assignment. 

She could not afford to have Hotel Security find her. Shehad to get out, and get out now. Her stomach flip-flopped atthe prospect of going it alone, but to stay and wait for rescuewas worse. 

She continued pacing and thinking. Like automatons, thethree aliens watched her. She stopped and looked down atthem. "Well," she asked rhetorically, "do any of you knowwhere we are and how I can get out?" 

They looked at each other briefly, and shivered. "We are inoar room," the middle one said. 

"You speak English!" 

"Yez," he said proudly. "We prakdessed long dime dospeek so good. Nod even Modher speeks id so guod." 

"Why didn't you answer me when I asked you if you hada key to the door? Or when I tried all those other languages."
She stood squarely before them, staring down Blondie. 

"We no speek dhose dongues, yesd dees one." The othertwo agreed. 

She frowned. Why would they go to the trouble of learningEnglish and not Universal? "Why English?" 

32 Terry Kepner 

"Zo we cud bond propoorly," said Calico. 

"Modher sad we had doo," added the blonde. "Zhe said itwaz ..." He stopped and consulted with his two friends. "Zhesad it waz good edikid." 

They all grinned at her. 


She swallowed, a little intimidated at the sight of all thosesharp, shiny teeth. "Oh." Obviously, she wasn't going tomake any sense of their explanations. They clearly did not understand 
her question, just as she didn't understand their answer. 


She shook her head. Maybe they could get her out of herebefore Andromeda Security found her. "Do you have a key totfiat door?" She pointed at the door behind her. 

He leaned sideways to look at the door. "No," he saidsadly. "Modher dhook oar key. Zhe sad we musd sday." 

Her hopes crushed, she said, "Oh. Damn. I gotta get out ofhere." 

"Oou wand oud? Oou wand do teeve?" The three of them 
exchanged glances. 

"Yes! I have to go to my own room and gel some clothes,
and then I have to get to my ship. It's very important." Shegave them what she hoped was a winning smile. 

"Oou wands to leaf?" asked Blondie. The edges of hismouth curved down. "Oou does nod like usz? I dod oou liked 
uz." The black-and-brown one looked similarly upset, andstarted to shiver. "And oou dhook oar bregsdad opering, doo." 

Pat saw her position slipping. For some reason it was important 
to them that she like them. Maybe it had to do withthat little ceremony earlier. If she lost their trust, they mightnot help her. "Oh, no," she said quickly, "I do like you. Youare all very nice." She gave them another smile. "It's just thatI have to get to my ship. First, though, I must get to myroom." 

"Oou like uz?" 

"Oh, yes," she said, trying to make it sound convincing. "IfI did not have to get to my ship, I wouldn't mind staying hereall day. But, I have to get to my ship." While that was stretching 
the truth, it wasn't by much. They had her curiosity up.
Just how had they managed to get here, and why was the onlylanguage they knew—besides their own, of course—English?
Were they part of'a group on the way to Earth? If so, they 

THE ROOM KEY 33 

were probably going to be on the TSL California. But if thatwere so, why hadn't they recognized the ship's name whenshe had mentioned it earlier? 

"Ooooh," Blondie said happily, "Zhee wands do go do hersheep. Zhee hass a sheep." He bounced up and down severaltimes. He began chattering excitedly in his own language, butsuddenly stopped. "Bud we kan nod leaf. Modher dold us do 


sday," he said. 


Calico turned and pushed Blondie lightly, making him
sway in place. "Dhad does nod madder," he said. "She dhook
oar bond." He grinned. "She likez uz, zo she wands do leeve
wid uz." 


Btondie's eyes opened wide. "Ooooh. Oou is ride." 


All three turned and stared at her like she was the most important 
person they had ever seen. Their expressions made Pat
uncomfortable. They reminded her, for some reason, of her
best friend on her wedding day and the way she had looked
at her husband after the ceremony. It had been the summer after 
graduation, just before Pat left for college. 


Pat wasn't sure she was understanding properly. It sounded
like they thought they were going to go with her. She definitely 
did not want them following her back to her room, or
to the ship. On the other hand, would they still help her if
they knew she didn't want them following her? 


But maybe she had better find out why "Modher" didn't
want them leaving. "Um, if you don't mind, and if it is not an
intrusion, why doesn't 'Modher' want you to leave?" 


They looked at each other for a moment, then Blackie
cleared his throat. "Id was nod oour fauld. We were 
eggsplorin and fond a brojen wader hole," Calico said. 


"Ya." Blondie flashed her a quick grin. 


A broken water hole? 


Blackie sighed. "Dhe being dold us id wash zuppozed do
blow bubbles in wader, bud id no wordk. Zo we dhook id
apard." 


Blondie interrupted. "Id was nod oor fauld dhe water
sprayed oud. We did nod know id had, um, how oou sad,
prezzure." 


Oh, God. They had tried to fix a jammed whirlpool pump.
She could just see the three of them getting soaked as water 


34 Terry Kepner 


sprayed everywhere while they frantically tried to stop it She
smiled at the image. 


"We had just done id when all dhese hodel being came,"
Blackie continued. "Id wordk, bud we had a few pards lefd
over." 


"I dhink dhey were upsed dhad we mad id wordk bedder
dhan dhey could," Blondie put in, shaking his head. 



They actually got it back together? In spite of the waterpressure? She was impressed. To repair something they knewnothing about while wading through water was quite an accomplishment. 


"Den we found a Der-ran in a, um, place full of eadingmacines." 

Eading machines? She frowned as she tried to figure outwhat he meant. Oh- One of the many cafeterias scatteredthroughout hotel complexes like Hotel Andromeda. And Der-
ran might be Terran. They had encountered another Terran inthe cafeteria. What could have happened there to upset"Modher"? 

"Dhe Der-ran complaned dhad dhe macine dhook hismony, bud no gebe food." Blackie gave his friends a guiltylook. "We wanded do help, zo we dhook id apard." He gazeddown at the floor as his tail wrapped around his ankle. "Wepud id bak, but hodel beings were nod happy. Even dough idworghed." 

"Dhe Der-ran was happy," Calico burst out. "He sad ib wewanded a job, he would tak uz on hiz sheep. Dhen hedhanked uz. Bud he leafed before dhe hodel peeple founduz." 

"Modher was mad," Blondie said sadly. "She sad we nomore coud eggsplor. She sad we musd sday here undil oourbond one god here." 

They had disassembled a vending machine? Without tools?
She was amazed. And a bit envious. She had lost more moneythan she cared to think about to obstinate soda and candy machines. 
With some good training they could become the envyof the Maintenance Division. She certainly wouldn't mindhaving them in charge of the equipment on any ship she waspiloting. 

If they could do that to a vending machine, maybe they 

THE ROOM KEY 35 

could take apart the door controls and get her out of here. Butfirst, she had better make sure there wasn't another way out. 

"How do you get food and drink?" 

"A serband brings id." Calico gestured toward the tablewith the plates and glasses. "Oou were asleep, zo we did nodwake oou or dell dem oou were here. Id wood nod been 
proper for oar bond one. Oou meed Modher lader." 

These three aliens must be very important, or very rich, torate personal servants, especially traveling in space. And themore important they were, the more trouble she was going tobe in when she was found in the room with them. 


Pat glanced at her watch. Another fifteen minutes had
passed. She was running out of time. Plus, she did not know
when the servants would be bringing another meal. She had
better be out of here before then. She had a sinking feeling
that if the relatives of these three found her here, they would
be even more upset than Hotel Security. 


She gave them another smile. "Do you think you could
open the door by taking the control panel apart?" Breaking
the locks on hotel complexes like Andromeda was supposed
to be impossible. Hotel Security did not want thieves or assassins 
planting their own access codes into rooms. But if they
could take apart a supposedly impregnable vending machine,
maybe they could do something here, too. 


Blackie leaned sideways and looked intently at the panel
beside the doorframe. Blondie said, "Ooooh, Modher would
nod like dhat." 


Just as Calico opened his mouth to say something. Pat said
sweetly, "But I would like that." 


Calico's jaws closed with an audible snap, and he looked at
Pat. Blondie clapped his hands. "Ooooh, yez, yez, yez."
Blackie immediately stood and walked over to the door,
brushing lightly against Pat as he passed her. The other two
closely followed him. 


Feeling their soft fur brushing her skin as they crowded
close to her made her think of her dream last night- She
blushed. She almost shrieked when a very soft tail abruptly
slid up between her legs. She grabbed it in her hand. "Don't
do that, it tickles." 


Blondie whipped his tail away from her, then leaned
against her arm. 


36 Terry Kepner 


Standing beside them, her five-foot-ten-inch build
topped them by several inches. The tallest, Blondie, barely
reached her nose; the shortest one, BIackie, was not quite
as high as her shoulder. They were much thinner than she
was, making her feel chunky by comparison. At a hundred
fifty pounds, she wasn't a professional model, but coworkers 
at TSL had complimented her on her figure. 


She stepped back from the door to give them more room.
Soon. all three were absorbed in removing the panel from the
door, their tails waving and weaving among them in intricate
patterns. Using their claws as screwdrivers, levers, and cutting
tools, they soon had the panel dangling from a gaping hole,
exposing wires and circuits. 


How they knew what to do was beyond her, but from the
short bursts of arguments between probings she decided that 



they were applying more guesswork than knowledge. After
one such disagreement, Blondie jabbed his claw angrily into
the wiring. 


There was a faint pop, a distressed yelp from Blondie, and
the odor of something bumed. Blondie jumped back from the
small panel waving his hand. When he stopped. Pat could see
a scorched spot on one side of his middle-finger claw. 


BIackie smugly said something, which Blondie replied to
with a growl. Calico eeped. inserted his claw carefully, and
twisted it. There was a faint mechanical click. 


Leaving Biackie to stuff the panel back into place. Calico
grabbed the door handle and pushed it down. It moved
smoothly and a moment later the door stood open. BIackie
hissed at Calico, and together they finished securing the
panel. 


Not wasting any time. Pat quickly dashed out into the hall,
with Blondie right behind her. "Oou bounse," he said, looking
at her breasts. Calico and BIackie stepped through a moment
later and quietly eased the door closed- Calico handed a belt
and pouch to Blondie, then buckled his own around his waist. 


She blushed and forced herself to relax instead of trying to
cover herself with her hands. That would just draw attention
to what she was trying to hide. Anyone seeing her would realize 
something was wrong. She could not afford that. 


The hallway stretched empty in both directions. Walking
quickly, she headed for the elevator. "Thanks for helping me, 


THE ROOM KEY 37 


but you don't have to come along. I'm all right now." In truth,
she hoped they would stay put. She really did not want them
following her. 


"Oou wand do leeve us?" asked BIackie unhappily.
Something in his tone stopped her dead in her tracks. She
turned back to them. 


"Whad did we do wrung?" asked Calico, just as unhappy.
Blondie sniffled. "I dhoughd oou liked us."
All three tails drooped to the floor.
"And you smell zo nise," Calico said sadly.
At first, she worried she had made them mad, but a second
later she saw she was wrong. She watched, amazed, as liquid
gathered at the edges of Blondie's eyes, and a tear slowly
trickled out. The other two were clearly just as upset, and not
far from tears themselves. 


"But what about your *Modher'?" Pat asked- "Shouldn't you
stay in your room? I don't want to get you in any more trouble." 


"We full adulds, now," Calico explained. "We bond wid 



oou. We no more hab do do as Modher say. We go wid oou.
We do whad you dell uz do do." 

Another tear trickled down the side of Blondie's face, followed 
by a sniffle. 

"We bond oou. We go widh oou," BIackie whimpered.
Pat didn't know what to do. She didn't have the time to 
talk them back into their room; one of their people mightcome into the hall at any moment. If she just left them likethis, though, they might go back into the room and tell theirrelatives. Or worse, they might tell security. And what wasthis "bond" stuff? 

"Don't cry," she said hurriedly. "You haven't done anything 
wrong. I just have to get to my ship before it leaveswithout me." 

"Bud whad aboud us?" asked Calico. "We wand do go widoou." Blondie looked ready to collapse on the floor, weeping.
She hated to be on the spot like this, especially when timewas running out, in more ways than one. "Okay. Okay. Youwin- Come on." She turned and started for the elevator. 

Once in the elevator, she realized she had only one realchoice for a destination. She had to get her room key, and thatmeant Registration. 

38 Jerry Kepner 

As the elevator started to move, she leaned against the walland hoped that no one would stop it and board. The lobbywas going to be bad enough. 

The aliens casually moved closer to her. All traces of theirrecent distress had disappeared. She had the feeling that shehad been manipulated, and by experts. She shook her head,
puzzled. They sometimes acted like children, and other timeslike adults. 

Something tickled her foot and she started to rub it with herother foot. Instead, she found her foot rubbing across threetails. All three aliens had wrapped the tips of their tailsaround her ankle. It was bizarre, but rather cute. The silky-
smooth slide of their fur against her leg sent goose bumps upher back. 

She decided not to say anything. By the time the elevatorarrived at the lobby, she found herself massaging behind theears of Calico with one hand while Blackie held her other like 
a shy teenager. Blondie was squatting on the floor in front ofher and leaning back against her legs, humming. They seemedquite content with her company. 

She normally didn't like people crowding her, and three humans 
doing this would have driven her to distraction. Thesethree, though, made her feel relaxed. And their fur was just so 


soft and silky, it was all she could do to keep from petting allof them. 

Blondie stood as the doors opened, and led the way into thelobby. Only a few steps into the large open atrium all threestopped to gawk. 

Pat could understand why. The place was huge. The atriumwas hundreds of feet high, disappearing overhead in the glareof artificial sunlight. Balconies from a thousand or morerooms opened onto the atrium, and over a thousand beingswere visible all around. 

Opposite the elevators, but almost two hundred feet away,
was Room Registration. To either side were wide corridorsleading to other parts of the Hotel Andromeda complex, linedwith shops, eateries, and entertainments for the myriad racesthat passed through the complex on a daily basis. 

She felt dreadfully exposed standing naked in the lobby,
but it was large and bustling with activity. She headed for the 

THE ROOM KEY 39 

registration desk. Fortunately, all she attracted were a fewraised eyebrows and whistles from two men. Never had sheblessed the existence of the Terran nudist colonies, but shedid now. 

Her three aliens were right behind her. She checked onthem once and saw Calico hauling on the arm of Blondie tokeep him from walking into a fountain. Blondie was more intent 
on staring around the atrium than in watching where hewas going. She shook her head, wondering if dumb blondejokes were popular in the aliens' culture. 

Standing in the line at Registration was nerve wracking, butfinally a clerk was free to assist her. 

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said. "1 accidentally left mykey in the room when I went to the swimming pool." 

The man behind the counter didn't bat an eye at her lack ofclothing. "Your name, please?" 

"Pat McCreney." 

"Would you like a wrist or waist strap for your key?" theman asked while they waited for voice verification and the arrival 
of a new key. 

"Why, yes. Please. A wrist strap would be best, I think." 

Before she was finished speaking, the key popped out ofthe side of the terminal. A second later he was holding thestrap up as she slid her hand through the opening. 


"There you are, honored guest. I'm sony for the inconvenience. 
Your check-in clerk should have offered you one"—heglanced down at his terminal—"last night." 

"Oh, that's quite all right." Her voice was steady in spite ofthe shakiness she felt inside. 

"I hope your stay is pleasant and memorable." 

"Oh, it has been memorable," she muttered softly, buthe was already turning to the next customer. She hurriedaway. 

This time the elevator trip was much shorter. 

She stood for a moment with her back against the door.
While the hall outside was not nearly as luxurious as theother, this room had real furniture. More important, her bagwas sitting prominently on the floor beside the bed. 

Blackie and Calico were looking in the bathroom while 

40 Terry Kepner 

Blondie was opening and closing the drawers of the desk beside 
the computer terminal. 

She looked at her watch. Oh, God. She had only ten minutes 
to make it to the TSL Star Cruiser Africa. She hastilyjerked open the cleaning bin and saw her clothes from theprevious night neatly folded at the bottom. She sighed in relief 
that something, at least, was going in her favor. Her threealiens watched, amazed, as she quickly dressed. 

When she started to brush her unruly hair into some semblance 
of order, Blondie said something to his friends andthey quickly surrounded her. "No. Dhad we do," Calico said,
taking the brush from her and pulling her over to the bed, ignoring 
her protests. After getting her to sit, they started running 
their claws through her hair. After a moment, sherealized they were grooming her hair for her. 

She sat impatiently for a minute before stopping them.
"Look, that's very nice, but I'm in a hurry." She stood andchecked her hair in the bathroom mirror. Actually, they haddone a nice job on her hair, their claws making short work ofthe snarls. It had been good of them to do it for her. 

When she opened the door, they immediately followed herinto the hall. "Look," she said, "I have to catch my ship before 
it leaves. You had better go back to your room beforeyou get in trouble." 

"Bud oou sad we cud go wid oou," protested Blondie. 

"Yez," added Calico, "oou sad we cud go wid oou, 1heared oou." Blackie started sniffling again. 


Pat promised herself that this time she would not let themmanipulate her into letting them get their way. "I'm sorry,"
she said. "But you can't go with me. My supervisor simplywill not allow you to board the ship." 

Tears were already starting to flow from all three aliens.
This time, though, Blondie continued the protesting. "Budoou bond wid uz. Oou sad oou liked uz," he wailed loudly. 

Calico chimed in, "Oou sad we cud go wid oou," repeatingwhat he had said earlier, but much louder. 

This time the corridor was not empty. Pat looked up to seea security officer patrolling the hall. He was looking at thethree aliens and Pat, and frowning. If he started asking questions, 
she might not get away from him in time to make it toher ship. 

THE ROOM KEY 41 

"I don't have time to argue with you," she said, "I have toget to my ship." She spun on her heel and headed for the elevator. 
She could hear the three of them padding along behindher. 

The elevator ride was quiet. Again, she tried to talk themout of following her. They didn't respond verbally. Calico andBlondie each held one of her hands, gently stroking them.
Blackie began combing her hair. None of them looked happy.
They seemed determined to come with her. 

She decided that the best course of action would be to goto TSL Star Cruiser Africa's berth and let ship security detainthe aliens at the terminal while she boarded. It wasn't a nice 
solution, but the best she could come up with, given her timeconstraints. 

The elevator doors opened on the proper level for passenger 
boarding at this terminal. Glancing at her watch, she sawshe had only a few minutes. She started down the terminalcorridor at a sprint. The terminal gale she needed was at thefar end, of course. The three aliens trotted along behind her. 

Something was not right, but she could not put her fingeron it until she arrived at the designated gate. The boardingarea was dark. Confused, she at first thought she was at thewrong gate. Examining the electronic departure board at theboarding gate showed that she was, indeed, at the correct location. 
Still unsure, she looked up at the clock on the wallabove the boarding tube. 

Astounded, she saw that it indicated the time as fifteenhundred and a quarter hours. She looked down at her watch,
and stared as it changed from 13:59:59 to 13:00:00. For a moment 
she was too stunned to move. Then she focused on 
Blondie. "You! You took apart my watch." She held her wrist 


out to him. "You made me miss my ship," she shouted. "Youmade me lose my job! Five years of hard work shot to hell." 

He glanced nervously at his friends, and licked his tips.
"We hab neber seen a dhing lik dhad. Oar clodks arr in oarpouches. We meaned no harm." 

"Do oou hade uz?" asked Calico hesitantly. 

This time there were no tears. This time they could see shewas mad at them. This time they were afraid of her. Theydidn't even try to touch their tails to her. They were very worried


42 ferry Kepner 

For a moment, she was absolutely furious with them. Thenshe realized that it really wasn't their fault. Even without theirmeddling with her watch, she never would have made it totheir ship on time. The TSL Star Cruiser Africa had completed 
passenger boarding and sealed its hatches before shehad even looked at her watch. "No," she said, her anger deflated 
and drained away. "No, I don't hate you." She sighedand started walking back up the corridor to Hotel Andromeda. 

Her three aliens were still with her. What the heck, theywere adults. They could do what they wanted, even followher around all day. And ever since she had yelled at them theyhad been quiet and mindful, never straying farther than a fewfeet. Even Blondie was behaving. 

She had not intended to stay on the station for more thana night, so she had not bothered to draw any of her pay. TSLtracked her earnings and anything she purchased was automatically 
charged against them. Incidental items were theonly expenses that required real currency. 

That left her almost flat dead broke. Fortunately, she hadsome change left in her travel kit from previous off-shipsightseeing. Unfortunately, it would only last her a day,
maybe two. She had to find a job, and find it fast. 

One of the many public computer terminals gave her thelocation of the Space Personnel General Posting Office. Onceshe was registered, any captain looking for a pilot would seeher name. And she could look for any ships wanting someonewith her skills. 

They were almost at the office when Blondie suddenlyeeped excitedly and trotted a dozen yards ahead. Calico andBlackie followed quickly, leaving her behind. Surprised thatthey had left her, she watched as they accosted a Terran. 

The man was large, almost six feet tall, with black curlyhair and almost as dark skin. He walked with the easy confidence 
of a man who was his own master. He stopped whenBlondie reached him. A moment later she heard him laugh as 


he greeted the alien. They apparently knew each other. He didnot appear surprised to see Calico and Blackie with Blondie. 

She couldn't hear what Blondie was saying. As she camecloser, Pat could see the captain's bars on his shirt collar. She 

THE ROOM KEY 43 

self-consciously fingered the pilot's insignia on the collar ofher TSL jacket. 

"Hi," the man said, sticking his hand out as he matched hersteps, "My name is Charles Coal. of the ship Australian Gold,
a million-tenner." 

"Hi, I'm Pat McCreney." As small freighters went, a million 
tons was a respectable size. The TSL California, by comparison, 
was rated at a million and a half. 

As they shook hands, Charles took in her TSL uniformand the way the three furry aliens crowded in close besideher as they walked down the corridor. She was acutelyaware of their tails and the way they kept touching her legs.
They didn't impede her, just kept a soft pressure that toldher they were there. 

"Your mates did me a good turn the other day. I've neverseen a group work so well together, or so quickly. And theytold me they had never seen a drinks machine before." Heshook his head wonderingly as they walked on down the corridor. 


"I can't believe my luck." He smiled ruefully. "Mybleedin' mechanic's assistant's contract expired when we arrived 
here, and I've had the devil's own time finding a replacement. 
Usually, I can get someone in a couple of hours,
but I've been waiting for two days now." He frowned unhappily. 
"And now I'm a full day behind schedule." 

She saw his gaze flit to her insignia, and a speculative lookcame into his eyes. 

"Say, maybe you could help me. Do you know any mechanic's 
assistants looking for work?" 

Before she could respond. Calico spoke up, "Uz. We lookpor work. We wordk bery hard. We good wid macines." 

Pat was startled. Apparently, they were not as intent onstaying with her as she had thought. 

The captain gave Calico a surprised look, then shrugged.
"Do you have work logs?" 

Calico looked puzzled. "Whad?" 

"ID tags, ID papers, work reports, something that shows 


your previous work experience?" 


They walked through the entrance of the posting office. It
was more a hall than a simple room, with hundreds of termi


44 Jerry Kepner 


nals lining the walls, with benches, tables, and chairs scattered 
throughout. 


Calico pulled a small card out of his pouch. A passport. He
handed it to the captain. Biondie and Blackie quickly added
their passports to Calico's. 


Captain Coal frowned. He glanced at the insignia on the
front of the passports. It meant as little to him as it did to Pat. 


He moved over to one of the terminals and slid the first 
passport into the ID slot. A moment later, he and Pat were
reading the brief description. 


The aliens were called Kreene, from a star system almost
as far from Hotel Andromeda as Earth was. Calico's real 
name, it turned out, translated to "Quick Eyes." Blondie's
passport gave his name as "Light Ears," and Blackie was
"Fast Runs." No mention was made of job skills, experience.
or even interests. 


Also, as she had thought, they were adult males, although
the passport included the phrase "unbonded and traveling secure 
with family." She wondered what that meant. 


Captain Coal sighed and silently looked at the three aliens
for a moment. He nodded his head once, as if he had come to
a decision. "Okay. I'm only looking for one mechanic, but
from what I've seen, the three of you, unskilled as you are,
should be the equivalent of one good mechanic." 


All three were excited. Biondie, no. Light Ears, was bouncing 
up and down like a little kid who was just told he was going 
to a toy shop. Fast Runs and Quick Eyes hugged each
other happily. You would have thought the three had just won
a lottery. 


The captain looked amused. "Welt," he said, turning back
to Pat, "looks like my problem is solved. Maybe we'll meet
again someday." He shook Pat's hand. 


The three Kreene were suddenly still- "Oh, no," Calico interrupted. 
"Zhe oar bond. We go dogedher or we no go." 


Pat was as surprised as the captain. They expected her to
go with them? 


Coal stopped and frowned. "But she's with TSL," he protested. 



"Zhe no wid dhem. Her zheep lefd and zhe nod on id." 

Pat could feel her face turning hot and red with embarrass-

THE ROOM KEY 45 

ment. "I last served on the TSL California," she said beforehe could ask the obvious questions. 

"Ah, I heard about them coming in last night with most ofthe crew ill." 

Startled that he had heard of their troubles, she could onlysay, "Yea. The rest of us had to pull double and triple shifts."
Pat looked down at the floor, chagrined. She might as welltell him everything. "That's why I'm here today. I was supposed 
to transfer to the Star Cruiser Africa today, but I overslept." 
She sighed again. "I never got a wake-up call, andwhen I did get up ... well, it was too late. My contract wasterminated when 1 didn't board." 

"Standard contract?" 

"Worse. I lost all accrued pay and bonuses by missing theship." 

"Log?" he asked holding out his hand. 

Pat pulled out her ID card, standard issue for all licensedspaceship personnel in this quadrant, and handed it to him. Hestepped up to the terminal and inserted her ID in the slot inthe side. Instandy, her job experience log appeared on the display, 
updated by the captain before she had debarked lastnight. 

'Twenty-six. Served on three ships. You've been certifiedfor only four years. You had a five-year contract, with onlysix months to go." He shook his head in sympathy. "Youdon't have much experience." 

"But all my supervisors gave me glowing reviews and highmarks." 

He frowned again and gave her back her ID tag. "I don'treally need another copilot." 

Why the Kreene were insisting tfiat she go with them. Patdidn't know. But if it got her a job this fast, she would goalong. Once she had some money, she could make otherplans. 

"Really? Most ships I heard about always could do with anextra pilot. Plus, you did say you've been waiting for twodays. Do you want to take a chance on waiting longer?" Shehated job hunting, she found it hard trying to convince peopleinto hiring her. That was one reason why she had hired onwith TSL, so she wouldn't have to go hunting after every 


46 Terry Kepner 

contract. TSL tended to keep people who worked hard anddid a good job. She did both. 

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. "Thirty-fivethousand for all of you, and one crew's share." 

Pat was amazed. As an offer, that was robbery. Even as astarting TSL copilot, she had earned more than that. "Noway," she said firmly. "We each get twenty thousand and acrew's share. On a one-year contract." She did not want tochance a longer contract until she knew the captain and theship better. 

"I don't need another copilot," he said quietly. "And thesethree are unskilled. Forty thousand. And a one-year contractwith a one-trip probationary period." 

That was a good idea. If the situation did not work, then hewouldn't be stuck with an expensive foursome for a year, andthey wouldn't be stuck on a ship they hated. 

They settled on ten thousand for her and twelve thousandeach for the Kreene, with two crew's shares for the four ofmem. Even a short trip would give her a better basis for jobhunting. 

And a year would give her time to think about what to sayto "Modher." 

TELLING HUMAN STORIES 

Margaret Ball 

The raised voices bounced all the way down the hall andaround the comer to where I stood. There seemed to be 
three of them wrangling; and the voice in the middle, theloudest of the three, had a pronounced Old Terran accent-
Might have known. You want conflict in an interspecies relationship, 
just put a human in the middle of it. We'll do it every 
time. 

Yeah, I know. Who am I to run down my own species, andall that. Well, for one thing, I'm a professional, trained to dealwith situations just like the one I could hear developing as Izipped down the corridor. That one fact puts me ahead ofmost of the human tourists and diplomats and travelers thatpass through Hotel Andromeda. And I'm not from OldTerra—which puts me way ahead of anybody who had justchecked into the Terra 4 module with the OT delegation. 

The argument was going on in the public corridor just outside 
the Terra 4 mod. A Dendje was growling and brandishing 


48 Margaret Ball 

something at a red-faced Terran in a loud checked synthosuit.
Bouncing off the walls to either side of them, a Skiouros chittered 
and squeaked and added its own discontinuous elementto the controversy. 

As I got closer, I could see what the Dendje was waving; 

one of the Skiouros's furry little legs, ripped clean out of itsfurry hide. 

"Okay, okay, all of you, calm down, please, gentlespecies.
What seems to be the trouble here?" 

"What's it to you?" the Terran wanted to know. 

"Any disturbance is automatically reported to Hotel Security," 
I said, which was true enough, although Security didn'talways respond this fast. "Now, if you'd just explain theproblem in your own words ..." 

"That big ape just assaulted the little guy!" the Terran announced. 
"Right out here in front of God and everybody! Andwhen I told him to lay off, the both of them started in on me.
Sheesh. They're both crazy, you ask me." 

"Chitter. Chitter. Squeak," the Skiouros interrupted.
Skiouroi aren't equipped to speak Standard Galactic and theyrefuse to carry voicemods, insisting that the squeaky littlenoises they make sound just fine to them. 

"... smashing your head down in between your externalgenitalia and cutting off assorted body parts ...," the Dendjecontinued the line of conversation that had been occupying itwhen I came on the scene. I sympathized some with theDendje. I'm told their native language is particularly rich andfluent in assorted insults that just don't translate into StandardGalactic. It takes a little mental agility to figure out a totallyculture-free phrasing for insulting someone. Dendje like to insult 
other gentlespecies, but they aren't agile in any way.
Must be frustrating. 

Then again, when you outmass any other species in theTerranormal modular zone by at least fifty kilos, and stand ameter higher than most of them, with arms longer than mostTerranorms' bodies, you don't really need a lot of agility. 

"I see," I said in my best professionally soothing tones.
"Just a small misunderstanding, eh? Shall we sit down?" Inodded toward the Old Terran suite, hoping he'd take thehint. "I'll need a vox of your version, gentlesir Terran ..." 

TELUNG HUMAN STORIES 49 

"And who's going to protect the little guy if this ape wants 


to finish the job?" 

I didn't sigh or roll my eyes. I am, after all, a professional. 

"I expect they both want to finish their business, sir." Iglared at the skittering Skiouros. "Might I recommend somemore private area than this corridor?" 

".. - right to pursue peaceful social interaction unimpededby prejudice of horribly underground-pale, exceptionallylow-IQ interfering species ...," the Dendje grumbled. 

"... duty to abstain from deliberate provocation ...," I replied 
in the same low-pitched monotone. "An Old Terran delegation 
just checked in; there'll be more like this gentlemancoming along, and all subject to the same, ah, tendency tomisunderstand. Now, if you two gentlespecies want to finishyour ritual in private. Hotel Security will appreciate it was altjust a misunderstanding. Remaining in public space could beconstrued as conduct tending to alarm or frighten fellow species." 


The Dendje grunted and shambled off, gnawing meditatively 
on the shredded Skiouros limb. The Skiouros bouncedup to its shoulder, cartwheeled off a side wall with seven oreight furry limbs sticking straight out, caught itself on theDendje's mat of backbone hair, and squealed something rudeat us in departing. 

"I don't believe it," the Old Terran said. "You gonna lethim tear the little guy up and eat him, long as they do it inprivate?" 

This time I did sigh. "I'm afraid you've misunderstood agrooming ritual, sir. Dendje and Skiouroi have a symbiotic relationship. 
Skiouroi continually extrude new limbs but haveno mechanism for shedding the old ones; takes more muscular 
strength than they possess to pop the dead limbs out of thecartilage. Dendje groom them, pull off dead legs, and get toeat them as a reward." I paused while the Old Terran assimilated 
this information. 

"Christ on a crutch," he said finally, "that's disgusting." 

"Watching a Dendje eat anything is kind of disgusting, byhuman standards," I agreed. "And if I were telling human stories 
about them—which I advise you not to do—I'd accusethem of deliberately eating in public, every chance they get,
just to gross out other species and provoke little scenes like 

50 Margaret Ball 

the one you were just in. But the first thing we learned in ourtraining is not to tell human stories. And now, sir, if I couldjust get a vox of your story—" 

"I, urn, I don't think that'll be necessary," the Old Terran 


said. "If that's the way it is, I don't want to file a complaint.
Guess I owe you my thanks, young lady, for explainingthings. Jack Kerensky's the name.' Buy you a drink?" 

"Not on duty," I said, "but I'll take some kave, if you haveany." 

He beamed and turned a few shades redder. "Ever know an 
Old Terran to travel without kave?" 

I'd hoped to be invited into the delegation suite, but insteadwe wound up in one of the attached modules that was beingset up around us for a party. An extensive party, to judge fromthe number of roboservitors bustling about, unfolding seatingand bar modules and stacking supplies behind the movablepaneling. I sipped my kave and let Jack pick my brain abouthuman stories and interspecies relationships. 

"You see a lot of interspecies problems at an intergalacticcenter like this," I admitted, "but we humans are far and awaythe worst. I think it's because we evolved in isolation. We gotin the habit of telling stories about our own feelings and actions. 
Protecting the Young, Claiming Territory, Who's InCharge Here ..." No use rattling off the names of the classicmyths; they clearly didn't mean anything to this guy. I sloweddown. "Anyway. Our stories work pretty well as long asthey're only applied within one species. We even told thesame stories to explain our domestic animals, cats and dolphins 
and so forth, and because they couldn't talk, they nevertold us how wrong we were." 

"Dolphins aren't exactly domestic animals," Jack correctedme, "but I don't get the point." 

"Well." I stirred the kave and watched it turn from muddybrown to brownish white and back again in lazy spirals.
'Take Protecting the Young. That's one of the most basic human 
stories." It was also one that would lead very naturallyto the point I wanted to bring up. 

"Because we bear weak young that need years of nurturingand training before they can survive on their own, we have avery strong social drive to protect our young—anybody'syoung—anything that appears weak. When you thought the 

TELLING HUMAN STORIES 51 

Dendje was assaulting the Skiouros you intervened withoutthinking, because you were in the human story of Protectingthe Young. But that story doesn't really have much bearing onspecies that have evolved symbiotic relationships. And it canlead you completely astray in dealing with a species like theHatartalan, who spawn thousands of self-sufficient young at atime and then actively test them so that only the best willmake it to the next life-cycle stage. You see?" 

"Funny you should mention the Hatartalan," Jack said. He 


waved one hand at the activity all around us. "Know who's inthe adjoining module? The Hatartalan ambassador to SokolSector. That's what all this hoo-ha is for. Going to connect themodules tonight, have a grand diplomatic bash. Two ambassadors 
of equal status—our fellow and the Hatartalan—crossingpaths in space, pausing to render honors and courtesies andall that. Interesting, huh?" 

I agreed. I didn't add that a number of parties found the repeated 
pattern of "accidental" meetings between Old Terransand Hatartalans very interesting indeed. Instead I widened myeyes and looked impressed. 

"A genuine Hatartalan?" I breathed. "You know, I've neveractually met one. It would be so fascinating to find out howtheir behavior compares with what I've read in researchpapers—ah, I mean in the hotel training manual." 

That was the point at which my dear new friend Jack wassupposed to come across with an invitation to join the granddiplomatic bash. Unfortunately, he missed his cue and kept onmissing it, no matter how wide-eyed and wistful I acted.
There must have been something faulty with his Protectingthe Young story. I eventually left with a little informationabout the party, a lot more information than I'd bargained forabout the life and times of Jack Kerensky, and no invitation. 

Oh, well; if you can't get what you want, you just have touse what you've got.... 

By the time I came back to the Terra 4 module, the jointTerran-Hatartalan party had been going for some time—longenough for guests on both sides to make maximum use oftheir icebreakers of choice. The air was heavy with leakingsmoke and vapor trails from the Terran poppers, while theHatartalans were whooping it up with what the library index 

52 Margaret Bail 

told me was their usual stimulant—translucent, wobbly eggsthat burst to reveal some stuff like seaweed that had been 
dead a couple of days too long. The organic component of theseaweed turned into a cloud of small airborne particles theminute the egg burst, leaving a few dried wiry strands thatthe Hatartalans usually dropped while they were ecstaticallyinhaling the rotted-weed clouds. 

The index hadn't mentioned that the process gave aHatartalan party the distinctive aroma of a marsh in an advanced 
state of ecological breakdown, or that the wiry seaweedremnants crunched underfoot while the jellyeggs squished. 

Did I mention that Hatartalans are real slobs? Woops, human 
story. Let's say that their species, having evolved to treatits spawn as disposable commodities—"Throw 'em out,
there's plenty more where they came from!"—treats everything 
else exactly the same way. Hatartala is said to be the 


only planet whose ecology is trashed worse than Old Terra's.2 

No, I hadn't gotten access to the party yet. I was standingon a walkway under the balcony when a roboserv lurched outwith a scoop full of seaweed and jellyeggs, missed the disposal 
chute, and showered me with the debris. That's how Ihappened to be an expert on Hatartalan trash before I got tomeet any of them in person. 

I was still picking seaweed crackle out of my black dressand reflecting that at least now I smelled like somebody fromthe right party when a pair of human bopperchicks spilled outof the lower entrance. They were both glassy-eyed, giggling,
and scantily dressed, and they barely noticed when theynearly pushed me off the edge of me walkway. They probablywouldn't have noticed at all if I hadn't just had the unfortunate 
encounter with the malfunctioning roboservitor. 

"Eeew, you smell gross!" one of them exclaimed, wrinklingher nose. "What've you been doing, seducing a buzzhead?" 

Did I mention that the mature form of Hatartalan is vaguelyinsectoid, with long sticklike limbs and a head that's all buzzing, 
constandy vibrating mandibles? 

"Some of my best friends are buzzheads," I told her.
"Where are we going?" 

She giggled. "Saying good-bye to Bips and Puffy, ofcourse!" Her eyes glazed over and she took a moment to un-

TELLING HUMAN STORIES 53 

tangle her tongue. This one was really far gone. "Or do Imean Pips and Buffy? Good oF Buffm, bes' Men' a girl everhad, and I do mean best. You shoutd've met Puffin, he'dshow you a good time. Lots more fun than hanging aroundwith the buzzheads." 

"Breaks my heart to've missed the opportunity," I agreed.
"But Jack gets so jealous. You know, good old JackKerensky?" 

I'd hoped for recognition, but all I got was generic agreement. 
"Oh, darling, I know'. Aren't men the limit sometimes?
Oh, look, there they are now!" 

I crowded into the overlook at the far side of the walkwayand squealed and waved as enthusiastically as the rest of themwhile two very young Galactic Service officers hopped on aninterior transport and zipped out of sight. While the girls werecompeting to see who could call out the most artistically obscene 
farewells, I slid out of my jacket and yanked at the collar 
of my dress until a seam parted and I could slide it downover both shoulders. Now I looked almost as trashy as thegirls who'd dressed for this kind of party. I stayed in the middle 
of the group and let them swirl me right up to the module 


doors. 

Where two large Terrans in diplomatic uniform werechecking IDs and party invitations. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you just saw us come out!" protested oneof my new friends. 

While the girls in front of me were fishing around theirskimpy dresses for IDs, I let out a piercing shriek and clappedboth hands to my cheeks. "My bag! I left it inside. Oh, now,
1*11 simply die if Jack looks in it—there's my diary and everything. 
Boopsie, do you see it? Oh, there it is, just behind thebar!" 

Both girls in front of me looked confused. Chances wereneither of them was named Boopsie, but they knew somebodywho was. One of them squealed and nodded as if she couldactually make out a handbag amid the shadows behind thebar. I scooted inside, closely followed by the Poopsies andMuffles, and the guards looked at one another and snickeredbehind us. 

Once inside, I didn't have much trouble shaking Buffy orMoopsie or whatever their names were. They spotted another 

54 Margaret Ball 

brace of Galactic Service officers to home in on. I drifted 
around the fringes of the party, making vague noises aboutlooking for a lost handbag, and always keeping a few peoplebetween me and the gatekeepers' line of sight just in casethey grew suspicious about the girl with the missing handbag.
This wasn't hard to do; the room was packed elbow to mandible 
with partying Terrans and Hatartatans. It was a perfectmilieu for exchanging secret information. 

It was a lousy milieu for catching anybody at it. 

But then, my unsupported eyewitness testimony wasn't whatwe wanted. We needed documentary proof of what I'd beensent to investigate. A pattern of "accidental" overlapping layovers 
for Hatartalans and Old Terrans didn't, by itself, meananything. A corresponding pattern of information leaked just before 
scheduled diplomatic talks, maintaining the high tensions ofall parties, was suggestive but didn't constitute absolute proof.
Even the digging that had turned up the same two parties involved 
in all layover meetings—the Hataitalan ambassador andmy new buddy Jack—didn't, in the eyes of the galactic court,
constitute grounds for a search warrant 

Which was where I came in, poised insecurely betweenTerran skinpoppers and Hatartalan jellyegg sniffers, laughingand throwing my head back and shrugging one shoulder a little 
farther out of my dress and trying to figure out where thehell I would hide my notes if I were an Old Terran passing inside 
information to a Hatartalan. 


Not on any network or comlink, that's for sure. There isn'tan electronote system made that can't be compromised. In myreal training manual—which did not, by the way, have anything 
to do with Ae one they give to hotel security—they emphasized 
that old-fashioned mnemonics are the best kind.
Forget datahedra, bit chippers, tone volts. Anything that hasto be set up through some kind of complex machine can bespied on the same way. If Jack and the Hatartalans had beenpassing data via computers, our hackers would've found itfrom remote and I wouldn't be hanging my body on the linehere. 

Species tended to keep notes in the formats they'd evolvedto use. So Skiouroi said it with nuts and berries, Terrans scribbled 
on synthpaper, and Hatartalans—Hatartalans probablyencoded it as a giant pseudowax honeycomb. 

TELLING HUMAN STORIES 55 

If I were an Old Terran passing data to a Hatartalan, I'dhave already passed it, hours ago, and there'd be nothing onme or in my quarters to prove the connection. So if 1 slippedinto the Old Terran personal quarters, it would be easy tomake up an excuse for being there, and I'd be able to readwhatever I found, except there wouldn't be anything to find.
Whereas if I searched the Hatartalan ambassador's privatesuite, I probably wouldn't recognize any compromising data,
and I'd have one hell of a time explaining my presence. 

So which way did I want to lose? 

In the end, chance decided it for me. I circulated around theedges of the party until I saw a shadowy opening betweentwo wall panels. The way to a private suite? To the OldTerran suite, if I was lucky. I slithered between the panels.
trying to look like a glazed-over Boopsie looking for the facilities. 


Three steps down the temp passageway, and I smelled rotten 
seaweed. Damn, wrong suite. I started to edge back whenI heard an unmistakable voice rising above the high-pitchedparty chatter. "Girlfriend? What girlfriend? What diary?" 

Old Terran twang, loud voice, crashing in with questionsthat didn't really need to be asked. Good old Jack. 

It didn't, somehow, seem like a good time to reenter theparty and keep circulating. I kept on the way I was going.
Even if I didn't find anything in the Hatartalan quarters, atleast Jack wouldn't find me there. 

But I did. Find something, that is. Although it look me amoment to recognize the significance of it. 

The Hatartalan module was lit in their preferred range offrequencies. To human eyes, everything looked dark red and 


hexagonal, comb upon honeycomb of storage and sleep andsitting modules all alike, all subdivided into hundreds of thousands 
of twinkling sub-compartments, all slightly sticky withthe trail of personal markers the Hatartalan spray whereverthey claim territory. 

I'd edged right behind the Hatartalan ambassador at theparty and had gotten a strong whiff of his personal spray—abit on the gamy side, with overtones of musk and the usualrotten seaweed. No member of his entourage had a spray anywhere 
near so marked; they wouldn't dare. I followed the 

56 Margaret Ball 

seaweed-musk smelt to a clutch of honeycomb formationsthat stank so strongly of the ambassador, I couldn't even pickout any competing scents. All the way my feet cmnched andsquished on the debris of what must have been a pre-partyparty. There were strands of the dried-seaweed stuff hangingfrom the honeycombs, partially squished jellyeggs droopingover edges like surrealist watches, bright scraps of ribbon andtinsel and paper for nest building stowed in the pigeonholesof one honeycomb and cascading down the side. 

And there it was. Old Terran writing. Old Terran gaudyred-bordered paper; the ambassador might have assimilatedthe data into some waxen secretion, but he'd been too muchof a slob or a magpie, choose one, to throw away the original. 

This would do it beautifully, a packet of notes in Jack'shandwriting and stinking of the ambassador's personal spray.
1 clutched the treasure to my bosom while debating how tosneak it out of the party. The clingy little black dress hadn'toffered many possibilities for concealment even before Iturned it into an off-the-shoulder number, and the jacket withits inside zippered pockets was somewhere outside amid thesynthetic shrubbery. 

A noise that was at once both question and annoying buzzinterrupted my silent debate about the ethics of the onlysmuggling system I had been able to think of. I turned slowly,
because whatever made that noise sounded like something Ididn't want to annoy. It hovered at the level of my midriff,
gleaming, multifaceted, beautiful and deadly. 

A bee-eye. Excuse me, I mean B.I., Bacatus inaccessus, asour xenobiologists tagged it before realizing it was actuallythe very rare and very elder last form in the Hatartalan lifecycle. Inaccessus not because it was rare, but because the firsttwo xenos to see one hadn't lived to do follow-up studies.
Bee-eyes take offense very, very easily. 

How many Hatartalans made it from the standard adultstage—the one the ambassador was in—to achieve B.I. status? 
Not more than one in a million, if the odds were anything 
like those against immature spawn making it to adultstage. And who cared? The real question was, what were the 


odds on me making it back the way I came, with or withoutthe stinking notes? Not good enough to make me want to try 

TELLING HUMAN STORIES 57 

calculating them. Still, there didn't seem to be any other reasonable 
move. Why didn't someone tell me the Hatartalanshad a B.I. in the entourage? They're rare enough it should behot news—unless they were keeping it secret for somereason— 

Like entrapping little spies. 

That was dumb, it would be like using a cannonball toshoot a mosquito. 

I thought all this between one dry-mouthed gulp and thenext, already shuffling sideways as if I thought the bee-eyewould just let me go back the way I came. At the same timethe bee-eye was responding to my body language and alertingitself. It spouted a column of shimmering scales that started inmidair, about where it had floated originally, and lifted its faceted 
head (body? eye?) to my eye level. 

"So sorry, looking for the ladies', must've lost my way," Ijabbered, sidling toward the dark passageway some uncountednumber of sticky steps behind me, "just go back to the partynow, sorry to disturb you, senior gentlespecies ..." 

The bee-eye hummed once on a sharper note and zippedaround me, blocking my retreat. Oh, well, I hadn't reallythought it would be that easy. How long did it take for bee-
eye venom to woik on a small-sized human body? My graduate 
studies hadn't progressed far enough to go into suchdetails before the scholarship fund ran out and I had to finda real job. At the time I'd thought myself lucky to get recruited 
by GIS. Who but the intelligence services would wantan academic dropout with a minor in heuristic mathematics, amajor in xenocultural studies, and a speaking knowledge offive alien languages in addition to Standard Galactic? 

Just now I wasn't feeling so lucky. Nothing in mytraining—academic or intelligence—had covered how to dealwith a life-form so rare and senior that none of my instructorshad ever even seen one. 

Stories, stories, dummy, I told myself. In times of stress werevert to old patterns. I wasn't really a spy. For that matter, Iwasn't really a xenology student. Somewhere, way backthere, I was still a skinny kid sitting in the central hall ofComplex B449, telling stories to keep my little brothershappy whenever they shut off our vid service for nonpaymentagain. 

58 Margaret Ball 

You have to tailor your stories to the audience. My little 


brothers liked lots of violence and somebody killed every fewminutes.... Woops, wrong line of thought. What did bee-
eyes like? Nobody knew. Okay, what would ordinaryHatartalans expect and half believe before you started tellingit? What were Hatartalan stories? 

I wiped my one free hand on the skirt of the black dressand started in on the first idea that flashed on me; no secondchances, this one had better work.3 

Which it did. 

The bee-eye personally escorted me down the access corridor 
and out through the party suite. With that level of support,
I didn't really need to smuggle the papers out—I could havewalked out clutching them in my hot little hand—but Ithought it would be cooler if Jack didn't know exactly whatI'd been there for until I'd had a chance to make delivery. Aswe reached the anonymous pile of coats and handbags andbodypockets I'd stumbled over coming in, I bent my kneesand scooped up somebody's little black bag. It was just bigenough to hold the notes, and I barely got them stuffed insidebefore the bee-eye's insistent buzzing warned me that I'd better 
keep moving. 

People backed off to let us through. Jack was there, evenredder in the face than last time; he recognized me and startedto say something, but nobody—nobody'.—interferes with abee-eye, as the Hatartalans there made quite clear to him. 

The bee-eye buzzed behind me until we reached a nice.
well-lit multimodule intersection with an Andromedan 
gravity-well fountain sparkling through three stories of openspace. Then it shrank down to its original podlike shape andzipped back to the Hatartalan module, while I went around afew levels and took a passenger pod through the Rigel-nonnmodule and did alt the usual things to shake any possibletails. With incredible self-restraint, 1 didn't even open the little 
black bag and take a second look at my find until I gotback here to vox the report. 

Now that's done, I'm going to have a nice long look at therest of the stuff in the bag before returning it to Buffie. Youwouldn't believe what that girl puts down in her diary! 

TELUNG HUMAN STORIES 59 

"You left a few points out of your report," my supervisorcommented. 

I shrugged. "Once a graduate student, always a graduatestudent.. - Notice the little numbers? I was going to add footnotes, 
but you printed out the text before I got around to it." 

"I suggest you add them. Now, before I pass it on." 

Notes 


1. I knew that already, of course. I'd studied pictures ofboth subjects before starting to work the case. TheHatartalan picture didn't help much—they all look aliketo human eyes—but my buddy Jack, tall and paunchyand red-faced and given to unfortunately loud suits, wasa snap to pick out of a crowd. It was a piece of extraluck that I got to "meet" him this way. Or so I thoughtat the time. 
2. At least the Hatartalans are species-programmed forthis behavior. What human story we tell that makes uswant to trash our own worlds, I've never figured out. 
3. Okay. You want to know what story? Simple. Humanstell Protecting the Young a lot. Hatartalans tell Destroying 
the Young (For the Good of me Race). Their naturalbias is to let practically all of their spawn die so thatonly the fittest survive to the normal adult life cycle,
right? And bee-eyes, the next life-cycle stage, are to normal 
adults as adults are to the insectoid spawn—one ina million or so. It seemed a credible assumption that bee-
eyes would be programmed to destroy adults for anyfailing, rather than protecting them. I told the bee-eyethat the Hatartalan ambassador had been caught sellingsecret data to the Old Terrans and that if I got the proofback to my bosses GIS would probably arrange a fatalaccident for him. Of course, the facts were the other wayaround, but the bee-eye believed this story easily becauseit fitted the basic Hatartalan myth. 
THE SMALL PENANCE 
OF LADY DISDAIN 

Michael Coney 

How sick is she?" 

"She has a day lo live, maybe two. She's very anxiousto see you before she dies." 

Hearing these words, he was ushered into the bedchamberof Lady Disdain, president of Earth. 

"Imry Sanders." Painfully she extended a hand from underthe covers. "It was good of you to come." 

Her face was a mask of desiccated skin stretched tightlyover the skull. Imry tried to reconcile this pale ruin with theface of Lady Disdain as he'd first met her in HotelAndromeda—how long ago was it?—over two hundred years.
She'd never been beautiful; she was too arrogant for that. Butshe had looked ... aristocratic. Strong. 

And God, how he'd hated her in those far-off days' 

He looked around the room: the same sumptuous trappings 


she'd surrounded herself with in Hotel Andromeda. The rich 
tapestries, the deep rugs, the jade ornaments, the miniature 

62 Michael Coney 

peacocks, the royal blue and the purple. The scent of wildroses. All the badges of office. No sound; the fabrics deadened 
even her harsh breathing, transforming it to a sigh, sothat for a moment he thought the elevator ride had blockedhis ears. 

He murmured something polite, taking the hand briefly, replacing 
it carefully on the covers. Why had this dreadfulwoman summoned him from his comfortable home on 
Secunda? Here on crowded Old Earth, trees grew only in designated 
wilderness areas and people lived in multilevel cities.
He'd only lived twenty years on Earth, compared to two hundred 
years on Secunda. Secunda was home now. He resentedbeing dragged away from it. 

But you don't disobey a summons from the president ofEarth. 

"I'm sorry to hear of your illness, my lady." It was the onlytopic of conversation he could think of. 

"I'm dying, yes, but that's not important. Death is in ourgenes for a purpose. My clone-sister Lady Fortune is ready totake over, now that the mindmeld has taken place. You mether outside, I believe.** 

Another moment of readjustment. The girl outside had beenbeautiful. Time was a killer. "She looked very young to bepresident of Earth.*' 

"Only physically. The mindmeld has given her all myknowledge and experience. Well, Imry Sanders. You'll bewondering why I sent for you." 

"It did cross my mind.** He allowed himself a faint smile.
The Froanways journey had taken almost three years; he'dhad plenty of time to wonder, even allowing for in-flightretabolism. 

The thin lips stretched slightly. Was that an answeringsmile? "You're not an easy man to locate. Secunda is somewhat 
... casual, shall we say, about personnel records." 

"We like it that way." 

"Yes, I can understand that." She sighed. "Your name hasbeen known to me for two hundred years, ever since my entourage 
arrived on Earth. Imry Sanders, my deputy told me.
Imry Sanders was asking some odd questions. The namehaunted me. I kept waiting ... waiting for it to appear again. 


It never did- For that I owe you a great debt. Perhaps all hu-

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 

mans do. Only in the last ten years, when I knew my timewas limited, have I tried to locate you. It took seven standardyears. Now here you are, and I wish to thank you." 

He stared at her. Lady Disdain wanted to thank him, a mereblipreader? This appalling old woman, product of an Earth-
based project for genetic leadership material that producedonly monstrous snobs with medieval titles, wanted to thankAim? There had to be some mistake. What could he say? / amunworthy. No; he wouldn't sink to that kind of banality. 

But what did she want to thank him/or? What great deeddid she think he'd performed? Was it—and he felt the beginnings 
of an enormous embarrassment—a case of mistakenidentity? 

"And I wish to bestow an honor upon you," she continued.
"The honor is normally hereditary, but we must start makingsome exceptions, I think." She closed her eyes, looking suddenly 
exhausted. "There have been accusations of elitism,"
she murmured. "Perhaps they are right." 

She seemed to be asleep. He walked over to the windowand looked out at the city. Direct sunlight illuminated thisroom only; it rose clear of the glittering canopy of solar cellsstretching to the horizon. It was ironic that in using the sunfor power. Earth deprived people of its light. And not a tree,
not a blade of grass in sight. Despite the warmth, he shivered. 

Oh, to be on Secunda, walking with Megan among the tree-
clad hills! 

A cold anger gripped him. He swung back toward thedreadful figure on the bed. He didn't want her thanks; hedidn't want her honor, whatever it was. He wanted to gohome. He walked slowly to the bed. She looked very frail; itwould be a simple matter to snuff out that guttering candle oflife. A pillow over the face. He stood looking down at her.
Behind that veneer of genteel sophistication, she was still mesame bully who had thrown her weight about in Hotel Andromeda 
two hundred years ago, and caged up a shipload ofSecundans like animals. 

There had been more meat on her bones then. 

He chuckled at the significance of that last thought, and themurderous moment passed. 

64 Michael Coney 

Young Imry Sanders first met Lady Adelaide Disdain of 


Cartaginia shortly after being attacked by the girl gang fromSecunda. 

An hour earlier he'd ridden into the spacebome vastness ofHotel Andromeda. The hotel scared him: the nulling multitudes, 
the strange smells, the yelling voices, the blazing brightlights instead of good honest sunlight and trees and birds. 

The decisions, too. A blaring voice suddenly drowned out theother noises, asking him to vote on an incomprehensible topic.
"All humans please go to the nearest referendum booth andpunch green if you are in favor of the proposition, red if not." 

Imry had been raised in one of Earth's protected wildernessareas; spent the whole of his life preparing for this voyage.
He was bound for Cartaginia, so they told him, where peoplelived in the open air in small towns surrounded by forests andgrasslands. 

And now here he was in Hotel Andromeda: covered,
multilevel. He fought a deadly claustrophobia. 

"You all right?" It was a young woman, about twentystandard years old—much the same age as Imry. 

"I ... I guess I'm surprised at this place. I've just arrivedon the Earth shuttle." He felt better saying that. Imry Sanders,
a genuine product of the mother planet. Not one of yourJohnny-come-lately colonists. A founding father, in a way.
And so, all by himself, he learned the first lesson of social intercourse 
between colonists: Make the most of your background. 
"I'm bound for Cartaginia," he added. 

"I'm from Secunda, bound for Earth," she said surprisingly.
Imry had been led to believe the inhabitants of Earth's firstcolony were little better than animals. Yet this girl lookedgood: pale gray jumpsuit, soft brown hair to her shoulders,
slanting green eyes, wide mouth. And yet... was there a hintof wildness in those eyes? But when some goon pushed pasther and knocked her against him, he didn't mind. 

She smiled. "Sorry." She glanced behind him. A vast mobof people were surging out of the shuttle; they reached Imryand swirled him along like a breaking wave. The last he sawof the Secundan was a rueful grin as she was swept to theother side of a pillar. 

"Come on, Imry!" shouted someone. "Let's get to knowthis place. There are four human modules docked right now!" 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 

Six months of being cooped up in the shuttle had been toomuch for them, and some ten thousand human juveniles wereabout to run amok. Imry shrugged. Somebody would sort it 


out. He slipped away from the accents of Earth, and walkedalone in Hotel Andromeda among humans and humanoids ofall worlds. 

Much later he found himself welt away from the crowds.
Not exactly lost, because there were maps stuck to all the pillars; 
a guy couldn't go far wrong. But he had a craving to findan outside wall; he needed some point of reference. All thisvastness hanging somewhere in space was unreal and heneeded something solid he could lean his back against. Hecraved trees and stone walls and rain drifting down from areal sky. 

At last he found a narrow corridor leading off into the distance. 
For all he knew this was a connector, and space was onthe other side of these walls. A window would have been 
nice. His feet were getting tired; there were no walkwayshere. A group of seven human-shaped figures approachedfrom the opposite direction. He hoped they weren't from hisshuttle. He'd had enough of the company of his fellow travelers 
for a while. 

They were very young, slightly built, dressed in jumpsuitslike the Secundan he'd met, but these jumpsuits were brightscarlet. There was an exuberance about them. He could hear 
them laughing, and one of them performed a complex dancestep to unheard music. They looked like good company. Theywere all girls, maybe too young for him. 

"Get him!" 

Suddenly they were all around him, pulling at his clothes,
clawing at his flesh, kicking him with shoes that looked uncommonly 
like leather. It was the shoes that decided him thiswas no playful romp. What kind of barbarians were these, towear animal parts? He began to fight back in earnest, knocking 
one girl to her knees with a sweep of his arm. She lookedup at him. and the expression on her young face chilled him. 

There was an inhuman savagery there, and her chin waswet with saliva. 

They had no weapons but their shoes—and their numbers.
Seven of them, each one smaller than he, but together theywere overwhelming. They fought silently with a deadly pur


66 Michael Coney 

pose and he didn't know what that purpose was. He didn'tknow exactly what he was defending himself against. 

They'd torn his tunic from his shoulders, pinioning hisaims. Now they dragged his pants down and one girl tallerthan the rest threw herself bodily against him. He fell backward 
over another girl crouched strategically behind. He wason the deck and they were all over him. He felt sharp nailsscratch at his naked chest and teeth worrying at his shoulder. 


"Stop! Stop that, right now!" 

A gray-clad arm scythed down. The girl clawing at hischest grunted as a fist thudded into the side of her head. 

"What the hell?" She stared up, feral eyes burning. 

"I said stop! You've made a mistake, you fools. This is aman!" 

"This is no man, Megan!" 

"You're not on Secunda now. You're in Hotel 
Andromeda—things are different. You were warned, huh? Butyou didn't listen. I'll have you confined for this!" 

A dark-haired girl, startlingly pretty, snapped, "You're thefool, Megan Sunrise. You're too damned old to know the difference." 
And she hooked her fingers into Imry's underpants,
dragging them down and clawing parallel weals in his belly.
Her eyes widened in astonishment. 

"Satisfied?" 

The girls were scrambling to their feet. "He is a man.
But ..." 

"But he's so thin." said another. "He looks like a woman." 

"He's young, too," said Megan harshly. "Hadn't you noticed 
that, either?" 

"He's wearing green. The light's dim around here. We tookhim for a crone." 

"If you'd killed him," said Megan, "Security would havehad you recycled." 

"No," said the beautiful dark child. 'They can't recycleyou for following the customs of your own race." 

"They can if it results in the death of a member of a different 
race. This man's from Earth; I met him earlier. Now getgoing, and find yourself a Secundan crone, if you must!" 

It was at that moment that Lady Adelaide Disdain arrivedwith her entourage. 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 67 

One hour later. Lady Disdain, her entourage, Imry, andMegan were seated before Froan, head of Security. 

"I told you this would happen," Lady Disdain said, "butyou wouldn't listen. Now even the corridors of this hotel arenot safe. I take a stroll and what do I come across? This in



nocent young man, barely twenty standard years old, beingset upon and severely beaten by a gang of young animalsfrom Secunda. If we hadn't happened by at that very moment,
God knows what might have happened! Cannibalism, in thevery halls of Andromeda!" 

She stared at Froan, conscious of a dangerously rising anger. 
She must keep control of herself. She must rememberthat, to the security chief—to it—she was just another guest.
But it was hard. This creature wasn't even human! 

That wretched young woman in gray spoke before the aliencould answer. "It was unfortunate, but I had it all under control. 
It won't happen again." 

"How do you know that? How can you possibly know that,
young woman? Where are the miscreants now, tell me that!"
She felt herself flushing with temper and nudged her peacock.
The garish bird's fantail fluttered, wafting a cool breeze. 

At least the Secundan had the grace to look embarrassed. "Itold them to get back to the shuttle and place themselves inconfinement." 

"Ha! What you're actually saying is they're still at large." 

"They will obey orders. If you must know, we're confiningall the bloomers. But honestly. Lady Disdain, I don't see whatbusiness it is of yours." 

The impertinence of the girl! "I'll tell you what business itis of mine! This young man is a human, a representative ofthousands of other humans on their way from Earth to myhome planet. A blipreader, too. A member of an ancient andrespected profession." She turned her gaze on the alien again.
It was impossible to tell what that ghastly creature was thinking. 
"I demand that the appalling Secundans be confined totheir vessel—every one of them—for the safety of us all!" 

The young woman shouted, "You know why he's going toCartaginia? Because you're so old and inflexible there thatyou've asked for an infusion of fresh blood! You're stagnating! 
Your birthrate is practically zero! And people like youare the reason why, you useless old woman!" 

68 Michael Coney 

The impertinence of the girl! 

The young man spoke. "Listen, I'm all right. Let's forget it,
shall we?" 

So much for gratitude! Lady Disdain bent a terrible stareon him. "Perhaps you don't realize what a narrow escapeyou've had. Are you aware that those Secundans are cannibals? 
They eat their own kind! It's in their culture." 


He looked to the Secundan woman. "Is this true?" 

She said, "Partly. In a way. But the only reason it's in ourculture is because it's instinctive." 

Hardly a valid excuse, thought Lady Disdain, "And because 
of you—you barbarians—the Froans will not pass theGift of Longevity to Mankind. Because of your existence, billions 
of human beings are dying unnecessarily. Because ofyour disgusting behavior. Mankind as a whole is regarded asa race of savages—isn't that so. Froan?" 

The alien spoke for the first time; and when it spoke, itspoke for its entire race. The Froans spoke but rarely becauseof the complex telepathic communication involved. The immense 
head shimmered crimson for an instant; die scaly jowlswobbled as the head nodded in deference to human gestures.
"Yes," said Froan. 

"I don't understand," said the young man from Earth. Asyoung men went, thought Lady Disdain, he seemed quite areasonable specimen and would fit in well on Cartaginia... 


So Megan Sunrise told Imry the terrible story of Mankind'sfirst voyage to the stars, to Secunda- It's an old story and mercifully 
not well known, because humans have tried to put itbehind them. Mankind's first starship was built centuries before 
the faster-than-light travel known as Froanways. It is saidthat the Froans gave Mankind the secret of Froanways simplybecause they didn't want any more Secundans around the galaxy. 
That is very likely true. 

"You see, Imry," Megan said, "Earth was poor. Equipmentwas heavy and expensive. The voyage was to take many generations. 
Excess passengers could not be tolerated. By excesspassengers, I mean old people ... and men. So a special raceof humans was bred." 

"Disgusting!" shouted Lady Disdain. Her entourage, sometwenty elderly humans, nodded their heads on feeble necks, 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 69 

murmured "Hear, hear", and prodded their peacocks into activity. 
The birds sat on their laps, small iridescent mutantsbred for human use. The Cartaginians could not conceive theoffense these bird fans—and their fur-trimmed clothes— 
caused Imry from Earth, where animals were sacrosanct. 

Megan said quietly, "It all seems perfectly natural to us, soit's not nice to hear other people calling us names." 

"I will call you what I like, young woman!" 

Megan ignored her. "We have four age groups," she toldImry. "We have children, we have bloomers, we have parents,
and we have crones. Much like any other human race, except 


we're nearly all females. We usually wear a color to show ourage: blue for children, red for bloomers, gray for parents, andgreen for crones. We don't necessarily dress all in one color; 

just an indication is enough; a scarf or something. It's not really 
important until we get older, but it's become part of ourculture. Like a national dress back in the old days of Earth."
She sighed. "But all that's changing now. Our people arechanging. Or maybe I should say they're being Revised." Thegreen eyes were sad. 

Lady Disdain shuddered theatrically. "It's bad enough thatyour kind of perversion exists. I see no reason to wash Mankind's 
dirty linen in front of this alien. Just shut up, will you,
young woman? Now, Froan. It must be quite clear to you thatthose appalling Secundans represent a danger to any civilizedrace, is it not?" 

The alien's voice was like a rasp against steel. "No, it isnot. They are a danger only to humans. And humans are nota civilized race by our reckoning. We cannot solve your problem 
because it is a human problem. Lady Disdain, you arewasting the time of Hotel Security." 

"My clone-sister is the president of Earth'" 

"We are aware of your relationship to Emerald Kemp." 

"Are you aware of the purpose of my visit to Earth? Ofthe president's sickness, and our need to mindmeld beforeshe dies? The continuity of government depends on themindmeld. Without it, there will be anarchy on Earth! Andthere will be no mindmeld if I am attacked and killed bycannibals in your hotel!" 

"A human problem, you will agree." 

"So you will not confine these creatures to their quarters?" 

70 Michael Coney 

"You have made the same request three times in the lastseven days. Lady Disdain. The answer is the same. It is notSecurity's problem." 

Lady Disdain felt her cheeks flaming and her control slipping. 
Damn these all-powerful Froans and their so-logical arguments! 
"Listen to that, you humans. The Froans will nothelp. That tells you something about these creatures. Youthink they're benevolent because they gave us Froanwaystravel and promised us longevity. But it's not benevolence; 

it's politics! They're directing human development down thepath they've chosen. In this way they maintain control andstifle other directions our development may take—directionsthat might have challenged their superiority'" 


While the humans stared at her, stunned, Froan said, "It isSecurity that is refusing your request, not the Proans. Securityis a multispecies organization." 

"I don't see any other species around. There's just you!" 

"Obviously the other species trust us to make rational judgments." 


Lady Disdain rose. Her entourage rose. Peacocks fluttered.
She glared at Megan. "I shall have to bring other forces tobear, that much is clear. I should have known better than toexpect common sense from an alien." She transferred hergaze to Imry. "You're well advised to stay clear of thisSecundan, young man. You heard what she said. You neverknow when her primitive instincts may come to the fore." 

Imry found Megan walking beside him as he left Security.
It seemed impolite to veer off and leave her; politeness hadbeen instilled in him since birth, as a very necessary prerequisite 
to life on Cartaginia. He glanced at her. She held her headhigh but tears glistened in the brown eyes. Surely she'd never-.. eaten people? It was impossible. 

He'd heard plenty of rumors about Secunda during this pastfew years while the Secundans were being snipped back toEarth for Revision. Earth alone had the technology and capacity 
for such a huge task. Quite simply, the Secundans werebeing transformed into normal humans, shipload by shipload,
and then returned to Secunda. 

And Megan's shipload was the last- Once she and her com-

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 

panions had been Revised, Froans would consider humans tobe civilized. 

And the Gift of Longevity would be theirs. 

"All that stuff ..." He hesitated. "About your age groupsand what they do. It's not really like that, is it?" 

She swung round, pink with anger. "It's exactly like that,
and so what! Are you afraid I'm going to bite? Well, I'm pastbloomer age, if that makes you feel any safer. But a lot of us... It's so unfair! What's wrong with disposing of people whoare past contributing to society? What is wrong with bloomersbeing ... involved in disposing of them? For us it must beright, because we can't have children until we've achievedhormony." 

"Honnony?" 

"You don't know anything, but you're so quick to judge, 


like everyone else! Hormony is the ability to have children. Itdisappears at the crone stage, just like it does in your race.
But in our crones a dormant strain of hormones are still beingproduced, building up in the system. Before a bloomer canbear children, she must ... ingest these hormones to achievehormony." 

"It's not your fault," said Imry. 

She snapped. "There is no fault, don't you see? Somebodychanged the rules on us, that's all. And the people who changedthe rules are the people who made us in the first place. YouEarth people!" 

He looked away. She was right. She was beautiful, too. Hewondered if Revision would change the way she looked.
What a pity he was going to Cartaginia among all the oldfarts, instead of Secunda.... 

"Sorry, Megan," he said at last. "But it was the Froans whomade the rules, and now they bribe us to stick by them. Andthe bribe is too good to turn down." 

"Yes. Well ... I guess you don't want me around anymore." 
She turned away. 

"No, wait a minute. Don't go, Megan. Give me a chance tocome to terms with this. Anyway, you can't just leave me Justlike that. You saved my life. By the way, how did you happento be around when I needed you?" 

She hesitated, then offered a reluctant smile. "I ... followed 
you." 

72 Michael Coney 

This was much better. He took her hand. "Let's start again,
shall we?" 

So they explored Hotel Andromeda together and foundmore interesting things than Secundan culture to talk about. 

"Longevity. Maybe four hundred years of life. Do you wantit, Imry?" 

Her gaze held his, and he felt a strange weakness inside.
Do I want to live that long? he wondered. Maybe, but I wishit wasn't going to be among those old/arts on Cartaginia. Ayounger world would be nice. Like Secunda ... 

And so, in the External Communications Room of HotelAndromeda, he began to wonder if he was falling in love witha cannibal. 

Interplanetary communication, as we now know it, grewout of a paradox. There was little point in Earth, for example,
communicating with Hotel Andromeda at the speed of radio 


waves, because the Froanways ships themselves move verymuch faster. For a century or so this problem defeated humans, 
and messages were carried on board ships and shuttleslike the mail on Old Earth. The Froans showed no inclination 
to help out. It was not their problem. They communicatedwith one another instantaneously, telepathically. 

It was almost as though the Froans were testing Mankind'singenuity. 

Then one day. a bright young spark on Earth played aroundwith two known facts about Froanways. Firstly, the greatships were driven through space by mental as well as physicalmethods from within the ships themselves. Secondly, the lawsof inertia and momentum still applied: the rate of accelerationand deceleration depended on the mass of the ship. The heavier 
the ship, the greater the power needed and the longer ittook to reach its destination. 

Might it be possible to create a tiny ship, big enough tocontain a message, that would operate on the same Froanwaysprinciple but move a billion times faster because it was a billion 
tiroes smaller? 

It was. These tiny messengers became known as blips. 

Imry and Megan visited the External CommunicationsRoom. "Why does she call herself Lady Disdain?" askedImry. His mind was elsewhere. As a blipreader, communica-

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 73 

tions were his job and the External Communications Roomwas not particularly interesting. 

A buzzer sounded, a tiny door flipped open, and a blackobject the size of a fist dropped into a tray. A white-suited human 
technician levered it open with a flat tool; the action reminded 
Imry of shucking oysters in the wilderness area wherehe'd been raised. The technician held the opened thing to histemple and appeared to be listening. 

"Blip for Lady Disdain of Cartaginia," he announced to theroom at large. "She'll be the new Earth president in a fewmonths, I'll bet." 

A man at the far end of the room called, "How many timesdo I have to tell you, Anders? The contents of personal blipsare confidential, for Pete's sake. We don't go sounding offabout them in front of the whole goddamned hotel!" He nodded 
toward Imry and Megan. 

"Hell, it's only speculation. I didn't read the message," saidthe other sulkily. 

"Sure. But speculating is the first step toward reading. I'veseen it happen before. Just do your job and don't get too in



terested, huh?" 


The blipreader, scowling, clicked the blip shut again,
slipped it into a package, sprayed it with Lady Disdain's personal 
odor from the dispenser, and handed it to a messenger
dog. The small drama was over. 


"People on Cartaginia have hereditary titles like on Old
Earth." Megan returned to Imry's question. "They're passed
down from their first genetic leaders." 


'Tough luck on the rest of the people," said Imry. "Does
that mean I'll never get to be called Lord Imry?" 


She laughed. "Is that your wish, my lord?" 


"Well ... I'd like to think I had the chance. After all,
what's an accident of birthplace got to do with anything?" 


"What, indeed, Imry from Earth?" asked the cannibal-... 


"I'm so sorry, Megan." 


"She wants us locked up. Froan says it's a human matter.
That means a referendum. She could call it anytime; maybe
she's calling it right now. All people have to do is push a button 
and we'll be caged like animals." 


"If the referendum goes against you." 


"It will. There are four shiploads of Earth people in An


74 Michael Coney 


dromeda, and nobody likes Secundans. It doesn't matter to
them that we've already confined all our bloomers; they don't
want to understand that. We moved into our Earth shuttle 
twenty hours ago, but it'll be a week before we're ready for
departure. They won't let any of us out of that shuttle for a
week." 


He tried to make light of it. "A week's not so bad. Hell, the
trip Earthside takes months." 


"But it could have been a very nice week." 


As she looked at him, he knew what she meant. And he
knew she couldn't put it into words, because she was
Secundan and—until Revision—tainted. And even after Revision, 
people would be looking at Secundans and thinking: /
wonder if she ever ... You hww what I mean? 


Then she added something he'd never thought of. "You're
the first man I've ever talked to. We only have seventeen men
on Secunda—great fat seed machines, lying on pillows and
eating all day. Revolting. Are Earth Men all as nice as you?" 



So as they left External Communications he was wondering
if he was mistaken, and if her interest in him was simple curiosity 
bom of the practice of artificial insemination on
Secunda. Then he began to wonder if his interest in her was
simple gratitude for having saved him from the girl gang.
Two depressing items. 


Such things come in threes. At that moment speakers all
over the hotel boomed a message: 


"A Human Referendum is being held at this time. The
proposition is that members of the Secundan race constitute a
danger to elderly humans and should be confined to Shuttle
A-4 effective immediately, until its departure for Earth in approximately 
seven standard days." 


"Don't you have a chance to defend yourself?" asked Imry
desperately. 


"What could we say? Nothing they'd listen to." She turned
away. "Good-bye, Earth man. Good luck on Cartaginia. I ...
I really mean that." 


She was going- He grabbed her, spun her around. Her face
was wet with tears. "No! Let's hide somewhere!" 


She tried to smile. "You've only just arrived. I've been
here weeks. You'll find hiding isn't so easy in Hotel Androm-


THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 


eda as it is in an Earth wilderness. This place is Just not built
for ... for fugitives."
"Maybe nobody's needed to try before." 


One hour later Lady Disdain of Cartaginia faced Froan yet
again, chin high, expressionless as only a self-admitted fool
can be. 


"I wish you to cancel the confinement of the appalling
Secundans immediately." 


The alien regarded her blandly. "You surprise me. Lady
Disdain." 


"That is neither here nor there. Cancel the confinement,
please." 


"Perhaps you'd care to tell me why." 


Really, thought Lady Disdain, it was no business of
Froan's. It was absolutely disgraceful the way these wretched
aliens threw their weight about—just because they happened
to have been first to invent FTL travel. However, there was
no harm in telling it. That might even speed matters up. "I've 



just received a blip from Earth. My clone-sister is president ofEarth, you know." 

If sighing had been a Froan characteristic, Froan wouldhave sighed. "I do know." 

"Her condition had worsened. As you know, her sickness isthe whole reason for my voyage. I must mindmeld with herbefore she dies. I am to be the next president of the Earth." 

"Congratulations." 

Was that sarcasm? Surely not! "It is distressing news. She'son retabolism, but even so, it's doubtful that she can last sixmonths. And my shuttle does not depart for another twomonths. Every day counts, Froan." 

"So it seems. I would suggest that you travel with theSecundans, Lady Disdain. Their shuttle leaves in seven ofyour Earth days." 

Good grief, was the creature utterly stupid? "They havecannibals running wild on that shuttle! You know theSecundan problem as well as I do, Froan. I wouldn't last aday!" Crone, that was the word those barbarians used. Howinsulting! 

"Certainly it could be dangerous for a human woman pastthe age of usefulness." 

76 Michael Coney 

So Froan, like that Secundan girl, had no idea of the contribution 
older and more experienced people made to humansociety. Its ignorance was abysmal. Was there any point in arguing 
with this creature? "I want those Secundans off thatshuttle, Froan! I'm commandeering it for myself and my entourage. 
This is an emergency!" 

"Hotel Security will not prevent your commandeering thevessel. It is a human matter." 

"How do I get those Secundans out of there? I want yourhelp, you fool!" 

"I cannot help, but you may have my advice. Hold anotherreferendum." 

'That would be pointless. The human guests in Andromedahave no reason to vote any differently than they did in the referendum 
we held yesterday—as you know very well, Froan!
Nobody likes the Secundans, and rightly so!" 

"That is true." 

The silence lengthened. Didn't the wretched alien haveanything further to contribute? The Security HQ for this sec



tor of Andromeda was quite small, and Froan was the onlyperson on duty. The other four desks were empty. Where wasthe human representative, for Heaven's sake? A human wouldhave understood her problem. 

But as Froan had said earlier: the other security chiefsprobably left everything to Froan. Froan wasn't just one person, 
it was thousands. Maybe millions, all in continuous contact. 
Froan could bring unlimited intellect to bear on anysecurity problem. It was desperately unfair. It made nonsenseof democracy. Some kind of compensations should be builtinto the system to limit the power of the Froans. 

"There is another way," she said reluctantly. 

"That must be a relief for you, Lady Disdain." 

She hated to ask this; it sounded perilously like begging.
"You could bestow longevity on my clone-sister right now. Aspecial dispensation. Realty," she continued quickly, sensingthe refusal trembling on the alien's peculiar labia, "I can'tthink of a better person than Earth's president to be the firsthuman to receive your great gift. There is a Froan representative 
on Earth; the matter could be dealt with quite simply,
immediately. It needn't actually be longevity; she need only 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 

live long enough for us to carry out the mindmeld. Nobodyelse need know." 

"You know my reply already. Lady Disdain. The existenceof the Secundans offends us. We allowed you to enterFroanways so that you would not feel the need for furthersuch adventures into genetic engineering. And we cannot bestow 
longevity on you until the last Secundan is Revised.
That time is not far away." 

"It's a year away! Six months in the shuttle, almost as longfor Revision. My sister will be dead long before then!" 

"I am sorry. Lady Disdain." 

Immediately below the External Communications Room inHotel Andromeda is a chamber of roughly similar size wherethe little blipriders are housed. At the time of our story, thelongest journey undertaken by a blip was two years, dictatedby the life span of the bliprider- Nowadays the use of blipshas increased tenfold because Froan longevity can also be applied 
to btipriders. Blipriders are small rodents whose limitedmental capacity is occupied almost entirely in applying theFroanways principle to their tiny craft, and in rememberingthe message with which they are entrusted. 

"But how do you read me blip?" asked Megan Sunrise. 


"Could I do it if I tried?" 

"Maybe, if you had the right training. The messages aren'tin words. They're in images. The trick is in knowing the waythe bliprider's mind works. You have to think like a bliprider.
Otherwise you can't understand the message. You might hearit mentally, but it'd be in mouse images, kind of." 

They'd chosen the blipriders' quarters as their hideout forthe next few days. Humans visited it rarely; the blipriderswere fed and cared for by robotic servants. It was an interesting 
place to be, too. Blips arrived frequently; either sent downthe chute from the room above, or brought in by messengerdogs. Megan was concerned about the dogs. 

"Couldn't Security locate me by giving my scent to a messenger 
dog? They have everyone's scents on file." 

"I don't think they're that interested. You're only one ofseveral hundred thousand humans in the hotel. Security havegot enough on their minds without bothering about oneSecundan who's past the bloomer stage anyway." 

78 Michae! Coney 

"I suppose you're right. And anyway, they probablyhaven't even noticed I'm not aboard the shuttle- We're not 
noted for keeping close tabs on one another, we Secundans.
We value our freedom." 

"In that case, why go to Earth at all? Why not stay herewith me?" Imry was being selfish and he knew it. He'd beleaving Hotel Andromeda himself before long. But they werenearing the end of their seven days together and he was getting 
desperate. They'd furnished an alcove with blankets andslept there when they were tired, made love when they werenot. Occasionally he ventured alone into the public areas ofthe hotel to get food, returning as soon as he could, terrifiedthat he would find her gone. 

"You know I must leave with the others, Imry. The Froansare keeping count- There'll be no longevity for humans untilall Secundans are Revised. I couldn't be responsible for that.
Could you?" 

"I guess not. No." As he looked at her there was a dreadfulemptiness inside him. He thought of Cartaginia and its classsystem; in his imagination there would be a Lady Disdainlurking behind every tree. Was longevity such a good thing, ifhe was doomed to live on a worid like that? 

But on the last day matters took a turn for the better. He'dgotten into the habit of reading the minds of used blipridersas they arrived for dememorizing, to keep up to date withevents. Most of the blips were from Earth; there were fewother worlds accessible within the blipriders' life span. If thebliprider was elderly it would be sent to the euthanasia cham



ber after delivering its message; if young, it would bedememorized and used again. 

"I'm surprised the Froans agree with the gas chamber,"
said Megan on one occasion, as a little brown rodent scampered 
unknowing to its death. 

"I don't think they're interested in unintelligent life-forms.
To them a mouse is no different from a carrot. It's there to be 
used. Civilization is everything to the Froans." 

"That's why they're against us Secundans," said Megansadly. 

On that last day, as they lay together in their alcove andtried to spend their final hours in love instead of despair, they 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADV DISDAIN 

heard the door hiss open and a messenger dog came trottingin. 

"Here. boy!" Imry held out a morsel of protein. The dogdropped the container. Imry opened it up, took out the littlemouse and held it to his temple. 

Megan watched his expression change from apathy to excitement. 
"What is it?" 

"It's a message to Andromeda Dispatch from the presidentof Earth. My people aren't going to Cartaginia after all. We'recatching an earlier ship to Secunda instead!" He hugged her.
"Isn't that great! We'll see each other again!" 

"In a few years." A lot could happen in that time. 

"But we'll have longevity by then! What does a couple ofyears matter, when we've got hundreds together?" 

"You'll get tired of me, Imry. We're different people." 

He regarded her. It was difficult to imagine tiring of her,
but then it was difficult to imagine living for four hundredyears. "I'll never get tired of you," he said stoutly. 

Two hours later she was gone. 

Imry remained in the chamber for another two days, tryingto think positively. With retabolism on the voyage, he wouldbe seeing Megan again in less than two years' apparent time.
That wasn't so bad, was it? And on Secunda, too. It was goodnot to be going to Cartaginia. 

But why wasn't he going to Cartaginia? 


He began to wonder. Why the change in plan? Their training 
program had prepared everyone for Cartaginia; for the climate, 
the culture, the laws, and the social aspect generally.
Secunda was a different world. Much less formal, less regimented. 
And Cartaginia itself had spent years preparing for a
sudden influx of immigrants. Secunda had not. What exactly
were they supposed to be doing on Secunda? 


As he was puzzling it over, a dog came trotting in. From
force of habit now, it dropped the blip at Imry's feet and stood
panting, tongue lolling, waiting for its reward. 


The blip had been for Lady Disdain. 


Imry absorbed the contents with disbelief and finally, fear.
Hand shaking, he held the rodent to his temple again, with the
same result. Something was terribly wrong. He found himself
staring into the little animal's eyes, willing it to explain more 


80 Michael Coney 


fully. It stared back with beady stupidity. It had no idea of the
significance of the message.... 


This blip was several days old. 


The blip diverting Imry's people to Secunda had been sent
after this blip. 


It might already be too late to save the Secundans. 


And Megan. 


"You must recall the Earth shuttle'" 
Froan regarded Imry imperturbably. "Why is that?"
"Please believe me; it's important. Life and death!"
"The shuttle is beyond the jurisdiction of Hotel Security.
And as you know, shuttles do not operate on the Froanways
principle. The Earth shuttle is controlled remotely from the
home planet." 


There was stilt a chance. Blackmail. That terrible message
was his weapon. Yes, a blip from Lady Disdain would overtake 
the shuttle- It took Imry an hour of fighting his way
along crowded walkways to reach her quarters.
"She is not here at present," said a handmaiden.
"Then summon her, right now! Tell her it's top priority!
Tell her ..." He searched for suitable words. One thing he
didn't want to do, was to reveal his knowledge to anyone
else. That would back Lady Disdain into a comer. It was important 
that she should be free to act. 'Tell her I'm Imry Sanders 
the blipreader, and there's been a terrible mistake. Tell
her I'm hoping we can put things right without bringing in the 


Froans." 


The handmaiden left. Imry sat down, trying to work it out, 



running over in his mind the contents of that fateful, so confidential 
blip. The images in the mouse's mind were clear and
horrifying; so clear that he could still see them in his mind's 


eye. 


Destruction. The Earth shuttle close to its destination, then
veering off course; the crew struggling with the controls, unable 
to override the automatics. The interior heating up. The
Secundans screaming as their flesh began to melt. Their very
screams broiling their lungs. The shuttle plunging on into the
furnace of the sun. All this was in the mouse's mind. 


Placed there by another mind infinitely cruel, infinitely
mad. 


THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 


The handmaiden returned with a tall man robed in purple.
"Lady Disdain is not available. I am empowered to act on her
behalf. How can I help you?" 


This was something he hadn't thought of. He'd assumed
he'd be dealing with the woman herself. Well, there wasn't
rime to fool around; he'd have to make the most of what was
available. "Are you her Number Two?" 


"On this voyage I am." 


"I must speak to you alone." 


"If you like." He led the way to a small anteroom. 


"Are you sure nobody can hear us?" 


The man smiled condescendingly, humoring him. "Nobody.
This place is safe, so Hotel Security assures me. Now. What's
all this about?" 


He took a deep breath. This was going to be tough going.
"You must recall the Earth shuttle immediately." 


"Oh. Must I?" The thick eyebrows rose. 'Tell me why." 


"I have information that it is in danger." 


"Information?" 


"A blip from the president of Earth to Lady Disdain." He
would have to commit himself if he was to get any action. "I
read it." He could still hardly believe it. "They're going to
massacre the Secundans!" 


The man's face was impassive. "You've been reading confidential 
blips illegally. You're the one who'll be reported to 



Security. You could be thrown out of your guild, you understand? 
Don't you have any professional pride?" 

"That's hardly the point!" Was the man stalling, or was heon the level? "Don't you know what was in that blip?" 

"Nobody knows except my lady herself," he snapped. "Ifthere was a blip, which I doubt. She's a blipreader; you mustknow that. All the top people have to be, for the sake of confidentiality. 
Blips between heads of state are composed andread by heads of state alone. They may be confidential, butthey do not contain massacre plots." 

Obviously Lady Disdain wouldn't have leaked the contentsof the blip to her entourage, or anyone else, for that matter.
"Listen." He tried to convey in words the terrible images ofdestruction contained in the bliprider's message. Sensing theother's skepticism, he added, "You wouldn't want me to tellSecurity what the blip said, would you?" 

82 Michael Coney 

But the man was treating the whole thing as Imry's juvenilefantasy. "A conspiracy? Certainly it would dispose of theSecundan problem neatly, but why not simply Revise them onEarth, according to the original plan?" He sat down. relaxing,
smiling up at Imry. 

"Because Lady Disdain must get to Earth for the mindmeldbefore the president dies. And the next shuttle doesn't leavefor weeks!" 

"Killing the Secundans wouldn't get my lady to Earth anymore quickly." 

"It wouldn't matter. Once all the Secundans are dead, theFroans will grant us longevity. That'll give the president acouple more years, no matter how sick she is!" 

The Cartaginian laughed shortly. "We could kiss good-byeto longevity if we murdered the Secundans to suit our ownends. The Froans would wash their hands of us forever. 
Surely even you can see that!" 

"It would look like an accident. An equipment malfunction; 

the shuttle pulled into the sun." 

The Cartaginian stood. "All right, that's enough. I just hopenobody else has heard this stuff. You could do a lot of damage, 
spreading these kinds of rumors. We're going through avery sensitive period in our relations with the Froans. Wedon't need some kid blipreader fouling things up." 

"At least get hold of Lady Disdain right now so she can explain 
the blip!" 


The Cartaginian said slowly, spelling it out, "My Lady Disdain 
doesn't have to explain anything to you, or even to me.
She is the ruler of Cartaginia. She is the president's clone-
sister. She is the future president of Earth. And in any eventI can't get hold of her, because she's on that shuttle herself,
bound for Earth." 

Imry felt his stomach tum over. "Lady Disdain's on thatshuttle?" 

"Of course she is. How else can she get to Earth in time forthe mindmeld? Naturally she didn't relish traveling with theSecundans—who would? But she is devoted to her duties and 
the human race, so she had little choice. There was no roomfor myself and the entourage at such short notice, but I can'tsay I'm sorry about that." 

Imry struggled to come to terms with this. Lady Disdain on 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 

the shuttle herself? It seemed he'd made a complete fool ofhimself. He'd been so sure. "But ... does the president knowLady Disdain's on the shuttle?" 

"My Lady sent a blip informing her, before she left. So I'dsay everybody's quite safe from your hypothetical accident." 

Imry left as soon as he could, face burning. God, what afool he'd made of himself! There was only one good thingcome out of this disaster. Megan was safe. 

Irrationally, he found himself hating Lady Disdain morethan before. It was almost as though she'd duped him in someway. 

It was only when he got back to the bliprider's quarters thatthe thought occurred to him: maybe he had been duped. Heonly had the Cartaginian's word that Lady Disdain was onthat shuttle. 

But when he checked with Dispatch, her name was on thepassenger list. That settled it. Now the only thing to do wasto forget the whole embarrassing episode. He'd screwed up.
but nobody knew except that Cartaginian. In some way he'dcompletely misread the blip. Or maybe it had been someweird blipreader's hoax. 

And now Lady Disdain's eyes were open again, watchinghim. Had she read his mind? No, but she'd experienced a lifetime 
of enemies, which made her hypersensitive to hostility.
Her lips moved. 

"You can't imagine the relief now that Lady Fortune and Ihave melded. I've shared a mindful of ancient skeletons and 


eased the burden. And now I can think and say whatever Ilike, without the fear of passing on my thoughts and conversations 
for analysis and condemnation. My mind is my own,
not posterity's. I'm free for the first time in my life." 

"You must be very relieved to know the future of Earth isin capable hands." It was difficult to imagine that pretty girlbore all the dark secrets of this old crone. Crone? That word 
hadn't crossed his mind in two hundred years. 

Her gaze became very direct. "I hope it is in capable hands.
As you alone know, there is a flaw in the genes of us clone-
sisters. and there is a shame we will carry with us as long aswe exist, because the mindmeld ensures we can never forgetit Our only consolation is that when you are dead, the flaw 

84 Michael Coney 

will be known only to the clone-sisters. I am forever in yourdebt for that- But you are well aware of that." 

What was she talking about? 

He said, playing for time, "We're all flawed in one way oranother." 

"But we rulers were bred for perfection. They tell me youstill live with Megan Sunrise, and that you have eight children. 
It must be very reassuring to blend your genes withthose of another person, and know that some of the imperfections 
will be lost in the process." 

"We never think of it that way." 

"Megan Sunrise once told me I was a useless old woman.
At the time I resented her remark very much. But when the... thing happened, and I found myself living with a shiploadof Secundans for six months, I began to think. I sawSecundan crones going willingly to their death for the immediate 
good of their race, and I contrasted that with the way myown clone-sister had acted—or would have acted, if I hadn'tforestalled her. And I realized we are the useless ones. We,
my clone-sisters and I, the rulers of worlds. We are parasitesfeeding on the work of humans in the pretense that we areleading them. But neither Earth nor Cartaginia need leading.
They are stable societies that run themselves." 

When you've had a fixed notion for two hundred years it'sdifficult to shake it. Imry turned to the window in case sheread the amazement on his face. Lady Disdain's clone-sister,
the president of Earth, had done something terrible, it seemed.
Something so terrible that it meant the genetic structure of therulers was flawed. 

What could be that terrible? 

Ordering the mass murder of ten thousand Secundans could 


be that terrible! 

Had he been right after all, two hundred years ago? 

He turned back to face her. 'Tell me one thing, my lady."
Suddenly he could bring himself to call her that. "Why didyou take the Secundan shuttle to Earth?" 

She looked at him exoressionlessly for a long time, but hereventual words showed astonishment "Good heavens, you hadit wrong. And still you didn't betray us ... I took the Secundanshuttle so that my sister could not destroy it, of course. Shehated the Secundans—they stood between her and a chance of 

THE SMALL PENANCE OF LADY DISDAIN 

longevity. She was dying and she was desperate—so desperatethat she could not foresee the consequences of her actions. Shethrew three worlds into confusion by reassigning you people toSecunda, with some stupid notion of atoning for the Secundansshe intended to kill. She risked sending a blip to warn me, tomake sure I wasn't killed as well. At least she showed that 
much sense of duty. preserving the mindmeld. But otherwise ... 

"She betrayed everything she'd been created for and livedfor, simply out of a primitive fear of death. She was mad,
didn't you know that? My biggest fear was that she was somad she'd destroy the shuttle anyway, with me on board. 

"When I reached Earth we mindmelded, and ever sincethen I've lived with a small cancer of madness in my head—
her madness. I killed her immediately after the meld. It wasquite easy; I won't go into the details. Her madness was sofresh in my mind I found I could be primitive, too. It wasn'tmurder; she was my clone. It was more like lopping off a diseased 
branch." 

Imry said, "I doubted my own reading of the blip. Whenyou took the shuttle, I thought it was simply your quickestway home." 

She smiled. "You hated me, didn't you? I don't blame you.
A niter has to be seen to be a ruler, and you don't makefriends that way. You hated me, but the reason you didn't betray 
us was because you had no confidence in your own judgment. 
Well, it's as good a reason as any." 

"Blipreading's an art more than a science. And I wasyoung. And I was so glad Megan was safe that 1 put thewhole thing behind me. And suddenly we were all going toSecunda instead of Cartaginia. That was the clincher. Whydidn't you countermand your sister's instruction and send usto Cartaginia anyway? It was what we were trained for." 

'That was a shameless bribe. And unnecessary, as it turns 


out." 

"Your sister might have gotten away with it," he said wonderingly. 
"She wasn't so mad that she wouldn't have coveredher tracks. You knew that. So ... You risked your life for theSecundans, didn't you?" 

"Dreadful people! But there's a world of difference between 
locking people up for a week, and massacring them. 

86 Michae! Coney 

The voyage was my small penance for my clone-sister'ssins." 

"I'm sorry I misjudged you, my lady." 

"So I needn't have told you all this. And I don't need tobestow an honorable title on you." 

He laughed. Suddenly she was more like an old friend. Anold friend who had once saved Megan's life. "But I know everything 
now." 

"Who would believe you? That bliprider was the onlyproof you had, and it's been dead over two hundred years.
And I thought you'd had it retabolized, and would produce itone day." 

Imry gave a theatrical sigh. "So I'll never be Lord Imry of 

Secunda?" 

He heard a breathless cackle. Lady Disdain was laughing.
"Go and see Lady Fortune about that," she said- "Her memories 
are identical to mine since the meld. All except the lasthour while you and I have been alone. I'm sure you take mymeaning." 

Imry touched her dry hand and left. 

Lady Disdain closed her eyes. It was done. Her life wastidied up, so far as any human life could be tidy, and nightwas not far away-

RHUUM SERVICE 

Brad Ferguson 

"^A arvelous," said Chaylaifa, his breath finally coming 

IVI back to him. He was on his back, smiling; his tail wascomfortably wrapped around his left thigh, out of the way. 

The chosha was not smiling at all, but she nodded agreement 
"Excuse me for a moment, Chaylaifa," she said. 


"Of course," he said. The sha watched her by the dim lightas she left their bed and headed for the bathroom. Nasu still 
cuts a fine figure, he thought idly, particularly for someone ofher years. I chose well, so long ago. She is both good company 
and a good friend ... and she still provides this oldwarrior with a stout enough ride, willing as she is to try newthings— 

"Chaylaifa?" came a small, high voice near the foot of thebed. 

"Ah," he said. "Slill with us, eh, my dear? Ha! Come a little 
closer." 

She did. "I thought you'd forgotten all about me." 

88 Brad Ferguson 

"Not possible. Did you doze off?" 

"Just for a moment. It has been a long day." The thaka'thottrolled across the sweat-stained sheets of the strongly built bedand snuggled like a youngling into Chaylaifa's pelt Fehlorah rana paw through the matted fur on the sha's chest, her slightly extended 
claws barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath. 

"I am glad the Bloxx was delayed," she breathed. 

"So am I," Chaylaifa replied. "I had to appear angry for thebenefit of our agents here, but I did not expect such apleasant ... respite ... on the first day of the talks." 

"A most welcome respite. It's such an exciting trip, isn'tit?" 

"Are you glad I brought you, girl?" 

"Of course, Chaylaifa! Ever so glad!" 

The sha smiled. "Now just how glad might that be?" 

Fehlorah smiled in a way far beyond her years. "Very glad,
my sha. Has the chosha left anything for me?" 

Chaylaifa laughed softly. "You know she has, little witch,"
he said. He sighed in mock exasperation. "How can such aone, small as you, destroy me again and again, time aftertime, endlessly? You'll kill me yet, girl." 

"/ kill youT Fehlorah's paw began making its own, slowway down Chaylaifa's ample body, in the way she had so recently 
learned that he liked the most. "More likely it will bethe other way 'round; I'll be crushed under you—or betweenthe both of you. A sad yet wonderful fate indeed." 


"You're much too spry to be caught like that, Fehtorah."
He ran the tips of his powerful claws along the stripe of gray
fur covering her spine, and the thaka'thott shivered as her immature 
tail began twitching. 


"You like that," he said in a low voice. 


"Very much," she breathed. "And you?" 


"What you've begun doing down there feels very good, my
little love." 


"Now, just how good might that be?" she asked him,
laughing, as Chaylaifa's breath began to hiss softly back and
forth through his teeth. 


A few moments later the bathroom door opened, throwing
a bright golden light into the room. Nasu stood in it, a silhouette. 


RHUUM SERVICE 89 


"Come back to bed, Nasu," Chaylaifa called. "We've grown
a bit impatient for you here—as you might be able to tell." 


"Yes," Fehlorah said, reaching out a dainty paw. "Come to
us, Nasu. Be with us." 


"I ... I think I might like to retire for the evening," Nasu
said, knowing what was to come; she had no wish to repeat
the vileness of it. "It has been a tiring day. I will sleep in the
room assigned to me—" 


"Nonsense," said the sha, his tone suddenly harsh. "Come
to bed, here and now. And turn out that damned light; the one
in here is quite enough." 


"Chaylaifa, I—" 


He looked at her, his eyes holding her completely. After a
moment, Nasu looked away and nodded


"Excellent." As Nasu seated herself at the foot of the bed,
Chaylaifa reached behind him and retrieved a small box from
the nightstand. 


"What's that?" asked Fehlorah. 


"It is a Terran delicacy, love. They are called ritzcrackas,
and I am assured that they are safe for us. Expensive, as is everything 
else aboard this hotel, but I thought we might try
them. They are something ... different." He grinned widely,
showing his fangs. "After all, we have to fortify ourselves for
the rigors ahead! HaT'1 


Fehlorah giggled and, reaching over the sha, took a
ritzcracka for herself and passed another to Nasu. The chosha 



ate it, chewing slowly. Fehlorah saw her reluctance and giggled 
again as she turned to embrace Chaylaifa. 

After a short while Nasu joined with them, her unwillingness 
quickly evaporating as their shared scent rose, engulfingher, trapping her. 

The tastefully small brass sign on the door of the suiteread: 

JACOBS ft BURKE. LTD. 

FACILITATORS 

The reception area had been furnished by a Centaurian designer 
known for her terribly trendy and effectively audacious 

90 Brad Ferguson 

approach to everything she did. Wallpaper and furnishingshad been designed to intrigue a wide variety of senses, andfabrics had been chosen to appeal as broadly as possible tothose to whom touch and smell were as sound and light. Toprove that price had been no object, there was an originalSunday-edition full-color Calvin and Hobbes hanging over thefaux fireplace, which itself radiated in a variety of spectra.
The look and feel of the room had instantly established thecredibility of Jacobs and Burke aboard Hotel Andromeda, andthat credibility had been the key to everything. 

The other half of the suite was hidden behind a door concealed 
in the far wall of the reception area. Between them, thepartners called it the Dark Side, and it looked as if it had beendecorated by trolls. The Dark Side was the soundproofed andspy-proofed office where Jacobs and Burke actually did theirwork, and no one else ever got in there. The partners allowedthe hotel's cleaning robots into the Dark Side only once everysix months or so. Even at that, they never let the robots dovery much, frantic that something important, some significantscrap of paper, might be snatched up and thrown away. Thepartners were also terrible pack rats. For example, one of theTerran calendars on the wall was four years out of date, butthe partners left it hanging there because it would be goodagain in only another seven. 

Jonathan Lee Jacobs was sitting at his desk in the DarkSide, his head in his hands. "I guess what I don't appreciatethe most," he complained, "is that this crap always getssprung on us at the last possible goddamn minute." 

His partner had not really heard him. Trudy Burke was lying 
back in her reclining chair. Her eyes were closed. She wasvery busy. 

Jacobs grabbed his most abused pencil of the day and begantapping a rapid tattoo on the glass surface of his desk. "First Iget absolutely no notice that Bannister Investments is exercising 


its option with us, this after we don't hear from those bloodsuckers 
for years, so we have to handle the Rhuum trade reps forthem as long as they're aboard Andromeda. So, fine. We sayhello and how are you, we get Ambassador Chaylaifa and hisentourage settled, all twenty-three of the useless bastards, wemake sure the hotel is treating everybody right, all that jazz. Weeven gel a break on the logistics—no arrival ceremonies and no 

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dinners, thank God; neither side wants 'em. Good enough. Nowit turns out that the Bloxx rep is going to be late because, hotpilot he, he's blown a driver. Not a big deal, but somehow thisidiot Chaylaifa thinks it's our fault! Before I can even talk tohim about it, though, he stalks off to his room with his wife andkid in tow. This is supposed to be an easy contract? Isn't thatwhat Bannister said?" He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Damn.
These micro-contacts are killing me." 

His partner still said nothing. 

Jacobs cleared his throat and tried again. "I hear they canrot your corneas." 

Trudy remained quiet. 

"Well?" Jacobs demanded as his pencil finally broke. Hebrushed the two halves onto the floor. 

" 'Well' what?" Trudy answered. Her tone was lazy, distracted. 
"Do you want something, Jonny Lee? I'm trying—" 

"I know, I know. I'm bothering you." Jacobs waved a hand.
"Sony. Find out anything yet?" 

"Come on in, and I'll show you what I've isolated so far." 

"All right, but let's not take too long. We've got things todo." Jacobs ordered his own chair to recline and, still tensebut reasonably comfortable, he accessed the neural network. 

The office was suddenly replaced by a garden. It was a different 
garden, though, smaller and prettier than Trudy's usualinterface metaphor. There was a short picket fence around theplot, and from somewhere not far off came the sounds of children 
at play; Jacobs could also hear birds. Turning around, hesaw a small, neat, white house. His view of anything fartheraway was blocked by tall hedges ringing the property. 

"This is very nice," Jacobs said, and he meant it. "Someone's 
backyard, right?" 

"My grandmother's, as a matter of fact," Trudy said. "I'vebeen working on it for a while. Do you really like it?" 

Jacobs looked up at the clear blue sky. "Very much. Whereare we?" 


"Pennsylvania—the nice part. I spent a lot of time here after 
Mother and Daddy split up." Trudy gestured around her.
"Grandmother's garden was my favorite place of all, especially 
at this time of year, when I'd help her get it into shapeafter the winter; it's mid-April here now, in case you couldn't 

92 Brad Ferguson 

tell from the flowers. The other gardens I wrote were justpractice; I wanted to get this one right." 

Jacobs looked around. "I think you did. It's beautiful. Iwish I'd met your grandma. Is she here?" 

"Oh, God, no, Jonny Lee'" Trudy said, disconcerted. "Icouldn't write her\ No, we're the only ones here—and weought to get down to business. You were in a mad rush, remember?" 


"I guess I was. Hey, looky here." Jacobs bent and pickedup an insect. He held it lightly between his fingers andgrinned. "Hey, honey, your program's got a—" 

"Don't you dare say it." 

"Shoot. All right, I won't." He stooped to let the thing dropsafely to the ground and watched as it skittered away. "Whathave you got for me?" 

Trudy bent quickly and picked a daffodil. "First of all,
here's the summary of the deal Bannister says AmbassadorChaylaifa wants to strike with the Bloxx," she said, handinghim the flower. 'The wish list has pharmaceuticals, minerals,
and other standard stuff on it; Bannister's given us the quantities 
desired and what Chaylaifa intends to offer for them ingoods and credits standard. Chaylaifa runs the biggest importtrust in the Rhuum Organization, so this deal could mean billions 
of creds stan to him personally. Bannister Investments isbrokering it, so they get the usual huge cut." 

"All right," Jacobs said, sniffing at the flower. As he did,
his mind filled with the details of what he needed to know. 
"Seems to pass the smell test. The Rhuum bids are low, butthat's why traders get together and haggle. Okay, no problemso far. Now, what have we got on the clients?" 

Trudy picked another flower—a hyacinth this time. "Firstof all, here's what the neural net has on the Rhuum," she said.
"It's a condensation of a survey report done about fifty yearsback." 

"A little history, and that's it," Jacobs said, sniffing again.
"Pretty damned condensed, if you ask me." 

"There's not much in the extended survey report, either,"
Trudy said. She picked a perfect tomato from a nearby vine 


and handed it to Jacobs. 

"This is out of season, isn't it?" he asked. 

"I needed an analogue you might be able to handle, 0 ye 

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of common tastes. Anyway, the report is largely technical; 

you probably won't want to eat alt of it." 

"We'll see about that." Jacobs bit into the tomato, and juicedribbled down his chin. Suddenly, his eyes bulged. "Ughmuff mughh," he said. 

"Problem?" Trudy asked sweetly. 

"Gluph fwu." Working hard, Jacobs chewed slowly andmen more slowly stilt before giving up. It was like chewinglead. Turning aside politely, he spit into a convenient bush. 

"Warned you," Trudy said. "I didn't get much further intoit than that myself." 

"We'll hire an expert to come up with a summary," Jacobssaid. "Anything else?" 

"That's it. There's considerably more material on theBloxx, though." Trudy handed Jacobs a big bowl of saladmakings and a pair of wooden forks. "Here. You toss, I'llserve." 

"I wish you'd find another metaphor," Jacobs said. "I hatesalad." He began to mix the contents of the bowl. 

Trudy suddenly looked distant. 

Jacobs knew that look. "What is it?" he asked. 

"You're going to hate this, too," Trudy replied. "The Bloxxfixed that busted driver of his. He'll be here in about an 
hour." 

"Oh," Jacobs said. "We'd better get out of here; I still haveto shave. Damn, I hate being pushed on things like this." 

Jacobs and Trudy waited in the reception bay for the arrivalof the Bloxx craft. It dropped out of hyperspace on scheduleand achieved rendezvous without incident. Being relativelysmall, the ship made its own way into the parking bay as disappointed 
robot tugs scuttled out of the way. Robot valets,
their headlights blinking on and off in a pattern of welcome,
quickly came into position, bumping into each other in theirprogrammed eagerness. 

"I love watching this," Trudy said. "The 'bots are so cute." 


"Umph. My tie knotted okay?" 

"For the twelfth time, yes- Oops—green light. That wasfast." 

The airlock to the parking bay slid open, and there stood a 

94 Brad Ferguson 

tall, muscled man with the reddest hair Jacobs and Trudy hadever seen. 

"Sir Kethrommon?" Jacobs asked, as if mere could be anydoubt. "Do you speak trader talk?" 

'That I am and that I do," he said, nodding. "You the contacts 
Bannister was talking about?" 

"Yes, m'lord, we are. I'm Jonathan Lee Jacobs, and this ismy partner Trudy Burke. As you've surmised, we representBannister Investments—" 

"Bunch of crooks, them. Hope you're not the same. Ifyou're Terrans, then let's all speak Anglish; I know it prettygood. Hi, Trudy." 

"Hello, m'lord ambassador. Pleased to meet you." 

"M'lord?" Jacobs asked. "Is there really no one else inyour party?" 

"Nobody else, pal. I'm it." 

"Uh, you are? I mean to say, m'lord, that the Rhuum havesent a lead negotiator and twenty-three assistants." 

"Yep," he rumbled. "So what? Don't need others to dealwith people from Rhuum or anywhere else. Been doing thiskind of thing all my damn life. I captain my own craft andchart my own course; King Bolo understands that. Helps thathe's my uncle, natch." 

"But, m'lord, did I misunderstand? We were informed thatyour people have never before held talks with the Rhuum." 

"That's right. So? We have stuff they want. They'll do adeal without too much trouble. King Bolo understands that,
too. Hey, Trudy Burke, you tied down?" 

"Excuse me, m'loro?" 

"You committed to some guy?" 

Jacobs cleared his throat. "Sir, Miss Burke is also mywife." 


"That the same as mated, pal? I don't know Terran waysmuch." 

"Yes. Yes, it is. Miss Burke is my wife." 

"Oh," he said, shrugging. "Too damn bad. Would haveliked to try you, Trudy Burke." 

"I'm flattered beyond the telling, m'lord," Trudy saiddryly. "Well, shall we settle Sir Kethrommon in his suite now,
Mr. Jacobs? Perhaps you would like some dinner, m'lord?" 

"Screw dinner." Kethrommon said, "There any women for 

RHUUM SERVICE 95 

hire at this damn hotel? Bigger ones than Trudy Burke here,
I mean. Not so fragile looking." Kethrommon grinned. "Beena long trip for me, heh." 

"I'll have the hotel's concierge contact you to arrangethings," Trudy said, her expression carefully bland. "I'm surethey'll have someone well worth your time. You might alsotry the neural net." 

"Heh," Kethrommon said. "Maybe I will, both. You don'tlike, eh, Trudy Burke?" 

"It's none of my concern, m'lord. Really." 

"But you don't like. Know what, Trudy Burke? You gotspunk. I love spunk!" 

The opening rounds of talks between the trade representatives 
of the Kingdom of Bloxx and the Rhuum Industrial Organization 
got under way the following morning with as muchappropriate pomp and ceremony as Jacobs and Burke couldquickly arrange with Hotel Andromeda's hospitality staff. 

After the courtesy robots withdrew, Jacobs and Trudy tookseats at opposite ends of the long, large mahogany conferencetable traditionally used in such negotiations, while SirKethrommon sat directly across from Chaylaifa. The table wasbare of everything but writing implements and note paper; inkeeping with Rhuum ways, there was not even water. The sizeof the table seemed excessive for so few people, but Jacobs wasbetting that an old hand like Chaylaifa would appreciate the implied 
status it gave him, and he was right; Chaylaifa broke intoan undiplomatic grin when he first saw it The twenty-threemembers of the Rhuum negotiating staff sat in a gallery well behind 
their chief; meir only job was to lend their presence tothese proceedings. Chaylaifa's wife and daughter sat with themin the front row. 

The first five minutes of the meeting were spent in exchanging 
formal pleasantries. Chaylaifa was, predictably,
good at it widi the skill of long experience. Kethrommon, not 


so predictably, quickly proved himself capable of delivering arough yet effective and endearing presentation capable ofcharming even his most formal listener. 

Jacobs accessed the net. You there, Trudy? 

She answered immediately. Sure I am, hon. Hey, is this guygood, or what? Not only does he seem undamaged after last 

96 Brad Ferguson 

night's antics•—-and I've seen the bill!—but he's got the gift ofgab tike you wouldn't believe. 

Jacobs winked at her. You just golta love this big lug,
don'lcha? Maybe old King Bozo knew what he was doing.
This is going to be okay, after all. A quick deal. nice andclean, and— 

That was exactly when Kethrommon bolted from his seatand attempted to leap across the table at Chaylaifa, his ceremonial 
dagger unsheathed. "You piss-sprayed son of awhore!" Kethrommon cried in a white heat. "I'll kill you'" 

Chaylaifa could move surprisingly quickly for such a big being; 
he kicked back his chair and drew his very unceremonialblaster. Fortunately, the conference room's defensive systemshad clicked on instantly, and both antagonists had been safelycaught in a tanglefield. The tanglefield could do nothing to silence 
Kethrommon, however, and he continued to shout threats.
Jacobs saw that Chaylaifa's wife and child were shrieking but,
since neither they nor anyone else in the gallery was offeringany aggressive behavior, the tanglefield was ignoring them. 

The tanglefield was also ignoring the two facilitators, whowere frozen only by their own shock. Trudy's eyes were bulging. 
We must have missed something. What the hell was it? 

I don't know, Trude. Let me access the transcript ... oh,
no! 

A Security squad arrived a moment later. Several of itsmembers escorted Kethrommon to his suite, and Trudy accompanied 
them. Others took Chaylaifa back to his rooms.
and Jacobs went with him. 

"Ambassador Chaylaifa," Jacobs carefully began whenthey were at last alone, "didn't you realize that your ...
pleasant question ... represented the worst kind of insult toSir Kethrommon?" 

"It was not intended as such," Chaylaifa said. He was genuinely 
puzzled. "I have frequently asked it of humanoids, butI have never gotten such a response." 

Jacobs licked his lips. "Mr. Ambassador, some humanoidsresent the implication that their mothers were impregnated 


with them by males who are not their acknowledged fathers." 

Chaylaifa blinked. "But such things happen all the time, 

RHUUM SERVICE 97 

don't they? Especially in noble houses? I've read many histories 
of humanoid cultures." 

"It's true that such things do happen. But it is usually—notalways, but usually—rude to suggest to an individual that hehimself represents one of those cases. Some cultures put greatstore in being certain of whom one's parents are and, moreover, 
having everyone else be certain of it, too. I hope youcan understand that Sir Kethrommon would greatly resentyour questioning his parentage." 

"But I wasn't doubting his parentage, Mr. Jacobs," Chaylaifasaid. "I was simply asking who impregnated his mother." 

"Now, m'lord," Trudy said soothingly, "you must knowthat the ambassador didn't mean to offend you." 

They were sitting across from each other at a coffee tablein the Bloxx's sitting room. Kethrommon had grown calmerand was more in control of himself, but he was still hot withanger. "Indeed, woman?" he spat. "Then I would hate to bethe victim of slurs he uttered with malicious intent." 

"He is an alien, m'lord. He is not like you. He simplydoesn't understand." 

Kethrommon nodded tightly. "I understand that. Barbarian,
he is." 

Trudy's lips grew narrow. "If you like. He is certainly different. 
Not better, not worse—just different." 

"I know 'different.* Trudy Burke," Kethrommon said. "I'vestood in the dirt of a hundred worlds. I've eaten that which 
has tried to eat me; I've even eaten with that which has triedto eat me." 

"So you know how deeply the differences between beingscan run," said Trudy. 

Kethrommon shook his head. "There is always decency,
and decency never changes. Never. Let me tell you something. 
I lost my father, he at my side against outsystem piratesterrorizing our good neighbors of the fourth planet in oursystem. He was blown apart by a fragmentation projectile. Ihad to wash him off me that night, after the battle."
Kethrommon's teeth clenched. "I could overlook a slur uponmyself, given a lack of intent, but I will not—cannot—
countenance even an unintended insult against the memory ofmy father. My people desperately need the trade the Rhuum 


98 Brad Ferguson 

Organization can provide, but I am no longer the one to getit for them." 

Trudy blinked. "So what will you do?" 

"There is only one way the Rhuum can answer for hisinsult—his death, by my hand." 

"I hope there is another way, m'lord." 

Suddenly Kethrommon sagged, the fight gone out of him.
"In Justice, I cannot take his life from him; I do indeed realizehe meant no harm by what he said. Trudy Burke, I am not unable 
to see that my killing the Rhuum would be a terriblecrime under these circumstances; I am not stupid. I will, however, 
leave Hotel Andromeda in the morning. As you are stillacting as facilitator for these talks, please have my ship madeready for departure at that time." He carefully did not look ather. 

Trudy took a deep breath, somehow sensing that this was adangerous moment and that whatever she might say to him,
angry as he was and hurt as he was, could be dreadfully important- 
"I will do exactly as you ask," she finally said, andshe saw Kethrommon relax Just a touch. 

"Thank you," he said in a low voice. "Any other answerwould not have done ... and I did not want to kill myself infront of you, Trudy Burke." Trudy saw the dagger hidden inhis hand for the first time as he placed it on the table, thepoint facing him. "I must not kill myself until I stand in frontof the king. That is the only way I may properly apologize tomy patron god for my failure." 

Trudy needed pills to get to sleep that night, and that waswhy the persistent beeping of the phone did not disturb her.
Jacobs had to shake her awake. 

'Trudy, there's a problem," he said in the darkness. "A bigone." 

"Whazzit?" his wife mumbled. 

"That was Security. Chaylaifa is dead. Better start gettingdressed; I'll dial a wake-up for you." 

Several minutes later Jacobs and Trudy caught a lift to theVIP section. The door to Chaylaifa's suite was ajar; they entered. 


Several Security people were in the foyer, standing neartheir chief of detail. There was a briefing going on. The chief 

RHUUM SERVICE 99 


was hard to make out, surrounded as he was by the others; hewas only a meter and a fraction tall, like most adults of hisrace. He was, generally speaking, a lizard. 

"Ah," he said, noticing Trudy and Jacobs. His mouthtwitched into the semblance of a smile. 'The partners of Jacobs 
and Burke, no? I am Lieutenant Hrock-Leff of Hotel Security. 
These are several of my associates." 

"Hello, Lieutenant, everyone," Jacobs said. "What happened 
here?" 

"I do not know quite yet," Hrock-Leff said. "The ambassador 
is dead. Do you care to see?" 

"Eh? Uh, I guess I have to," Jacobs said. Trudy?" 

She seemed shaken. "I'll, uh, I'll wait here, I suppose. Callme if you need me." 

"Okay, Trude. Lieutenant? Lead on." 

"This way, please, Mr. Jacobs." The two entered the mainbedroom of the suite. 

Chaylaifa's body lay in the center of the bed. The blanketsand sheets had been ripped by his claws and gathered aroundhim, as if he had tried to provide himself with his own shroudeven as he died. His eyes were open and glazed. There was anincredible amount of blood all over everything. Ritzcrackas andother tidbits were spilled here and there. 

"It looks like he was stabbed," Jacobs said. 

"He was," Hrock-Leff replied. "He was stabbed some fortytimes by someone with a smalt knife. From what I can see. atleast eight of the wounds were severe enough to be fatal, inthat Chaylaifa's circulation system was irreparably damagedby each. He lost a great deal of blood very quickly. We havean identification, by the way." 

"An identification?" Jacobs asked, puzzled. "Of the body?" 

"No," the lieutenant replied. "Of the perpetrator. Thechosha Nasu has named Sir Kethrommon of Bloxx." 

"Jesus. Why am I not surprised?" 

"I do not know. Let us go into the other bedroom, shallwe?" 

There was a connecting door to another bedroom in thesuite. Inside, two Security officers were sitting with Nasu andFehlorah. The two females were dressed in bathrobes suppliedby the hotel; Nasu's barely fit her, while tiny Fehlorah seemed 

100 Brad Ferguson 


lost in hers. They were holding hands, and both seemed terribly 
upset. 

"I'm sorry, Madame Chaylaifa," Jacobs began, searchingfor something appropriate to say. "Your husband's death is agreat loss to us all." 

The Rhuum nodded her appreciation. "It is just Nasu now,"
she said, "but I thank you, Mr. Jacobs. Fehlorah also appreciates 
your sympathy." 

"Certainly. Is there anything I can do?" 

"Yes, there is. You can make sure that these police peoplehere bring the murderer of Chaylaifa to justice." She glared atHrock-Leff. "I am not sure of their intent. They seem reluctant 
to take that devil spawn of Bloxx into custody." 

Jacobs nodded. "I'll do my best, Nasu. Fehlorah, will yoube all right?" 

"Yes, Mr. Jacobs," the girl said. "I will be all right." 

"Very good. Lieutenant, may we talk?" 

"Of course, Mr. Jacobs." They left the bedroom throughanother door and went into the sitting room common to allthree bedrooms in the suite. 

"Have a seat, Mr. Jacobs," Hrock-Leff invited, closing thedoor behind him. He himself squatted on a footstool, perfectlycomfortable. "Would you like me to order something for you,
now that we are alone? Coffee, perhaps?" 

"No, nothing for me, thank you. Lieutenant? Have you arrested 
Kethrommon yet?" 

"No. We have no need to bother him. We will not be arresting 
Sir Kethrommon." 

"Oh," Jacobs said, frowning. "Diplomatic immunity, eh?" 

"Hmmm?" the lieutenant said, almost distractedly. "Oh, no.
We will not be arresting the Bloxx, because he did not killAmbassador Chaylaifa. He has not left his room all evening." 

"Oh? How do you know?" 

"We do not spy, Mr. Jacobs, but you probably know thatthe medical section keeps a passive watch on VIPs at the hotel. 
should someone experience a health problem or suffer anaccident. Looking at the records for tonight, we see thatKethrommon was in his room all evening. The records alsolet us fix the time of Ambassador Chaylaifa's death. Only twopersons were with him at that moment: Nasu and Fehlorah." 


"So one of them did it?" 

RHUUM SERVICE 101 

"Almost certainly. If they did not—if the murderer was someone 
not being monitored by the medical section, say a hotel staffmember or some such—then they were present at the time ofthe killing and saw who did it, and can identify the criminal. Itwas not one of Chaylaifa's staff; all arc VIPs and all are monitored, 
and we can account for the movements of every one ofthem. But that is neither here nor there. I suspect the formerchosha did it, using a small knife as her weapon, in the vainhope that we would suspect Sir Kethrommon and his dagger.
The only other suspect is Fehlorah, and she is too small to havedone such damage. I have not yet confronted Nasu with an accusation, 
but I will in good time." Hrock-Leff yawned. "Pardonme; I was awakened for this. As I was saying, I am in no hurryto confront Nasu. She is not going anywhere." 

"Excuse me? The 'choh-shah'? You keep talking aboutone. Who the hell is that?" 

"You have been referring to Nasu as Chaylaifa's wife. Shewas not that. She was his chosha." 

"Well, whatever. Why did she kill Chaylaifa?" 

"I do not know yet. My initial inspection of the scene suggests 
that Nasu was tired of being forced to indulge Chaylaifain his sexual perversions." 

"What? Chaylaifa was a pervertT 

"It would seem so. I believe that the ambassador must have 
already thoroughly corrupted young Fehlorah, thethaka 'thott—" 

"The what?" 

"The thaka'thoti," Hrock-Leff repeated, more slowly. "Mygood word, Mr. Jacobs. Did you really do so little research onthe ways of the Rhuum before you took this assignment?" 

"Uh, wait a minute, there. My own chosha usually doesthat sort of thing; I'm the idea man. Lieutenant, we got thisjob at the very last minute. I learned all there was to knowabout the trade deal and what both sides expected from it.
Our job was to bring the Rhuum and the Bloxx together, takecare of the niggling details so that both sides wouldn't haveto worry about them, lead them to strike the deal they bothwanted, and send them home happy and satisfied. I didn'tthink I needed a quickie degree in xenoanthropology, too." 

"Perhaps you did, Mr. Jacobs," the lieutenant said, the sar


102 Brad Ferguson 


casm lost on him. "Sorting these things out can sometimesbecome impossibly complicated. A degree might help." 

"You may have a point there. Lieutenant Anyway, I thoughtthere might be something weird going on between the old boyand me giri. Nasu knew all about it, I suppose." 

Hrock-Leff blinked in surprise- "Well, Mr. Jacobs, I mean,
really. What else would you expect?" 

Jacobs nodded wisely. "Of course. The wife—sorry, thechosha—is always the first to know, isn't she? What a mess!" 

Hrock-Leff blinked. "I'm afraid you've lost me, sir. Maywe leave now?" 

"Sure. Let's go." 

Jacobs and the lieutenant left the sitting room and enteredthe second bedroom. The two Security people had left, and noone but Nasu and Fehlorah were in the room. The two were 
standing next to the bed. They were locked in an embrace.
Fehlorah was naked; her robe was puddled around her feet. 

Nasu's eyes were closed as Fehlorah's small hand gropedinside her opened robe, playing and stroking and touching, soshe did not notice the presence of Jacobs and Hrock-Leff forseveral seconds. She squealed in surprise and fright when shedid- Startled, Fehlorah whirled and, seeing them there, boltedfor the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her. 

"I thought—thought you were all gone except for the Security 
persons posted outside," Nasu stammered as she tied herrobe closed. She was a little out of breath. 

"We most humbly beg your pardon," Hrock-Leff said,
bowing his head slightly. "We were talking in the other roomand quite lost track of time. Our fault entirely. Mr. Jacobs?
Let us leave, please." 

"Uh, yes." Jesus! thought Jacobs. They're all crazy! 

Honey? came Trudy's worried thought. / caught that.
What's going on? 

You won't believe it, honey. Later. The lieutenant and Jacobs 
left the bedroom, passed through the room whereChaylaifa's body still lay, and emerged into the foyer, whereTrudy was waiting for them. 

"Hello, Miss Burke," Hrock-Leff said. "You appear to beagitated, if I read me signs correctly." 

"Hello, Lieutenant. Jonny Lee, we have to go to the office." 


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"We do?" 

"Now. Lieutenant? May I ask a favor?" 

"Of course you may. Miss Burke." 

"Would you please delay notifying the relevant parties ofChaylaifa's death until I contact you? Including the rest ofChaylaifa's entourage? I promise that it will not be a long delay." 


Hrock-Leff cocked his head to one side. "I am afraid I cannot 
at all delay briefing my superiors in Security ... but I canrequest that neither they nor the hotel contact anyone concerning 
this matter until I consent." 

"Thank you. Lieutenant. That will do fine. We're verygrateful. We'll talk to you again later—not much later." 

"I await the moment with pleasure. Good night, Mr. Jacobs, 
Miss Burke." 

Lieutenant Hrock-Leff watched as the two facilitators left,
the determined female almost literally dragging the arguingmale away. How like Terrans, he thought with amusement. Nodoubt she has figured things out. And about time, too.' 

Jacobs and Trudy were back in her grandmother's garden. 

"Nice and peaceful here," Jacobs said. "Can't we stay for,
like, a year?" 

"Don't I wish," Trudy said, seating herself on the ground.
"Look, Jonny Lee, I'm the one who's supposed to handle theniggling details, and I didn't this time. What's happened ismostly my fault—no, don't stop me. This was a quickie contract, 
we thought, and so I treated it that way. I let myself berushed into this. Well, I'll never do that again." 

Jacobs dropped down beside her. "Why are you beatingyourself up, Trude?" 

"I'm not. Just listen to me for a minute. If we put our headstogether, we can still fix it" 

"We can fix it?" Jacobs asked. "The Bloxx emissary isabout to go home in disgrace, and he's set to commit ritualsuicide as soon as he gets within three feet of King Boppo.
Our favorite couple from Rhuum turns out to be a pair ofchild molesters—incestuous child molesters! At least now 
there's one fewer of 'em than there used to be, thanks to thevictim's wife—sorry, I mean his chosha." 

"Get a grip, Jonny Lee." 

104 Brad Ferguson 


"Why should I? Everything's gone to hell. Bannister willfire our butts for sure, and they'll be real public about it because 
they'll have to be in order to save their own butts. Ourreputation is going to take a heavy hit. We have no hope ofsalvaging anything here—and you're saying we can actuallyfix this mess?" 

"I think we can," Trudy said, offering her husband a smallbowl. "By the way, stop assuming you know what you'retalking about. You don't." 

"I don't?" Jacobs said, taking the bowl and sniffing at it.
"Hey, is this salsa?" 

"Lightly spiced with relevant detail. This is the technicalmaterial neither of us could handle before Kethrommon gothere. I've worked it over some. Here's a spoon." 

Jacobs took it and began eating. "It's good," he said, chewing 
a little and swallowing. 

"I wnomped it up while you were in the other room ofChaylaifa's suite, talking to the lieutenant," Trudy said.
"There was something about what was going on that justdidn't ring true. I didn't have much else to do while I waswaiting, so I accessed the net to do some of the backgroundresearch I damn well should have done in the first place." 

"There's some tough bits in this, but it's fine." Jacobs began 
to absorb tiny fragments of detail. 

"No, don't savor it," Trudy said. "Just eat it up and thinkabout it later. We're in a hurry, you know." She produced abag of corn chips. "By the way, here's what we didn't alreadyknow about the Bloxx. Take it all in, love." 

"Yep." He ate quickly and, in a few minutes, he finished. 

"Well?" Trudy asked. 

"Give me a second and let me start digesting all this—oh,
Jesusl" 

Trudy grinned. "You found the biggie, didn't you? Wifeand daughter, indeed! Never mind; I'm just as guilty. Theyacted like wife and daughter to Chaylaifa, but they were actually 
the second and third members of a male-dominatedtrisexual relationship." 

Jacobs wiped a hand over his face. "I must have lookedlike a fool in front of Lieutenant Hrock-Leff," he said. It wasalmost a groan. "Chaylaifa—the sha—was the seed carrier.
He plants it in Fehlorah, the thaka'thott; if he has sex with 

RHUUM SERVICE 105 


Nasu, it's only in fun or to excite himself further, the old dog.
Fehlorah is a natural hermaphrodite who's just past puberty.
All thaka'thotts are. Fehlorah contributes her egg and incubates 
the fertilized ovum for a day or two. When the timecomes, she passes her egg through intercourse to Nasu, a truefemale—the chosha—who goes through pregnancy and bearsthe youngling. The way I just saw Fehlorah cozying up toNasu, Fehlorah is probably carrying a fertilized egg right now.
After two to five fertilizations, Fehlorah's body will tell herwhether she's going to mature into a sha or chosha. Damn!" 

"It's an atypical case, Jonny Lee," Tmdy said. "Don't blameyourself. The Rhuum arc unique. We don't know of any otherviviparous trisexual races." 

"I know, I know—but there I was, calling them child molesters 
and perverts." 

"But you were half-right, hon. Chaylaifa, at least, was apervert." 

"Huh? How so? The records say the Rhuum usually havethreesomes." 

"Go on, Jonny Lee. Think about it some more." 

Jacobs did. Suddenly, he blinked. "What, for thati Shoot!
With all that other stuff going on, who'da thunk it? Who'dapaid attention^" 

"We should have," Trudy replied. "We're supposed to begood at this. Face it, love, we're racial chauvinists." 

"I guess we must be." 

"This particular taboo is hardly unique—although, in itsmost severe form, it never lasts very long in the history of aparticular civilization. Or so it says here." 

"I'm beginning to have an idea," Jacobs said. 

"I was hoping you would. Now think about the Btoxx." 

"I have been. That one's harder. The insult to Kethrommon's 
dignity was substantial." Jacobs thought some more about it.
"No. No apology is possible. I don't see any way out of thesituation—not directly, at any rate." 

"I don't know what to do, either," Trudy said. 

"It'll be okay, Trude," Jacobs said, and there was a certainfamiliar light in his eyes- "For the first time since we fell intothis pile of sawdust, I'm beginning to get the feeling thatwe're gonna win. Let's go talk to Lieutenant Hrock-Leff." 

106 Brad Ferguson 


Trudy, Jacobs and Hrock-Leff had returned to Chaylaifa'ssuite. "I must talk to you now, Nasu," the lieutenant said. "Doyou want these others to leave us?" 

"No," Nasu said. "Mr. Jacobs is the nearest thing to a representative 
I—we—have aboard the hotel-1 would like him to 
stay. I have a feeling we might need him." 

"I'll do what I can for you, Nasu." 

"I know. Please go ahead. Lieutenant. I hope you need notinvolve Fehlorah in this. She's still a youngling in so manyways." 

Hrock-Leff nodded. "I do not believe there is a need to involve 
her. Let us begin. You killed Ambassador Chaylaifa, didyou not?" 

"Yes," Nasu said. She went to one of the bedside tables,
opened a drawer and retrieved a small knife. It was stillstained with Chaylaifa's blood. "I took this from the ...
cart ... this evening and placed it under my pillow in theother bedroom," Nasu said, handing it to the lieutenant.
"When Chaylaifa began making his, his demands, I ... I justcould not acquiesce again." She began shaking. "I did it. Ikilled him. I am not sorry. I could not suffer another night ofChaylaifa's ... aberrations." 

'Tell me about them, Nasu," the lieutenant said. 

Nasu's icy composure was slipping; she was beginning toweep. "I can barely bring myself to speak of them," she whispered. 


"You must." 

"He ... he corrupted the poor thaka 'thott. He ... he ...
consumed nourishment right in front of us. He left crumbs inbed\ He was proud of it!" She sobbed. "What else could I 

dor' 

Jesus. Trudy, came Jacobs's thought. 

Shhh. Trudy returned. Hrock-Leff's working up to the pitch. 

"Nasu, what of Fehlorah?" asked the lieutenant. "What washer role in this killing?" 

"She watched throughout." Nasu paused to collect herselfand, after a moment, she continued. "She thanked me afterward. 
We made quick love, right there at his side, in hisblood. It was wonderful. Then we washed together, and it wasjust then that the medicos and the security people arrived, 

RHUUM SERVICE 107 


summoned automatically by the sha's sudden death. I amready to be arrested now." She bowed her head. 

"I am not going to arrest you, Nasu." 

"You are not?" She seemed puzzled. 

"No. I have no authority to do so. You are—were—themate of a diplomat; I cannot take you into custody, even forthe killing of that selfsame diplomat. You are answerable toyour own people for your actions here, but you are not answerable 
to us. I will provide a full report to your ministry ofjustice, and the hotel management will ask you to leave thepremises as soon as possible." 

"I understand, Lieutenant," Nasu said, "and I accept the necessity." 
She sighed. "The scandal that arises from this will ruinour family—oh, not because of the actions I have taken tonight,
no, but because of what the sha has done. Chaylaifa was a figure 
of respect, but he had grown very old, and in his great agehe had also grown ... foul. The whispers concerning his aberrant 
conduct will become shouts, once this incident is madeknown." She closed her eyes. "Certainly everything will betaken from us by those who ... protect ... our code of morality, 
but I care not Fehlorah and I will manage." 

"I am certain you will," Lieutenant Hrock-Leff agreed. "Ican see that there is a great strength between you—and, if Iam not mistaken," he said, sniffing the air, "there is something 
even more important between you now." 

"I think so, too," Nasu said, smiling for the first time.
"Fehlorah will soon give me her egg. It will be our first." 

"All the more reason you should listen to Mr. Jacobs,"
Hrock-Leff said. "He has a plan." 

A few hours later, there was a knock at the door ofKethrommon's suite. "Package, Sir Kethrommon," came a robot 
voice. 

Kethrommon was sitting in the dark, utterly alone. "Justleave it there," he said, "and go away." 

"Sorry, m'lord, but I need your thumbprint as proof of delivery." 


"No." 

"It is very important. I am told to say it concerns your mission." 


"What mission?" Kethrommon asked miserably. "I have 

108 Brad Ferguson 

none—oh, never mind. All right. I will take the delivery." As 


he rose from his chair, the lights went on. He crossed theroom in three steps and opened the door to find a delivery robot 
standing there, a small package set atop its flat head. 

"This is the thing?" Kethrommon asked. 

"Yes, m'lord. Your thumbprint, please, on the glass platenext to the tray ... thank you. Good night, m'lord." 

"Good night," Kethrommon said as he closed the door. Helooked at the package. It was a not very large box sealed inplastic, and the only thing written on it was his own name—inan ornate hand, to be sure. It was moderately heavy. He held thepackage up to his ear and rattled it, and something insidethumped. 

"Well, I wonder," Kethrommon muttered. He picked at theeasy-open tab with a fingernail, and the plastic promptly fellapart along its pre-stressed seams. He opened the box andstopped for a moment, shocked and speechless. Then hesmiled for the first time in many hours. 

Things in Chaylaifa's suite were getting busy. 

"That was Sir Kethrommon, via the net," Trudy said. "Hesends his personal regards to us, and he says he will bepleased to attend an early-moming meeting of the principals,
as long as it is over before the time of his ship's scheduleddeparture. He will not change that." 

"I didn't expect him to," Jacobs said, pleased. "I knewKethrommon would give us some wiggle room if we gavehim any excuse at all. Good boy!" 

"You saw something in the files I didn't notice," Trudysaid. 

"Just a detail. Kethrommon could not lake Chaylaifa's life inpayment for the insult to him—not in the context of negotiationswith a foreign government, anyhow. However, Chaylaifa couldoffer his life—which he did by sending Kethrommon his veryown blaster. It's the same weapon he pulled on him at themeeting yesterday. Fraught with symbolism." 

"I see," Lieutenant Hrock-Leff said. "So, at the meetingthis morning, Kethrommon will fire into Chaylaifa's alreadydead body, honor will be served, and that will be the end ofit." 

"Oh, heaven forbid," Jacobs said. 'That would cause more 

RHUUM SERVICE 109 

problems later. I can't have the Bloxx trade rep appear to killthe Rhuum ambassador—and I still want the two sides to 
strike a deal." 


"A deal? With one of the parties dead?" 

"You bet. Lieutenant. C'mon. I want to see how they'redoing with Chaylaifa." They walked into the main bedroom.
"Hi, fellas." 

"Hello, Mr. Jacobs," said the chief cosmetologist, his rodent 
teeth chattering. The others nodded to Jacobs and continued 
to scurry around Chaylaifa's bulky form, combing andcleaning and straightening. "How d'you think he's looking?" 

"Pretty good, Osroqui, pretty good. I knew your team coulddo it if anybody could." 

"Thanks, Mr. Jacobs. Hey, this fur of his is a real problem,
what with the blood and all. Kinks and gunk alt over theplace. Hell, he was still leaking when we got here. How covered 
up is the old kark going to be?" 

"He'll have a ceremonial robe on, like that one over on thechair. He can also wear a big hat, if you need him to. His faceis going to be the important thing. How about his eyes?" 

"I can't do much about those, even if I replaced them withglass," Osroqui said. "He can't blink anymore, and that kindof thing always gives a stiff away. I don't think we need a hat.
Hey, does his kind wear veils?" 

"No, they don't." Jacobs thought a moment. "Glass, yousaid. Hmmm. Glasses." 

"Glasses?" Osroqui asked. 

"Something you see in old Terran movies. Humans used towear glass lenses in frames over their eyes to correct visionproblems. We could make ones with really thick lenses; thenyou couldn't see if Chaytaifa was blinking or not. We couldtell Kethrommon it was some Rhuum thing. Measure his headfor me, will you, Osroqui? I'll make a call." 

The time for the meeting arrived. The rest of the Rhuumparty was only slightly surprised to find Chaylaifa, Nasu, andFehlorah already in place at the conference table, but theytook their seats in the gallery without incident. 

Kethrommon entered to find things much the same as theday before, except that Jacobs and Trudy were standing by 

110 Brad Ferguson 

Chaylaifa's side, and that the Rhuum ambassador waswearing ... something ... over his eyes. 

"Mr. Jacobs?" the Bloxx began, somewhat puzzled. "Whyare you sitting over there today? Do you propose to speak forthe Rhuum?" 


"With your indulgence, m'lord," Jacobs began, "I do, in away. The ambassador has asked me to translate his nativetongue into Anglish for him in order to spare us farther, ah,
difficulties." 

"I see." Kethrommon reached into his cloak and droppedChaylaifa's blaster onto the table. It clattered. There wassomething like a gasp from the gallery. "I received this lastnight," he said. "Did the ambassador grasp the import?" 

Jacobs put his head very near Chaylaifa's lips, waited amoment, and then straightened. "He did, m'lord. He begs amoment while he very carefully phrases what he wishes tosay next, realizing that you need not grant him this boon." 

Kethrommon paused, then nodded. "Very well. What is it?" 

Jacobs bent, paused, and straightened again. "He wishes toask again the question which he so poorly and insultingly putto you yesterday because of his clumsiness with the language.
He begs to know if he may ask this question again, here andnow, or do you wish to kill him right away? He humblyawaits your answer." 

Kethrommon was silent for a long minute. "He may askthe question," the Bloxx representative finally said, his jawset. 

Jacobs put his head next to Chaylaifa's mouth. "The ambassador 
wished to know, Sir Kethrommon, which of yourwarrior gods acted through your father to sire you. You exhibit 
the most honorable traits of many of them, and the ambassador 
would like to know so he, too, may honor him." 

Kethrommon blinked. "Is that what he—never mind. 
Please tell the ambassador that I have the honor to have as mypatron the god Anox-MaIeth, the warrior spirit of the northernprovinces; my father's family is of those lands. Please thankthe ambassador for his interest." The Bloxx picked up theblaster and rather casually put it into the pocket in his cloak.
"I think we should begin the meeting now." 

"The ambassador is eager as ever to begin," Jacobs said. 

RHUUM SERVICE 

m 

Jacobs and Trudy were standing at the viewport in the departure 
lounge, hand in hand. They watched as the Rhuumyacht sprang away from the side of the hotel and, on thrusters, 
maneuvered into proper position for its sprint for home. 

"Ahem," said Lieutenant Hrock-Leff. "I thought I mightjoin you for the departure. All is well?" 

Jacobs nodded to him. "All is very well. Lieutenant. And 


you?" 

"A bit more prosperous than I was, as are certain membersof my squad. We thank you." 

"You're all entirely welcome." Jacobs turned back to theviewport as the lieutenant came to stand with him and Trudy. 

"They are satisfied?" Hrock-Leff asked. "I still cannot believe 
it has worked." 

"Everything's fine," Jacobs answered. "Chaylaifa wentaboard on a medical stretcher. The poor sha is completely exhausted. 
He will have a fatal heart attack on the way home—aregrettable consequence of his strenuous efforts to bring aboutthe first trade treaty with the Bloxx. The ship's doctor is afamily confidant; he'll keep silent and no one else will know.
Chaylaifa will be buried in space, according to tradition. Nasuand Fehlorah will inherit Chaylaifa's import business. They'llbe well taken care of." 

Trudy nodded. "They ought to be. Rhuum has struck thefirst major agreement with a race that's sure to be a majorplayer in this part of the galaxy." 

"And we nailed it for them," Jacobs said, with great satisfaction. 
"Despite everything." 

"I hope Nasu and Fehlorah will be all right," Trudy said.
"They've been through quite an ordeal." 

"They're the widowed spouses of a hero of the Rhuum Industrial 
Organization," said Jacobs. "They'll be treated right,
don't worry. They won't be single for long, either—not withthat bankroll. They'll find a new sha, or Nasu will takeFehtorah if she turns out to be sha herself." 

"I wonder how we managed to fool Sir Kethrommon,
though?" Lieutenant Hrock-Leff wondered. "He is not stupid." 


"He isn't," Jacobs said with a grin, "and we didn't.
Kethrommon realized that Chaylaifa was dead the moment hesaw him. However, he decided to trust me—or, more accurately, 

112 Brad Ferguson 

he decided to trust Tmdy, who was standing right there, afterall, and so had to be privy to what was going on. Kethronunonplayed along and quickly realized that we were showing away—the only way—out of the jungle. He took it. bless hisheart." 

"You were sure of him?" Hrock-Leff asked. 

"Reasonably sure. I figured Kethronunon wouldn't exposeus, as long as we didn't implicate him in our cover-up or deal 


unfairly with him in the talks—that is, as long as we didn'tput his personal honor into question, and we never did. No,
the whole charade with Chaylaifa's body was for the benefitof the Rhuum party. They'll go home now and tell everyonehow wonderful the regrettably departed Chaylaifa was at thetalks. His finest moment coming right at the end, and ailthat." 

The Rhuum yacht was nothing more than a pinpoint ofwinking light in the far distance. Suddenly, it vanished. 

"There they go," Trudy said. "Safe home, Nasu andFehlorah." 

"Indeed," Hrock-Leff said, nodding. "Well, I feel a bit letdown, to tell you the truth. This case provided more excitement 
than I usually see in my work. Actually, I found it ratherexhilarating." 

"Really?" Jacobs asked, as the three turned and left thelounge. "Well, stick around. Lieutenant. This could be thestart of a beautiful friendship." 

SOFT IN THE WORLD,
AND BRIGHT 

M. Shayne Bell 
This is how it began: I stumbled. But it wasn't just a stumble. 
I knew that. My right leg "felt" tingly—no, "felt" asif tiny pinpricks of my mind's awareness about my knee weredisappearing, as if the knee itself were disappearing atom byatom in a sudden rush. 

Mary! I shouted the thought in my mind, but she didn't answer, 
and I could not access her virtual reality in my mind tofind her. I was shut out of it. But she could stop this—she wasthe artificial intelligence networked through my nerves andmy brain to give me my body. I thought maybe that's why shedidn't answer me. Maybe she was trying to stop my bodyfrom disintegrating from my consciousness and she couldn'tanswer me because it took all of her efforts. 

I had stopped walking and was standing in the middle of abroad flight of stairs leading down to breakfast, and peoplewere staring. I looked across at the handrail against the walland took a step toward it with my left leg. I could walk with 

114 M. Shayne Bell 

it. My left leg worked. I dragged my right leg along and gotto the handrail and the bottom of the stairs and a table, whereI sat and rubbed my knee. My hands could feel my knee, butmy knee couldn't feel my hands on it. 


Mary. I thought. What's happening? 

But she didn't answer, and a golden robot with its ruby,
multifaceted eyes stood next to my table to take my order andI couldn't think what to tell it. 

"Are you all right, Mr. Addison?" it asked. 

It knew me because it was linked to the hotel's central intelligence, 
which knew all about me: that I was actually nomore than a brain in a body that wouldn't work without theAI they put inside me after I broke my neck and we found outthat I was allergic to the neural-regeneration drugs, that Icouldn't actually feel anything, it was the AI giving my mindthe illusion of feeling, that I couldn't breathe on my own, orspeak, or control my urination, or be a man among other menwho can walk and breathe and hold their urine, and that everyeight years I had to have the AI replaced because me programs 
would become corrupted, and it was Mary's eighthyear and they would erase her out of my mind and I didn'twant her to go because I loved her. 

I put my hands on the table. "I'm fine," I said to the robot. 

"Might I suggest the buffet this morning?" 

I couldn't walk to a buffet. "Please bring me some coffee,"
I said, "and fruit." 

"Grapefruit?" 

I nodded. 

It left, and I still couldn't feel my knee, and I wouldn't putmy hands on it. Mary, I thought. Talk to me, Mary. Are youall right? 

But she didn't send a word to my mind. I was sitting inSwan Court, next to the hotel's artificial lagoon by its artificial 
sea, and the artificial breeze off the water smelled like thesea, and I knew the sea smelled like this because Mary and Ihad run along a beach once in the early morning and I hadfelt the sand on my feet, and the spray from the waves on myskin, and I knew Mary was making me feel all of that, but Ididn't care because Mary was with me in my mind and wewere happy with the sun coming up over the sea. 

"Your coffee, sir." 

SOFT IN THE WORLD, AND BRIGHT 

The robot put it down in front of me. 

"Your grapefruil, sir." 


"Thank you." 

"Would you like anything else?" 

"No." 

"Shall I call the swans for you?" 

I looked up at the robot and wanted it to go and leave mealone. 'The swans?" I said. 

The robot looked out over the water, and three swans swamtoward us. I wondered how the robot had called them, andthen I thought they were probably not real swans, but robots,
and it had called them through the central intelligence with athought. They were graceful and lovely, and the robot left butthe swans didn't. 

I spooned sugar into the coffee and stirred it and lifted thecup and took a drink—and the coffee burned my lips, but myhands hadn't felt the heat of it in the cup though they had feltthe cup, and 1 put the cup down but my hand started shakingand made coffee spill onto the white tablecloth and I touchedmy lips but only my lips could feel the touch now, and myhands wouldn't stop shaking. 

I put them in my lap. 

And knew then what would happen. I didn't want to gothrough it, not again, not a third time. I didn't want to be inmy mind when they killed another AI that I had lived withand loved—when they killed Mary this time. Mary, I thought,
we'll try to fix whatever's wrong. We fixed the last set of problems 
you had two weeks ago. We 'II fix this. I don't know ifyou can hear my thoughts, but I won't let them erase you. 

I looked up and the swans were swimming away, and therobot was serving food to a man and a woman and a little girtsitting three tables from me. I raised one of my shakinghands, and the robot looked at me. 

"Help me," I said in a whisper, knowing it could hear meand call help with its thoughts, and we wouldn't have to disturb 
the people around us for a while yet. 

They came to me quickly, two medical robots, and theywere kind and gentle. They spoke to me in low voices, tellingme what they were going to do, that they would help me walkout of the restaurant to a service elevator, that they could 

116 M. Shayne Bell 

carry me and were prepared with a respirator should I needone on the way. I listened to them and wondered about theirlives. Did they love each other? I knew that they could love,
and that I could love them. I had loved three AIs. There are 
people who, if they heard me talk of love, would think that 


contact with artificial intelligences had corrupted my mind,
not the other way around. But it was not the outward physicalthat I loved, after all. It was the inward quality of soul. 

The robots carried me to the hospital, and along the way Ilost my body. When they hooked me to machines that monitoredmy vital signs and made me breathe and took care of my bodilyfunctions and dripped water in my veins so I wouldn't dehydrate, 
I couldn't feel it I couldn't feel the air in my lungs or mychest move up and down, or the rough cotton sheets against mybare skin. They kept me room dark so it wouldn't hurt my eyes,
but even so, I could see the bank of monitors that told me oranyone who cared to look that my lungs were breathing and myheart beating. It is a curious thing to be forced to lie absolutelystill and watch me functions of your body be displayed digitallyin bright green lines and know that they are going on but notfeel them. 

And they had put electrodes on my head above the' implantthat held Mary. Her monitor showed a steady, positive greenline. Normal. Agitated, probably. Low. But normal. Mary, Ithought. We'll find a way to help you. 

I hoped that what I was telling her was true, that we couldfind a way to help her- I wondered what she was thinking ordoing and whether she knew that I would try to save her again.
The theory was that the complexity of maintaining her own existence 
while making my body work and feeding my mind theillusion of sensation would eventually overwhelm her basic algorithms. 
a process estimated to take a minimum of eight years,
after which she could crash catastrophically at any moment, anddie, and take me with her if help couldn't reach me in time. 

But the theory didn't factor in love. 

Mary and I could meet in virtual reality. I could close myeyes and go to her as a man in a room in the virtual realityimplant and be with her. Mary always took the form of awoman with me- She was never a man, like my first AI, or 

SOFT IN THE WORLD. AND BRIGHT 

sometimes a man and sometimes a woman like the second. 
She was always just Mary. And she was beautiful. 

I'm an artist, she told me one day, sitting next to me in thevirtual-reality room, and her eyes sparkled. She was excited,
breathless. I believed in her art: my body had never beenmore lean and tight, more sensitive, more orgasmic, morealive to the sudden brush of sunlight through clouds, or theclean feel of a glass tabletop, of the stirrings of the wind inthe hair on my arms than it had been with Mary. 

Come outside, she said, and she stood and took my hand. 


Outside? I asked, because there had never been an outside before. 
I stood and she turned me around, and there was a door
now: dark oak, weathered, a little barred window the shape of
a knight's shield at just the height of my eyes, and I could see
blue sky out of it By the door was a stone table, and on the table 
a rose. I walked to the table and picked up the rose, and the
thorns pricked my skin. It smelled as beautiful as any rose I had
ever smelled. What have you done? I asked. 


And she opened the door and we walked out onto a mountainside 
in Spain: Andalusia, the Moorish country west of Gibraltar, 
the forests in the mountains, and the dry plain below
us with black-robed riders galloping black horses across it far
away, and the deep blue of the Atlantic, and across the straits,
Africa. It was a place I loved, and she knew it because I loved
it, and here it was in detail I had forgotten or which had never
been. The mountains were starker, more jagged, more romantic. 
There were no cities. No roads. No other people, till we
found that when we connected to the net our AI friends could 
visit us. I looked behind us, and the room we had walked out
of had become part of a little white stucco Spanish house with
a dull-red tile roof and a weathered water jar by the door. 


Do you like this? she asked me. 


Did I like it? I remembered her asking that question while
I lay without the sensation of my body in the hospital bed.
Mary's Spain was startling, but serene. The house she built in
my mind became a home for us. 


Toward noon, I felt a sudden rushing in my mind like the
coming of a wind. My head felt expanded, immense, vast, and
I knew that some greater artificial intelligence had entered me. 


Which meant a human doctor was coming to talk to me. 


118 M. Shayne Belt 


I couldn't imagine the days before AIs, the horror of life
for people paralyzed like me, when you couldn't speak, when
nothing could take out your thoughts and make them become
words. When all you could do is listen and wait and wait and
wait. 


Hello, I thought. 


Hello, William Addison. 


Who are you? 


I'm Hotel Andromeda. 


But I knew that wasn't, perhaps, accurate. The hotel's central 
intelligence ran so many programs, was responsible for so
much, that what was in me was only a small part of her vast
mind. So should I call you Andromeda or Hotel or both? I
asked. 



The AI laughed in my mind, and I heard the doctor walkin the room. I couldn't turn my head to see her. But sheleaned over and put her face above mine so I could see herwhen she talked to me, and she smiled. She had an old, careworn 
face. I could tell from the way she was holding her armsthat she must have been holding on to mine, but I couldn'tfeel her touch. 

"I'm sorry for the trouble you've had here," she said. "Butthis isn't your first rime to go through this, is it? You knowwhat we have to do, and that the procedure to make you wellwill take some time." 

You don't understand, I thought, and Andromeda played mythoughts as words through a speaker at the head of my bed.
/ don't want to go through that procedure again. 

"What?" 

/ want to try to save Mar—the artificial intelligence in me.
I don 'l want her to die. 

"Dying, as you call it, is part of the process of an AI's life,
Mr. Addison. It accepted all this. It won't feel pain the wayyou feel pain." 

Not physical pain, at least, I thought. But she wilt feel thepain of ending, of parting, f want her programs searched forerrors and the errors fixed and Mary put back inside of me. 

"Mary, is it?" 

The doctor moved out of my line of vision, and I heard heropening a drawer in a cabinet I couldn't see. 

There are elegant diagnostic and reconstructive programs, 

SOFT IN THE WORLD, AND BRIGHT 

Doctor, I thought. Couldn 't Andromeda take Mary and run theprograms on her and find a way to help her? 

The doctor didn't say anything in response to that, at first. 

Can you? I asked Andromeda. Can you do this? 

Why do you want this, William Addison? Andromeda askedme. The laws and procedures for AI replacement are set up tohelp you, to protect you. 

Because I love her, I thought, and it was the first time I hadtold that to anyone except Mary. Andromeda had spoken mythoughts through the speaker, and no one said anything to meabout my love, not the doctor or Andromeda. The room was 


quiet for a rime. 

"It's been eight years, Mr. Addison," the doctor said, finally. 
"MAR-1 programs like yours start to fail at eight years.
Some might last longer, but for how long we don't know.
Keeping this particular AI in you any longer would be dangerous, 
especially when you've already seen the beginningsof its failure." 

Do people abandon their sick? I asked the doctor. / don'twant to abandon Mary when she is the equivalent of sick. Iam trying to find programmers who can help her—and onedid two weeks ago. Mary and 1 are traveling to Earth to geteven better help. We have a chance on Earth, if we can getthere. 

It would be a danger to me to work with your AI. Andromeda 
told me in thoughts. Her corruptions might infect me. 

Leave her in my mind. I thought. Copy a part of your program 
and put it in my mind and check her that way. Don'ttake her out into any part of you. 

And in a rush of AI action I felt a movement in my mindand a door open and a program entering it. I rushed to follow.
I'm coming, too, I said. 

You'll slow me down. 

Then go slowly. I want to talk to Mary, to see her. Tell thedoctor what we're doing. 

I was in the bedroom in our house in Mary's Spain, and itwas as Mary and I had left it that morning: the bed unmade,
the windows open. But there was a storm outside, and no onehad closed the windows. Rain and leaves had blown in onto 
the bed and floor. 

Take this, Addison. 

120 M. Shayne Belf 

I turned and caught a gun thrown into my arms- It wasn'ta gun, of course, but a representation of a program that couldkill an AI. I knew that, but still it looked and felt like a gunto me. Andromeda, or at least a copy of a part of her, stoodin the form of a woman at the side of the door, heavily armed,
dressed in black jeans and T-shirt, a gun held at the ready. Ithrew my gun on the bed and closed the windows. 

Keep that gun. Andromeda said. / don't know what damagecan be done to your mind with you in here. 

I couldn't shoot Mary. 

It might not be Mary you have to shoot. 


I thought about that and picked up the gun. 


Andromeda smirked at the bed. Not platonic, you and
Mary, are you? she said. 
Does it matter? 
What do you feel when you hold her? 
A woman. 
What does she feel when she holds you? 
I'd wondered that, too. Me, I said. She says she feels me. 
Call her in. Open the door and call her in. 
I opened the door, and Mary was standing there in the hall


way, pale, shocked to see me. I reached out to touch her, but
Andromeda shoved me aside and leveled her gun at Mary.
Come in, Mary, she said. We're going to have a little talk. 


I stepped back and aimed my gun at Andromeda. Put down


your gun, I said. Now. Mary, I won't let her kill you. 
Andromeda pointed her gun at the floor. Do you think this
gun is the only way I have of doing my work? Andromeda
asked me without looking at me- She never took her eyes off
Mary. 


What's wrong? I asked Mary. Do you know? 
Why are you here? 
Do you have to ask? 
Cut this talk, both of you, Andromeda said, and she told


Mary what we had come to do. Now sit on the bed and let me


check you. Addison, put down that gun. 
Mary walked in and sat on the bed. She had evidently been
outside because her hair was blown. She looked sad, very sad. 


I'm old, William, she said. 
Not old enough to die. 
Andromeda walked over to Mary and touched her—but 
SOFT IN THE WORLD, AND BRIGHT 


suddenly drew back- Something black and fanged crawledaround from behind Mary's head and hissed at me. Mary triedto throw it off, but she couldn't. I ran to pull it off her, butAndromeda shot first, and Mary disappeared. 


What have you done! I shouted. 

Moved her! I've put her in a holding cell. I'm downloadingevery diagnostic program I've got now, so shut up and let mework. 

Andromeda sat on the floor and held her head and appeareddeep in thought I sat on the bed where Mary had sat, andwaited. The bed was wet, and the leaves blown onto it smetledlike fall. I brushed them onto the floor. 

And Andromeda looked up at me. She's fine, she said. Maryis fine. I can find nothing wrong with her. 

Then run the programs again. Why did my body stop functioning? 
What was the creature on her neck? 

Her creation, to scare you, probably. I think all of this wasto scare you into letting her go before she got sick and hurtyou. She doesn 't want to hurt you. William Addison. She lovesyou, too. 

I couldn't speak for a time after Andromeda said all that,
after I knew what Mary was willing to do to protect me. Ididn't know what to say. I was afraid for Mary and me, too.
But I believed the responsibility of love meant staying together 
and helping each other dll the end. I looked out thewindow and at the bed and back at Andromeda. 

Bring her back, I said. 

/ have already. I'm going out to tell the doctor what I'veseen. 

And she was gone, after the end of the sound of her lastword, just gone. 

But she'd left the gun in my hands. I threw it on the bedand walked out to find Mary. 

She was sitting on the low, stone wall, looking across theplain toward Africa. It was blowy and cold outside, and I'dpicked up a wool sweater for her. I put it around her shouldersand sat next to her. She pulled the sweater tighter around heragainst the cold. There were riders on the plain again, far off,
near the coast, and I wondered now who and what they were. 

122 M. Shayne Bell 

I thought maybe I'd have to take that gun I'd left up on thebed and walk down to them someday to find out. 

/ want to take the risks of being with you, I told Mary. 

Have my programs corrupted you, William? You want tocure me, and you can't. I'm mortal, like you. 


And I accept that. Everyone we love will die, Mary. But wecan love till then and face our loss when it comes. 

She kept looking toward Africa, not at me. I took her handand held it for a long, long time, and she let me hold it andshe held on to my hand till the winds had blown the stormclouds over us and the sun was shining down and drying allthe rain. 

I sat on the edge of the bed while the doctor removed theelectrodes from my body and turned off the machines. I couldfeel the edge of the bed under my legs; I could feel the sheets; 

I could feel the doctor's hands touching my body. "You realize 
Mary's manufacturer will not be liable for any consequences 
of your decision," she said. 

"I'm liable," I said. "I'm choosing this life." 

The doctor looked hard at me. "It will be interesting to seehow long your Mary will last. I wish you both luck." 

She left the room, and I dressed and followed her out. Ipassed the room where the medical robots sat waiting to be ofservice. Six robots were in the room, looking at me with theirbrilliant, ruby eyes. I walked in to thank the two who had carried 
me to the hospital, if they were there, and to leave wordif they were not, but before I could say anything, one of themreached up and touched me. It knew. I suddenly realized that,
because of Andromeda, the robots knew about Mary and me.
I put my hand on its hand and held it for a time. The metalwas cool, but not alien. 

I had connections to rebook, programmers to contact, andI was hungry. But I let it all wait. I walked to an observationdeck under a dome that looked out on the black of space andall the stars and sat in a chair and looked at the beauty of itfor Mary and me. I felt a metal hand touch my shoulder, andI looked up at another robot with a tray of food, and I tookthe tray and thanked the robot but it never said a word to me.
It just pressed my shoulder and left. I held the tray, and closedmy eyes, and went into my mind to Mary and home. 

TO CARESS THE FACE 
OF GOD 

Dove Wolverton 

Warren Garceau had been imprisoned on Darius IV for solong that he no longer knew which he wanted more: 

death or sex. He no longer even dreamed of freedom, butfreedom is what we gave him, in the form of a ticket offplanet and a ride back to Earth after a brief layover at the Hotel 
Andromeda. 


Warren had worn out six bodies serving as many consecutive 
life sentences. I watched him, as was my Job. Each timehis deaths came nearly the same: In his late sixties he woulddevelop prostate cancer, and I'd take the prison infirmary tohim, download a temporary medical program, and operate-
Yet after the operation, he'd stow for the next dozen years,
His arms would purple with liver spots while the wispy silverhair on his head became only a memory. His bones turnedbrittle, like the pumice in the red rocky fields where heworked day after day hoeing the corn, his breath coming insharp gasps as he slaved beneath the double suns. 

124 Dave Wolverton 

I kept Warren's little farm distant from those of other inmates. 
When he was young, during the first three lifetimes,
Warren had some neighbors that he was allowed to see, menworking fields far away from him. As he aged the others wontheir freedom, and I sent them home. 

Until he became the last, and I watched him from a distance 
those final two lifetimes, mainly using automatic sensors. 
Yet sometimes I would use my natural eyes, and in thenight I would spy on him from the mountains through a telescope 
with an infrared lens. He would hoe well into the night,
even when the scorpions came out, as if, like me, he too werepart machine. I can still see him. back bent, his arms gougingdownward automatically, as if the hoe were some giant claw.
After six lifetimes, he knew nothing but the hoeing and theharvest-
When Warren fell and broke his hip that last time, therewas no one to help. and though my sensors did not indicatean attempt at escape, I did not learn that he was injured fortwo days. Warren had dragged himself to his shack, and therehe passed out by his front door in the shade. I found him dehydrated 
and swollen, so I carried the infirmary to him, thenpumped his body full of fluids. 

But he died. So I thawed his last young clone, one with apowerful twenty-two-year-old physiology, and I dumped Warren's 
memories into the clone. 

He woke in his crude little hut with machines, pumpingfood and water into his veins. He faded in and out of sleep fora few days, always waking in pain, sometimes crying out forsleep, for eternal sleep, shouting, "For God's sake. Ray, letme die! Just let me die!" or sometimes he would call a woman's 
name. 

But I fulfilled my duty, as is my job. I had kept him aliveso he could serve his sentence; now 1 kept him alive so hecould be free. When the clone began to stabilize, I made aquick trip back up to the guardhouse and began dismantlingit. After nearly four hundred years, I too would be allowed toleave Darius IV. 


That evening as I worked, I glanced down into Brutal Valley. 
to the barren red plains like rusted iron. Warren stoodbent over his hoe, working mechanically. I got on a hovercraftand went to him. "You arc free," I said as I floated through 

TO CARESS THE FACE OF GOD 

his field, sweeping the tender young plants away with my exhaust. 
He looked up at me, his face dirty and wet with sweat. 

"What?" 

"You are free." 

He stopped, thought for a long moment. "What ... whatdoes that mean?" 

At first, I thought he might still be in shock, disorientedfrom the transfer. But I had not talked to him for two lifetimes, 
and I knew that at last he had forgotten. "It means youno longer have to hoe." 

He stared into the short corn, uncomprehending. For nearlyfour hundred years he had worked that field. Little grew onDarius IV, not even weeds, so for those four hundred years I'dbeen forced to go into his fields from time to time and sowthe thistles, dandelions, and morning glory. At harvest, I'dgrind his grain into flour and add vitamin and mineral supplements 
provided from Earth. The corn had been Warren's onlyfood now for a long time. 

"What will I do without corn?" he asked. 

"You are a rich man," I answered. "Over the years, you'vebeen paid for your work—one International Dollar per day—
and the government has let it accrue interest. You will be avery rich man. You can eat more than corn now. You can eatanything. You can go anywhere, do anything. You are free." 

Warren looked up. His eyes were pale blue and empty, hiswispy red hair down to his shoulders. His biceps were thickand powerful, and I had noticed even from a distance how heworked with gusto, glad to be young again. Yet even as aclone fresh from the vats, he had crags in his face, lines andcreases, a map of all the empty roads and blind alleys he hadwalked down during his long lives. 

"Free?" he said at last. A smile broke across his broad face. 
He looked up at me, then gazed off at the Plentiful Mountainswith their scarred red stone surfaces and their snow-cappedpeaks. All of Darius IV was covered with red pumice downhere on the plains, but up in the mountains, where my guardhouse 
rested in a valley, was a hazy swath of gentle green.
"Can I go up there?" 


"If you like," I answered. 

"I tike," he said, and he snapped the handle of the hoe between 
his two broad hands. 

126 Dave Wolverton 

I took him to the valley with its carpet of rye grass and orchards 
with pear and pecan and olive and fig trees. Robotdrones fretted, draping nets over a ripening cherry tree tokeep out the flocks of ivory cockatoos. I pulled the hovercraftup to the marble columns at the guardhouse compound. 

"I had always hoped it might be like this," Warren said,
"but I never imagined ..." For the following several days Idid not talk to Warren much, though he often stood near me,
as if craving my presence, any human contact. I had a greatdeal of work to do, and there was no point in trying to speakto Warren. He could not carry on a conversation. After fourhundred years he no longer recalled the meanings of mostwords. He could name the sun and the rocks and corn and a 
toilet, but he had no names for my flocks of cockatoos or forthe color pink, and he could not recall the word star. Often,
he would ask me the names of objects, and I would tell him,
and he would forget again only moments later. Yet he did notfear his own ignorance. He grinned like a lunatic, happy to befree, and for him the world was filled with wonder. 

Twice, he asked me, "Ray, why am I here?" 

"You are a criminal. You have hurt people, so the governmentsent you here to recover." 

"What did I do?" he asked. "I remember a woman, a woman*
s beautiful face. I remember wanting to love her." 

"I don't know. I used to store that information in my temporary 
memory," I admitted, "but I erased it long ago. I knowonly that you were found guilty, but that your term is up." 

Warren went to the window of the guardhouse, looked outthrough the leaded crystal to the orchards. For the first timein the past several days, his smile faltered. "Have I recovered," 
he asked, "or will I still hurt people?" 

"I suspect ... that either you will hurt people, or you willnot." 

"I don't want to hurt people." 

"Maybe that will change," I said. "You've been here a longtime. People have hurt you by putting you here. Maybe youwill want to get even." 

Warren shook his head innocently, as if denying my accusation. 
"I hate this body," Warren admitted. "A few days ago, I 


was an old man and all of my bones ached. I wanted only todie. But when you put me back into this young flesh, I feel . -. 

TO CARESS THE FACE OF GOD 

uncomfortable. I want only sex. I want to rut like an animal. Ican feel my flesh burning with that desire, as if I were workinghard in the midday sun. For me, this young flesh is more uncomfortable. 
Death or sex. I've lived six lifetimes. Ray, and allthrough them, I have craved only those two things. Not vengeance." 
He held the windowsill, clenching and unclenching hispowerful hands. 

I think, at that moment, I feared what he might do. He reminded 
me of a panther, so passionate, so powerful, so volatile. 
"Perhaps," I ventured, "you will finally satisfy yourcravings for both." 

At the end of four days, I drugged Warren to keep him pacified 
during the initial stage of his trip home, and I sent himflying in the shuttle to the star cruiser Reliable. From there heconnected with the terminal at Hotel Andromeda, and met hisfate. 

Aboard the Hotel Andromeda, Warren went to a public restaurant 
where the air was heavy, fetid. Few humans dined atthe tables—a handful here, a handful there. In the center ofthe room, seven amphibious Fenroozi swam in a pool, likemassive red newts, chasing their own tails and grabbing atgolden fish. Warren sat at a table, grinning monstrously,
watching three nubile young girls all dressed in glitteringwhite. He stared at them, forgetting about food, and wonderedhow to approach them, how to ask for sex. Yet a more subtlecraving enveloped him as he watched. He felt distant, isolated, 
and he craved human presence, any attention. In anearby tree, a tall hairy silver beast that was all bonescrouched while serving robots brought live prey for it to sniff. 

Warren ignored the predator as he watched the girls. Onewoman finally saw that he was staring, and Warren turnedaway. The silver beast was watching him with all six eyes,
surreptitiously inhaling Warren's scent. Warren did not haveto understand the beast's guttural chatter to know that it wasasking the serving robots if Warren was on the menu. Warrensmiled, walked up to the beast, grasped one of its massivelower canines with his fist, and shook the beast vigorously. Along black tongue snaked out, tasting Warren's hand. 

"Don't even think about it!" Warren said with a grin, slapping 
the predator's snout. 

128 Dove Wolverfon 

He ambled to the table, sat with three girls in white. Theylooked like clones, all red hair and freckles and sad eyes. 


"Hi," he said, "I'm Warren," and he said no more, feeling unsure 
of himself. How do you tell someone that you have notheld a normal conversation in four hundred years? How doyou tell a woman (hat you want her body, but you also wanther to love you after you've used her? How do you casuallyslip into conversation the fact that you've forgotten how toread a menu, or that foods have changed so much that youdon't know what they taste like anymore? He listened to thegirls, feigning interest in things other than their bodies. Onegirl kept calling him "voracious," but she used the word as ifit were a slang compliment. He imagined luring the girls tohis room, grabbing them, making love to them wildly there.
He was strong now, in his young body. He knew he could doit, with one of them at least. He ordered a light dinner madeof things he could not remember ever having tasted. 

When the food came, it was both delicious and overpowering. 
He enjoyed it immensely, but halfway through the secondcourse, he vomited. The girls got up and left. Dumbfounded,
Warren lay on the table, retching again and again. After threehundred and ninety-four years without any food but cornmeal, he found to his dismay that perhaps he might not beable to stomach anything else. 

Dazed, he decided to return to his room. On the way, Warren 
stopped to gaze through a window into a vast tube—achamber where the artificial gravity was so powerful thatgases became swirling frozen liquids. Creatures moved inthere—some were like giant purple amoebas straddling layersof frozen green methane, while others higher up were fist-
sized white squids or spiders that swam through liquid heliumin little Jerking spasms. 

A sentry droid stopped and cautioned Warren against tryingto enter the aliens' living chamber. But Warren just stood,
watching. He held his hand to the window, felt the tug of thatgravity, pulling him toward that alien world. Warren laughed.
It was like the unrelenting tug of sex, like the grip of death. 

Warren felt alone. More alone than ever. The sinking feeling 
he'd experienced in the restaurant came over him. Deathor sex, he told himself, death or sex. One or the other. Hecould not decide which. Over the past few days, he had found 

TO CARESS THE FACE OF GOD 

the hotel to be very accommodating. He had only to ask at thecorn console in his room, and they offered virtually any service. 
He wondered. If I were to order death and sex from the 
hotel, which would they bring first? He imagined the womanof his dreams, the beautiful dark-eyed woman he had wantedto love for so long, and he went to his room—a simple roomwhere an artificial sun shone on a carpet of living grass anda hammock swung between two trees. 


Once in his room. Warren did not know what to do for entertainment, 
so he stood with his eyes closed. He tried toimagine holding a woman, just putting his arms around awoman casually, but he had not seen one in so long that theimage kept fading. And at length he imagined a hoe in hishand. Warren stooped, as he had been doing for nearly fourhundred years, and moved his arms steadily as if he werehoeing imaginary weeds from the grass. 

A chime sounded, and Warren straightened- It chimedagain, and Warren ambled to the door, wondering if the soundcame from outside. When he touched the pressure plate, thedoor opened. A cyborg stood there, a powerful woman withhair the light brown of young corn silk, with massive artificialarms, body armor, extra sensors, and RAM storage containersbolted to her head. Warren stared into her face, wonderedwhat it would be like to wrap his arms around her, just holdher flesh with all that metal. 

"Warren Alien Garceau?" the cyborg asked. "Penitent fromDarius IVT' 

"Yes?" Warren answered. 

"I am Marinda Chase, from hotel security." 

Without thinking. Warren turned to face the wall, spread hislegs, and placed his hands flat against the wall in preparationfor a body search. Marinda stood somewhat surprised. "Youare not under arrest," she hurried to explain. "I came at therequest of a hotel client. A woman who says you once knewher on Earth. She would like to meet you again." 

"A woman?" 

"Yes, a Miss Rebecca Lynn Lyons." 

The name struck Warren like a fist, and he found himselfgasping, trying to recall who she might be. "Rebecca Lyons?" 

"Yes, you murdered her on Earth long ago," Marinda said,
"but her memories, her personality, are stored in a virtual re


130 Dave Wolverton 

ality aboard the hotel's module for deceased personalities,
Heavenly One. She would like to meet you there—in heaven.
She says she will pay you well for the privilege. Will youcome?" 

Rebecca Lyons—that was her name—the dark-eyed womanof his dreams. Warren nodded dumbly and smiled. He recalled 
that hurt, the ache of wanting to love her, and he wondered 
why she would want to see him. She will hate me, herealized. She will want to hurt me, as I hurt her. He couldsmell the trap. Yet he could not leave it alone. And an oddthought struck him. If she were in a virtual heaven program, 


then perhaps she would not be angry. Perhaps she would forgive 
him. Perhaps she would even be grateful that he hadkilled her and sent her there. Warren thought for a long timebefore answering, "Yes, I'll come." 

Aboard the module Heavenly One, Warren found only aslate gray room with several cubicles where visitors could recline 
in comfortable chairs. Outside of these, the module hadno accommodations for the living. The cyborg Marinda Chaseplugged the synaptic adaptors into the socket at the base ofWarren's skull and fit a helmet over his head. He had wanted 
to bring a gift, but what do you give someone living in a virtual 
reality? They had no physical needs, no bodies. Warrenknew little of virtual realities. They had been young when hewas young, and he had never created a world with computerimages. He did not know what to expect. 

Greens and blues swirled before Warren's eyes. and hisnostrils filled with a strange sweet essence. He sniffed: awarm summer sun beaming upon grass and stone, the scent ofwater, and some type of sweet blossoms. Sounds began toarise, the drone of bees, a light wind whispering through thegrass, the peep of a bird among forest branches, someonelaughing. Then the images; He was sitting upon a stone chaircarved in a black basalt mountain. Dark green hanging vinesdraped the mountain like a living curtain, and the scent oftheir sweet red flowers filled the air. Honey bees droned alongthe cliff face like motes of dust caught in the sunlight. Allaround him was a sparse deciduous forest surrounding a shadowed 
meadow. Somewhere off in the trees Warren could hear 
a tumbling brook, and laughter. It was late afternoon, almost 

To CARESS THE FACE OF GOD 131 

twilight, so that the slanting sun over the trees came faint andgolden. 

"Hello?" Warren called. "Hello?" 

He stood for a long time, until distant laughter answeredhim from the shadowed woods. The angels came for him,
floating through the forest like thistle down. Two youngwomen wearing luminous robes of green. Their translucentwings were broad, like those of a butterfly, and the wingstrembled in the sunlight. The angels landed at his feet, andthey were twins: Clear skinned, clear eyed, with long darkhair and eyes like brown pools. They were young women.
Warren gazed into their faces for a long time, gazed at theirbare shoulders, and the yearning he fell for them grew. "Areyou Rebecca Lyons?" he asked. 

One girl laughed, stepped toward him playfully, took hishand between hers. "We are only her servants. She is a goddess 
now, ruler of this world. Will you let us take you toher?" 

Warren whispered, "Of course." One of the angels clapped, 


and the whole forest came alive. Satyrs pranced in from thewoods playing golden flutes and they danced around Warren onmincing hooves, their goat tails twitching in time to the music.
Pale green naked tree sprites with large breasts brought a palletdraped with silks, and while the angels stripped Warren's clothesoff, me sprites cheered and fought to lift him onto the pallet. 

Once Warren was naked, they carried him, dancing andsinging through the forest, sometimes stopping to spin him incircles. Sometimes dryads would be singing in the trees abovehim, and they would toss baskets of leaves and flower petalson his head. Once, the revelers chased a herd of giant pigsfrom their trail. Fairy lights danced above him, and off in thedeeper shadows under the trees, Warren could see men withthe heads of deer moving nervously, as deer will. 

The procession carried Warren forward to the sounds offlutes and song and drums, through the thickening woods asthe day died and the shadows took on a life of their own.
They carried him for hours, laughing and celebrating, lightingtorches in the darkness, until they reached a mountain pass.
Even from the bottom of the trail. Warren could see flames 
lighting the night at the mountain's top, a great bonfire, and 

132 Dave Wolverton 

around it danced the stag men and satyrs and naked treesprites. 

For a man who had forgotten words, the scene was one oftotal delight. He could not even guess at the names of thewonders he beheld. Instead, he was like a child, amazed,
drinking pure pleasure and enjoyment- Rebecca must haveforgiven me, he reasoned, to bring me to heaven. When thewood sprites stopped at the foot of the mountain to paint himin stripes of yellow and orange. Warren did not mind eventhough their hands were rough. When the satyrs gave himwine, he drank until his head spun. 

The satyrs poured more wine for him, pointed and laughed.
Warren could feel a warmth on his head, burning spots, andhe touched his forehead, felt the nubs of goat horns sproutingabove his eyes. He jumped up and danced around on the pallet 
as they carried him up the mountain, and was amazed tofind his feet numb. Nimble little hooves were growing wherethe toes and feet had been, and his naked legs were coveredwith a fine layer of goat hair. 

One of the satyrs tossed him a flute, and Warren took it tohis lips, found that it played a haunting melody that gavevoice to all his lusts and desires far better than he could ever 
speak them. He spun upon his pallet, dancing and laughingand playing hymns to the moon and darkness until they carried 
him before the goddess Rebecca Lyons. She was reclining 
upon a daybed in a small meadow, and she was morebeautiful than Warren had ever dreamed. The pale handsomeface framed by dark hair, the obsidian eyes staring out at him. 


The bed itself was the purest shade of white he could everimagine, and Rebecca wore a single transparent sheet to coverthe sleek contours of her body, the generous breasts. A scentmore alluring than honeysuckle wafted from her bed. Allaround her meadow were trees, great oaks with twistedbranches and dark leaves. The bonfires burned in a circle 
around her, so that Rebecca was a singular adornment to theforest. 

Warren stopped singing, stopped dancing, let the goldenflute fall from his hands, forgotten. 

"Baaa ...," he said, all his desire, all his lust and yearningfor her coming out in a single bleating sound not unlike abelch. 

To CARESS THE FACE OF GOD 133 

"Do you remember me?" the Goddess asked. 

Warren bleated, and tried to hobble nearer, but found thathis goat feet were suddenly clumsy. He smiled up at her, andfor a moment the goddess stopped, confused. 

"You smile? As if you are happy to see me?" she asked. "Ibring you here naked, painted like a fool, and show you yourself 
as a dumb animal, and you smile?" 

Warren bleated, looking around in bewilderment. The lusthe felt for her was strong, and the pink tip of his organ beganextending from its hairy sheath. Yet beneath the lust was a desire 
more refined, a yearning to beg her forgiveness, to seekher love. He wanted nothing more than to climb on that bedwith her, to caress the face of god with one hand and sootheher anger. 

'Take him!" Rebecca ordered, and suddenly the satyrs andwood sprites had him. They pulled him down from the palletand twisted his arms behind, held Warren's face to theground. Someone tied his right wrist to an exposed tree root,
then his left, then his feet, tightening the ropes so that his legsspread wide. 

Warren, his face in the dirt, panted, raising small puffs ofdust from the ground, and the satyrs began to dance aroundhim, their eyes gleaming in the firelight, followed by the menwith stag's heads. They danced in wide circles and sang indeep voices, sometimes coming close enough to caress his naked 
buttocks, watching him with lust in their eyes, as if theycould not wait for the goddess to give her command so thatthey could fall on him. Through it all. Warren grunted, but hedid not try to struggle free of his bonds or fight. 

Rebecca watched, amused at first, but gradually she beganto frown as if her face would settle into a scowl. Finally shespoke, "Do you understand why you are here?" she asked. 


With a wave of her hand, the goddess returned his voice tohim. 

"I ... don't know. You invited me," Warren offered. 

"I brought you here so I could watch you get raped, theway you raped me," Rebecca said evenly. "I'm going to letthe satyrs have you, one by one, until you cry out in agonythe way I cried when you took me. Then I personally am going 
to slit your throat, here. And at the same time that I do it 

134 Dove Wolverton 

here, I have paid the security guard Marinda Chase to slityour throat outside the virtual reality, and you will die." 

"Oh," Warren said. 

"You aren't frightened? You didn't even guess that Iwanted vengeance?" 

"I guessed," Warren admitted. "I don't remember what Imight have done to you. I guess ... I came here to find out.
I've been raped, in prison back on Earth. I know what it'slike. As for death, I've never been afraid of it. I've died sixtimes. And I've spent a long time in hell, on a planet calledDarius IV. I guess, maybe, I came here because I wanted tosee your heaven, if only for a moment. Forgive me if I enjoyed 
the taste of it, even for a moment, when you didn'twant me to." 

"You think this is heaven?" Rebecca said. "Can you understand 
the tedium of having everything you want, when youwant it? I would trade a day of life for an eternity here, andyou stole my life!" 

Warren looked up, sweat running from his face. "I knowyou hate me, but the man you hated died three hundred andfifty years ago. If you want, you can go ahead and kill menow." Warren waited, humbled, naked. For a moment Rebecca's 
scowl faltered. He almost dared hope for mercy. 

Then Rebecca shrieked, and the sound of her wrath filledthe skies. For one endless moment the flames of the bonfires 
leaped up around him, like a wall, like a huge crown, andWarren took their full fury, felt them crisping his flesh, buming 
the skin from his bones, boiling his eyes in their sockets.
He tried to scream, but only steam shot from his mouth. Hetwitched to flames more caustic than any acid. In that moment, 
he wanted death more purely than ever before, but itwould not come. His sanity felt as if it would boil and bubbleaway as cruelly as his flesh, but still death would not come. 

The flames were snuffed more suddenly than they hadarisen. Warren found himself in the slate gray visiting room,
gasping, burning. The cyborg Marinda Chase stood over him,
the plug from the neural jack in one hand, a long bare knife 


in the other. Warren saw that a second core was plugged into
the neural net, running up to the socket at the base of 


To CARESS THE FACE OF GOD 135 


Marinda's skull. She too had been plugged into the illusion,
awaiting the goddess's orders. 


"You can go," Marinda said. "Rebecca's had her fun.
You'll never suffer enough to satisfy her. I suspect that your
other victims would feel the same, if they were around to talk.
I can understand their hate, but I won't kill you for them." 


"But you thought about killing me," Warren said, unable to
imagine what he had done to her. The cyborg looked into his
eyes, and Warren saw danger there, and the end of his hope.
Marinda might not kill him, but she was the kind who would
never forgive him. She would just keep exacting a toll, day
after day, minute after unceasing minute. 


She said in a deadly tone, "Get out, before I change my
mind." 


The shining shuttle pod returned to Darius IV only two
days before I was scheduled to leave. Warren Garceau got out
along with two servant droids and began offloading seeds and
young fruit trees, various desert reptiles, and other forms of
animal life from Earth. I thought it a great waste of his
wealth—him, someone who could live almost anywhere, do
almost anything. 


Still, he was free to do as he liked, and I no longer needed
the guardhouse. Earth had stopped imprisoning men ages ago,
having found more advanced and profitable ways to reprogram
criminals. Still, I had managed to keep Warren imprisoned until
his sentence was completed, as was my job. I bore him no
grudge, so I gave him the guardhouse as his own, along with the
surrounding mountains and the orchards. 


I asked Warren before I left what he had found at Hotel 
Andromeda that made him want to flee civilization so soon. 


"A world too much like the one I left," he answered. 


"What of the things you wanted?" I asked. "What of sex
and death?" 


Warren grunted, looked away. "I've lived without love for
a long time. I guess I can keep on living without it- As for
death, I figure I have the rest of eternity to explore it." I
looked into Warren's eyes, and I saw his dishonesty. Sex and
death. I knew, I knew that he had somehow gotten his fill of
both. Suddenly I became afraid, wondering who he may have
raped, who he had killed. 


136 Dave Wolverton 



I did not wave good-bye to Warren as I left. The cockatoosrose betow the shuttle in a cloud, and beyond the green oftrees in the mountain vale and the ruby desert surrounding it,
there was tittle to see. 1 pieced together his story at Hotel Andromeda 
myself, and even visited Rebecca Lyons in herheaven. She still had the downloaded personality of Warrenthere with her, burning in flames, screaming. She said shewould keep it there forever, as if it were a treasured gift. ButI contacted Hotel Security and managed to erase the stolenconstruct. I read its memories before releasing it from itspain. Still, all these years later, I sometimes think of Warren. 

An explorer relumed to Darius IV a decade ago and described 
the world as fecund. In the mountains, he said therewere fruit trees—cherry, mango, pear, avocado, olive, peach,
apricot—and wild strawberries the size of a man's fist.
Salmon and giant trout leap in the streams. He found wildfields of corn and rice, and wheat growing over your head,
and beneath the double suns, the plants blossom all year long.
Stronger trees and grasses have even begun to encroach intothe desert wastes, finding place among cactus. There is noone there now to harvest the fruits, so they are consumed bylizards and flocks of ivory cockatoos. This is what Warrenmade of his world, and I imagine that I would not have doneas well. 

GLASS WALLS 

Kristine Kathryn Rusch 

Beth touched the warm glass window. Inside, the babyMinaran swam, its small head rounded and sleek, its eyesopen and friendly. When she had first passed the cubicle, thebaby rested on its back on a rock, basking in fake sunlight. Itsfur was white, its fins slender but strong. 

Odd that it would have a cubicle all to itself just inside thehuman wing. Odder still that the cubicle had been a banquetroom a few days before. 

She leaned her face against the glass, wishing she could goinside. The poor little thing had to be lonely. If she could holdit and feel its warm, wet fur against her skin, she might beable to ease the loneliness—both of their loneliness—for justa short time. 

"Beth!" 

Roddy's voice. She jumped away from the window andstood, hands clasped behind her back. She kept her gazetrained downward, away from the Minaran in the cubicle. 

138 Kristine Kathryn Rusch 

Roddy hated it when she ogled the guests. 


"What are you doing in the main lobby?" He stood besideher. She could smell peppermint on his breath. He had justhad a cup of his favorite—expensive—tea. "Did someone callfor you?" 

She shook her head. How many demerits this time? Ormaybe he would take a week's worth of tips. The diamondsquare pattern on the carpet ran together. She blinked, makingsure her eyes were tearless. 

"You know I don't like having the personal staff in thelobby. It creates a sleazy atmosphere. Some of our patronswould prefer to ignore people like you." 

As you would, she thought. She finally raised her head,
saw Candice at the lobby entrance, watching the entire exchange. 
Roddy wore a black suit, very twentieth-centuryretro, fitting in perfectly with the decor in this half of the human 
wing. Except for the Minaran. 

"I was walking through," Beth said, "and I saw theMinaran. What's it doing here?" 

"That's none of your business," Roddy said. "When youwere hired on, you were told not to ask questions—" 

"Beth was not hired," Candice said. She started down theincline into the lobby. Roddy didn't move. He froze, just likeBeth had, when faced with his boss. "Let's not have this discussion 
in the lobby, hmm? My office, please." 

Except for the Minaran. the lobby was empty. The nextship was twenty minutes behind schedule. The staff was having 
its break, preparing for the midaftemoon rush. 

Beth and Roddy followed Candice around the registrationdesk. Her office was a spacious room with a view of thedocking ships and the stars beyond. She had to have been atHotel Andromeda for most of her life—and had to have been 
a valued employee—to attain a view like that. 

"Sit down," Candice said as she slipped in the wide leatherchair behind her desk. Her office, too, was done retro. Bethdidn't want to sit in the leather chair on the other side of the 
desk—she hated the feel of the material against her skin; itbrought back too many unpleasant memories—but she didanyway. Roddy sat beside her, perched at the edge of thechair as if he were going to spring up any minute. 

"The lobby is not a place for dressing down an employee," 

GLASS WALLS 139 

Candice said, folding her jeweled hands together and leaningforward on the desk. "We are striving to make our guests ascomfortable as possible, and they don't need to see dissention 


among the staff. Is that clear?" 

Roddy nodded. 

"Good. You may go." 

Roddy leaped out of the chair as if it had an ejector seat.
He was gone from Candice's office in the time it took her toturn to Beth. "You know better than to stand in the lobbywhen you're not working." 

"Yes." Beth looked at her hands. They weren't as wellgroomed as Candice's. The years of hard labor would alwaysremain in the form of yellowed calluses, bent nails, andscarred skin. 

"The Minaran fascinates you." 

Beth didn't answer. When she stared at the creature, memories 
crossed within her. Memories of the investigator—whatwas his name? Shafer?—who had killed so many Minaransand destroyed her world, too. Memories of being trapped, naked, 
in a cubicle the same size for her first real journey intospace, the other prisoners passing her, jeering, and tapping onthe clear plastic. She had hated it, hated it, and not even thememory of John got her through. 

All that combined in loneliness so deep mat sometimes shethought nothing would fill it. 

"Beth?" 

Beth looked up. Candice's voice was harsh, but her eyesweren't. Candice was the only nice person Beth had met onthe staff. The rest treated her like dirt, like she was worsethan dirt, like she had no value at all. 

"You have more demerits than any other staff member. Yourten-year service contract has grown to sixteen. If you don'twatch yourself, you could be indentured to the hotel for life." 

Beth shrugged. She had nowhere else to go. Meager as itwas, the hotel was more home to her than any other place shehad lived. Any other place except Bountiful, among the Dancer's. 

Candice stood up, and shoved her hands in the pocket of hersuit She was a big woman, and powerful. "I would like tomake you a project, Beth. I think you're smarter than any otherperson on the staff. I can send you to an alien no one knowsanything about, and you can discover its sexuality and please it 

140 Kristine Kathryn Rusch 

within a matter of hours. If this system ran on merits instead ofdemerits, I suspect you would have been out of here in fiveyears, instead of accumulating enough trouble to keep you hereindefinitely. But I need to know if you're willing." 


"What do you want from me?" Bern's voice felt rusty, as ifshe hadn't used it for days. 

"I want to train you to become my assistant. You would actas liaison between all branches of the hotel, and you wouldmostly work in New Species Contact. You would discoverwhat a species needs to feel most at home, and work with thedesign and personal staff to accomplish that." 

Beth clasped her hands together. She had never done anything 
like that. She could barely speak to other people. Imagine 
if she had to speak to other species. Normally she wentinto their rooms and became like a Dancer, absorbing theemotions of the other being and flowing with them until shefound what they wanted. Then she would leave, andDancerlike, forget everything that had happened. "I don'tknow design or diplomacy." 

"I would train you." 

Bern shook her head once and stood. "If you knew aboutme, you wouldn't offer this." 

"I know you came to us from a penal ship. I know youwere in for murder." 

"No." Beth reached out and touched the edge of Candice'sdesk. The wood was smooth and warm, like the glass aroundthe Minaran's cubicle. "I was convicted under the Alien Influences 
Act. Some friends of mine and I saw Dancer pubertyrites and tried them on each other, not realizing that when youcut off a human's hands, heart and lungs, they die. Because ofus, the Intergalactic Alliance closed its second planet—
Bountiful—and ordered that humans never have contact with 
Dancers again. And we were scattered into isolation, awayfrom aliens. That's why the hotel had to get special dispensation 
to buy my indentured servitude contract." 

"But no aliens have influenced you since," Candice said. 

"That's because," Bern said, keeping her voice soft, "that'sbecause I haven't let them." 

GLASS WALLS 141 

Beth went back up to her room by the back way, so that shewouldn't see the Minaran, and be tempted to stop again in thelobby. 

The hallway outside her room was quiet. She pressed herfinger against her door and it slid open, revealing her haven.
Her room was not done retro. A sleep couch floated in themiddle, mimicking the weightlessness of space. Nothing decorated 
the walls, not even a holojector, vid screen, or soundunit. It had taken her nearly two years to accept the room asa haven instead of a punishment—by that time, she was used 


to its spareness- It gave her eyes a rest from the business in
the remainder of the hotel. 


She took off her shoes and waved at the bed. The motion 
made it float down to her, and she climbed on it, letting the
softness take her. When she had no assignments, she usually
slept. Sleep protected her from her memories, protected her
from her life. She closed her eyes and felt the bed rise to its
place in the center of the room. 


The Minaran swam behind her closed eyelids, its little white
body begging for her attention. Minarans were not space-faring
creatures, so they had no place in the hotel. So of course the hotel 
would have to build something special. 


But someone would have had to bring the creature here.
Someone would have had to travel with it, provide it with
accomodarions, alter a vessel in order to cany it in space. Someone 
had a lot of money invested in mat one little creature. 


Odd. Too odd. 


Beth opened her eyes and stared at the blank ceiling. Still
the sense of the Minaran did not leave her. Minar. the creature's 
home planet, had been closed, like Bountiful- The
Minarans were an endangered species, like the Dancers. 


She sat up so fast the bed rocked and nearly tossed her out.
Like the Dancers. Minarans were protected species—no one
was allowed to remove them from the planet. And this one
was a baby, since it was the size of a small cat. Adult
Minarans grew to the size of adult male lions, like the kind
kept in the Earth zoo on the fifteenth level. 


Her knowledge of the Minarans came from the holos that the
hotel had shown her when she arrived. The Minaran sequence 


142 Kristine Kathryn Rusch 


was the most graphic, hordes of colonists sweeping down on the
defenseless animals because the colonists believed that the 
Minarans had killed a few humans. The colonists had poisoned
the Minarans' environment, and the creatures had died in agony
as the chemical balance of their watery home shifted. Eighty
percent of the creatures died before someone figured out that the
colonists were killed by environmental factors that had nothing
to do with (he Minarans at all. 


The holo was a cautionary piece about the power of erroneous 
beliefs. If hotel staff suffered from the same kind of 
prejudices the colonists had, guests would die on all levels,
from ignorance to lack of care, to well-intentioned "security"
measures. 


That's what had been striking her as odd, more than the cubicle 
in the lobby. The entire staff knew about the Minarans,
knew about the illegality of transporting them, and still gave 



this one a place of honor in the lobby. 

She had seen a lot of strange things in the hotel, and shehad ignored most of them. She couldn't ignore this one. 

The Minaian's wide, round eyes haunted her in a way mat noone had since she left Bountiful, almost two decades before. 

She didn't want to see Candice, because Candice would askher to change her decision. Beth wasn't qualified to work insuch a sophisticated position. She didn't want anyone harpingon her, forcing her into a place she didn't want to be. 

A place she wasn't able to be. Working with the aliens required 
thought. And Beth worked hard at losing thought andmemory while she did her job. 

Before she could do anything about the Minaran, though, asummons came from Roddy. The summons was merely abeep inside her neural net. She had screamed so when they attached 
the simple system that the doctors were afraid to tryanything more complex. Roddy hated the fact that he had todirect her in person, but she refused to let anyone ever againmess inside her mind. 

His office was two levels down from her room. She hated 
it. She hadn't recognized the design when she first saw it, almost 
a decade before, but then she had done some research. 

GLASS WALLS 143 

Roddy had chosen nineteenth-century retro, Victorian period,
England. His office smelled of tobacco and liquor, both substances 
now banned in large- intergalactic areas like the hotel(unless some guest requested them for his pleasure). Rich redsand dark woods covered the walls and carpet. The furniturewas heavy, so heavy that Beth wondered how it met regulation. 
Roddy's stiff suits and mutlonchop whiskers looked natural 
here, as did his distaste for her and the others like her. 

"We had a request from Amphib," he said, his back to her.
Steam rose from a cup on his desk, and she recognized blacktea, as difficult to get as the peppermint stuff he usuallydrank. "I've forgotten. Do you swim?" 

He hadn't forgotten at alt. He just liked to toy with her. Shewouldn't give him the satisfaction of emotion in her answer. 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good." He turned. Between his fingers, he held a pipe,
unlit, of course. His gaze was cold. "We wouldn't want youto drown, like Tina did last year. We can't afford more scandals 
like mat." 


"Good swimmers can drown in only a few inches of waterif they get knocked unconscious," Beth said. Keeping hertone flat had become more difficult. Tina had taught her howlo swim when she first came to the hotel almost a decade before. 
Careless sex, violence, or some kind of accident hadcaused Tina to die. 

"I suppose." Roddy leaned against a shelf filled with antique 
books. "We had a request from a Ratoid. It seems itheard about our interspecies service from a satisfied friend. Ihave a vid in the next room if you want to see how it's doneamong consenting Ratoids—" 

She shook her head. She had discovered that information 
vids often interfered with her flow, her opportunity to do herwork. "What room?" 

He handed her a card with a floor plan and a duplicate ofthe print which would open the Ratoid's lock. "In all fairness," 
he said, "I should let you know that Ratoids achieveorgasm underwater. I trust you can hold your breath for longperiods of time?" 

Beth bit back a response—she usually held her breath theentire time she was in his office—and snatched the card from 
his hand. 

144 Kfisiine Kathryn Rusch 

She worked her way through the maze of levels. At leastthe Amphibs were close to the human quarters. The atmosphere, 
oxygen levels, and room design weren't all that different. 
The various amphibs from a number of worlds requireda pool instead of a bathroom. They had adjusted to beds andsofas and other human comforts. 

Finally, she climbed up a flight of rough-hewn stairs andpushed open a door. The air that greeted her was thick withhumidity and smelled faintly of stagnant water. The Amphibsection had several kinds of water pools—stagnant, spring-
fed, saltwater, acidic, and freshwater. Some Amphibs did wellwith chemical water treatments- Others died. 

She pushed back her hair with one hand and paused in frontof the door. Stagnant water. Yuck. Then she took a deep breathand reached to the part of her mind where the Dancers lived. 

Dancers—long flowing bodies that looked as if theydanced instead of walked. Wide eyes, a faint tang, and achirp. No memories, none at all, just instinct and free-flowingemotion- Affection, warmth, curiosity, and touch. She still remembered 
their touch, rubbery and soft at the same time. Shehad wanted to be a Dancer when she was young. Now she became 
one each time she walked through a guest's door-
Inside, large creature, beautiful creature with jeweled skin.
Not jeweled. Water dappled. Air smells fetid. Stagnant water.
Her skin tingles, wondering how it will feel pressed up against 


the creature's. It speaks—a rumble she does not understand. Shesteps forward, rubs her hand on its jeweled skin, feeling water,
feeling coolness, feeling slime. Her entire body heats. The creature 
pulls away her clothes, and together they dive into the greenalgae, floating on the surface of the pool ... 

And when she came to herself, she was standing on therough-hewn steps, her clothing carelessly wrapped around her.
She smelled rank—decayed water and something else, something 
even more foul. Her body felt heavy, tired, used, like italways did when these things ended. She lifted a hand, andfound it coated with black slime. A shudder ran through her,
and she ran the remaining distance to her apartment. 

A beep echoed inside her net. Roddy. He wanted to see her 

GLASS WALLS 145 

humiliation. Odd he could think after al! these years she couldstill be humiliated. Odd that she could. So many of the othersshut off their skins as if their brains had been developed withan on-off switch. Hers must have malfunctioned. She alwayscame to herself frightened and disgusted. 

Her apartment door opened and she let herself inside, discarding 
her clothing, climbing into the tiny bathing cubicle, and setting 
the water temperature near scalding. Washing didn't makethe feeling go away, but it did give her some of her dignityback. She never could remember what happened, but that neverchanged her feeling mat what did happen was wrong. 

The beep echoed again. She put on a different outfit andchecked herself in the tiny mirror. No trace of the Ratoid remained. 


On the surface. 

She was about to let herself out when the door swung open.
Roddy stood there, hands on his hips. "I've been summoningyou," he said. 

"I Just finished. I was coming." 

"You finished almost an hour ago." 

He was watching, then. She wondered how many times hewatched, and how it made him feel. It made her feel evenmore used. 

"I don't know what couldn't wait until I got cleaned up." 

"The Ratoid wants you back, later. It is bringing in anumber of guests, and wants you for entertainment." 

She couldn't suppress the shudder. The last time she had par



ticipated in an interspecies orgy, she had nearly died. Roddy
knew that He knew how she feared another encounter- Maybe
he was still punishing her for glancing at the Minaran. Or
maybe he wanted her to know how much he resented the interaction 
with Candice, earlier. 


"It's against regulations to perform with an alien twice in
one day." She put one hand on the undecorated wall to anchor
herself. 


"You are in too much trouble to quote regulations to me."
His jaw was set, his mouth in a sideways line. She didn't like
the way his eyes glittered. 


"The regulations protect the hotel." She kept her voice soft,
but the muscles in her arm tensed. 'Too many humans died 


146 Kristine Kathryn Rusch 


from repeat contact. Sometimes the alien touch is tike a slow-
acting poison. I remember when Steve died—" 


"I had the autodoc check out the Ratoids," Roddy said.
"You'll be fine." 


"No." Bern felt dizzy. She had never stood up to Roddy
before—to anyone before. She wondered if the Minaran
swimming in its little tank felt the same trapped anger that
she felt so dangerously close to the surface. "No," she said
again. 


"This kind of action will allow me to hold your contract
forever." 


"That gives me a lot of incentive to work harder," she said,
and pushed her way into the hall. The air felt cooler there.
She strode toward the lobby, not looking back. She had no
plan, no idea in mind. She just had to walk. 


It wasn't until she stopped in front of the Minaran that she
realized she had had a plan after all. It swam up to her, examined 
her for a moment, then swam away and climbed up on
the rocks, its back to her. She wanted to tell it she knew how
it felt, trapped in there, on display, with no one to love it, no
one to hold it, no one to understand its dreams—and its nightmares. 


"Pretty, isn't it?" 


The voice was soft, deep and human. Beth turned and
looked up into the face of an older woman. Her hair had been
painted in small geometric squares of black and silver, and
her skin in complementary shades of brown and cream. She
wore a rich purple dress that accented the bizarre geometry
that some thought fashion. 


"You brought it here." Beth made herself look away. The 



Minaran had hunched into itself, as if it were frightened of the
woman. 


Assumptions. Human assumptions. Something the hotel
warned them never to make. 


"I figured this would be a good place to find it a home."
Her voice had the warmth of an Amphib sauna, but her silvery 
eyes glistened with chill. Beth saw, over the woman's
shoulder, Roddy gesturing at her frantically. She ignored him. 


"Wasn't it at home on Minar?" 


The woman laughed. "So sweet and amusing." She tucked 


GLASS WALLS 147 


a strand of hair behind Beth's ear. Beth shuddered. "I thought
you were the one that liked touch." 


Beth stiffened. This was a guest. She couldn't contradict a
guest. "I'm off duty," she said. 


The woman's eyes twinkled for the first time. "I thought
staff never went off duty." Her smile grew wider. "Would you
like to please my little Minaran there? It looks quite lonely." 


Inside the cage? Trapped behind invisible walls? Beth pushed
away, trying not to be rude, but her entire body had started to
shake. She bobbed her head once, and walked away, turning her
back on Roddy, whose face had turned purple with anger. 


In her dream, she dived into the Minaran's tank. The water
was cool against her skin. The creature rubbed its furry face
against her breasts, seeking comfort, seeking milk. She
pushed it away. She wanted friendship, but not touch. 


She hated touch. 


She swam underwater to the rock in the center of the pool.
Then her fingers gripped the hard surface and she pulled herself 
up. Artificial sunlight caressed her body, warmed her,
comforted her as she hadn't been comforted since she left 
Bountiful. 


Except for John. Hands tentative, gaze soft. They hadn't
known what they were doing. But the Lunar Base psychological 
staff had. They burst into the room, pulled two lonely
teenagers apart and kept them separate forever. Since then,
she had never touched another human being in love. 


The Minaran pushed its face against her arm. Its muzzle
was wet, brown eyes liquid. It chirped at her. then dived back
under the water. When it rose again, it was on the other side
of the rock. Its loneliness radiated from it. The round eyes 



looked sad. 

She rolled over on her stomach, covering herself as bestshe could. The Minaran used its fins to pull itself on the rockand cuddle next to her. She tried to push it away—it was toohuman, too cute. She didn't want touch, didn't want touch,
didn't want— 

Beth woke up, heart pounding, skin crawling. She put herhead between her knees, made herself take deep breaths. Ever 

148 Krisfine Kafhryn Rusch 

since she saw the Minaran, the nightmares were coming thickand fast. Opening a little door that would best remain closed. 

Trapped. The little creature was trapped. No being deservedto be imprisoned, bartered, and sold. No being. No one-

Not even her. 

She eased the bed toward the ground so that she couldclimb off. Then she stood barefoot on the cold floor, huggingherself as she stared at the four bare walls surrounding her. 

The next morning, she made her way into the docks. Williswas there, working in a small cubicle, head bent over a smallscreen. When he saw her, he grinned and waved. She madeherself wave back. 

"Going to take me up on it?" he asked, voice jaunty, eyesfilled with too much hope. 

Beth made the smile stay on her face. "Someday," she said.
Usually she felt nothing when she spoke to him. This moming 
she felt a bit sad. 

The large docking bay was over cool. Goose bumps rose onher arms. Marks from hundreds of shuttles covered the floor,
and the bay doors had dents in them from accidents missingthe path. Through the double protection windows, she couldsee a dozen ships orbiting around the hotel. 

"Knew it wasn't my charm," he said, careful not to touchher. Willis had tried to touch her once years ago, and she hadscreamed so loudly that Security arrived. They both got demerits 
for that incident. "What can I do for you?" 

"Your office," she said, and made herself put her hand onthe small of his back. His face flushed, but he still didn'ttouch her back. He had offered to buy her contract from thehotel, indenture her to him, and then throw the contract awayonce they were in space—no strings. Only they both knewthat he wanted her love forever, and she had no love to give. 


A soft female voice echoed in the bay. "Next arrival inthirty-six minutes. Next arrival ..." 

Willis closed the door on the sound. Beth reached up andshut off the interhotel corn. Willis's flush left his skin and he 
tamped back something, probably willing his net to stop monitoring 
the conversation. 

GLASS WALLS 149 

She hoped it worked. His net was twenty times more sophisticated 
than hers. 

**Can you get a message off the hotel for me?" she asked.
He started, then sat down. "I didn't know you knew anyoneaway from here." 

She shrugged, unwilling to implicate him more than shehad to. She handed him a small chip encased in plastic. It hadtaken her more than two hours to put the package togetherand to hide her steps. "Instructions are on here," she said.
"Could you do it once you're out of hotel range?"
"Not leaving with me?" he asked, a little too seriously"
After this," she said, "I'm probably not leaving at all." 

Every morning after that, she stood at the edge of thelobby, watching the Minaran swim. Its fur had grown coarser,
and its eyes less bright. Its energy was flagging, and she began 
to wonder if she had taken action in time. 

Sometimes, as she stood there, Candice came up beside herand stood, too. They never spoke, but Beth felt as if Candicewanted her to say something, to reconsider her decision.
Roddy would catch Beth standing there and a few minuteslater her net would beep, summoning her to darker and smellier 
parts of the hotel. She went, but came to herself with unusual 
bruises and once, a limp on her left side. 

And she didn't see the woman again, not until the day the Intergalactic 
Police showed up at the hotel. They had used the Security 
entrance, and tripped no alarms, used no buzzers. Oneminute the lobby was empty, the next it swarmed with uniformed 
creatures—most investigating the cubicle holding theMinaran. 

Beth inched her way into the lobby and stood off to oneside, knowing that she looked shoddy and hurt. Roddy wasnowhere around, but Candice buzzed into the room, all efficiency 
and smiles. Only her shaking hands betrayed her fears. 

"Officers?" Candice said, her voice carrying, warning thestaff to keep the guests away. 

A burly man grabbed a computer clip from a four-armedhumanoid and approached Candice. 


150 Kristine Kathryn Rusch 


"Ma'am. I need to see the manager on duty or the highest
person in charge of the hotel." 


"Right now, that's me," she said. "The others are sleeping
or attending a conference off surface. Would you like me to
contact—" 


"No." His voice boomed in the small area. The Minaran had 
stopped swimming, and had retreated to its rock. Beth wished
she could do the same. "I came to inform you that you and your
hotel arc in violation of Galactic Code 1.675: kidnapping, imprisonment, 
and trafficking of an endangered species." 


'The Minaran?" Candice asked. She turned toward the cubicle. 
Beth could see her struggle for control. 


"We're also looking for a human, Candice Arrowsmith." 


Candice straightened. "I'm Candice Arrowsmith." 


"Then you shouldn't look so shocked, Ms. Arrowsmith.
You will receive a commendation from Galactic Services for 
risking your job and contacting us. The Minaran will be returned 
to its rightful home, and the guilty parties will stand
trial for this." 


Candice's gaze caught Bern's. She opened her mouth as if to
speak to Bern. but then another officer called her away. 


Beth watched for another moment, saluting the little Minaran
mentally. "At least," she whispered, "one of us is free." 


The Inlergalactic Police took only three hours to remove the
Minaran and clear the lobby. Hotel workers dismantled the cubicle, 
and by afternoon, the space housed a banquet room again.
Belh watched through a double-paned window as a shuttle took
the woman who had kidnapped the Minaran away. 


Maybe the little creature would go back to its family.
Maybe it would find someone to love it, to hold it, to give it
the comfort it needed ... 


A hand touched her shoulder. Beth jumped. She turned and
saw Candice standing behind her, face ashen and worn with
the stress of the day. 


"My office," Candice said quietly. 


Bern followed her in there. The normally neat office had
papers strewn about Screens on all four walls bunked with
waiting messages. In addition to the strain of talking with the 



GLASS WALLS 151 

officers, Candice's neural net was probably going crazy—shehad all her superiors to answer to. 

She closed the office door and slumped in her chair. Bethremained standing. She didn't know what Candice could do,
but she would do something. Still, out there, the little Minaranwas going home. 

"I saw your face when they came in," Candice said. "Whatwere you thinking?" 

Beth knew better than to play dumb. She knew about theother things they had installed in her net, in the pain centers,
things they promised to remove when her contract was up. "Iknew they wouldn't believe me, even with all the evidence infront of them. That woman was rich, wasn't she? Richenough to have the entire hotel at her feet." 

"So you used my name." 

Beth shrugged. "I figured you'd get in trouble otherwise, ifsomeone else reported the violation. This is the first time I'veever seen the hotel party to such a big crime." 

"And you have the right to place a moral judgment on therest of us? Did this come from your experience on the penalship?" Candice didn't move, but her words had the force ofblows. Beth resisted the urge to duck. 

"I know what it's like to be trapped, with no escape," Bethsaid. "Like that Minaran. There's no worse thing in the world." 

Candice remained quiet for a long time, refusing to meetBeth's gaze. Beth continued to stand, unmoving, untilCandice signaled that it was all right. 

"You know I can never offer you a position of authorityhere again," Candice said. 

Beth nodded. "I could never exercise authority," she said-
She wouldn't punish or she would be too harsh. She wouldrun in fear of some creatures and worship others. And shewould never, ever, allow a creature to imprison another, nomatter how much money was involved. 

Candice sighed. "Leave me now," she said. "I have a messto clean up." 

Beth spent the next three days in her room, leaving only toeat. She received no summons from Roddy, no word from 

152 Kristine Kathryn Rusch 


Candice. The other staff would not speak to her, and even therobotic units kept their distance. If Candice had wanted a wayto punish Beth, this was it. 

Finally, someone knocked on her door. Beth grabbed arobe, and sent her bed up to the center of the room. Then shelet the door slide open. Willis was there, bouncing from footto foot, slapping papers against his hand. 

"Orders from above," he said. "You're supposed to comewith me." 

Beth stared at him for a moment, heart hammering. Thelast time, they had dragged her away from John, still naked,
kicking and screaming. The time before that, they had takenher off the planet with the other children, promising them thatthey would be taken care of. They were taken care of, allright. Analyzed, tried, viewed galaxy-wide, then sent on separate 
penal ships to parts unknown. 

She hadn't done anything illegal. The hotel had no right tosend her away. 

"Get dressed," he said, "and pack up. It's okay. I'll turn myback." 

His smile faded as she still refused to move. "It's okay," herepeated. 'They're setting you free." 

He handed her the papers, and she saw her name all overthem, with "completed" stamped across the pages. She separated 
them out, ran her fingers across them, wondering, wishing, 
it was all true. 

"You need a proper net," he said. "If you had a proper net,
you wouldn't have to look through the documentation. We'llsee what we can do once we're away from the hotel. We gotto remove those pain receptors, anyway. Now get dressed." 

He stepped outside and let the door close, true to his word.
She packed numbly, touching the papers from time to time,
feeling her hands shake. 

When they had let her out of solitary—late one night whenthe other prisoners were asleep—she had refused to crawl outof her comer. She believed that once she put a foot on the realfloor, the guards would beat her for trying to escape. She believed 
she wasn't worthy of emerging. She believed she couldlive nowhere else than that clear plastic hole. 

She glanced at the bed, at the empty walls, at the room that 

GLASS WALLS 153 

had been her prison since she arrived at the hotel. "I didn't doit for me," she whispered, knowing Candice couldn't hear her. 


But Candice didn't have to hear. She knew. She spent herlife in the job she had offered to Beth, reading aliens, understanding 
their needs, pleasing guests and making sure thateven unspoken wishes were granted. The one time she hadmade a mistake—allowing that woman in with her Minaranprisoner to broker a sate—she had received an out. Beth hadsaved her. Beth had freed the Minaran. 

She took one small case, and kept her papers clutched inher hand. Then she slid the door open. 

Willis was still there, back to the door, shifting from foot tofoot. 

"Where're we going?" Beth asked, the words almost sticking 
in her throat. She remembered the feeling of near-surfacepanic, and had to prevent herself from searching for guards. 

He smiled and took the bag from her. "Wherever the ladywants." 

Wherever she wanted. The concept was beyond her. Onceshe had had dreams of seeing other places, other lives. But shehad left those dreams on Bountiful, with the Dancers. Sinceden she had wanted nothing but to be left alone. 

"Don't worry," Willis said quietly. "You'll think of someplace 
you want to be." 

And for the first time since she arrived at the hotel, she favored 
someone with a real, heartfelt smile. Willis flushed, andstarted down the hall, keeping his physical distance, sayingnothing, but walking beside her in companionable silence. 

Anyplace she wanted. Thank you, Candice, she thought,
and wished that she had a functioning net so that she couldsend a true message. But Candice wouldn't want to hear. Shewanted Beth to disappear in the chaos following the arrival ofthe Intergalactic Police. She wanted Beth gone so the incidentwould blow over and go away. 

Beth gave a little skip. Anyplace she wanted. She gazed outof one of the hall portals at the darkness of space, a view sheused to ignore. Anyplace she wanted. Or no place at all. 

"I'm joining you, little guy," she whispered to the Minaran.
"We're free." 

FACE TIME 

Jane/ Kagan 

"Time and a half, Gemmy," said Feirus. "And maybe you*H 

I get your mug in the newsgrams." The tentacles surrounding 
his eating orifice were rigid, so Gemmy knew he wasstressed out. "Please, I need you! You've got a lot of experi



ence with Terrans." 


"Sure," said Gemmy. "But you said this is all about a
Mopelling delegation.... I don't know the first damn thing
about serving drinks to Mopellings." 


Ferrus drooped an eyestalk. "Who does? They just made
contact about five years ago. As I hear it, it took the Terrans
a full year to explain to them what a diplomatic delegation
was and another two years to explain why they should send
one to Terra." The other eyestalk stiffened, to focus its brilliant 
vermilion pupil straight at Gemmy's navel; that was a
bad habit of Femis's. "So nobody but nobody knows the
proper way to serve drinks to a Mopelling but, by Itchy
Palms, I intend to give the Terran reception committee the 


156 JanetKagan 


proper treatment." 


He brought the other eyestalk to the level of the first.
"Double time," he said-


The offer of extra money wasn't what convinced Gemmy.
What convinced Gemmy was that Ferrus always looked him
in the navel. Only Balanced Plates, the patron saint of waiters,
knew why. But if Ferrus eyestalked some Terran female's navel 
that way, the Bulbous Beet Bar would be under new management 
within a Lemptak year—about ten Terran days. 


So Gemmy'd said yes and, consequently, he was already
serving drinks and reading up on what little was known about
the Mopellings when the Terran with the toy rabbits came in.
It wasn't the rabbits that caught Gemmy's attention first; it
was the Terran himself. 


His smelter looked familiar. Perhaps the man had stayed at
Hotel Andromeda once before? Gemmy'd gotten quite good
at Terran faces: you had to look at the bitty tufts of hair, that
helped (when they didn't change them often on you), and you
had to took at the smellers. This one had a very familiar-
looking smeller. For guests who stayed at the Hotel Andromeda 
frequently, Gemmy could often match the smeller to the
favorite drink and offer it before they asked—the trick got
him a lot of big tips. But he couldn't place this one. 


"What can I get for you, friend Terran?" 


The Terran looked him right in the eye—which was so unusual 
that Gemmy knew at once he'd never served this fellow
before—and said, "How about jing Jang? Can do?" 


"Can do," said Gemmy. "With or without leaves?" 


"Oh, I think definitely with." 



"Coming right up." 

He was tall for a Terran and settled himself along the backwall with a kind of sprawl that made Gemmy wonder oncemore how bipeds managed to balance at all. As he preparedthe drink, Gemmy looked at the Terran again. Definitely a familiar 
smeller. Now why? 

The Terran plopped a package onto the table and broughtout two furry objects. Gemmy set the drink carefully besidethem. "Rabbits." he said. "Am I right?" 

"Rabbits is right. How'd you ever team to recognize Terranrabbits?" The Terran showed his teeth; Gemmy knew that wasa good sign. 

FACE TIME 

"Movies—no, that's the wrong word—cartoons. I watchedTerran cartoons. Some of them had creatures with ears like 
that." 

More teeth showed. That made the smeller seem even more 
familiar. Gemmy said, "Forgive me for asking, but have youstayed at Hotel Andromeda before?" 

"Nope, first time. Why?" 

Gemmy knew enough about Terrans not to mention thesmeller. "Your face looks familiar." 

The Terran showed still more teeth. Gemmy hoped hewouldn't do that in a room full of Ressenians—he'd cause a 
riot, sure enough. At least the teeth weren't pointed, butGemmy did have to remind himself occasionally that toothdisplay was a friendly gesture from a Terran. This being moretooth display than he was used to, Gemmy looked at the rabbits. 
"Are these real rabbits? Do they hop?" 

"Well, I'm sorry to say, they're not real. They're a presentfor my nephew—toys." The Terran waited to see if Gemmyunderstood the word. "But they do hop. Though I wouldn'twant to try them in here." His glance swept the bar. "I wasassured they could hop twenty feet! I'd love to try them before 
I gave them to the boy. Hate to disappoint a kid, youknow." 

Gemmy knew. He also wanted very much to see the rabbitshop. 

"Need lots of space, though. I don't suppose you know ofa place ... ?" 

Gemmy gave it thought. The Terran reception committee 


wouldn't be here for some three hours. The Bulbous Beet 
was, for the moment, practically deserted but for the twoGillspuns in the drinking pond—which took care of themquite nicely, thank you. Milly, the Terran waiter, would behere in a few minutes.... 

The Terran with the familiar smeller said, "I saw a bigroom just down the corridor—wasn't anybody in it—maybe Icould try the rabbits out there. Think anybody'd mind?" 

"1 don't think so." Gemmy turned and waved to the bar-
lender. "I'm just going to give the gentleterran a quick tour,
Dubs; I'll be right back." 

"You'd better be," Dubs said. She held three of her hands 

158 Janet Kagan 

aloft, tendrils splayed. "Thirty minutes, you've got, before theTerran reception committee shows up thirsty." 

The Terran downed his drink and—one rabbit in either 
hand—rose to follow Gemmy. 

The corridor was packed with new arrivals, all draggingvarious forms of luggage behind them. Judith the bellboymust be peeved, Gemmy thought; another one of thosecheapie tours where they hate to have their bags carried.
Three Hepetellists goggled at the Terran and pointed andwhistled. 

"First-timers," Gemmy said to his companion. "I am sorrythey have such bad manners." He thought for a long momentand said,' "Let's take the back way. No need to—" 

'To expose a guest to another guest's bad manners?" theTerran suggested helpfully. 

"Exactly," said Gemmy. He trotted back into the BulbousBeet and opened the access door that led down to the formalreception room. 

"Wow!" said the Terran, following him inside. "I didn'tknow this was here." 

"Staff only," Gemmy said. "When we have to serve drinksat a reception, it's nice to have a shortcut." 

"Nice, indeed," said the Terran, showing his teeth again. 

A few yards later, Gemmy opened a second manual doorand the two of them stepped into the Atmosphere Three Reception 
Room. Gemmy, recalling his grand tour line, made anexpansive gesture and announced: "The Privilege of theGrand Potentate Room." 

The Terran looked suitably impressed; at least, his mouth 


opened wide. Then he showed teeth again. "That's some
mouthful. I'll bet that's not what the staff calls it." 


"You're right there; the staff just calls it At-Three." 


"1 knew it." He took a long look around. "Looks like
you've got it all set up for somebody special." 


"Right again. The Mopelling diplomats are coming to meet
the Terran diplomats." 


"The hotel has diplomats?" 


"Just temporarily. The two species swap delegations here
and then go on to their respective destinations, each with a local 
escort." Gemmy gave a pointed look at the toy rabbits.
"We haven't much time." 


FACE TIME 


"Oh, I'm sorry. I was appreciating how very ... purple .
the whole thing is." 


"Purple?" 


"Wavelength," the Terran explained. "I see it as a specific
color: purple. Very purple. Remarkably purple." 


"Not pleasantly purple, by your standards?" 


"No, I'm afraid not. Overwhelming." 


"Apparently, the Mopellings see the wavelength differently.
They asked, in fact, for that specific wavelength." 


"Whooosh," said the Terran. 


If he'd had eyestalks, they'd probably be twisted, Gemmy
thought. 'Try the rabbits," Gemmy said. "They're not purple." 


The Terran made a croaking noise that Gemmy recognized as
an expression of pleasure. "I like the way you think," he said.
Then, to Gemmy's surprise, he strode to the end of the room
and set the toy rabbit with its tail right up against the wall.
"Okay," he announced. "Let's see if this lives up to its billing." 


The toy rabbit hopped. The Terran gave another croak of
pleasure and followed behind it, the entire length of the room.
Gemmy was so startled and pleased by the sight that he sat
back on his haunches and clucked to himself. The rabbit 
hopped exactly like the ones in the cartoons. 


But the way the Terran followed after was indescribable.
The Terran was all angles and looked for all the world like he 



was being led along ... as if his smeller were somehowhooked to the rabbit's fluffy white tail by an invisible string.
Why the Terran didn't get pulled over—right onto thatsmeller of his—Gemmy would never know, but he was awfully 
glad he was here to see it. 

Suddenly, Gemmy felt very guilty. Here he was, gogglingat the Terran the same way the first-timers had. He ought toknow better! 

The rabbit's nose touched the far wall, and the Terranscooped it up, tucked it under his arm, and strode back.
Gemmy tried to get his clucking under control and failed andfelt even guiltier. 

The Terran showed teeth. "That noise you're making. Thatmeans you find it funny, right?" 

Abashed, Gemmy said, "Yes." 

160 Janet Kagan 

"Good. So do I. I think my nephew will have a grand timewith his rabbit." He set the other one with its tail against thedoor they'd come through and sent it off toward the purplestof the purple draperies. This time he didn't follow but stoodthere croaking as he watched it. 

"Funnier from this end. Watching the little white tail bobup and down, I mean." The Terran looked him in the eye butGemmy couldn't bring himself to cluck this time. "Ah!" saidthe Terran. "The rabbit's not as funny as I am." 

"I apologize ...," Gemmy began. 

"Not necessary. I imagine two legs look pretty damn precarious 
to you." 

He went to retrieve the rabbit. When he'd caught the toy upagain, he came back across the room at a gait that Gemmywould not have believed possible. If the walk had looked precarious, 
this was positively dangerous! 

"Be careful!" Gemmy called out, in spite of himself. 

More teeth—lots more teeth. "That, my fine four-leggedfriend, is 'skipping' and my nephew is an expert skipper. Ofcourse, he's had some five years' practice...." 

"You mean, he's a child? And he can do that?" 

The Terran nodded. "So you see, it's not all that dangerous.
I only meant to make you laugh, I didn't mean to frighten youto death." 

"Not quite 'to death,' " Gemmy said. He took a deep breathand urged color back into his fringes. 


The Terran closed labia over his teeth. Very serious, thatwas, if Gemmy remembered correctly. 

"Come," said the Terran. "Let's get away from all this purple. 
I'll buy you a drink. I owe you that much for havingscared the bejesus out of you." He gestured Gemmy backthrough the shortcut and into the bar. 'Take my advice, myfriend, don't ever watch a jump-rope contest. You'd go positively 
black around the fringe!" 

Until the bar got busy, the Terran regaled him with themost horrifying descriptions of Jump-rope imaginable.
Gemmy couldn't decide whether he was making the wholething up or not. Maybe Milly could tell him if they ever gota moment's break again. Just before the Terran receptioncommittee was due to arrive, the Terran with the familiarsmeller glanced at his watch and said, "Ooops, gotta date." 

FACE TIME 161 

Gemmy brought him the bill and he anteed up. Then hethrew a nice-sized tip onto Gemmy's tray and, beside it, heset one of the rabbits. "For you," he said. "My nephew onlyneeds one." 

"Then why did you get two?" This was one of those thingsabout Terrans that continued to mystify him. 

"Cheaper that way," the Terran said. "You keep it to remind 
you of the funny bit." 

"Thank you," said Gemmy, amazed at the thought of aTerran who understood how odd he looked to Gemmy. andwho didn't seem to mind it. "Thank you!" 

"Aha!" said the Terran. "You clucked! I knew I'd get itright if I worked on it." 

"I hope we'll see you again," said Gemmy. meaning it foronce. 

"I guarantee it," said the Terran with the still-familiarsmeller. 

The Terran reception committee's module had arrived.
Gemmy accessed the neural network and watched for a moment 
as Terrans spilled into the corridor and fanned out intothe At-Three section of the hotel. Within minutes, the Bulbous 
Beet was full. Gemmy had expected the first-timers, because 
by now they'd have settled their luggage in their roomsand come looking for refreshment. He hadn't expected somefew Terrans from the delegation, but here they were. andthey'd brought a Hotel Security robot with them. 

"Gemmy, this is Carmela Antonini. She's head of specialsecurity for the Mopelling delegation. Chief Antonini, mis is 


Gemmy, No First Name." 

This Terran was unfamiliar to Gemmy, but under the circumstances 
he did his best to pick out such features as wouldallow him to recognize her when next he saw her. The patchof fur on her head was striped red and gold. Her smeller wassmall and turned up slightly at the tip. Gemmy knew hecouldn't count on the hair color of any Terran staying thesame from day to day, but he hoped the general shape wouldremain. The smeller was easier, though. It was the first of thatparticular shape he'd seen. 

"I'm pleased to meet you. Chief Antonini. May I get youa drink?" 

162 Janet Kagan 

The comers of her mouth turned up to express pleasure, butshe showed no teeth. Careful, this one. She wasn't about torisk offending him. "Thank you, no, Genuny. I'm here tomake a few inquiries about security." To the robot, she said,
"That will be all for now. Gemmy and I can handle this onour own." 

Unoffended, the security robot simply turned and left. 

"Come sit with me, Gemmy. I need to ask you a few questions." 


The bar was hopping. Still, Gemmy knew enough to knowthat from a chief of security that was an order. "Let me takecare of that table over there and then I'll come join you. Ican't leave my customers completely in the lurch." 

"I understand," she said. "When you have a spare moment,
then." 

More understanding than a lot of private security he'd dealtwith, Gemmy thought. He served a round of drinks to thefirst-timers; they gawked appallingly. The youngster in thegroup wanted to touch Gemmy's scales. Gemmy let it: kids ofany species are naturally curious and to stifle that curiositywas harmful. Then he explained the situation to Milly. 

"Sure," she said. "Just stick close enough that I can screamif I need you." 

He pointed out the table where Chief Antonini sat. He hadthe odd thought that she was memorizing everyone in the bar. 

Milly whistled. "Hot stuff!" 

"I don't get you, Milly." 

"Very attractive to another Terran," Milly said. "Utterlywasted on you." Milly showed lots of teeth and Gemmyclucked because now he got it. "Here," said Milly. "She prob



ably doesn't drink—alcohol, I mean—on duty. But take herthis from me. On the house." 

Gemmy did as he was told. And he thought he'd pass alongthe compliment, as well. Terrans appreciated compliments justas much as anybody. "Milly says you're hot stuff, and shesends you a non-alcoholic drink, on the house." 

That was some sort of mistake, for the chief made a kindof choking sound. Then she said, 'Thank Milly for me." Hervoice was a tittle odd, but he supposed he hadn't committeda major gaffe. She wasn't angry. He'd ask Milly about it later. 

Chief Antonini took a sip of her drink and waved a thank 

FACE TIME 163 

you to Milly at the bar. Then she said, "Ferrus tells me you'rea very good observer of Terrans." 

"Not quite good enough. I think I offended you just nowand I'm not sure how." 

"That would require a complicated explanation. Suffice itfor now that you didn't offend me but telling another Terranthe same thing might offend him or her." She turned up hermouth again. 

"You can show your teeth," Gemmy said. "I don't take itfor belligerence." 

She did. Many of them. Then she said, "Let me get mybusiness done first, then I'll explain as best I can." 

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." Gemmy sat back on hishaunches and waited for her to speak. 

"You know the Mopelling delegation is coining in tomorrow. 
They stay for two days, until the Belva Ann Lockwoodarrives. We'll be escorting the delegation to Terra, while theirequivalent of Security escorts our Terran delegation back toMopell." 

She seemed to expect him to say something. "Yes." hesaid. 

"You also know that there are any number of Terrans,
Glaucuscans—perhaps even Mopellings, for all I know—whowould prefer to disrupt relations between Terra and Mopell." 

"I know. I don't understand that, but I know." 

Her mouth turned down. "I don't understand it either,
Gemmy. But my job is to protect against such disruptions." 

"What can I do to help?" 


"You can keep your eye open. Tell me if you see anythingsuspicious." 

"I don't know what that means: suspicious." He addedhastily, "I know the dictionary definition. But—to me—somuch of what another species does is so mysterious I couldeasily misread it." 

"Let me give you some categories I'd consider suspiciousin these circumstances.... Has anyone been asking a lot ofquestions about the Mopelling delegation, for instance? Haveyou caught tourists in rooms that are usually off limits to anybody 
but the staff? Aha!" She leaned forward so abruptly thatGemmy, startled, rose to his feet and took a full step back.
"Sony," she said. She leaned back, slowly so as not to startle 

164 Janet Kagan 

him a second time, and said, "But you have seen somethingthat fits the criteria, haven't you!" 

Gemmy sat down again. "I'm not sure." 

'Tell me," she said. "Let me decide.*' 

Reluctantly, he told her about the Terran with the familiarsmeller and the toy rabbits. She listened intently, only interrupting 
him once. To his surprise, she croaked—in a higher,
more melodious register than the male Terran had—when hedescribed the 'skipping' and how it had made him feel. 

"I understand," she said. "The first time my son pulledhimself to his feet to take his first staggering steps, I was terrified. 
That first walk was beyond precarious and well intohair-raising." She gave him a long look. "You had to get toyour feet moments after you were bom, did you not?" 

"Yes, a child who doesn't, who can't, will starve to death.
Well, not anymore," he added quickly, seeing her eyes widen.
"Now there are ways to help a gillanter—an 'unable tostand'—but for a long time gillanteyir simply died." 

She saddened at that. Gemmy could feel it. Then sheshowed him how newbom Terrans were cradled to be fed, andshe said again, 'To watch a baby Terran team to walk is oneof the most frightening experiences any parent could gothrough." Her shoulders made a strange motion—a quickshiver that Gemmy had seen associated with bad memories—
then she took another sip of her drink. 

"So that's it," she said. "Then he took his rabbits and wentaway." 

"Only one rabbit. He gave me one of them to remember thefunny bit by." 

"That was very nice of him." 


From her expression, Gemmy got the idea she didn't thinkit was nice at all. He said as much. 

"I'm sorry. I do find that suspicious behavior. I'd like tosee that rabbit, if I might?" 

"I really can't leave the bar when it's this busy," Gemmysaid. 

She waved a negligent extremity. A few moments latershe'd called back the Security robot and Gemmy gave it permission 
to bring the toy rabbit from his room. While theywaited, Gemmy saw to a few other customers in need and refreshed 
the drinking pond for the Gillspuns. Then he returned 

FACE TIME 165 

to the security chief's table and sat back on his haunchesagain. She showed her teeth—and explained to him the ratherpeculiar ramifications of Milly's remark about the "hot stuff." 

He thought he understood it well enough that he wouldn'tmake the same gaffe again and he said as much. 

Chief Antonini watched him for a long moment—verythoughtfully, if he judged correctly. Then she said, "You don'tthink this Terran of the familiar nose is dangerous. Why not?" 

"Good question," Gemmy said. "Why not, indeed?" Hisright foreleg pawed the blue-and-green turf. That was a badhabit of his when he was lost in thought—rough on the carpeting. 
He realized she was watching his foreleg with greatinterest and paused in mid-stroke. "Because," he said, "hetalked to me the way you talk to me." 

"How soT' 

"Interested. Aware of our differences, but without being patronizing. 
Without being ..." He paused and sought a way tophrase it without being patronizing himself. "People of otherspecies often speak to me as if I were a child or, worse, adimwit. You don't. Neither did the Terran with the nose." 

"So ... not the sort you think likely to wish to disrupt relations 
between species. I do see your reasoning, Gemmy- Myjob is to be paranoid, though. My paranoia suggests that perhaps 
your Terran was acting a part." 

"Perhaps. I'm not sure I'd be able to tell the difference." 

Chief Antonini threw back her head and croaked. "Don't 
let it get to you. Some Terran actors are good enough to foolme, and I've had a lot of practice sorting." 

"It's not that." Gemmy said. "It's just that he seemed a niceguy and I'd hate for him not to be." 


"So would I, Gemmy. So would I—Ah!" 

The security robot had returned, toy rabbit in clasp. ToGemmy's surprise, the robot handed the rabbit to him. He, inturn, handed the toy to Chief Antonini. She'd opened her caseto lay an assortment of instruments on the table. As shepicked up the rabbit, she said, "Don't worry, I'm not planningto take it apart. Not unless I have to and certainly not withoutyour permission." 

She inspected the rabbit carefully, turning it first one way,
then another. Milly screamed for Gemmy and he hustled tocarry drinks to two tables' worth of first-timers who'd just 

166 Jane? Kagan 

come in. Easy tables—the nice thing about Hepetellists wasthat they drank from a communal bowl. One bowl per tableand he hurried back to see what Chief Antonini had learned. 

Her mouth ends had turned down. She upended the rabbitand pointed. "Bad news, Gemmy. See this? The rabbit measures 
distance. Now why should someone have—quite deliberately, 
from the looks of it—rejiggered an everyday toy tomeasure the width and length of the reception hall?" 

"Oh, my," said Gemmy, horrified at himself. "And Ishowed him the staff route to the reception hall, too!" 

She looked him in the eye. "Don't panic. There may be aperfectly rational explanation—or even a harmless irrationalone. Perhaps the nephew is young enough to be learning theidea of distance, for example...." 

Glumly, Gemmy said, "That sounds unlikely. Has anybodymade any threats against the Mopellings? I'd've thought theywere too new for anybody to hate them enough." 

She laid the rabbit aside and put away her instruments.
Then she folded her hands on the table and said, "I won'tspeak for your people but, as for my people ... sadly the simple 
fact of 'new'—like 'different'—is frequently enough tospark death threats." Again she looked him right in the eye.
"When I said 'Don't panic,' I meant it. This"—she patted therabbit—"has to be investigated, precisely because there havebeen threats against the Mopelling delegation." 

Gemmy knew his fringe had turned dead black. "TheTerran didn't sign the check to his room," he said. 

Surprisingly, she showed her teeth and took a deep breath.
"Of course he didn't. That would be too easy'" She waited amoment, then she said quiedy, "Gemmy, I want you to go getyourself a drink—your choice of relaxant, on me—then comeback here and sit until you feel better. Then we'll talk somemore." 


Gemmy, limping ever so slightly in his right hind foot, didas she suggested. When he returned to the table. ChiefAntonini said, "The limp, Gemmy, forgive me for asking. 
..." 

"I do it when I'm disturbed. The limp's not a species-wideindicator, though. Just me." 

"I'm very sorry to have disturbed you. I'll make this aseasy as I can. You tell me when you're ready to talk some 

FACE TIME 167 

more. I've only one question, really, and it's quite straightforward." 


Gemmy drank. Slowly, he felt his fringes return to something 
approaching their normal hue. "I guess you'd better askand get it over with, then." 

"Would you recognize the fellow again, do you mink?" 

Because the answer was now of such importance, he gavethe question careful consideration. "Yes," he said. "I'm quitesure I could. In fact, I thought I recognized him from thefirst." 

"Very interesting. Recognized him from what?" 

"I don't know. He said he'd never been to the hotel 
before—but, of course, he might have been lying." 

"He might well have been," she acknowledged. "He mighthave been here to case the joint." She peered into her owndrink. "No, he'd have had no need to see the reception roomthis time if that were so." 

"Would you like me to search the hotel for him? I can getoff duty for something that important. You'd only have to tellFerrus." 

"No, that's not necessary. I'll assign someone to the bar. Ifthis fellow comes back, you'll point him out to my man andmy man will handle him from there." 

"Handle him?" 

She raised her right hand. "Nothing violent, I promiseyou—not unless he starts it." 

Terrans always said that, in Gemmy's experience, but healso felt Chief Antonini was not the sort—then again, he'dfelt the other Terran.... It was all too much for him. 

"Why here?" 


"Because he knows about the staff entrance to the reception
room. My staff will keep a close eye on the guest entrances.
You keep your close eye on that staff entrance." 


Gemmy downed his drink in a single motion. He had the
horrible feeling he'd spend the next two days black-fringed
from morning till night. 


Middleditch, March, and Maclsaac, the Terrans assigned to
watch the bar and the staff entrance leading from it, were not
as quiet as Chief Antonini. In fact, the three of them were a
lot like any slightly joyous bunch of tourists. Gemmy sup


168 Janet Kagan 


posed they were acting; they did not drink nearly as much as
they ordered. Fearing for the health of the turf if they disposed 
of any more of their drinks that way, he asked them if
they'd like him to choose them a drink this time. Middleditch
(who seemed to be in charge if anybody was) said, "Yes!
That's a good idea!" When the others agreed, Gemmy decided
that Chief Antonini had given him a good report 


He brought them a round of Dubs's special concoction—
Devilish Dogs. Colorful enough from a Terran point of view
to look fiendish but utterly non-intoxicant. Middleditch sipped
his cautiously, then showed all his teeth at Gemmy and said,
"Just the thing!" 


For a while, the bar got so busy that Gemmy didn't have to
think about anything other than getting the next drink ordered
and the next drink poured and the next drink delivered. And
then he found himself face-to-face once more with the Terran 
with the familiar smeller. He heard himself say, "Jing jang,
without the leaves? Or would you like something different today?" 
His voice sounded almost normal, to his astonishment. 


The Terran showed all his teeth at once. "Hey!" he said.
"That's some memory you've got! Yes, that'd be just fine."
He glanced around the bar. "Take your time. I see you're a lot
busier than you were the last time. The reception committee
must be here, I guess." 


What would be the normal response to that, Gemmy wondered. 
Should I say yes? He caught himself glancing in
Middleditch's direction and stopped- "Yes," he said. "Hang
on. I'll be right with you." 


He went to Dubs for the jing jang and had an inspiration.
"Another round of Devilish Dogs, too." 


He delivered the Devilish Dogs first. As he set them on the
table, he said to Middleditch, "The jing jang is for the fellow
you wanted pointed out." 


"Well done," said Middleditch. "Okay, boys! A toast to our
host!" They all raised their glasses to Gemmy and drank them 



down. 

Feeling terribly conspicuous, Gemmy crossed the bar to thesuspicious Terran's table. "One jing jang, no leaves," he said. 

The Terran didn't show his teeth. "Have you hurt yourself,"
he said. "Should you be working this hard with an injuredleg? I realize that leaves you three, but still ..." 

FACE TIME 169 

He'd been limping again. "I'm okay," he said, feeling likea total fool. If a Terran could be this nice and be an assassin,
there simply wasn't any hope left in this or any other world.
"It'll all be over soon." 

"Oh, you mean the reception. I suppose so. Tomorrow, isn'tit?" 

. Gemmy nodded, then realized he'd given the man information 
yet again. He'd have kicked himself but this Terranwould have noticed. "There's a quieter bar on level twelve.
Well, quieter for the moment. You might prefer that." 

"Thanks for the tip." The Terran leaned back in his chair.
"This one's more convenient. Besides, I like the servicehere." 

He meant that as a compliment, but Gemmy was no longersure of anything. "Thanks," he said, because he couldn't thinkof anything else to say. Then he excused himself and got backto work. 

When at last he could bring himself to look in that direction 
again, he saw that Middleditch and March now sat oneon either side of the Terran with the familiar smeller. The suspicious 
Terran laid both hands, palms down, on the tabletop; 

he was not showing his teeth. Feeling horribly guilty, thistime for the suspicious Terran, Gemmy looked away again.
Maclsaac, who remained at the other table, where he couldwatch the staff entrance, flagged Gemmy for another DevilishDog. Gemmy hurried the drink over to him, hoping to leamsomething, but the man said nothing and Gemmy couldn'tbring himself to ask. 

It'll all be over soon, Gemmy thought, and realized to hisdismay that was just what he'd told the suspicious Terran. Helimped on to the next table to take another round of orders. 

For a moment, everybody seemed well taken care of.
Gemmy sat back on his haunches just to rest his achingheel—and found himself face-to-face with Chief Antonini. He 
came to his feet as if he'd sat on a cactus


"Thank you, Gemmy," said Chief Antonini. "You've beenvery helpful." She showed her teeth. 


That seemed so out of place in the circumstances thatGemmy wondered if he'd gotten Terrans all wrong all alongthe line. He could feel his fringes turning black again. 

Chief Antonini looked at him carefully; she hid her teeth. 

170 Janet Kagan 

"Gemmy, I think you'd better come along with me and talk tothe fellow for yourself. Please." 

So it wasn't an order, it was a request. And Gemmy said,
"Of course," and followed her. His limp was now even morepronounced. 

Antonini took that into account and moved slowly. "I thoughtyou'd be interested in learning the result of your observations,"
she said. "Don't go black-fringed on me, Gemmy- As it turnsout, we picked up the two Terrans who sent the threateningnotes. Neither one of mem was your friend from the bar." 

'Then why... ?" 

But they had already reached the table, and she left hisquestion unanswered. Gemmy reluctantly stood beside her,
unable to look the suspicious Terran in the eye. 

The Terran with the familiar smeller leaned back, showedall his teeth at once, and said, "Chief Antonini, as I live andbreathe! My favorite nemesis! If the Furies are all as good-
looking as you, my dear, then send them off in my pursuit, by 

all means!" 

Maroh began to croak with pleasure, but Middleditch shothim a swift look and March stifled his croak so quickly he almost 
choked on it. 

"Gemmy," said the chief, "I'd like to introduce you toWily Topkind, the bane of my existence." But Gemmy sawthat she was showing just as many teeth as Willy Topkind 

was. 

"We've met," said Willy Topkind. "Good to see you again,
Gemmy. Sit down and take the weight off that sore leg of 

yours." 

Gemmy didn't need asking twice. He sat, still bewilderedby the Terrans' behavior. 

Willy Topkind went on, "You know I add spice to your life,
my dear. Why don't you admit it? For my part, I'm quite willing 
to admit that you've got me fair and square. I suppose I'llsit out this reception in my hotel room"—he glanced at 


Middleditch and March—"probably with these rather grimfellows for company." 

"You surely will," Chief Antonini said. "And likely theTerran delegation will file charges. But for now all I ask ofyou is that you tell Gemmy precisely what you've been up to. 

FACE TIME 171 

Between the two of us, we've just about ruined his outlook onlife." 

Willy Topkind made a face that Gemmy recognized—thesame face he'd made when he'd asked about Gemmy's leg.
"We're the cause of his injury? How ... ?" 

"He thought you were a nice guy, Willy. Then I came alongand made him think you were a suspicious guy." ChiefAntonini turned to Gemmy. "Willy is suspicious—but remember 
I said there might be an irrational but harmless explanation?" 
She held out her hand to Willy. "Meet the irrational butharmless explanation." 

"Most of us call him Willy the Weasel," Middleditch said,
as if that should mean something to Gemmy. It didn't. 

Topkind croaked. "Gemmy, a weasel is a small Terran animal 
renowned for getting into tight places." 

"It's not complimentary," Chief Antonini said firmly, butWilly the Weasel showed a lot of teeth and said, "Oh, / likeit!" 

"Getting into tight places?" Gemmy said, faintly. "I reallydon't understand." 

"Willy has a hobby. You know what that is? Okay, Willy'shobby is getting his picture taken with famous people of allspecies." 

Willy Topkind showed his teeth again. "Getting face timeis the proper term—among those of us who do it." 

"Getting face time," Chief Antonini said. "I assume you'vegot your brag disc with you, Willy? Why don't you show itto Gemmy? I'm not sure that will explain your behavior, butit would be a start." 

"I'd be pleased to show you, Gemmy." From his shoulderpocket, he drew a jewel box and tapped the contents into thetable slot. The tabletop came alive with tiny holographic figures. 
"Best view from this side, I think," said Willy Topkind,
gesturing for Gemmy to stand beside him. Chief Antoninimotioned him into place and peered over his head, alsowatching the figures. 

The 'gram showed the arrival of President Hannes Thorvald 


on Ordoverwerit—all the usual bells and whistles had been trot-
led out for the Terran's landfall. Gemmy, having seen this 'grama dozen times—it had been all over the newscasts for some two 
weeks—glanced questioningly at Willy Topkind. 

172 Janet Kagan 

"Watch to President Thorvald's right," Willy Topkind toldhim. "... and . -. thereF 
Gemmy followed Willy Topkind's point and saw ... Willy 

Topkind! 

"That's you'" said Gemmy. "That's why your smeller 

seems so familiar!" 

Willy Topkind's hand went to his nose, and Gemmy wasmomentarily horrified that he'd made yet another interspeciesgaffe. Chief Antonini croaked happily, though—and a splitsecond later, Willy Topkind was croaking even harder. 

Despite having served drinks to numerous famous peopleof all species, Gemmy was impressed. "You actually knowPresident Thorvald?" 

"No," said Chief Antonini. "He doesn't. But he weaseledin and got his picture taken with Thorvald despite every precaution 
Thorvald's security people took." 

Both Willy Topkinds showed great expanses of their teeth.
The picture changed to another newsgram and the Willy Top-
kind beside Gemmy said proudly, "Here I am with Machon-
Chumbly, leader of the Splagger Faction of the Emcharri." 

Sure enough, there was Willy Topkind, showing his teeth andwaving to the camera. Beside him stood Machon-Chumbly. 

Even Chief Antonini seemed impressed. "Lord," she said.
"You got past Peg Winter's security?" She whistled. 

Gemmy said to Willy Topkind, "And you don't knowMachon-Chumbly, either?" 

Willy shook his head. 

"Then how ... ?" 

Willy glanced at Chief Antonini, then said, "Maybe I'll tellyou sometime. But I won't give away trade secrets while thechief is listening." 

Gemmy found himself clucking. That made sense—or atleast it seemed consistent in the circumstances. 

Chief Antonini looked at the time. "The Mopellings' module 
has been docked. The reception starts in about twenty 


minutes, and I've still got work to do. Gemmy, if you'd liketo stay here and watch the rest of Willy Topkind's brag disc,
you may. Perhaps that will keep Willy out of trouble. If that'snot sufficient"—she gave Willy Topkind a fierce look—"I'msure Middleditch and March will be." 

Gemmy was about to say he'd like that very much when 

FACE TIME 

Chief Antonini held up a finger for quiet. "What now?" shesaid into her lapel. She listened again, then said with a sigh.
"Send them up; I'll wait." 

"Problems?" said Middleditch. 

"So says Samuelson . . . Something to do with theMopellings' spacial sense." 

Willy Topkind looked at Gemmy. "Samuelson is the experton Mopelling behavior—as much as there is one yet. If shesays there's a problem, there's a problem. The Mopellings arean odd species even by our"—his pointing finger indicatedboth himself and Gemmy—"standards. They're territorial inthe extreme." 

"What would you know about it, Willy?" said ChiefAntonini in an exasperated tone. 

"Oh," said Willy. "I've read all her papers on the Mopellings.
I do very careful research." To Gemmy, he added, "I have to: 

I wouldn't want to cause an interstellar incident by smiling atthe wrong species." 

Consistent again, Gemmy saw. 

Willy Topkind went on, "If a Mopelling were sitting at atable in the bar, for instance, it'd be fine that you served it...
as long as you always took the same route to its table. Varythe route, though—say you stopped at another table on theway to its—and the Mopelling would have to renegotiate itsposition to accomodate." 

He glanced at Chief Antonini. "I'll bet Samuelson's beendriving the chief nuts. I'll bet Samuelson's going nutsherself—she'd have worked out where each and every member 
of the reception party must stand and how far each canrange without disturbing the Mopellings." 

Chief Antonini made a sound that reminded Gemmy of anangry stickcat about to stick someone. "If you know all that,
Willy, what made you think you could weasel into the photoswithout causing all hell to break loose?" 


A scuffle at the entrance to the bar cut off Willy's reply,
which was too bad, because Gemmy had really wanted to
hear the answer. 


"Here, Dr. Samuelson!" Chief Antonini waved across the
room. A very plump and very agitated Terran waved back and
charged through the crowd, none too politely, to pull up short
and breathless before them. 


Janet Kagan 


"We've got one hell of a problem," Samuelson said without
preamble- She waved a sheaf of papers at Antonini. stabbed
the off button on the 'gram display, and shoved aside the
drinks to spread the papers across the table. They showed a
map of At-Three, with a lot of circles and dots. Ah, thought
Gemmy, that's where each member of the delegation is supposed 
to stand. 


Samuelson jammed a finger at one of the circles. "The
Terran delegation changed plans at the last minute—the utter
incompetents. I've got nobody to fill this position. Nobody
that's the right size, at any rate. See, we've got two tall people
here"—jab, jab—"so we need short and massive here. We
also need two more here and here, since we've got the Terran
ambassador here." Her final jab almost punched a hole in the 


paper.
"Gemmy would do for short and massive," Willy Topkind 


said. When Samuelson's head came up to stare at Gemmy,
Willy added, "And he'll stay where you put him. He's the
best waiter in the bar—he knows how to behave around other 
species. What do you say, Gemmy? Want a little face time
with the Mopelling ambassador to Terra?" 


"Shut up, Willy," Chief Antonini said. 


"No," said Samuelson. "He's right. Gemmy, would you be
willing to help out?" 


"Of course," said Gemmy. 


"Good," said Samuelson, as if that settled everything. She
fixed her eyes on Willy and said, "Now, any suggestions for 


the other two?" 


"You don't need two," Willy Topkind said. He leaned forward 
and touched the map. 'Take this one out and put me just
here." He rocked back in his chair, making Gemmy gasp with
wonder at the balancing act. "I've got a purple suit." 


"Purple?" said Samuelson. "Purple? What wavelength?" 



Willy Topkind reached for his carryall, stopped at a lookfrom March, and gestured March to do it. Chief Antonininodded permission. From the carryall, March pulled out a suitthat was exactly me same wavelength as the purple in At-
Three Willy Topkind had claimed to find so overwhelming.
Samuelson caught up the suit, held it aloft, and said, "Perfect!" 


Samuelson bent to examine the dots and circles once more 

FACE TIME 175 

and her head bobbed furiously. "It'd work. It will work. Whythe hell didn't you tell me you had a backup expert on tap,
chief? Gemmy, you come with me. And you"—that was toWilly Topkind—"you get into that appallingly glorious suit!" 

She paused suddenly and thrust her hand at Willy. 'TammySamuelson, and am I ever glad to meet you!" 

Willy Topkind caught her hand and shook it. "Just call meWilly the Weasel," he said. "Everybody does." 

"Strangest week I ever spent," Gemmy said to Milly andDubs when the various delegations had gone their separateways. "Nobody ever asked me to be an Official Presence before. 
Now I know how the game pieces on a fespall boardfeel, I think." 

"Agh," said Milly. "They could have at least given you abonus...." 

Gemmy clucked. "They did. And Willy gave me this." Helaid a small glittering disc on the bartop. "Put it in the playerand you'll see." 

Dubs did, and the disc sprang to life. It was the completenews coverage of the first meeting between the Mopellingand the Terran delegations. "Wow!" said Milly. "Look atyou—right next to the head honcho of the Mopelling delegation!" 


Even Dubs seemed excited, though the tape hadn't yet gotten 
to the best part. "There! There's Gemmy with the Terranambassador... -" 

"Here," said Gemmy, feeling his fringes rise with his excitement. 
"Here's the best part coming up now." 

The Gemmy in the footage followed Samuelson's strict instructions 
and loped across the room, coming to a halt rightnext to Willy Topkind. Willy, in his purple suit, showed allhis teeth at Gemmy—and Gemmy clucked and brought ahand to his eye to salute the Terran with the familiar smeller. 

"There," said Gemmy, with enormous satisfaction. "ThereI am—getting face time with none other than Willy the Wea



sel!" 

IT'S A GIFT 

Esther M. Friesner 

Mister Moogi moistened his superprime foreclaw and established 
contact with the System. "Serving," said theeverywhere voice. 

"He's got to go," said Mister Moogi. 

"Query?" 

"Podvex." 

"Satisfied." The System hummed, calling up everymicromillibleep of data on Sentient: Podvex. It didn't takelong. It took longer to say how very little time it took. Thehumming stopped. A pause ensued. 

"Well?" Mister Moogi inquired impatiently. Here inSplendel's, arguably me second-most prestigious gift shopwithin the Hotel Andromeda, not even the staff was used towaiting for anything, let alone computer response. The System's 
silence boded no good. "What do you say?" 

"Query T' 

"About getting rid of Podvex." 

178 Esther M. Friesner 

"Agreed." There was another of those atypical pauses, andthen: "In spades." 

"Query?" Mister Moogi was so startled by the System'suncharacteristic means of expression that he lurched out ofhis normally urbane Demigalac drawl and tumbled into Mech. 

"I said the critter's a menace to navigation, democracy, andone hundred sixty-four separate and discreet economic systems 
as outlined and described in Jayne's Guide to Intergalactic 
Unfriendly Takeovers," the System responded. Gone wasthe terse communication of Mech. Mister Moogi's private office 
now echoed with the far more colorful, far, far more vulgar 
accents of Underg'lac. 

Mister Moogi had dismissed seven sentient clerks for theiraccidental lapses into that dreadful, declasse patois, even ifthe incriminating slips of the tongue took place on their breaktime. (Like any good merchant, Mister Moogi paid top ratesto have his employees spied upon in the privacy of their ownhomes.) Rumor had it that he'd personally killed and eatentwo more who had actually addressed potential customers in 


the aforementioned pariah dialect. 

Despite a body that appeared to be chitin-sheathed withinand without, particularly in the region of whatever heart orhearts he was supposed to have, Mister Moogi could not personally 
kill and eat the System. Therefore he was reduced tohissing, "He did this to you, didn't he?" 

"Query?" 

"Podvex." 

"Bingo, babycakes. He was bored, so he thought he'd tryhis paw at reprogramming this filament. Got some pretty cuteeffects tied in now, and no way the little dwingle can gel 'emout, either." The System uttered something very much like achuckle. "He tried to fix it, after, but he couldn't unsnag hisown handiwork. Then he brought in a rogue wizard to giveme a look-see on the q.t. Negatorious resultwise, but you'll begetting the bill for his time. Try it yourself and you'll probably 
set off a crash. Tell the SysCops and you'll be responsiblefor all repair costs plus a hefty penalty. Thou shall not allowthy apprentices to jack around with thy shop's filament of theSystem. Amen. Hallelujah. Booga-booga." 

"He dies." Mister Moogi would not nod his head, lackinga neck, but he clicked his secondary foreclaws in a manner 

IT'S A GIFT 179 

that did not speak well of poor Podvex's chances to collect anold-age pension. "I was wondering what I'd have for lunch." 

"Negative," said the System. 

"Why in the queen's egg-fast name not?*' Mister Moogi'scheek flaps shaded off from purple to pink, a sure indicationthat he was being thwarted and was about to release his scentsacs in protest. 

"Whoa, hold on to your stinkybags, big daddy!" The small,
blue, ovoid plaque on the office wall that was Mister Moogi'sport to the System zapped a holo of a human hand right underMister Moogi's proboscis. The hand was upraised in the traditional 
Euramterra sign for Stop! "Last time you let fly, wecouldn't get a paying sucker in here for two turns and a tumble." 


"Sorry." Mister Moogi closed three eyes and ventilated hismidsection, a maneuver which always calmed him. When hefelt himself in control again, he repeated the question a littleless stridently: "Why not?" 

For answer, the System made the hand holo vanish and replaced 
it with a shineout of Splendel's latest rating in the hotel 
directory, accompanying this projection with an image thatMister Moogi always found to be quite odd. 


"Why do those Terrans always dress up their bad newswith a holo of one of their own endoskeletons dressed in a 
long, black, hooded robe and carrying a ... a ... What is thatthing. System?" 

"Scythe: an ancient Terran agricultural artifact, now nolonger in—" 

**0h, never mind." Mister Moogi brought all six eyes tobear on the shineout. If the Terrans who had programmed theSystem included me robed skeleton as their little joke. MisterMoogi was not laughing. (Mister Moogi could not laugh, asTerrans would understand it, but his clutchmates always saidthere was no one who could tell a "dumb mammal" joke better.) 


"You see the problem, huh?" the System asked. 

"We have slipped." Mister Moogi could hardly believe anyof his eyes. "We are now no longer rated as the second-mostprestigious shop in the Hotel Andromeda, but—oh, agony!—
the third. What is worse"— he rescanned the posting, cheekflaps aquiver—"it says that all paying-and-potential custom


180 Esther M. Friesner 

ers arc quite welcome to ... to ..." He was powerless to goon. 

'To bring the kiddies," the System finished for him. "Yup,
no sorer way to blow your cachet. Shoot, if they can bringtheir younglings along, how exclusive can we beT' 

It blinked away the shineout and replaced it with a projection 
of a lank-limbed Terran youth in grubby slim-fits leaningagainst the wall and whistling. When next the System spoke,
the holo moved its lips in perfect synchronicity. "It was thatlast marketing blitz what done the deed, compadre. You arehoist, like the fella says, by or with your own petard." 

Mister Moogi moaned. It was true, too true for even theslickest advertising campaign to expunge from the record,
even if they did guarantee to rub out any witnesses. Too manypaying-and-polential customers had seen it happen. Too manyslopdroids had been needed to suck up all the blood. 

"But it was Bingemass!" Mister Moogi whined at the plastic 
ovoid. "The heaviest shopping season we've got! Why,
there are at least five major gift-giving Terran holidays alonethat take place within those ten days, and if you add QuiNook's Skinshed. the Cantyrean Feast of the Second Firstborn, 
the Anniversary of Pelmuddle's Ride—" 

"Not a good time to try expanding your shop," the Systemsaid. 


"Yes, it was!" Mister Moogi protested. "You even said itwas. Every single one of those holidays is marked by the exchange 
of presents! Splendel's is second to none when itcomes to providing our paying-and-potential customers withthe finest in merchandise, gift suggestions, and on-site ethicopsych 
counseling for dealing with residual post-purchaseguilt. You told me that if I doubled my floor space in the middle 
of Bingemass, I'd quadruple my business!" 

"Could be I did," the System allowed. A thin redsmokewand appeared between the Terran hole's fingers. Theimage raised it to its lips and drew a long pull from it untilpastel pink curls of smoke trickled out its ears. "Only I knowfor a documented fact that I didn 't tell you to double the floorspace by hiring a board certified assassin to send yourDangvim neighbors a box full of gnashcats." 

Abruptly, the holo disappeared as the System jerked backinto Mech, reciting: "Gnashcat: Any one of several species of 

IT'S A GIFT 181 

felinoid carnivore native to Sheldrake IV. Unretractable razor-
sharp claws as long or longer than the paws and double rowsof constantly self-replacing fangs make the gnashcat one ofthe galaxy's most efficient killing machines. Although nolarger than the common Terran house cat, this creature exhibits 
a startling level of brainless ferocity and homicidal maniawhen it encounters any being outside its own species." 

"That's just what the assassin told me." Mister Moogi saidbitterly. "A killing machine." 

The Terran holo was back, this time with a sleazy grincreasing its face. 'Too bad it wasn't an eating machine." 

"How was / to know that gnashcats can't eat off-woriders?"
Mister Moogi rubbed primary and secondary forcclaws togetherin a piteous manner. "How was / to know they'd die from devouring 
Dangvims? How was / to know that gnashcats are anendangered species, protected by a body of transgalactic lawthicker than this entire hotel?" 

The holo stiffened, a silvery sheen freezing its features until 
it was completely transformed into a parody of a humanoidservo. Its mouth opened and closed with no distinct lip articulation 
as it rattled off, "It is the decision of this Merchants'Tribunal that the accused. Mister Moogi of Splendel's, be disciplined 
as follows: 

"One: For failing to run a proper and complete check onthe references of his hired assassin, he must close shop onUjit's Other Tuesday and do community service. However, inview of the fact that he personally killed and ate the offendingassassin for misrepresentation, this penalty is waived. 

'Two: For causing the death of his neighboring merchant



brothers, he shall be compelled to offer all Dangvim merchandise 
at twenty percent off from this time forward. Thisinjunction does not apply to any Dangvim merchandise currently 
in stock or subsequently obtained through recognizedsmuggling channels. 

"Three: For being instrumental in the death by indigestionof eight rare and endangered gnashcats who might otherwisehave fetched an excellent price on the open gag-and-noveltygift 
market, he shall be made to take into his shop as an apprentice 
merchant the orphaned Dangvim youngling known asPodvex. This association is to remain in effect until the 
youngling shows himself able to conquer his own shop, or ex


182 Esther M. Friesner 

presses a desire to change employment, or dies a naturaldeath." 

"If I personally killed and ate him, that would be naturalfor me." Mister Moogi said, four out of six eyes full of hope. 

"The Merchants' Tribunal thought of that." The Systemunfroze the holo, which was grinning more nastily than ever.
"Maybe you don't remember the size of the fine they saidthey'd slap you with if your apprentice becomes your appetizer." 


'"It's not fair." Mister Moogi sagged inside his carapace,
although it would take a keen trained eye to notice the difference 
from his normal posture. 'That Dangvim poisons everything 
he touches! Oh, why wasn't he in the shop with hisparents where he belonged when the gnashcats arrived?" 

"At your hearing, he testified that he was out making a personal 
apology to a dissatisfied customer. He did not specifythe underlying reason at the hearing, but I theorize that his offense 
must have been a whopper if it required in-person penitence." 


"You see?" Mister Moogi's limbs waved wildly. "Eventhen he was incompetent. To say nothing of unfitial! Causeshis parents to be shamed before the paying-and-potential, thenlacks the common decency to die with them! It's all thatDangvim laxness, that's what it is. Faugh! What can you expect 
from mammals? I'm surprised they kept their shop goingfor as long as they did. How they ever managed to conquera merchanting territory in the first place I'll never—" 

A shrill VEEeeeeeeEEEEM scraped the last merciful micrometer 
of insulation off Mister Moogi's nerves. "Uh-oh,"
said the System, its holo fading out. "Here comes trouble."
They both knew without touching a Demigalac dictionary thatfor Splendel's, trouble was spelled with a capital Podvex. 

Mister Moogi chirruped a command that opened his officedoor without altering any of the interior comfort specs. The 


portal slipped aside, as ordered, to reveal the young Dangvimon the figurative doorstep, his paws still wrapped far tootightly around the Summon/Cummin control. Mister Moogitook a deep breath on all vents and told himself not to scream. 

"Podvex," he said, "what is that in your paw?" 

"Unr . . . It's . . . it's a presence announcer. MisterMoogisir." 

IT'S A GIFT 163 

"Correction: It is a Summon/Cummin, the best little narrow-
spectrum presence announcer on the market Just one touch andthe genetic code of any casual visitor is forever enshrined in thedevice's memory. On all subsequent visits, our most valued customers 
are immediately recognized and directed to my personalattention, while deadbeats and just-browsers are politely steeredinto the shop's no-man's-land, where even the servos seldomtread—where even you are not an option—and arc there left tosteep until they've had enough and take their nonbusiness elsewhere." 


"Really?" Podvex's huge, round eyes seemed to get hugerand rounder with awe, physical possibility be damned. Hegazed with fresh respect at the ruined control box in his paws.
"Gosh," he breathed in purest, lowest Underg'lac. 

"What is more," said Mister Moogi, suppressing a series ofshudders that threatened to shake his carapace to chitinousshrapnel, "Summon/Cummin can even turn 'tronic bloodhound 
to hunt down really good—albeit lapsed—customersand bay special sale announcements beneath their Systemwindows until they came back to Splendel's once more. It ishigh tech, high cost, high maintenance, and high return.
Sometimes it can sense a caller's identity without beingtouched, simply by an analysis of the cloud of shed skin-cellsor other bio-detritus surrounding his person. You did not needto touch it at all. You certainly did not need to tear it out ofthe wall and strangle it, Podvex." 

Podvex looked up into Mister Moogi's face and conjuredup a sickly smile. "Urnr, I wasn't sure if it rang or not whenI touched it, so I sort of ..." He tried another angle. "Ithought maybe it could use a tune-up so I wanted to detach itfrom the wall because you always say these repair-droids costa claw and an antenna just to look at the problem, and ..."
He gave up. "Is this ... is this coming out of my pay, too?" 

"Never mind." Mister Moogi's forectaws were all clackingout a staccato beat until he sounded like an avalanche of castanets. 
"Just ... never mind. Were I to add this debt to the 
score of all the damages you've already caused in my shop,
you would be an apprentice forever. We certainly don't wantthat." 

"Don't we?" Podvex curled his already roly-poly body into 


a more compact ball and groomed his toes self-consciously. 

184 Esther M. Friesner 

"No-we-don't!" Mister Moogi articulated each word justso, giving it the force of a falling sandbag. Poor little Podvexcringed. "Considering your past performance, I must say thatonly a four hundred percent increase in personal sales completed 
would redeem your account to a reasonable level." 

"And what -.. what would you say's a reasonable level,
Mister Moogisir?" Podvex ventured. His silky blue shoulderfur was beginning to lose its gloss due to the strain he wasunder. The formidable Mister Moogi had scared Podvexenough when they were Just neighbors, but as an employer hewas Terror in a giant dung beetle suit. 

"If I can get you out of my shop and into one of your ownbefore either one of us perishes of old age, that would be reasonable. 
It would also be reasonable if you remained my apprentice 
until your dying day and when I sold your corpse forthe value of its component elements, that sum would equalyour debt to me. But it won't, so it looks like my only hopeis you bettering your sales record." 

A hint of sheen seeped back into Podvex's shoulder fur. Hiswide mouth arched up in the middle, the Dangvim equivalentof a smile. "But that's why I'm here. Mister Moogisir! Togive you the good news." 

"You're quitting my apprentice program? You'd be willingto pheromark an affidavit to that effect in the presence of theMerchants' Tribunal? You've found some other employmentin the hotel that interests you more?" Mister Moogi's optimism 
was so delicate and lovely to behold, it was a sin tomash it into the dust. 

"Oh, no." Podvex was adamant. "I could never leave youafter all you've done for me. Mister Moogisir." 

"All I've—" Holding on to sanity and scent sacs by thethinnest of threads. Mister Moogi attempted to make sense ofhis employee's unwanted loyalty. "Podvex, you lower marsupial, 
I had your parents murdered!" 

"Yessir, and mighty quick it was. Dadder always did saythat if he had to go, he'd like to die on the job, selling rightup to the last moment, and Mommer ... Well, I'll let you inon a little secret. Mister Moogisir: I was 'way past the age formost Dangvim cubbters to leave the family den and set uptheir own establishments. Mommer and Dadder were going togive me just one more chance to conquer my own shop, and 

IT'S A GIR 185 

if I bollixed it this time, they were going to personally killand eat me. So you see, I owe you my life. I'd never quit on 


you." 

Mister Moogi began exuding a waxy substance muchprized for its ability to grow hair on mate Terrans of a certainage. It was the only way his people had of expressing despair.
Dutiful Podvex set down the ruined Summon/Cummin unitand fetched a gross of plastic ampoules, continuing the conversation 
while he used these to harvest his employer's extremely 
marketable tears. 

"But I do have good news for you, as I said," he went on"While you were in the office, we had a customer." 

"A customer?" Mister Moogi mocked his apprentice without 
shame or remorse. "I should hope that Splendel's mayboast at least a customer at any give instant." 

"Ah!" Podvex gestured with a full ampoule. "But this wasa sentient customer—" 

"Many paying-and-potentials eschew their servos for thepleasure of coming to Splendel's in person." 

"A wealthy customer—" 

"Haven't I taught you that having wealth and being willingto part with wealth do not always share the same coccoon?" 

"A Terron customer—" 

"I have found, Podvex, that moneyed Terrans are not theonly race in this part of the galaxy who don't know the valueof a credchip." 

"A desperate customer!" 

"What?" Instantly Mister Moogi's whole demeanorchanged. He whirled around and seized little Podvex in twosets of foreclaws. Pale yellow striations played up and downhis cheek flaps, an indicator of gut-level elation he had nothad cause to use since the day his queen had told him she wasnot going to personally kill and eat him after sex. "Where ishe, Podvex? You didn't let him get away, did you?" 

"Oh, no. Mister Moogisir. He's sitting in the GlorioskiLounge having a nice cup of squeeze tea and some cakes—yes,
I made sure the cakes were nontoxic and properly drugged thistime—and he said he didn't mind waiting however long ittook." Podvex puffed out the Hilled fur on his chest. "He saidhe could see that I was just the sendent for the job." 

"Merciful Queen, the poor meat loaf must be desperate," 

186 Esther M. Friesner 

Mister Moogi breathed. "Oh well, no matter, no matter. He'sdesperate and he's rich and he's ours. That's all that counts, 


isn't it, Podvex, my fine young clutchmateT His foreclawscombed nervously through Podvex's shoulder fur in an attempt 
at bonhomie. 

"You bet. Mister Moogisir" Podvex was so taken by hisemployer's sudden gush of goodwill that he jabbered carelessly 
away in Underg'lac without noting how each hoi-polloisyllable made Mister Moogi wince. 

Master merchant and apprentice scurried to the GlorioskiLounge posthaste. There Mister Moogi found the customer ofwhom Podvex had burbled. "So it is no dream," he breathed,
taking in every juicy and costly-looking detail of the Terran'sattire. There was wealth here, and plenty of it. And he didn'tgaffe it. There may yet be hope of getting rid of Podvex, Mister 
Moogi told himself. 

Feeling quite rejuvenated at the thought. Mister Moogihastened to greet this potential source of credchips unlimited. 
His superprime foreclaw flickered up to trigger hisTaboolator implant (Terraculture file). The Taboolator was alovely little device all upper-crust merchants employed so asnot to accidentally make some unfortunate remark or gestureperfectly acceptable in their own cultures but anathema tothe prejudices of their customers. 

"Welcome, welcome to Splendel's, my honored guest,"
Mister Moogi gushed. 'To what do we owe the joy of servingso handsome a customer?" He was about to assign theTerran's good looks to having ritually devoured all of his siblings, 
but the Taboolator squealed a warning just in time. 

The Terran stood up quickly. "Oh boy, I sure hope you canhelp me," he said. "I need a courtship gift, and I've got noidea where to begin. Price is no object." 

Mister Moogi was more than pleased. "Certainly, certainly.
We here at Splendel's pride ourselves on being the finest hotelgift shop money can buy. Our selection of goods is secondonly to our skill at matching the perfect gift to each lucky recipient 
In matters of romance, we are exquisite and randy byaims, as desired. Of course I needn't tell a sophisticated sentient 
like yourself that before we can begin to assist you, thereis the matter of the contract—" 

"Contract?" The Terran blinked. Mister Moogi's implant 

IT'S A GIFT 

translated the grimace to mean that the man was somewhattaken aback. "I thought we took care of all that." 

"We did, we did!" Podvex scampered forward, waving hispaws frantically at the System port on the lounge wall. Theshineout of a counsel-purchase agreement thrust itself into the 


lounge, inscribed with the Terran's signature and, no doubt,
Podvex's pheromark above his printed name, had holos butthe means to project scent as well as sight. 

"Your Mister Podvex agreed to help me find exactly whatI need," the Terran said. 

"I see, I see," Mister Moogi muttered, eyes dancing overthe plump terms of the contract. In brief it explained to anyone 
interested that Splendel's, as represented by Podvex, hadbecome lord, master, and queen of the Terran's financial resources 
provided that Splendel's could come up with a courtship 
gift for one K'taen-ka'a, a highborn Kha'ak of the worldcommonly known as Osprey. Galactic coordinates were givenin the same boilerplate paragraph that held the lucky recipient's 
DNA identification codes. It was all pretty formulaic. 

Something got into Mister Moogi's skull as he reviewedthe contract. It wasn't the fact that Podvex had done something 
right for a change. That was just the law of averages onhis side. (As the old saying goes: Even a queen who eats allthe young of one generation will manage to devour the incipient 
democrats with the rest.) No, there was something subtlerat work here, making his brain twitch and jig. He leanedcloser to the shineout, bringing all eyes into play. 

There was a scream followed by the overwhelming stenchof long-restrained mature adult scent sacs letting go. 

"I'm sorry," the Terran said to Podvex as they sat oppositeeach other in the Without Portfolio, a hotel bar favored by theambassadorial set. "1 didn't know your boss felt that stronglyabout diplomats." 

"Strongly isn't the word," the furry blue Dangvim replied.
He had taken so many cleansings that his folicles wereshrieking for mercy and still the smell of Mister Moogi's outburst 
lingered at the roots. "It's not your fault, Frankmacgregorsir. 
You told me you were a dipper. / should have knownMister Moogisir's feelings on the subject." 

The Terran gave Podvex a weak smile. "Just call me Frank, 

188 Esther M. Fnesner 

please. It'll make me feel a little better about what I've doneto you." 

"Oh, Mister Moogisir will get over it." Poctvex shruggedand sipped his squeeze tea. "We'll find you the perfect courtship 
gift for Miz K'taen-ka'amam, you'll pay us a lot ofmoney, I'll get my commission, and I'll never sign up anotherdipper customer as long as I live." 

"That's for sure," Frank said rather heavily. He leanedacross the table. "Do Dangvims handle alcohol without exploding?" 



"It makes us giddiloopers, but we don't explode," Podvexreplied. 

"Good." Frank signaled the nearest servo and ordered themboth a stiff drink. "Belt it down the black hole," he instructedPodvex in lowest Underg'lac. "You're gonna need it." 

Sometime later, a definitely giddiloopers Podvex blinked atthe Terran diplomat, mouth gaping. "Droppings," was all hecould say, over and over again, or sometimes, incredulous,
"No droppings?" 

"None." Frank shook his head


"Awww, droppings'." Podvex cried. "I'm dead." 

"We're dead," the Terran corrected. "I just decided to takeyou along for the hearse ride." He frowned at a thought thatnibbled one brain lobe. "I don't know what possessed me todrag you in on this with a fully formal contract. When I wentinto Splendel's all I wanted was some casual advice about thisgift—the alien point of view and all that. Nothing binding. Itwouldn't be fair to involve other sentients just because mylingonberries are on the line. Why would I have done something 
so ... ?" 

"My fault." Podvex stared into the echoing depths of hisempty glass. "When I heard you say price was no object, Idid what Mister Moogi always told me to do: I hustled you upto the lounge and fed you cakes specially ... um ... seasonedto make you more receptive." 

"You mean drugged?" Frank raised an eyebrow. 

"Enough to make you hand me your sister if I asked forher." Podvex's spongy tongue mopped up the last drops of alcohol 
from the bottom and sides of the glass. "Standard mer-
chanting procedure. So don't feel bad on my account. I'vedirtied my own den and now I've got to lie in it." 

IT'S A GIFT 189 

'Tell me about it!" Frank leaned back, arms folded. "Thesame thing happened to me, all because I couldn't keep mybig mouth shut. I'm not even supposed to be here. The HotelAndromeda was just a stopover for me en route to my nextposting, but when I registered I saw a public shineout aboutthe wedding of the age booked for this hotel: a marnage madeon Osprey! Who'd have thought it?" 

"They don't marry on Osprey?" Podvex asked. 

"Oh, they marry, all right. The rituals and taboos surrounding 
marriage within the tribes of the Kha'ak and the P'toonare taught to every fledgling dip. If you don't run awayscreaming, they figure you'll do. Marriage is very important 


to both tribes. Only children bom in wedlock to the Kha'akare permitted the supreme honor of becoming warriors whoget to slaughter the P'toon, and vice versa." 

"Like the servowars during post-Bingemass sales." Podvexnodded. "I see." 

"What makes this wedding special—special, hell; incredible?—
is that K'taen-ka'a is Kha'ak, but the bridegroom is—' 

"P'toon?" 

"You got it." Frank covered his face with his hands- "I readthat shineout three times, just to make sure it was real. Thirdtime's when I caught her name on it. Ever since we werestubtails in the dipcorps school, Juanita VanTeufel has beenmy nemesis. Don't get me wrong: Juanita's a beautifulwoman and a great dip, but the way she always gloats whenshe one-ups me! For bringing off an intertribal marriage onOsprey she'll get to crow over half the galaxy. To this day Idon't know how she did it." 

"So you sought her out to—congratulate her." Podvex gaveFrank a knowing look. Industrial espionage was also an integral 
part of the successful merchant's life, as Mister Moogihad taught him. 

"Have it your way. The Terran dipcorps maintains a permanent 
suite in the hotel, you know, and when I weht up thereto try learning how Juanita pulled off this coup, instead of aparty I stumble into a wake. Juanita's crying, her boss is yelling 
at her, his boss is yelling at him, and her boss is—" 

"At the scent-sac sphincter's limits?" Podvex suggested.
"Why? Was the wedding not to be?" 

190 Esther M. Friesner 

"That's what they told me. That's all they told me. Oh,
they made me welcome as a fellow dip, and they recognizedme as a friend of Juanita's—they even cut off the multilevelharangues and recriminations and left the room to give ussome private time to exchange the social pleasantries—butthey refused to breathe a word about why the wedding washistory. I wasn't one of them, see, so they couldn't give me anofficial briefing." His cheeks colored slightly as he added,
'There was nothing to prevent Juanita from briefing me ...
after." 

"After the social pleasantries?" Podvex was a bright youngDangvim. 

Frank swallowed one reply and voiced another. 'TheP'toon refuse to recognize a wedding as legal or binding untilthe groom has sent the bride a courtship gift. That's the onlything that Juanita told me. Oh yes: Also that the gift cannotbe selected or delivered by the groom himself, or by a servo, 


and that if the bride shows any indication that she doesn't likeit, the wedding's off. The P'toon indicated that they wanted aTerran dip to do their shopping for them." 

"It was therefore a question of responsibility that had disrupted 
the harmony of your friend's place of employment." Itwas too bad that Mister Moogi wasn't there to hear his apprentice 
phrase the situation in flawless Demigalac. 

"Uh-huh. That's what she said." Frank signaled the servoand bought another round, downing his before he added,
"Served me right for forgetting that in the dipcorps the firstthing they teach us is to listen for what the other persondoesn't say." 

Podvex listened as Frank went on to outline a familiar scenario. 
The Dangvim was quite familiar with shopper's panic,
an affliction knowing no boundaries of galactic race or culture. 
Like Frank, he would have assigned Juanita's desperation 
to the fear of picking out the wrong gift for the bride,
thereby bringing the weight of a failed strategic tribal unioncrashing down upon her head. 

"No one would care if the P'toon and the Kha'ak continued 
to cut each other into hash until doomsday, except for twothings: Osprey is a rich world and both tribes have recentlydiscovered primitive nuclear weapons." 

"Dirty ones?" 

IT'S A GIFT 

"Obscenely filthy ones. What good are resources and tradeagreements when the world that's got 'em is sizzling like aham steak on a griddle?" 

Podvex folded one paw atop the other. He was swayingslightly, but so was Frank. "My friend," he said. "I see yourpredicament. You thought to rescue the female who is your rival, 
thereby making her indebted to you forever and moreamenable to revealing her professional techniques and/orbearing your cubbers when a mutually convenient time for reproduction 
comes. But the female deceived you as to the fullsignificance of her assigned task. There is more at work herethan the mere giving of a bridal gift." 

'To the P'toon, it's a gift," Frank said. "To the Kha'ak it'sa declaration of war." 

K'taen-ka'a poked her lunch with a delicate silver fork until 
the unlucky meal squeaked. Then she bit its head off. Asshe plucked a stubborn scale out from between her teeth, shesaid, "Oh, I'm not fussy about my courtship gift. Anythingwill do. Just anything." 


Podvex scuffed his hindpaws over the lumps and bumps ofa dozen costly Kha'ak carpets, strewn in careless profusionover the floor of the bride-to-be's room. The Kha'ak were 
strong believers in the dictum Less is less. Refinements oftaste such as minimalism made them laugh. They preferredostentation, display, and gross consumerism. Mister Moogiwould have worshiped them. 

"Anything?" the Dangvim repeated. "You're not just saying 
that, are you, K'taen-ka'amam? This is your courtshipgift. According to what Frankmacgregorsir told me aboutyour people, this is the last time you'll be able to make anychoice independent of your husband, until you have borne hisfirst child." 

"Upon which happy occasion I get to kill him, if 1 can."
The highborn Kha'ak maiden smiled. 

"You missed a scale, there," Podvex pointed out- "Seconddaggeriike tooth from the right, upper." 

"Thank you." K'taen-ka'a levered it free with the silverfork and spat it out. "I adore lizard, but with mammals youdon't have so many little hard bits to get caught in your teethafter." 

192 Esther M. Friesner 

"Yesmam." Podvex didn't like the way she looked at himwhen she said that. Privately he said a prayer that the ladywould not suddenly decide that what she wanted for a courtship 
gift was him, on toast. "As I was saying, the TerranFrankmacgregorsir, acting on behalf of your chosen P'toonbridegroom, Mairphot Garoo visTonktonk, has empoweredme as a representative of Splendel's gift emporium to giveyou your choice of any and all merchandise in the shop provided 
that you ... that you ..." The poor Dangvim felt hisprofessional coolness melting at the edges under the unwavering 
yellow stare of the Kha'ak. She was smiling, or at leastshowing all her teeth. It didn't make what Podvex had to askher any easier. "... that you promise not to take your bridegroom's 
chosen courtship gift as ri'khak-umrow." He hadsome trouble getting out the untranslatable alien syllables, buthe managed. 

"No," said K'taen-ka'a. She snapped the silver fork in two. 

"No? But—but perhaps you didn't understand me." Podvexwrung his paws. "Anything Splendel's stocks, all thingsSplendel's stocks, yours for the asking! The Terran ambassador 
will be only too charmed to make up the difference between 
your bridegroom's budget and the actual cost out of hisown pocket. And all you've got to do is—" 

"No." K'taen-ka'a roiled over so that her vast naked bellywas exposed to the heat lamps and scent sprinklers so needfulto her comfort. "Now you listen to me, little one," she said in 


a level voice. "This wedding your Terran friends are so delirious 
about is none of my doing. I was raised to be a warrior,
to slaughter P'toon, and eventually to bear children who inturn would slaughter P'toon. Then along comes this busy noseTerran female who yatters her way into our chief's goodgraces, does the same on the P'toon side, and convinces thepair of 'em that instead of slaughtering each other's people asthe gods intended we should start breeding together." 

She flopped back onto her betly and her expression was notcomforting to see. "I was chosen to be the first. I must abandon 
all hope of ever seeing P'toon blood running over myknuckles in this life through no fault of my own." 

"You did say you could try killing your mate after you bearhis first cubber." Podvex didn't tike to see anyone unhappy. 

K'taen-ka'a spat again, without benefit of lizard scale. 

IT'S A GIFT 193 

"Under his degenerate tribal law. Under mine, a wife whokills the father of her child is left naked in a room witfi a few 
old, embittered women and many sharp objects." 

Her fingernails dug feather-spewing trenches in the cushions 
of her divan as she said, "I would kill the odiousvisTonktonk now, if I could, but since we are betrothed it isdecreed under his law and mine that if we come face-to-face,
we must marry immediately." 

Podvex was about to suggest the classic stab in the back asan alternative, but decided to let the lady unburden her heartwithout interruption. Besides, he had no idea whetherbackstabbing was approved under Kha'ak or P'toon triballaw. Mister Moogi always said not to second-guess the customers 
unless they paid for it. 

"I would hire board-certified assassins from Room Service 
to do the deed," K'taen-ka'a went on, "except that wouldshame me before my sisters as too lazy to attend to my ownmurders. All that is left to me is the ri'khak-umrow, and bythe seven and a half breasts of the Second Greatest Mother, Iintend to use it!" 

"We have some very nice weresilks at Splendel's this season," 
Podvex pressed, even while he knew it was hopeless.
"Also genuine Terran all-cotton T-shirts with witty mottosand racial slurs. I'm sure Mister Moogi would have one specially 
printed up for you saying someming nasty about thesexual preferences of the P'toon." 

"Ri'khak-umrow," the Kha'ak repeated, savoring thewords. "Disgraceful death by presents. It is one of our oldestand most insidious customs. No matter what the visTonktonk 
gives me for a bridal gift, I shall respond by reluming it accompanied 
by an even more lavish present. Since I have re



turned his gift to me, he must send back both the gifts witha still more expensive one. Then it is my turn to respond inkind, adding a fourth gift to the sum, and so it shall go untilthe miserable wretch is left shamed, poverty stricken, and impotent 
to outdo the sumptuousness of my final offering." Sheclosed her eyes and reveled in the thought of an impotentP'toon. 

"What if he does outdo you?" Podvex asked timidly. 

K'taen-ka'a's eyes snapped open and fixed on the meek little 
Dangvim. "Impossible. Honor prevents a marriageable 

194 Esther M. Friesner 

male P'toon from using any funds but his own. I, on the otherhand, as an independent unmarried maiden, may do what Idamned well like with the resources of my entire clan. If theydon't approve of my spending habits, they're free to try killing 
me. Little chance of that, in this case: The giving of a giftto a truebom Kha'ak is tantamount to declaring that her kinare unable to support her in fitting style. It is therefore an insult 
to my whole family. They'll let me spend whatever Iwant to destroy the insolent rogue." 

"But you don't get to kill him; just destroy him financially," 
Podvex pointed out. 

"1 know." K'taen-ka'a's eyes were gleaming yellow slits.
"It's much less merciful that way." 

The Dangvim grew thoughtful. "If Mairphot GaroovisTonktonk doesn't give you a bridal gift, the wedding's notlegal under his people's law. If Mairphot Garoo visTonktonkdoes give you a bridal gift, you can commence death by presents 
under your people's law." 

"There you have it." K'taen-ka'a yawned, content. 

"Didn't the Terrans know about this situation before theygot your chiefs to set up the marriage?" 

Again Podvex found himself staring into the glare ofK'taen-ka'a's full set of teeth. "What do you think, littleone?" A bubbling noise welled up in her throat, part merriment, 
part slurp. "Now run along and do your shopping formy future bridegroom. As I said, I'm not fussy- Anything willdo. Because whatever it is you choose, I'll send it right backto him with a better gift in tow. You can price it low, but thatwill only make the game stretch out a little longer. The endresult will be the same." 

Podvex dragged his paws all the way to the door. Before heleft, he turned to try one last suggestion: "You couldn'tjust .. - just accept the gift and marry him?" 

"I am a truebom Kha'ak," came the reply. "After I am 


wed, I may take no more independent actions until the day Iam judged to be past childbearing. With all that to look forward 
to, would you be in such a hurry to kiss your virginitygood-bye?" 

"Yes, but for the sake of peace—" 

"Ah, how fond you are of peace, little one!" There was adangerous undertone to K'taen-ka'a's seemingly casual 

tr's A GIFT 195 

words. She swung her legs over the edge of the divan andstarted toward Podvex, saying, "And who are more peacefulthan the dead?" 

The Dangvim didn't stop running until he was safely backin the Glorioski Lounge at Splendel's. 

"It looks bad," said Frank. 

"Bad," Podvex agreed. 

Mister Moogi glowered at the pair of them and refreshedthe squeeze teas. He had not said a word since the scent-sacincident, but the play of color bands over his cheek flaps toldits own tale of irritation, indignation, and occasional speechless 
rage. 

Now, as the colors shaded up into the deeper purple hues, hefinally broke silence. "Bad is not the word!" he sputtered. "Ruination 
does not begin to describe it. I don't blame you, Podvex.
For once. I have come to expect a certain level of idiocy fromyou, and you have yet to disappoint me. But you, sir!" Heturned on Frank. "We never expected much from Tenans as faras the finer points of galactic society go, but at least we thoughtthey'd know how to behave themselves in a hoteir 

"Wha-wha-what—?" Frank's stammered bewilderment 
made no impression on Mister Moogi. 

"The wedding will not take place. That much is clear. Yourpeople will lose a great deal of face for having backed aworst-selling line of goods. Your own career will of course beover. The female who so cunningly maneuvered you into thispredicament will avoid all blame and make your existence amisery and a shame with her gloating now. You would havedone better to have devoured her after sex, like any civilizedsentient." 

"Don't I know it," Frank muttered. 

"So much for you. As for Podvex, he will always bear thestigma of an unfulfilled and unfulfillable contract. He willbe"—Mister Moogi shuddered—"my apprentice forever." 

"I wouldn't mind it that much. Mister Moog——" A single 


icy glance from his employer shut Podvex's mouth for him. 


"Forever might not last as long as you expect, Podvex.
Word of the wedding's failure will pass into legend, and leg


196 Esther M. Friesner 


end will be sure to explain just why the wedding failed.
Names will be named. Your foolish haste to sign a contract
whose terms you did not fully understand will become immortal. 
So will the name of the shop lack-wit enough to have
creatures like you on staff." 


"You did tell me that any publicity is good publicity. Mister
Moogisir." Bravely Podvex tried to salvage some crumb of
hope from the ashes. 


"I lied." 


"Oh." The crumb crumbled. 


'To say nothing of what's going to happen to Osprey,"
Frank remarked, thinking aloud. "No wedding, no peace.
Boom. Bum. Armageddon. Ouch." 


"Osprey?" Mister Moogi bristled. "What is Osprey?" 


"Just a whole world of short-tempered sentients that's going 
to be turned into toast, that's all." 


"And what is that to me?" Mister Moogi demanded. 


"Probably nothing," Frank allowed. "I just thought that
toast goes well with a little of the milk of human kindness." 


Mister Moogi's vents made terse, snuffling sounds, the
equivalent of a human's disdainful sniff. "Milk is for mammals" 
he said, wearing contempt like a fine cloak. "We are
speaking of the fate of Splendel's." Using every free foreclaw
on his body, he gestured toward the panoramic windows of
the GIorioski Lounge. Through these glassy portals and via
the networks of viewscreens above them it was possible to
see every comer of the gift shop. 


It was a striking spectacle, one that never failed to impress
Podvex. Almost against his will, he found himself drawn fascinated 
to the windows and the viewscreens, his eyes sweeping 
the vast abundance of the gift shop's wares. His heart beat
a little faster and a tear rose to his eyes. "Everything from
soup to numps." he murmured. 


"What was that?" Mister Moogi snapped. 


"He said, 'Everything from soup to nuts,' " Frank supplied. 


"He did not. He said ^numps.^ I heard him. Podvex, how
dare you!" 



"How dare I what?" The little Dangvim held up his pawsin abject helplessness. 

"Don't pretend you don't know. I never saw such an apprentice 
for getting out of work. Hmph! Probably use the ex


IT'S A GIFT 197 

cuse that this Osprey-thing-world's about to blow itself up.
Welt, it won't hatch any clutches with me!" Mister Moogi'sforeclaws jutted out in an attitude of impatient expectation.
"Podvex, I am waiting. Isn't there something you should bedoing?" 

"Uhhhh, ritual suicide?" 

"Business before pleasure," Mister Moogi said sternly. 

"Oh, my fur and follicles!" Podvex slapped his own forehead. 
"The numps'." 

"Ana the yumas, and the sevreens, and the weimaraners,
and the—" Mister Moogi was left to enumerate to an emptylounge. Podvex had streaked out, followed at a respectablegallop by the Terran. 

"So that's a nump," said Frank, peering into the sonocageat a square-shouldered, baggy-eyed creature that looked like across between a throw pillow and a hamster. 

"Uh-huh," Podvex replied. "Splendel's might not be thetop gift shop in the Hotel Andromeda, but we do have the toppet department. It's my job to inspect the animals daily andreprogram the servos according to any changes I observe.
What with all the excitement, 1 forgot." 

While Podvex attended to his duties. Frank strolled from 
cage to cage, idly studying the animals inside. "You know,
Podvex," he remarked, "I think maybe I'm in the wrong profession. 
Animal husbandry, now there's the ticket for a peaceable 
man like me. Take these critters, for example"—hewaved at the denizens of one cage—"I could probably breedthem and sell them for a living. I'll bet there's a nice marketfor them somewhere." 

Podvex glanced at the cage that held Frank's attention.
"Mister Moogi says there's a market for everything somewhere, 
even lagbels. The only trouble is, you've got to find areally wealthy market: they cost a paw and a tail." 

"Really?" Frank's interest was piqued. He had just beenmaking conversation with all his talk of quitting thedipcorps. But now he took a closer look at the lagbels intheir cage. They were not very large animals, both aboutgroundhog size, one slightly plumper than the other. Therewas nothing especially striking about their dull gray colora



tion or smooth-haired coats. They had simple binocular vi


198 Esther M. Friesner 

sion, four paws apiece, and medium-sized tails that lookedincapable of doing more than balancing their owners despitean odd tuft of stiff, prickly-looking hair at the tip. Snuggledagainst one another, they looked up at the curious Terranwith targe, moist green eyes. 

"Why are they that expensive?" Frank asked. "They laygolden eggs?" 

"They're mammals; they don't lay any eggs," Podvex replied. 
He joined his customer at the lagbel cage. "I don'tknow much about them, Frankmacgregorsir. Mister Moogijust told me to keep the pets alive and not to ask stupid questions." 
The Dangvim grew thoughtful. "There is somethingabout lagbels I remember, though." 

"What's that?" 

"You know the Tyrrhenians who always take over the hotelfor their annual Mating Convention every Newtfolly Eve?" 

Prank shook his head. "I'm not a hotel resident like you,
Podvex. The only thing I know about Tyrrhenians is they'reone of (he most peaceful races in this sector of the galaxy." 

"You wouldn't say that if you ever saw their Mating Convention. 
Twenty-nine fire alarms per day minimum, slime onall the mirrors, and they always steal the housekeeping servos.
Anyhow, toward the end of the convention, when things aresettling down, all the newly mated couples come in here andbuy breeding pairs of lagbels. One lagbel's expensive, buttwo—! So once, when I was pretty sure Mister Moogi wasbusy elsewhere, I asked them why. The Tyrrhenians told methat the lagbel's probably the most fiercely monogamouscreature in the galaxy. They mate for life, and they coexistpeacefully the whole time they're together." 

"Neat trick," Frank muttered. 

"Oh, it's no trick, Frankmacgregorsir; it's science! The Tyrrhenians 
told me that laboratory experiments showed that themale and the female each give off a different kind of musk toattract the opposite sex. When they find each other, the twomusks combine in midair and me resulting substance has atranquilizing effect on the lagbels. There's no research to backthis, but Tyrrhenian tradition says the musk also has the sameeffect on other sentients that get within breathing distance,
which is why ... which is why ... Why, Frankmacgregorsir,
why are you staring at the lagbels like that?" 

h's A GIFT 


"Podvex," the Terran said slowly, a smile replacing thelook of black despair that had been clouding up his features.
"Podvex, does Splendel's deliver?" 

Podvex was humming happily to himself as he tidied upthe cosmetics section when the assassins sprang. He was justable to sound the alarm summoning security servos beforethey stuffed him into a sack and tossed him into the back ofthe linen cart they had hijacked for their purposes. It was anarmed linen cart of the sort that could be left unattended in 
the hotel corridors without fear of any greedy passerby helping 
himself to the little shampoos and soaps. In seconds, every 
security servo in the vicinity was reduced to a smokingheap of slag and the assassins made a clean getaway. 

Podvex next saw the light in K'taen-ka'a's room. The assassins 
dumped him on the rugs and paused only long enoughto accept the Kha'ak maiden's generous dp before departing.
Then K'taen-ka'a turned to face the trembling Dangvim. 

Her fury made every layer of muscle on her immense bodyripple until it made poor Podvex seasick Just to look at her.
"Where is it?" she demanded. 

"Where is what?" Podvex cheeped. It was an honest question, 
the kind that always makes people get really angry andshout: 

"You know what!" 

Podvex watched the thin strands of saliva vertically banding 
the Kha'ak's gaping maw and decided he'd be safer making 
an educated guess than being honest again and likelyending up dead for his high morals. 

"Oh! You mean where is the . . . gift?" K'taen-ka'a'swicked hiss sounded affirmative, so Podvex dared to add,
"It ... it ought to be here. I delivered it myself. You remember. 
I gave it right into your hands and you asked if it bit andI said I didn't think so, although when we took it out of itsmate's cage it—" 

"It is gone\" 

"Is it? Oh dear. That's terrible." 

"That is worse than terrible," the noble Kha'ak maidensnaried. 

"You—you liked it so much? Goodness, I'm glad to hear it.
It's always so difficult picking out gifts for someone else. 

200 Esther M. Friesner 

Sentients have such differing tastes, especially when it comesto pets. That's why I seldom recommend them as gifts unless 


you know the recipient really well. I told the Terran that—" 

"I did not like it at all!" K'laen-ka'a's roar made the 
lightsticks jiggle. "It was a gift, you fool! Did I not tell youthat to my tribe, a gift is an insult and an insult that must bereturned?" 

"Re-retumed? Yesssss, you did say something like—" 

"And to be relumed, a gift must be somewhere I can findit to return!" She thrust a sharp-tipped finger at the emptysonocage in the corner. Podvex crept over to examine it andfound that the lock control panel—none of the best—hadbeen assaulted from within with a keen, pointed object. Foran instant, a vision of the lagbel's spiky tail flashed across theDangvim's mind. 

"Please, K'taen-ka'amam," Podvex said, cringing. "Surelyyou don't blame me for this?" 

"I do not." 

"Then why ... why have you brought me here?" 

"What? You are surprised?" The Kha'ak herself lookedstartled. "Doesn't Splendel's offer shop-at-home service? Imerely wished to place an order for a replacement beast sothat the ri'k/iak-umrow could commence." 

"I see." Podvex compressed himself into a ball and fromthat somewhat more secure position said. "I'm afraid that'simpossible." 

It was said that the Kha'ak maiden's reaction disruptedtwelve banquets, twenty-two extramarital trysts, five salesconferences, and a bar mitzvah at various points throughoutthe Hotel Andromeda. 

"Thank you for coming with us, Frankmacgregorsir," Pod-
vex whispered, his voice echoing eerily in the disused servocorridor. 

"Least I could do in the name of galactic peace," the Terranreplied. 

"Shut up, the two of you, or I rip your heads off," K'taenka'a 
growled. Despite her bulk, she moved with an uncannymeasure of grace and silence, the legacy of generations ofsentients whose main purpose in life was murder. 

"That wouldn't be a good idea, K'taen-ka'amam," Podvex 

IT'S A GIFT 

murmured. "I'm the only one who knows the way to your 


bridegroom's suite by this route, and once we get there you'llneed Frankmacgregorsir to help you recapture your lagbelwhile I keep watch." 

"I still don't see why you could not have simply sold meanother one," the Kha'ak grumbled. 

"I could have done that," Podvex replied. "But if I had,
you'd never have been able to do your ri'khak-umrow thing.
Not so you'd be believed." 

"Lagbels mate for life," Frank put in. "When yours gotaway, it had to go straight to its mate, in Mairphot GaroovisTonktonk's rooms. If you sent a substitute lagbel back tohim, he'd have the evidence right there in front of him that itwasn't his gift." 

"Very well, very well, lead on." The Kha'ak stopped talking 
altogether, except to subvocalize a nonstop series ofcurses in her own tongue all the way to her bridegroom'squarters. 

There was an oversized air vent in the hygiene unit leftover from the time when the Hotel Andromeda had had to retool 
several rooms to accommodate a party of Ffft! warriors,
mercenaries who would do anything for a price except bathe.
Additional ventilation was costly to install, but not nearly soexpensive as having to deep-space the whole block of roomsafterward had they not been so well aired out during the Ffft!
occupation. 

Podvex peeped through the air vent and saw a deserted hygiene 
unit. "It's all right. We can go ahead." 

"You would be barbecue on my world for such laxity,"
K'taen-ka'a sneered. "One empty room does not imply thatthe despised visTonktonk is nowhere in his suite." 

"I called the room first," Podvex replied. "There was noanswer, and Frankmacgregorsir paid extra for a clandestinescan of the premises. The only place the scans won't go is thehygiene unit." 

"What a nicety!" The Kha'ak's scorn was measurable bythe bucket. 'To honor privacy at the cost of valuable espionage 
information." 

"It's not that," Frank said. "It's just that vetting the scanners 
isn't a job for a servo, and Hotel Security lost too manysentients when they tried scanning in-use hygiene units. 

202 Esther M. Friesner 

Ma'am, have you ever seen what some beings do in the nameof personal hygiene?" 

K'taen-ka'a gave a tiny shudder. "Point taken." 


"Anyway, after I called the room, I sent out a blanket callto the hotel bars," Podvex continued. "Your groom-to-be is inthe Light of Arcturus Bistro, drinking with his wedding attendants." 


K'taen-ka'a's eyebrows twitched. "I would not have expected 
such competence of you, Dangvim. In gratitude, I shallpurchase my next neural disruptor at your shop." 

"We do carry a very nice selection of state-of-the-art color-
coordinated—" 

"Shut up and stand aside. I have a lagbel to recover." TheKha'ak maiden stiff-armed Podvex against one wall, Frankagainst the other, and punched out the air vent with one blowof her fist. There was a lot of grunting and squirming as shewriggled through the opening, but neither the Terran nor theDangvim was fool enough to attempt giving her a friendlyshove. At last, with a sound like a boulder being pulled out ofa hog wallow, she was through. "What are you waiting for?
Come help me," she commanded. 

Podvex and Frank had no trouble at all slipping through thevent into the hygiene unit. K'taen-ka'a hadn't waited for thembut had barged on into the main body of Maiphot GaroovisTonktonk*s quarters, seeking her wayward courtship present. 
They heard her exclamation of triumph just as theystepped into the suite's sitting-squatting-and-hunkering-downarea. 

"Where is she?" Podvex searched the area in vain. 

"It sounded like it came from there." Frank pointed at anopen portal


"That's not his personal chamber, is it?" 

"It's wherever he's keeping his lagbel. This is really ashame. I hoped that by giving her half a mated pair andMaiphot Garoo the other one, the lagbel's natural tranquilizing 
effect would calm down these homicidal yahoos longenough for them to get safely married." 

"But I told you, it's the blending of the male and femalelagbel musks that does it. You don't get that effect unlessyou've got both lagbels together." 

IT'S A GIFT 

"Yeah, right." Frank sighed- "And for all we know, the effect 
doesn't even work on all sentients; just Tyrrhenians." 

From the inner room came K'taen-ka'a's voice raised in an 
imperious demand for assistance. Podvex jumped. "I'd better 


go stand lookout, and you should help her. I don't think evenK'taen-ka'a will have an easy time separating the lagbels. Iknow I had to use snooze-needles on them at the shop. Hurry,
please. She doesn't sound very happy." 

"Oh well. It was worth a try." Frank shrugged. 

The entire suite shook with the force of something verylarge and heavy hitting the floor. 

Frank dashed for the open portal, only to be bowled overby Podvex. "Oh my!" the Dangvim exclaimed, paws tomouth at the sight awaiting him. K'taen-ka'a lay full lengthupon the floor of the sleeping chamber, a goodly part of heroverlaying the futon. Her hands were still outstretched towardthe sonocage where a happily reunited pair of lagbelsdrowsed. Podvex tiptoed toward the cage and blinked at it tomake sure his eyes told him the truth. 

"Not engaged," he said, turning to Frank. 

"What?" 

"The cage controls aren't engaged. No wonder: That cageisn't big enough for two lagbels, so the P'toon just left itopen. Someone must've told them about the animals' habits,
how faithful they are. Mairphot Garoo visTonktonk probablyfigured they wouldn't try to run away so long as they hadeach other." 

"Yes, but who could've told them—" 

"And look there." The Dangvim didn't give Frank a chanceto ask a thing. Instead he pointed to K'taen-ka'a's hands. Twospines of stiff gray hair stuck out of the flesh. 

Frank knelt cautiously beside the gently snoring Kha'ak,
then glanced at the lagbels- "The male's missing a tail spike,"
he said. "So's the female. If their musk was on those 
spikes ..." 

"I guess the tranquilizing effect doesn't just work on Tyrrhenians." 
Podvex wore a sheepish smile. "Should we trymoving her?" 

"I don't think so." A look of relief and revelation warmed 
Frank's features. "I think we should just try moving ourselvesout of here fast." 

204 Esther M. Friesner 

It was the wedding of the year, or the turn, or the tumble,
depending on how one kept track of time. It was also performed 
rather hastily, with none of the pomp JuanitavanTeufel had planned, and certainly with none of the limelight 
spilling over onto her. Instead it was visiting dip-intransit, 
Frank MacGregor, who received the accolades and 


thanks of Kha'ak and P'toon alike for having been so Johnnyon-
the-spot with an accredited shaman able to officiate at thehurry-up ceremony immediately necessary once Maiphot Garoo 
visTonktonk staggered into his sleeping chamber and fellover K'taen-ka'a. 

"Once he saw her face-to-face, the die was cast," Franktold Podvex. *They had to get married at once. And once shewas married, K'taen-ka'a couldn't start ri'khak-umrow oranything else without her new husband's say-so. Smallchance. The P'toon don't raise any fools." 

The Terran and the Dangvim were strolling through one ofthe better shopping areas of the Hotel Andromeda. It was nota neighborhood with the snob appeal of Splendel's, but it didlie at the intersection of several heavy consumer traffic routes.
Podvex had been perplexed when the Terran showed up atSplendel's, tossed Mister Moogi a fat credchip key, and announced 
he was paying for a little of Podvex's time. Now astheir walk continued, he was growing more confused by theminute. 

"Ye-yes," he stammered. "We heard all about it through theSystem. It was very gratifying to know that—" 

"Here we are," said Frank. They had stopped before apretty little shop front. "Here you go." He took Podvex's pawand pressed it to the lock plate. The shop door opened and allthe lights came on. A host of shiny new servos glided forwardto greet the newcomers. 

"Welcome to Podvex's," they said. "For the finest in giftsand gadgets, from soup to numps. Ri'khak-umrow contractsour specialty." 

"It's the least a grateful Terran dipcorps could do. Onetumble's lease, start-up stock, and your license as a paid-upmember of the hotel Merchants' Council. If you don't like thename you can change it later," Frank said. 

"Ah ... ah ... ah ..." was all Podvex could reply. 

IT'S A GIFT 

"You're trying to say thank you?" 

"Na-na-na ..." 

"Oh! You're trying to say you don't deserve this'" 

"Ah." 

"If you don't, who does?" 

"Some-some-someone else." 


"The someone else who made sure that Mairphot GaroovisTonktonk found out about the habits of lagbels, pertiaps,
and suggested he could leave the sonocage open?" Frank pat*
ted Podvex on the back. "Well, until that someone else showsup, why don't you just mind the shop?" 

Podvex's eyes were shining as he took in the full magnificence 
of the well-stocked emporium. "Bingemass is coming," 
he murmured. "It's a good time to start up a newbusiness. My, my. Won't Mister Moogisir—I mean, won'tMoogi be surprised." 

"To hear you've gone independent?" 

"No, no. To get his first Bingemass gift from me- An apprentice 
can't afford to give anything away." He toddled offdown an aisle, then paused to look back at Frank and asked,
"We do carry gnashcats don't we?" 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

Kevin J. Andersen 

The more appendages a client has, the better he tips. I knowit's presumptuous to make sweeping generalizations like that,
with the incredible number of life-forms in the galaxy—but, hey,
I've been at this business long enough to spot trends, and a lotof different types come through the Hotel Andromeda. Trustme—count the tentacles, then count your fee for the night 

And this guy had twenty-three appendages—just look at*em! And of course it didn't take much for me to figure outwhat the identical number of orifices on my adapted femalebody were supposed to be for. 

He gestured toward me with a pseudopod and eased backon his motive cushion of slime, flailing a few other tendrils inthe air. I moved naturally, slithering into his room. I had altered 
my body to look exactly like a female Slugwump, anda knockout too, as best I could determine from the specieslisting in the Lexicon. If I didn't get everything right, it mightshatter the illusion for the client. 

208 Kevin J. Anderson 

"I ... I've never done anything like this before," he said inhis own dialect, sounding like wet glue oozing from a tube.
They always said the same thing, even the veterans—as if ahookermorph like me realiy cares about excuses. 

"You'll be just fine," I said to the lonely Stugwump, caressing 
him with one of my tendrils. "I'm already hot foryou." His eyestalks extended in nervous astonishment at that. 


Indeed, I was hot. Slugwumps come from a humid, haze-
shrouded world about thirty degrees hotter than would havebeen my preference. But my Slugwump body adjusted to it ina few minutes as I glided in after him on his own trail ofslime. They find that sort of thing erotic, you know. Heclosed the door portal behind us. 

Inside the room, he turned on some sort of subsonic musicthat sounded like very large bubbles bursting deep underwater. 
I had to be amorous and whisper into his auditory pickupswhile the surround-speakers kept going bloop-bloop-bloop.
Humidity generators worked silently to keep the environmentcomfortable for him. 

In the middle of the room lay a corralled-off patch of powdery 
sand, which I took to be the area of repose. The clientoozed over to a pedestal on which he had placed a large bowl-
shaped flower that looked like a big water lily. With an ignitor,
he lit the tips of the petals, and as they curied down in flames,
the flower exuded a fragrant pink smoke. A nice touch. 

He moved nervously, switching the igniter from tentacle totentacle to tentacle in a hypnotic fireman's brigade; he hadn'tmanaged to dispose of it before it burned one of his appendages, 
and I snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it to the sandin the sleeping area. 

*'I keep wanting to make small talk," he said, "but I can'tthink of anything to say." 

I nudged him over the rim of the corral into the sleepingarea. His body elongated and he flowed over to the sand. "Idon't want to make small talk," I said. "I want to make loveto you." 

Again, he goggled with his eyestalks. By now I could seethat I would have to take things into my own hands—
figuratively speaking, that is. If I waited for him to take anysort of initiative, we would be in his cubicle all weekend. 

When we actually got down to the business of mating, he 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 209 

proved perfectly willing and eager. Our pliant bodies squishedtogether and rolled on the gritty sand, which heightened thepleasure at the tips of our exposed nerves. It took us quitesome time to link up all his appendages with all my orifices,
but I found it ultimately satisfying. I managed to fake an orgasm 
in nineteen of the orifices, and I think I had genuinespasms in four. 

The petals of the flower bumed down to the pollen, wherethey burst in a flash of orange light before fading into dimness.
The bloop-bloop-bloop music continued on endless replay. 

Afterward, my client looked exhausted and shaken, but 


pleasured all the way to his soft body core- I could see hismembranes quivering as we sat against each other, shoring upthe gelatinous bulk as we secreted off our outer coating ofslime, washing away with it all of the irritating sand we hadgathered in the throes of our lovemaking. 

"I just can't believe it... a stunningly beautiful female likeyou even bothering to spend time with someone like me." Hecondensed his body volume in what seemed to be shy withdrawal. 


"You aren't so bad. Take a good look at yourself—anddon't sell yourself short." 

In truth, how was I supposed to tell the difference betweenan ugly male Slugwump and a handsome one? And I didn'twant to remind him that this little service wasn't free, afterall. 

As I expected, he tipped magnificently, in addition to thenormal fee. Twenty-three tentacles—see what I mean? 

Being a hookermorph isn't necessarily easy, but it's a living. 


I sauntered along the lobbyways in the hotel. This morningI wore a bipedal body with muscular legs, the kind that enjoyed 
walking. I felt refreshed and vibrant, having just enjoyed 
a long ultrasonic bath in the form of a creature thatthrived on such things. 

Potted plants that may or may not have been hotel guestssat in the alcoves. Other life-forms stood open mouthed infront of the ashtrays they had replaced, waiting for a snack ofused tobac-stick butts. Motivator ramps tilted at various an


210 Kevin J. Anderson 

gles to accomodate life-forms from worlds with differentgravities, conveying hotel guests to adjacent biospheres. 

"So, how are you, Ilkiy?" said a voice from behind me.
"I'm glad you finally decided to wear a body I can at leasttalk to'" 

I turned to see John-23, one of the cyborg members of theHotel Security staff. He could always read my genetic IDcode with a blink of his enhanced left eye. John-23 had losthis arm, his shoulder, and half of his face during a cargo-
shifter accident ten years ago. Most of the passengers in thestateroom container had died; they had been thrown from thehigh-pressure inner atmosphere of a gas giant, and turned intodripping tatters of flesh from explosive decompression.
John-23 had spent a month or so in mech-regrowth, havingnew android body parts connected to his own body in a cellto-
cell match- To humans, he looked completely healed, indistinguishable 
from his former appearance, but whenever I 


looked at him through infrared-sensitive eyes, he looked allscrewed up. 

"I feel good this morning, John-23," I said, actually meaning 
it—and he could tell. John-23 and I have worked at thehotel for longer than either of us wants to admit. 

Unfortunately, my good humor was not rubbing off. Hewas in one of his introspective moods. "What are we doinghere, Ilkiy? You're so cheery. Have you finally figured outwhat you want out of life?" 

'There's really nothing much I want. I enjoy life, I like myjob. What else is there?" 

Indeed, I do enjoy my job. It's always different, and I'mgood at it. Oh, sometimes certain life-forms can be a drag,
and you can't always tell just by their listings in the Lexicon.
I remember that time with the Paramecon, a transparent cylindrical 
thing that showed all his pulsing internal organs; 1 hadserviced him and taken my fee before I learned thatParamecons always mate for life. Luckily for me, Parameconsalso die within a few days of mating; but he followed mearound like a parasite for half a week, and I didn't darechange form and shatter the illusion for him. When he finallybowed over and I watched his heart-equivalent pump stoppumping, I know he expected me to split open and shower theroom with our offspring before dying beside him. But 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

hookermorphs are sterile, as far as I know; I've never neededto use any form of birth control, and the Lexicon doesn't givetoo much information on my own kind. 

Sometimes the job does get a little boring, though. Onetime I had to stand absolutely still for four hours while aplantlike male Dandel client budded and showered his pollenall over me. Apparently satisfied, but without a word, he paidhis fee and shuffled out of the room on stubby mobile roots. 

As I reminisced, I saw that John-23 was waiting for me tosay something a bit more profound. "I think it might be interesting 
to find a little more stability, I suppose. I've never hadanything that lasts." 

"Nothing ever lasts," John-23 said. I've seen him in occasional 
glooms like this ever since his accident. 

"I can make it better for you. Anytime you give me thechance," I said. "No charge." 

I had made the offer before, but never seriously, andJohn-23 knew it. I've known him long enough that I could select 
a bodily form that would make his hormones short



circuit. I could give him absolutely everything he had everfantasized about, and he knows it. 

But John-23 also has a wife and three kids back in the employees' 
annex. His marriage is a good one, solid. He doesn'tneed me mucking it up. He's too good a friend, and I wouldnever do that to him. 

"Don't tempt me," he said. His voice was husky. 

"Offer withdrawn," I said, then deliberately shifted into another 
body that would look bulbous and ugly to him. 

John-23 touched the pickup implant behind his ear, thennodded. "Gotta go. One of the Swelft guests is trying to takea shower but can't figure out how to turn the water on. Thosedamned critters are so unintuitive! What's complicated aboutturning a knob in the bathtub?" He stomped off, wavinggood-bye, but I could already see a new sense of purpose behind 
his movements. 

John-23 likes his job, too. He just hates not being busy. 

I sauntered through the pearlescent arches leading into oneof the hotel's primary bars. I wanted to share my energy, useit as synergy and keep the buzz going. I needed a pickup. 

I was wearing a delicate, feathery body guaranteed to ring 

212 Kevin J. Anderson 

a few hormonal bells for a wide range of male hotel guests,
and I could always alter my appearance at a moment's noticeanyway. 

Since so many species operate on completely different circadian 
rhythms, nobody at the Hotel Andromeda particularlycares what time it is. All things at all times, that was theirmotto. At the bar itself, various organic and robotic bartendersconsulted their databases to determine which substances were 
known to be intoxicating to which life-forms. 

I glanced around the bar, cataloging the customers, myprospects. Many of the species were familiar to me, some ofthem good tippers, some of them good lovers. Most were already 
with a companion. But I wanted something a bit moreexotic, a bit of a challenge. 

Then I saw it perched on a stool that had never been designed 
to accomodate its insectile frame. Metallic turquoiseblue on its back casings and segmented legs, an ovoid headwith gleaming silver domes for eyes, whiplike antennas-1 hadnever seen its type before, which meant it was fairly rare. Achallenge. 

While staring at it, I consulted my Lexicon implant, waiting 
one second, then two as it searched for a match. I began 


to grow concerned and exhilarated at the same time. An unknown? 
Not quite. The listing popped up an image and aname—BORRAK. Very little data about the species. Just somespecifics on their homework!, temperature ranges, gravity—
all the stuff that's easy to gather from a few space probes, butnothing that demonstrated extended sociological study. 

This excited me even more, especially after recalling myrecent conversation with John-23- I could provide some newdata for the Lexicon compilers, give them vital informationabout a mysterious species. The Lexicon pays handsomely forsuch contributions, which was enough of an incentive already,
but it could also let me do something permanent, to make mymark on the galactic civilization. 

Since the Lexicon entry gave so few useful facts, I was going 
to have to use my intuition and my skills to the fullest.
Drawing from the image in the Lexicon and extrapolatingfrom what I could see hulking over the barstool, 1 altered myform into my best approximation of a Borrak. I made my exoskeleton 
a little brighter, the antennae more feathery, hoping 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

I had made a correct guess about what the race found beautiful. 
I approached the Borrak, who seemed to be huddling inmisery over a gelatinous intoxicant. All the better. 

"Hello, potential companion," I said in Basic dialect. 

The Borrak turned and reared back in what could only bean expression of astonishment. Normally, I dislike chitinousbeings; it's impossible to read any expression on a brittleface—therefore more difficult to know when I'm doing something 
right—but their body language is usually more exaggerated- 
"Why are you here?" it said without any preamble. 

"I would like to spend some time with you. Would that beacceptable?" I usually leave out all discussions of fees untilafter I have the client on the hormonal hook. 

To my surprise, the Borrak drew itself up, bristling in anapparent defensive posture with perhaps a hint of dismay.
"No, that would not be acceptable," it answered. "I think itwould be wisest if you remained far from me for the durationof your stay at the Hotel Andromeda. I would not want to beforced to engage you in mortal combat." 

Now that was a hell of a rebuff, but I couldn't figure outwhat I had done wrong. The Borrak scrambled itself off thebarstooi in a dizzying ballet of segmented legs, then marchedout of the bar. 

Failure is certainly nothing new to me, and I can usuallytake it with a measure of grace. But I was preoccupied with 


trying to figure out what I had done wrong. I moved to a vacant 
table, changed form into something that would sit comfortably 
on one of the chairs, and pondered. Every race and
every society has plenty of customs and taboos that usually
make no sense to outside observers; perhaps I had inadvertently 
stepped on some insectiie toes. Who could tell? 


"Excuse me," said a gruff, demanding voice with no undertones 
of politeness whatsoever, "you are a hookermorph. I
saw you change. Don't try to deny it." 


I turned to see a squat, froglike creature, powerfully built,
with needle teeth and Ups that stretched practically all around his
head- A Rybet; I had served them before. They were not too difficult 
to woric with, if you had a high tolerance for rudeness.
You just had to be rude back to them. It turned them on. 


"Hire me if you want. If not, get away from me. You want
a price breakdown?" 


214 Kevin J. Anderson 


"Come to my room. Now. I will pay your usual fee, and I
wish to hire you for a different assignment." 


Maybe the day would have something interesting and unusual 
after all, I thought. I transformed into the body of a female 
Rybet, then waddled after him out of the bar. 


Up in the Rybet's room, we waded into shin-deep lukewarm 
water. Semi-mobile algae dribbled out of our way as we
sloshed to two damp fungal mounds in the middle of the pool.
Two dull red holographic suns shone from the dome roof of
the room. 


"Sit down," he snapped, motioning with a stubby,
flipperlike forearm. 


"Why?" 


"So I can tell you about my assignment, that's why! Now
listen." He seated himself on one of the fungal mounds with
a squelching sound. He puffed air into his lips, swelling them. 


I splashed water upon myself to dampen my skin, then
eased onto the vacant mound as far away from the Rybet as
possible. "So talk!" I said. 


"I need you to secure for me a sample of semen from a
Hoojum. It's very important. I'll pay you a thousand credits." 


Not only was the Rybet rude, but he seemed at least partially 
insane. "A Hoojum! That's tough. Why a thousand
credits?" 


"Never mind. I'll pay you a hundred credits just for coming
here now, and a thousand more if you can deliver a sperm 



sample." He puffed his lips again, and his lantern eyes widened. 


"HI try. Even assuming I can find a Hoojum. getting oneas a customer is no minor task." 

"An entire Hoojum tour group is on the transport arrivingthis afternoon. Remember, it's worth a thousand credits." 

"I said I would try. Now stop nagging me!" 

I pushed myself off the fungus mound and got ready toleave, but he leaped up and splashed in the water after me.
"Wait!" he croaked- "I'm paying you a hundred credits forthis visit. Give me something for it." 

I sighed. At least it was fairly simple to service a Rybet.
Concentrating long enough to shift my internal organs, I generated, 
then pulled out a few handfuls of black sterile eggsinto the lukewarm water. The egg mass looked like an island 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

of black caviar surrounded by a wispy mass of the semi-
mobile algae. The Rybet sloshed up to it and loomed over theeggs. 

After he had spilled his milt over the cluster, he let out along breath of satisfaction. "Ah, very pleasurable. Thank youvery much." He let his huge lips curve in a grotesque smile,
then he remembered his rudeness again. "Don't stare at me.
Get out of here'" 

I sloshed back to the door portal, thinking of the thousandcredits he had offered. Now all I had to do was find a 
Hoojum. 

I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching the spacelinersarrive. All you see is a bright light as the ship, itself as big asthe continents on many worlds, swings into orbit. Smallerchunks break off the liner's main body and drop down likeshooting stars to the transfer points at Hotel Andromeda. 

Sometimes I like to go out to watch the descending cargomodules, each like a city in its own right, carrying thousandsof staterooms, each pressurized with the occupants' desiredatmosphere. Watching the great mass of the dedicated moduleland that afternoon, I was reminded all too clearly of theflames, the groaning metal, the spouting death that John-23had encountered right out here on the primary receiving bay.
But extra safeguards had been designed in the decade sincethat accident, and I had nothing to worry about. 

The hot air smelled of industrial pollutants, outgassingfrom rocket fuels, lubricants from the machinery that loaded 


and unloaded the immense containers. The air was filled with 
a cacophony of hissing and roaring and strident alarm blasts; 

I would have preferred even the bloop-bloop-bloop music ofthe Slugwumps. 

Somewhere among the thousands of passengers on thatdedicated module was a tour group of Hoojums. I just had towait and watch. 

Even without trying, the Hoojums succeeded in making everything 
difficult for me. It seemed to be a particular talent oftheirs. 

First off, they were a bunch of religious fanatics of theworst kind. They stuck together in a little pack, as if Just dar


216 Kevin J. Andersen 

ing anyone to persecute them. They all wore huge, billowyrobes of violet and orange, embroidered with threads of eye-
numbing intensity so that they looked like walking moire patterns 
wherever they went. 

The whole group would disappear for hours in prayermeetings and verse chantings. The few times I managed tocatch one by himself, he rebuffed my advances completely.
Five times. After following them around for three days without 
success, I decided it was time to change tactics. 

I uploaded their version of holy scripture and scanned itinto my forebrain. Pretty standard stuff, commonplace for allthose religions that claim to have the One True Message. Ofcourse, those types of fanatics never allow themselves to readscripture adopted by any other religion, so they never seem tonotice all the similarities. 

I did a context-insensitive search for the items I wanted in 
the massive book of writings. This sort never bothers withcontext when they want to quote something from a holy writing 
anyway, as long as the words prove the point they're trying 
to make. So, armed with the appropriate verses to supportmy scheme, I waited to catch another Hoojum alone. 

"Excuse me, brother," I said, "but I need your help." Thatline always gets them. He stopped dead in his tracks on hisway to the front desk. 

The Hoojum turned with a great whispering of his optical-
illusion robes. He seemed surprised to find another one of hiskind wandering the halls of the hotel. "You arc not from ourtour group." 

"1 have fallen into the pit of sin, and I must find someoneto help me climb out of it." 

I watched him shudder, possibly from the incredible favor 


I had just asked or from a personal revulsion at talking to agenuine sinner. Hoojums arc primarily reptilian in features,
with massive bony plates on the face, squarish teeth, and aridged crest on top of the head. In order for me to read squeamishness 
through all that armor, his reaction must have beenextreme indeed. 

"I was just going to request some extra towels. We're having 
a charismatic verse sing tonight. Perhaps if you join us—" 

"No' I need you to help me. Now! Or I am forever lost." 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

He hesitated. "Please!" I added just the right begging tone tomy voice. 

He sighed, a long hiss, then took me aside. "Very well, mychild. Tell me of your predicament." 

"Only if you promise to help me. There is only one way Ican be saved." 

"I promise. Now tell me." 

"We had best go to my room, where I can speak of this inprivate. I am so ashamed, I do not want to risk anyone overhearing." 


He balked at that, and I could see him searching his mindfor some sort of acceptable excuse. "You promised me," Isaid. Finally, the Hoojum agreed. 

John-23 had held this room for me for the last couple ofdays, as a special favor. Now it paid off- Inside, it was decorated 
in the bland grayness and muted lighting the Hoojumspreferred in their accomodations—fewer worldly distractionsthat way, I suppose. 

"I have been stranded in this hotel for too long, after foolishly 
fleeing from our homeworld," I told the Hoojum. "Ihave found myself tempted. I have fantasized of sexual pleasures 
and perversions with any number of alien beings here.
I might have acted out some of my desires ... but after seeingyour righteous group, I repented of my sinful thoughts, in horror 
at what I have been contemplating. But I must becleansed." 

The Hoojum looked doubly squeamish. I clutched at hisrobe, and he flinched. "But what do you need me to do?" 

"The scripture is clear on this point." I allowed myself aninner smirk at that one. "To purge all sin from me, I mustface the horrors of that which I had once considered. I must 
have sex with a complete stranger. Only then can I see how 


horrible it really is." 


The Hoojum's jaw dropped open in total astonishment.
"But not only that," I pressed on, "but I must charge money
for this act, so that 1 myself can experience the awful punishment 
of the lowliest of all beings—a prostitute!" 


He gasped and choked and tried to break away, but my grip
on his robe was firm. "Please! You promised! Do this in the
name of the Deity and you will be exalted for all time." 


"But I must not!" 


218 Kevin J. Anderson 


So, I hit him with the scriptures I had memorized, quoting
verse after verse of the vague poetry that seemed to shore up
my claim. He countered a few of them, but 1 came up with
even more. In the end, I think I exhausted him with my piety,
and he began to crumble under his own doubts. 


When he took off the moire robe, I was surprised to see a
rather scrawny being underneath. The billowing cloth and
their overlarge heads make the Hoojums look much more
massive than they really are. I tried not to stare. He already
seemed embarrassed enough. 


The sexual act with him was mercifully brief, and he didn't
appear to enjoy it at all. He grudgingly paid me with his
credit scanner, then fled my room, muttering prayers to himself. 
I wondered if the charismatic verse sing had started without 
him. 


I transformed again into a more comfortable form, then secreted 
a carefully contained packet filled with Hoojum
semen—a packet somehow worth a thousand credits to a
Rybet. 


In his own quarters, the Rybet leaped up and down with delight. 
"You got it!" He splashed off the fungus mound on
which he had been napping and waded over to me, his huge
mouth hanging open in delight. The semi-mobile algae could
not move out of his way quickly enough, and wet green
strands clung to his waist and thighs, slowly trying to flee
back into the lukewarm water. 


"How did you ever get it? Never mind. I don't want to
know. Just give it to me." 


"Give me my thousand credits first," I countered. Even
though I didn't wear a Rybet form this time, I could still be
rude. 


"Fine, fine." He dumped the money into my account with
his credit scanner, and I handed the package over to him. 


He held it up to the dim light of the two simulated red suns 



and looked at the thick gray-blue liquid. "Looks right," hesaid, bobbing his head up and down in a vigorous nod. "Youcan't find details like the color of Hoojum semen in the Lexicon." 


"It's real," I said. "Now are you going to tell me what youwant it for?" 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

In reply, he removed a thin, diamondlike needle from apouch at his waist. The Rybet dipped the tip of the needle intothe clotted Hoojum sperm, swirled it around a few times, thenwithdrew the needle. A single drop hung like a tiny, cloudypearl on the point. 

The Rybet closed his lantern eyes, took a deep breath ofanticipation, then jabbed the needle into his fat lips. 

His reaction was nearly instantaneous. He let out a loudkeening sound from the bottom of his throat. "Yes, oh yes!"
His eyes flung open wide, and his body shuddered so muchhe almost dropped the rest of the semen sample. He gulped ina deep breath. "Wow! This is fantastic!" 

In my line of work you see a lot of strange things. 

Then the Rybet began to jabber at me, stomping around inthe wading pool so rapidly that he churned the surface into afroth. "Hoojum sperm is the most intense, stimulating drugwe Rybets have ever found. It is so precious, so rare—and somarvelous! Just obtaining it is nearly impossible. Whatyou've given me will be worth millions on the Rybet openmarket! Oh, you are marvelous, wonderful!" 

He looked like he wanted to mate with me again. I think 1preferred it when he was merely rude. "Here," he said, grabbing 
for his credit scanner again. "Just to show how muchmis really means to me." 

Barely looking at his own stubby fingers, the Rybetpunched another 200 credits into my account. At that point Idecided to leave, before the drug's euphoria wore off and hisrudeness settled back in. 

The mysterious Borrak was sitting on the same ill-fittingbarstool as if waiting to pounce. 1 looked at its insectile form,
wondering what I had botched so badly during my firstattempt—after all, if I could succeed in seducing a repressedHoojum and make him pay for the pleasure, what could possibly 
be so difficult about a Borrak? I summoned up thesparse Lexicon listing again, and immediately noticed the obvious. 


This specimen was female, not male as I had originally as



sumed. By making my body into a beautiful female as well,
I had set myself up as a rival. Hotel Andromeda must be a
lonely place for Borraks, and the last thing a single female 


220 Kevin J. Anderson 


would want to see is another more beautiful female on the 


make! 


I slipped out of sight into an unoccupied slaughter lounge
where carnivores could select creatures and kill them there or 
cage them for later consumption in the hotel room- With no
one looking, I transformed into my best approximation of a
male Borrak this time, with a jagged crest on top of the head
and a full blush of mating coloration. 


Becoming male doesn't bother me. Hookennorphs are basically 
genderiess, thought most of my clients are males looking
for females. I can do whatever a species wishes—sometimes
they are skeptical when I say "anything you want," but believe
me, with all the races and all the societies in the galaxy, I can't
think of many things that aren't taboo in one culture or another.
Some races express their passion through kissing, while others
consider the pressing of one's eating orifice against another eating 
orifice to be the most disgusting thing imaginable. No, being 
a male Borrak didn't bother me at all. 


When I strutted into the bar, concentrating to keep a proper
gait with all those segmented legs, I saw the female Borrak
straighten from her perch on the barstool and turn both
gleaming eyes toward me. Her feelers quivered. I could see
her top forelegs fidgeting with nervous anticipation. 


I walked directly up to her, showed off my mating coloration. 
"Hi. Come here often?" 


She could barely contain herself and trilled. "Where have
you been all my life?" She gestured to the empty barstool beside 
her. 1 struggled to clamber onto the stool, wondering how
she had ever managed it herself. I was looking like a clumsy
fool, but she didn't seem to mind. The Borrak seemed very,
very receptive. 


In my own excitement at breaking new ground with a little-
known species, I did not notice when John-23 stepped into the
bar, looking around with his cyborg eye. Beside him was a
smartly dressed human woman; the jewels studding her
clothes reflected the pearlescent light. He pointed to me. 


"Would you be interested in doing something about our obvious 
mutual attraction?*' I asked the Borrak. The tips of her
feelers touched mine. 


A hand touched my wing casing, a human hand. "There,
I've found you, Ilkiy. Could we talk to you for a minute?" 



THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

I turned to see John-23 and his lady companion next to me.
Intimidated by the fearsome appearance of the Borrak, shestill looked secretly pleased. "I'm busy at the moment. I'd behappy to arrange a more convenient time." 

The woman wasn't John-23's wife, nor anyone else I had 

•> seen before. "I'll pay you twice whatever this creature is paying 
you," she said. 
The female Borrak reared up in an attack posture, clutchingat me with one of her forelegs in a gesture of despair. Istopped the Borrak from doing anything that would have beenembarrassing to all concerned, including the hotel management. 


"Relax," 1 told the Borrak. "Enjoy yourself, have anotherdrink." I motioned for one of the robo-bartenders to bring anew slab of the gelatinous intoxicant the Borrak preferred.
"John-23 is paying for it. I'll be back, don't worry." I combedone of the Borrak's feelers through my claws, and she cooedwith pleasure. Then I followed John-23 and his lady companion 
into one of the lobby lounges, out of sight. 

"Sorry to interrupt you while you were working, Ilkiy. Sheasked me to find you right away," John-23 said apologetically.
"This is Mrs. Wenda Cochran. I'll let her explain the rest."
He strode off down the corridor, leaving the two of us alone.
The woman folded her fingers together. I noticed she waswearing a lot of rings. From what I knew of humans, she^ would have been considered quite beautiful, although she had^ a hard look to her, like an invisible exoskeleton of her own.
1 could have transformed into something more amenable to 

* conversation, but I was annoyed at having my all-butguaranteed 
score with the Borrak ruined, so I remained inthreatening alien form. 
"I've heard about what your kind can do," Wenda Cochransaid. "I need your services, and I will pay well for them." 

I found that rather odd, since she was an attractive memberof her own species and should have had little trouble pickingan available human male from the other hotel guests. However, 
she wore her human marriage-bonding ring a bit tooprominently for active sexual hunting. But she had requestedmy services for something, and business is business. "I'msure I can give you pleasure," I said. "That is my job." 

"Oh, you'll give me pleasure, all right," Wenda Cochran 

222 Kevin J. Anderson 


said, "but not in the way you think. I want you to sleep withmy husband." 

It was a good thing the chitinous face of the Borrak registered 
little emotion. "Why?" I asked. 

She sighed. Her body temperature went up, and I could seean emotional outburst simmering inside her. Tears appeared inher eyes. "My husband is a cheating bastard. He goes onbusiness trips all over the galaxy and he jumps into bed withany humanoid with compatible sexual organs. I am sick andtired of it. He doesn't know I've followed him here." 

I still didn't know where I supposedly fit in. "You are tiredof him mating with females other than yourself," I said, confused, 
"and so you wish to hire me to sleep with him?" 

"Oh that's not alt. I want you to take him to bed and thenscare the bejesus out of him." She snickered then, a harsh andmirthless laugh. "That'll shrivel his little peeper once and forall. I want you to teach him a lesson he'll never forget if heever gets wandering hormones again." 

"I think I understand," 1 said. 

"1*11 pay you three times your usual rate," Wenda Cochransaid. "It's his own money, and somehow I don't think he'lldispute me charge when it comes through on the credit report." 


"Rex," I said with a cooing tone in my voice. "I like thatname." I stroked his forearm with my enameled fingernails. 

Picking up Rex Cochran had been embarrassingly easy. Iwore a body and face cobbled together from Lexicon entriesof gorgeous human female models. I had only to walk slowlyinto the lounge and bat my eyes ... and Rex was on me likea Lupine male sniffing estrus in the air. 

He had short blond hair, broad shoulders, a shirt that fit tootightly, letting curls of chest hair poke through the fabric. Anecklace of gold and onyx dangled at his throat. I allowedRex to buy me a drink, something perfumy and feminine. Ilaughed at his jokes, I flirted with him. I let him catch me noticing 
his body. 

It took him all of fifteen minutes to ask me up to his room.
Since human mating practices are such a matter of public record, 
1 won't go into the details of how he rapidly "seduced"
me. wheedling one item of my clothing off after another, try-

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

ing to hide his wolfish glances. His actions so closely fol



lowed the general description in the Lexicon entry, I had anodd sensation of deja vu. 

I thought of his wife Wenda, knowing what Rex did on somany of his "business trips," how she had finally followedhim here to the Hotel Andromeda to teach him a well-
deserved lesson. As a hookermorph, I try not to be moralisticin such things—but in this case, Wenda Cochran was the actual 
customer ... and the customer is always right. 

When Rex was on top of me and inside me, moving fasterand faster after a puzzlingly brief foreplay session, I knew thetime had, er, come. I waited a second longer, feeling Rexreach his peak. 

Then I let my imagination roam free as I transformed. 

Rex looked down to see the voluptuous naked woman hehad lured into his bed turn into an octopoid Slimedurg with'f sulfuric acid hissing out of her pores. I wrapped five tentaclesaround him like whips and pulled him against me in whatseemed a hilarious parody of what I had just been doing as ahuman female. I tried to draw his face close to my clackingbeak for a little kiss. I let greenish saliva dribble out the corner 
of my mouth. 

Rex shrieked and tried to scramble away, sobbing and. howling loud enough to rattle the windows in his room.
^ I rose up from the bed, raising all tentacles and reaching 

toward him. Then I shifted into a glaring Ice Medusa, with„ crystalline claws extending longer than my fingers. "What'sthe matter, Rex? Don't you want to play anymore?" I took astep toward him, laughing my best imitation of a maniacalbeast. 

.^ Rex stumbled against the far wall. He couldn't seem to findthe door, but he had managed to lose control of his sphinctersin a terrible mess. 

Just at the moment he found the door and pounded on it.
screaming all the while and trying to activate the mechanism,
^ I transformed my monstrous body into a perfect imitation ofWenda Cochran. "Watch yourself, Rex," I said in her voice,
"you keep fooling around on me and you never know whatyou might pick up." 

His eyes bulged out of their sockets again, and RexCochran fled naked and shrieking into the corridor. 

224 Kevin J. Anderson 

Just before he turned around for the last time, I observedthat Wenda had been right—the experience had certainlyshriveled his little peeper. 

When I saw the female Borrak still waiting for me at the 


bar, I decided not to wait long enough for anything else tomess things up. Meeting new clients isn't difficult, but findinga way to contribute to the Lexicon doesn't happen every day,
and I wasn't going to let this opportunity slip away from me.
Not many hookermorphs get to be xenosociologists. 

I came up behind her, wearing full mating coloration andexuding all the right pheromones. She whirled, looking like ablur of sharp-edged joints and legs. "I knew you'd comeback! I've been waiting for so long." 

"Sony about that," I said. She didn't seem the least bit interested 
in what the whole business with John-23 and Wenda 
Cochran had been about. Maybe curiosity wasn't part of theBorrak psyche; that would be in keeping with a lot of otherinsectile species. 

"Please tell me it isn't some cruel joke," she said to me.
"Your mating coloration, your pheromones, your flirtatioussmall talk. I can't bear to wait any longer. Are you really interested 
in mating with me, or should I just die unfulfilled?" 

I couldn't figure out how a Borrak was supposed to smile,
so I just made my voice sound warm and receptive. "I wouldbe greatly honored to make love to you." 

The Borrak seemed uncertain and afraid, but hookermorphshave to deal with that all the time. I coaxed her and boosted 
her confidence, then let her usher me up the motivator ramp,
crossing a webbed catwalk to get to her room. 

She had selected one of the nestlike dwellings. Inside, shehad stocked the place with colored gelatinous blocks of sugar-
based foods. Every spare niche was stuffed with brilliantfresh flowers. Water dripped from a fountain off in the comer.
Despite the cloying perfume of the sweet foodstuffs and theflowers, the place did have a romantic look about it. 

The Borrak hummed, then flickered her wing casings, palpitating 
a membrane in her abdomen with a sound very muchlike a love song. I was mentally noting all this to turn in a report 
to the compilers of the Lexicon. 

"I am so glad you like me," she said. "I have been ready 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

to spawn for so long. I don't know how I could have waitedanother day. My entire body aches for you!" 

Dancing on my multiple legs, I sidled up next to her.
"Well, then, let us get on with it. I'm also anxious to matewith you." 

"I'm so glad you understand," she said. Then she stung me 


in the soft part of my thorax. 

I found it amazing how rapidly the paralysis struck me down.
My mind wasn't clouded in the least, but I felt no pain as I tumbled 
to the floor in a clamor of chirin and disjointed legs. Myface was not turned toward her, but the dome eyes had a wideenough field of view that I could see her movements. I couldbreathe, but I could not speak. What had I gotten myself into? 

Her abdomen seemed to be pulsing, and I could see her extruding 
something sharp from where I imagined the sex organswould be. It appeared to be a long tube, like a pipe with apointed end. An ovipositor. 

Panic gushed through my glands. I wondered if that was anormal reaction for male Borraks, or if my own self-
preservation instinct had merely kicked in. I couldn't move.
The paralysis from her sting had put me completely out ofcommission. 

Raising the ovipositor in the air like a spear, the femaleBorrak strode over to me. "I have been carrying these larvaearound altogether too long. It'll be a great relief to get rid ofthem. I really appreciate this, you know." She leaned over tonuzzle the colorful crest on my head. 

Then she backed up and thrust her ovipositor through thechitinous shell of my wing casings, burying it deep within mybody cavity. That time I felt the pain! She squirmed and dugthe hollow point around and around until she finally managedto deposit one of her squirming larvae inside of me. 

She heaved a big sigh, withdrew her ovipositor, thenshoved it in a different place, laying another voracious Borrakgrub. She repeated the procedure six times, then finally retracted 
her ovipositor and sat down next to me, looking exhausted 
but fulfilled. 

She surprised me by igniting a tobac-stick, then sucking ina long breath before blowing a cloud of smoke dreamily intothe cloying air. "Ah, that feels so much better," she said. With 

226 Kevin J. Anderson 

a foreleg, she patted my exoskeleton near where she had deposited 
her larvae. "You're a great lay." 

Inside me, I could feel the grubs beginning to stir. 

The Borrak hauled herself to her numerous feet and 
preened in front of a mirror. "As you can see, I've providedeverything they'll need. Plenty of food and fresh vegetation,
just the right environmental conditions. I've got the room reserved 
for three weeks, and by that time they should be readyto fend for themselves. I'll let them know at the desk that the 
childrens' return tickets to Borrakus should come out of youraccount. That is the father's duty, you know." She raised her 


antennae in question, but of course I could not respond. Theonly functional nerves in my body seemed to be the onestransmitting jabs of pain as the grubs began to devour mefrom within. 

"Well, at least that's over with for another year," she sighedto herself, then left. I heard her seal the door behind herself,
illuminating the Do Not Disturb sign-

From within my body, I could feel seven distinct paths ofagony where the grubs continued to munch. They seemed tobe very hungry.... 

John-23 thought it greatly amusing that a hookennorphwould take time off for maternity leave. But hey, everyoneelse is entitled, so why shouldn't I be? 

"Stay away from that edge!" I called to the sevenbabymorphs lurking too close to the zero-g swimming pool.
"Wait until you team how to change into a water-breather before 
you mess around in a pool." 

All of the little ones sulked into their protoplasmic state fora moment; then with the short memory of children, theybounded off in different directions, a kaleidoscope of changing 
shapes, imitating parts of whatever they found interestingaround them. Very precocious kids—I'm proud of them. 

I had never even thought of reproducing myself before.
While I understood the mating habits of countless other sentient 
creatures, I had somehow remained ignorant about "thebirds and the bees" for my own species. Hookermorphs don'tspend a lot of time learning how to become parents; that's notwhat hookermorphs consider a desirable skill. It's a goodthing something in our inbred instinct triggered a reaction in 

THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH 

me, though, and I did exactly the right thing while the littleBorrak grubs were having me for lunch. 

You see, the way we morphs reproduce is to surround another 
living organism, and then transform back to the basicstate, dragging the enclosed organism along for the ride.
You've never read that in the Lexicon, now have you? Withseven Borrak grubs gnawing away inside of me as the paralysis 
gradually began to wear off, the best I could manage wasto transform back to my basic state, formless, like a bag ofold soup. And that did the trick. Inside me were no longer anyvoracious larvae, but seven squirming babymorphs. 

The babymorphs came out of it delighted, ready for me galaxy 
and eager to learn. John-23 thinks they're cute, at least insome of their incarnations, and the rest of the hotel staffseems tolerant at least. 


Over by the pool, one of the guests was walking a spiny-
backed dragon dog, who sprayed acid on some of the comershrubs. It lunged on its leash, snarling at the cluster ofbabymorphs. Feeling a surge of maternal protective instinct, Ijumped to my feet, but the little ones reacted all at once,
changing into an array of hideous monstrosities. One of thebabymorphs became a fanged Putter-clam, opening wide itsjagged shell and snapping at the dragon dog, which fled backbehind its owner's legs. 

I smiled- They already know how to defend themselves.
Now I just need 'to teach them how to flirt. 

With a sigh, I settled back into the chaise lounge and let thesunlight photosynthesize my green skin. I've earned a rest,
haven't I? I need to write a letter to the Lexicon people, sinceI have two new listings for them. one for Borraks and one formorphs. And while I'm at it, maybe I'll try my hand at writing 
my memoirs. That should surely scandalize the galaxy'Just the type of thing people will pick up to read on an outbound 
starflight. It'll sell millions. 

Besides, I'd better make my fortune soon. As precocious asthe babymorphs seem to be, I'm bound to have competitionbefore long. I'll really need to stay in shape. 

VOLATILE MIX 

Jerry Olfion 

David Wikondu was walking down the corridor toward thebest of the hotel's three restaurants, anticipating a lavishdinner on his expense account, when he heard the screamfrom around the corner. It was a long, warbling howl, andsounded as if it had come from an alien throat, which didn'tsurprise him. There were maybe half a dozen other humans inthis whole wing of the hotel, tops. 

He hesitated, wondering if he should simply turn aroundand let whatever was happening unfold without him, but curiosity 
got the better of him. Curiosity and the suspicion thatit hadn't been a cry of joy. Someone was probably in trouble. 

Rare as they were, another human collided with him as heturned the comer, knocking him off his feet to land with athump against the wall. The other guy tripped as well, and thepistol he carried in his left hand skittered away down the corridor 
toward the restaurant. 

David had just enough time to wonder what Loren Larue, 

230 Jerry Oltion 

the vid star, was doing with a gun at an interspecies peace 


conference in the experimental multi-environment wing of theHotel Andromeda before the actor jumped to his feet and tookoff running up the corridor David had just come down- He ranwith a peculiar gait, bobbing up and down and stumbling asif on uneven ground, and as he receded David saw that hecarried a small air tank strapped to his back. David couldn'timagine why; the whole advantage to the hotel's new wingwas that force fields held a person's own atmosphere in an invisible 
bubble around them no matter where they went. It alsoprovided whatever gravity they were used to; Lame shouldn'thave been wobbling like that. Had he been wounded? Maybethat's why he was running. 

Whoever screamed had stopped now; David looked up tosee a petite, light blue-furred alien bending over what lookedat first to be a colorful rug, but which proved on secondglance to be another alien of different species lying flat on thefloor. It was one of the floating-gas-bag variety, probably aRanthanik, now deflated. 

The space around the furry one—a T'klar, David realized, andprobably female by its size—glowed with a soft blue radiance; 

most likely something in her air fluorescing in the overheadlights. David pushed himself to his feet and took a step towardher, but when she looked up and saw him coming she yowledanother earsplitting, warbling screech and backed away. 

"It's all right," he said, taking a few steps closer. "I Just got 

here." 

The T'klar wasn't reassured. Without another sound, sheturned and bounded away on her long, slender legs, disappearinginto the crowd that was gathering at the restaurant entrance. Afaint trail of blue fluorescence glimmered in her wake. 

David saw no sense in chasing her. He bent down next tothe Ranthanik to see if there was anything he could do for it,
but the charred hole in its leathery hide was big enough toshove a fist through. All its methane had leaked out, and bythe looks of it, all its life, too. 

He stood up and turned toward the gathering crowd. Thehotel's force-field life system was living up to its advertisements; 
among the less exotic species he saw a heavy-planetNirulo standing next to a gangly ammonia-breathing Cheedon 

VOLATILE Mix 231 

and a fuming, sulfurous Grota, and none of them seemed distressed 
at all by the others* proximity. 

"Has anyone called Hotel Security?" he asked. 

No one replied. He knew they understood him; the samesystem that monitored each person's position for their force 


cocoon of atmosphere also provided translation of any alienspeech in the vicinity. 

"Someone, please call Security," he said more forcefully.
"And get somebody here who knows Ranthanik medicine. Wemight still be able to save him." David had no idea whetherthat was true or not, but he figured it would be better to en-
on the side of caution. 

One of the aliens further inside the restaurant—or maybe theTklar—had evidently already made the call. David was still dying 
to think of anything else he could do when a gleaming silverrobot slid out from a doorway partway down the corridor andglided up to him. Before David could react, one of its four sinuous 
arms reached out and wrapped around his neck. 

It hadn't quite cut off his wind. "Hey, what are you doing?"
he croaked. "Let me go!" 

"I'm sorry, sir," it said in a synthesized human voice, "butyou will have to come with me." 

The robot put him in a seven- by ten-pace room with a single 
chair in it. David sat sullenly on the chair, wishing he'dgiven in to his first impulse and just left the T'klar and theRanthanik to fend for themselves. He didn't know what sort 
of trouble he was in just yet—the robot had only told him thathe was needed for questioning—but he didn't tike the look ofthis room at all. 

He couldn't help examining it with a professional eye,
though. He was an assistant manager for a rival hotel, theHightower, and he was on a tour of other hotels, looking fornew ideas he could incorporate into his own. So far he hadn'tseen anything he liked better than what the Hightower alreadyhad to offer, but when he'd heard of the Andromeda's newlife-system design he'd come to check it out. 

He'd snooped around in as many public areas as he couldfind, but he hadn't seen anything like the room he was innow. It was obviously an undifferentiated guest unit, the barecubicle upon which an individual species' requirements could 

232 Jerry Oltion 

be built. The walls were a uniform dull gray, as was the ceiling. 
Presumably whatever coloring or decorations wereneeded could be extruded from it or hung there by the servicestaff when a guest checked in. 

The floor, like the floors everywhere, was dotted with tinyholes from which came the atmosphere that the personal forcefields—also generated in the floor—held around each guest David 
couldn't see the variable gravity generators, but he knewthey were there, too. He even knew a little about how theyworked. The whole system—force fields and all—was really justan elaborate enhancement of technology that existed in every 


hotel, including the Hightower. It was the way they put it all together, 
the way it allowed mutually alien races to coexist withinthe same habitat, mat was the breakthrough. 

He'd been considering buying the system from the Andromeda 
until their security robot had dragged him away andlocked him in here, but the longer he waited in the singlechair, the less inclined he felt to give them his business. Theywould have to apologize, and apologize with a big cut inprice, if they expected to see any of his credit. 

The door slid open and a squat, cone-shaped Niruto waddled 
into the room, flanked by two of the silver security robots. 
The Niruto's twin trunks were coiled around its 
hemispherical head, parked there for support in the three g'sor so that pulled on them. 

A buzzing sound came from within the coiled limbs, and anunseen translator said, "Your ID lists you as David Wikondu.
Is this correct?" 

"Yeah, that's right," David answered. 

"You are not a member of the interspecies peace conference 
delegation." 

"No. I'm an assistant manager for the Hotel Hightower.
I'm here to look at your multi-environment system." 

"That is your stated purpose. However, you are charged withthe assassination of Hranda Nefanu Dnanda, the Ranthanik delegate 
to the conference. Do you admit to the crime?" 

David leaped up from his chair. "No! I showed up—hey!"
The robots advanced on him and shoved him gracelessly backonto the chair. 

"Please remain seated," the Niruto said. "You were foundat the scene of the murder. Witnesses said that the Ranthanik 

VOLATILE Mix 233 

was killed by a human. You were the only human in evidence,
therefore you are the murderer." 

David shrugged off the robots' arms, but stayed in thechair. "No, there was somebody else. He knocked me downmaking his escape." 

"Another human?" 

"That's right. He looked like Loren Larue. He dropped hisgun when he ran into me." 

The Niruto stepped closer to David. "We recovered theweapon, a microwave laser. It could just as easily have beenyours." 


"It was Loren Larue's!" David shouted. 

The Niruto paused momentarily, no doubt consulting a database somewhere with its neural linkup. "Loren Larue is not aguest at this hotel," it said. 

"Well of course not," David said. "It was obviously someone 
else wearing a mask. They didn't want to be recognized." 

"Very few beings can tell humans apart," the Niruto said.
"A mask would be pointless." 

That was probably true, David realized. He had a hard timetelling most aliens apart, too, at least within species lines.
That would probably change if multi-species habitats like thisone became more common, but for now the Niruto was right 

"Maybe it wasn't a human," David said. "Maybe somebody 
else wanted to make it look like a human had done it.
They probably just used Loren Larue as a model because hewas easiest to get a holo of." 

"This is wild speculation," the Niruto said. 

David leaned forward on his chair. "No, it's not Whoever itwas had an air tank on his back. I didn't notice a breathingmask, so he probably had it piped into his Lame mask. I'll bethe had a human ID card, so the life system was giving him human 
air and he needed the tank to provide what he reallyneeded." 

The Niruto uncoiled a limb and rubbed the tip of it acrossthe top of its head. When it spoke, its buzz was louder, as wasits translation. "A human ID would not have availed him anything. 
We don't track our guests by their ID cards." 

"Does the murderer know that?" 

"I suspect he just learned it" 

"I'm not the murderer! Look, there was a T'klar there with 

234 Jerry Oltion 

the Ranthanik. She must have seen me collide with whoever 
shot him. Ask her." 

The Niruto waved its trunk toward the door. "We alreadydid. She identified you as the killer." 

"Oh, great." David leaned back in his chair and ran a handthrough his hair. "I think I'd better get some legal help here." 

The Niruto turned away and headed for the door. the robotsflanking him. "That would be an unprofitable use of yourtime," it said. "We do not follow human law here. Your law



yer would not be able to counter the word of the T*klar ambassador." 


"You'll understand if I try anyway." 

"You may try anything you wish," the Niruto said. "You willhave little success, however, from within a closed cell." Thedoor slid aside for him, then closed with a thump behind himand the robots, leaving David alone in his undiffercntiated room. 

The human delegate to the peace conference showed up afew hours later. David had no idea what had brought him; 

he'd tried shouting for help, he'd banged the chair on the walluntil he'd broken it, he'd even given in to biological pressureand urinated on the floor in the hopes that the room sensorswould realize someone was there and create a bathroom for 
him—and maybe an intercom with it—but he'd given up longago. 

He'd been trying to steep and failing even at that when thedoor slid open to reveal a trim, gray-haired man in his earlyhundreds, dressed conservatively in a brown one-piece body-
suit. 

"I'm Trevor DeLange," he said, stepping inside and extending 
a hand to help David to his feet. 

"David Wikondu. I'd offer you a chair, but it broke whileI was rapping out an S-O.S. with it." He waved at the brokenpieces of plastic or alien wood or whatever they were scattered 
on the floor. 

DeLange smiled a thin smile. "I'm sony to have left youhere so long. I've been in contact with our embassy for thelast few hours, trying to get you extradited to human space,
but so far we haven't had any luck. The Ranthanik want to tryyou here, during the peace conference." 

"I'm not even responsible!" David said. "I was walking 

VOLATILE Mix 

toward the restaurant when I heard a scream, so I ran up tosee what was the matter and I got arrested for murder." 

"They would have arrested whoever was closest," DeLangesaid. "Niruto provide the security here, and Niruto law reliesheavily on circumstantial evidence. They're more interestedin finding a scapegoat than finding the real culprit. So long assomeone is punished for every crime, they figure the deterrentfactor is the same." 

"You're kidding." 


"I wish 1 were." DeLange sounded sincere enough, but David 
figured he'd have sounded a great deal more concerned if
he'd been the one arrested. 


"The killer is still loose," David pointed out "He may not
stop with one delegate." 


"Hotel Security has begun recording everyone's movements.
If the assassin strikes again, they'll know for sure who did it" 


David paced to the wail and back again. "That's smart.
Why weren't they tracking everyone before?" 


DeLange shrugged. He seemed a little uncomfortable
standing in an empty room with a broken chair scattered on
the floor and a puddle of urine in one corner. He'd been folding 
and refolding his arms across his chest; now he tucked
them into his suit's side pockets as if to get them out of the
way. He said, "They claim it's not hotel policy to monitor
their guests' activities. It scares away business. The truth is,
this whole multi-species life system is still in the testing
stage, and they may simply not have thought of it before." 


"Hmm." David worked for a hotel; he suspected the real
reason was liability. Data that didn't exist couldn't be stolen
and used by someone else, say a journalist or politician looking 
for a little dirt on an opponent. He made another trip to
the wall and back, then asked, "Why are you here if you
know it's still an experimental system? Why let them test it
on some of the top officials from every species?" 


DeLange laughed. "We had no choice. After the Andromeda 
announced they'd built a new conference wing just for
the peace talks, staying away for safety reasons would have
been political suicide. We've all been saying how much we
want to settle our differences peacefully; it was time to put up
or shut up. So here we are." 


"How are the talks going?" David asked. He was surprised 


236 Jerry OWon 


he could feel any curiosity about anything other than his own
predicament, but he knew that humanity was not necessarily
a major player in galactic politics, and several other species—
including the Ranthanik—were trying to edge in on human
territory. The peace talks could help humanity's chances of
holding on to some of the disputed colonies, 


DeLange*s expression darkened. "We're not accomplishing
a whole lot. Mostly airing old arguments in public. Probably
the only valuable thing to come of this whole process will be
the precedent it sets for later talks. Of course, now that one
of the delegates has been assassinated, there's an entirely different 
message being presented. That's why the Nirutp are so
eager to crucify you. They want the rumors stopped as soon 



as possible." 

"Whether I'm guilty or not" David realized his only hope layin die assassination of another delegate. If someone else weremurdered while he was still locked up, then they would knowhe wasn't the assassin. That didn't seem likely, though. Presumably 
the assassin would know he was being traced now, too. 

"What's humanity's official stance on this?" he asked.
"How far will you go to get me out of here?" 

DeLange reddened. "Well, naturally we'll do everything wecan to, um, delay any hasty actions on the Niruto's part, butthe situation is delicate. We have to consider—" 

"In other words, nothing. You'll let them have me ratherthan start an interstellar incident over it, won't you?" 

"Mr. Wikondu," the ambassador said coldly, "we are tryingto develop a plan of action. Your welfare will figure as highas possible in that plan, but we must consider the entire human 
race. We will do everything we can, short of open hostilities- 
We will not go to war over one individual." 

"That's what I thought" David paced toward the wall again,
passing the broken pieces of chair. He swiveled around, took astep forward, and kicked one of the chair legs as if by accident,
sending it sliding toward DeLange. "Oops, sony," he said, bending 
down to retrieve it He made as if to toss it out of the way,
but halfway through the motion he swung around and brought itdown on DeLange's head with a sharp crack. 

The delegate dropped like a short-circuited robot. Davidcaught him before he whacked his head again on the floor,
and laid him out on his back. 

VOLATILE Mix 237 

"They need a scapegoat, eh?" he muttered, bending downto feel for a pulse at DeLange's neck. "Well, let 'em haveone. All humans look alike, after all." 

The delegate's heart still beat steadily. David quickly unsealed 
his brown suit and peeled it off him, stripped off hisown clothing, and put DeLange's clothing on himself. It was" a little tight around the middle, but he sucked in his gut andgot it closed. He put his own clothing on DeLange, makingsure his ID card went with it, then dragged him over to thewall across from the door. 

Then, taking a deep breath to calm down, he walked to thedoor, prepared to knock on it to be let out, but it slid open before 
him and he stepped on through. 

The robots were standing just on the other side, but the Nimtowas nowhere in evidence. David stalked past the robots withouta sideways glance and headed up Ae corridor toward the lobby. 


Only after he'd turned the comer did he breathe. 

He had bought himself anywhere from ten minutes to a fewhours, depending on how soon DeLange awakened and howlong it would take him to attract the attention of his jailersand convince them he was the human ambassador. The wayDavid saw it, he had two choices. He could either try to bluffhis way through Hotel Security, catch the next ship out of theAndromeda, and disappear into deep space, or he could usehis temporary freedom to clear his name. Running for itseemed the least complicated in the short term, but the idea ofskipping out on his entire life and starting over again somewhere 
else didn't exactly appeal to him, either. Not over asimple misunderstanding. 

No, he would at least try to exonerate himself first. Ofcourse there would still be charges for assaulting DeLange,
but he would probably be able to survive that if he exposedthe real assassin. 

Where to start? Well, the most damning evidence againsthim had to be the T'klar's testimony. If he could convince hershe was mistaken about him, then that should take care of itright there. 

There was a Cheedon behind the front desk. David had 
never seen one up close before; they were ammonia breathersand normally required a separate habitat. They looked a little 

238 Jerry Ottion 

like a stack of seven or eight long-armed starfish scaled up tostand about three feet high; this one rested atop a pedestal behind 
the counter. As David approached it he smelted a fainthint of ammonia, like a cat's litter box gone uncleaned a daytoo long. Evidently the force cocoons weren't perfectly tight; 

when someone stayed in one place long enough, some of theirair must leak across the barrier to permeate the surroundingatmosphere, and when someone else moved through it a littlemust get swept up in their own. It wouldn't take much; a fewmolecules of ammonia is enough for a human nose to detect. 

Half a dozen arms waved in greeting when he stepped upto the counter. "May I help you?" his translator said. 

"I need to carry a message to the T'ktar delegate. Can youtell me where I could find her, please?" 

More arms waved. "I'm sorry, but that information isn'tavailable—" 

"Not true. I've just talked with your chief of security, whotold me all the guests in this wing were being monitored.
Where is she?" 

The Cheedon froze for a moment, then another ripple of 


movement played through its arms. "I apologize, Ambassador. 
She is in her suite." 
"Where is that?" 
"Level nine. Room twelve." 


"Thanks." David dug into DeLange's pocket and found a
handful of change. He slid a steel half-solar across the
countertop to the Cheedon and headed for a lift. 


There were dozens of lift shafts and drop shafts in the hotel, 
most of them simple vertical corridors with force fields to
support passengers who stepped into them. It was old technology, 
enhanced with the ability to maintain the cocoon of air
around people while they moved from floor to floor, but
alongside the shafts was a different kind of lift that David
hadn't seen until his stay in the Andromeda. It was evidently
made for burrowing creatures, and was basically a pulsing
hole in the wall that would push them along in close confinement. 
When David had first seen one he'd been tempted to try
it until he'd seen a ten-foot caterpillar crawl out of one and
slide off down the corridor on hundreds of foot-long legs. 


He stepped into the open air shaft, pausing to avoid another
guest rising up from a lower deck. This one was a more fa-


VOLATILE MIX 


miliar form, a Bajoda, humanoid save for a smaller head and
spindlier arms. They had been one of the first alien species
humanity had encountered, and they could coexist with humans, 
though they seldom did. There was speculation among
some exobiologists that the two species had come from a
common ancestor left behind by some earlier space-faring
race, but whatever the reason for their similarities, millennia
of separate evolution had left them direct competitors. Their
empires were too close together in space and too similar in requirements 
for comfortable coexistence. The one in the lift
shaft eyed David distrustfully as it rose, and David was glad
when it got off on level seven. 


There was one species that could probably tell humans
apart, though, he thought. 


He stepped out on level nine, checked the holomap in the
foyer, and headed down the corridor for room 12. One of the
doors halfway down had a robot guard on either side of it,
and as he approached it he had a sinking suspicion that it was
the T'klar's. Sure enough, his quick door count ended with
them. Should he walk on past, or try to brazen it out? 


The robots made his choice for him. When he was still a 
couple of steps from the door, one of them slid out to block
his path. "I'm sorry, sir," it said, "but I must ask you to state
your business in this section." 



David swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've come to talkwith the T'klar ambassador. About the, uh, murder suspect." 

"Ambassador Sarell does not wish to be disturbed." 

'Tell her it's important. It could, uh, mean considerableembarrassment for her if she ignores what I have to tell her." 

The robot paused, no doubt relaying the message. Then itabruptly slid back and the door opened. "She will see you,
but only if one of us accompanies you." 

"Fine." David followed the robot into the T'klar's suite. 

She stood before the window, her back to the stars. To herleft, another doorway led off into the rest of the suite. The entire 
room sparkled with the blue fluorescence peculiar to heratmosphere, and up close David could see that her fur wasalso a light shade of blue, and as fuzzy as a kitten's. Her earswere high and rounded, half buried in fur, and though hereyes were in the right place they were twice the size of David's 
and irised in six segments like star sapphires. She wore 

240 Jerry Olfion 

a single piece of clothing, a strip of green cloth wound oncearound her waist and looping up over her right shoulder. 

The robot took up station between David and her, slightlyto the side. 

"Ambassador Sarell," David said. 

Her head whipped around like an owl's, back and forthfrom David to the robot and back in a motion almost too fast 
to see. "You are not Ambassador DeLange." she replied. 

Uh-oh. So all humans didn't look alike, at least not to allaliens. "He's, uh, indisposed at the moment," David said.
"I'm one of his aides. He sent me to tell you that he visitedwith the man you accused of killing the Ranthamk, and he'sconvinced that David Wikondu is innocent." 

"That's ridiculous," she said. "I saw him fire the shot." 

"You watched a being wearing a human mask fire the shot.
Then he turned and ran, but collided with m—David. The realassassin got away, while David tried to see if he could helpthe Ranthanik." 

"He ran back for the gun he'd dropped," Sarell said. 

"The gun? Wait a minute. The gun!" David suddenly realized 
he had a chance. "I—David never touched the gun. Fingerprints 
would prove that." 

"Fingerprints?" 


David nodded eagerly, "Right, fingerprints! Human handsare each unique. They leave their pattern on whatever theytouch. We can check the gun for fingerprints and prove thatDavid didn't shoot it.*' 

"You're calling me a liar? The T'klar ambassador?" Hereyes seemed to blaze at him. 

"I—no, of course, I—" David spluttered to a stop. Was heabout to create another interspecies incident here? He lookedaway from her hypnotic eyes, checked the robot to see if itmight be about to toss him out the door. Wait a minute, hethought. The robot. 

In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. Aloud he said,
"You call yourself a liar. Why else are you under guard ifyou're so sure you've caught the assassin?" 

Sarell snorted something that didn't translate. What didtranslate was, "There may have been more than one of them.
I'm a potential witness against them all. I'm sure they would 

VOIATILE Mix 

like to keep me silent." She started to say something else, buta thumping noise from the hallway made her pause. 

"What was that?" David asked, but he got his answer whenthe robot that had been stationed outside the door teetered 
over and fell with a crash to the floor. 

"We are under attack," the remaining robot said with acalmness that belied its words. 'Take cover." It rolled forward, 
pushing David behind it with one arm while anothersnaked forward with a heavily finned, glistening beamweapon of some sort. 

The T'klar whipped her head around to look at David fora moment, then she grabbed his arm and pulled him into thenext room, which proved to be a reasonably realistic recreation 
of some kind of enormous flower, opened to make asort of bowl-shaped bed. She led him across its spongy surface, 
shoved one of the five-foot petals aside, and pulled himinto darkness beyond. 

The crackle and thump of fighting echoed from the otherroom, then another crash that sounded suspiciously like thesecond robot going down. 

"Uh-oh," David muttered. "I think we're in trouble." 

"Quiet!" She pulled him across an uneven floor litteredwith what felt like rocks underfoot; David noticed faintflashes of light as they grated against the floor. He stooped 


and picked up one in either hand. They were hot to the touch,
but not so hot he couldn't hold them. He felt silly defendinghis life with rocks, but they would be better than nothing. 

Sarell had other plans, though. She had better night visionthan he did; she reached for something on the wall and a narrow 
crack of light grew before them. A door. Of course; therooms were all the same, the hotel just connected more ofthem to make bigger suites. And each one had its own door. 

She stuck her head out cautiously, then pulled David into thehallway and took off running toward the lift. David glanced theother way and saw the dead robot, plus a headless body matmight have been human or Bajoda lying half in the doorway. Ithad been wearing an air tank, too, David noticed. Evidently theother robot had killed him before being downed in turn. Davidwondered how many more of them had made it into the suite. 

He and Sarell had emerged from room 10's door; Davidheard a shout from behind him when they reached about room 

242 Jerry Oltion 

3, then a piece of the wall exploded in fragments just to hisleft. He dodged, took half a dozen more bounding steps, andleaped for the lift shaft just as another shot sent searing painscreaming through his right side. 

Sarell reached the lift field and shot up out of sight. Davidstumbled into it, falling, and found himself careening upwardfeetfirst. 

Sarell snatched him out of the air four or five floors up,
spinning him halfway around before the floor's gravity caughthim, and he landed with a thump on his injured side. He bitdown on a scream. 

"You're hurt," she said, helping him to stand. 

He looked down to see a charred patch of cloth a hand'swidth across just below his lowest rib. It felt as if the bumhad penetrated halfway through his body, but he knew thatwas probably not true. If he'd been hit with a microwave laser, 
it would only have penetrated an inch or two at the most. 

"I'll live." he said through clenched teeth. "Come on,
we've got to lose whoever was shooting at us or we might notget so lucky a second time." 

They ran down the corridor, sending the few other guests intheir way leaping for doorways and howling curses in theirwake. They turned left at the first cross corridor and kept running. 
David wasn't making near as good a time as Sarell was; 

he glanced back at the next turn, hoping they might have confused 
the trail enough to duck into a doorway and hide out,
but there behind them floated a trail of telltale blue sparkles 


glimmering in the air. 

He ran to catch up with her, wincing at the pain in his sideand shouting "Stop! The force fields aren't tight enough tohold all your air in when we run. They'll be able to track uswherever we go." 

She skidded to a halt and looked back. The short word she 
spoke translated as "Snow." For someone who slept in flowers 
and basked on hot rocks, David supposed that made apretty good swear word. 

He Jogged up to her and they stood there for a moment,
looking at the glittering trail, then Sarell said, "Leave me. Ithink they're after you anyway." 

David shook his head. "Ha, nice try, but they came to yourroom, not mine." 

VOLATILE Mix 243 

"There's no sense in both of us getting killed." 

"Look, if you get killed, I might as well be, too. You're theonly one who can clear my name." 

Her ears twisted forward. "What do you mean?" 

"Meet David Wikondu, the guy you said shot the Ranthanik." 

"What? How can you—?" 

"Save it. Can you get by on oxygen and nitrogen?" 

She hummed softly. "Maybe for a few minutes. Not muchlonger." 

"I think a few minutes are all we've got. Give me your IDcard." 

Hesitantly, she reached into a pocket in her sash and handedthe gold-colored card to him. He bent down and slid it under thedoor beside them, then, stuffing his rocks into pockets, he tookher in his arms, making sure her face nestled into his shoulder.
Without her ID she wouldn't have a force field of her own anymore, 
but she should be able to breame inside his. 

He started running down the hallway again, glad she waslight. She coughed and clung tighter to him. 

He heard more commotion in the hallway behind them. Hehoped it was Hotel Security, but he wasn't going to bet hislife on it. If the Andromeda's security robots were anythinglike the Hightower's—and his previous experience with themtold him they were—then they usually showed up long afterthey could do anything useful. 


He skidded around another comer, found a drop shaft infront of them, and leaped into it, nearly bowling over a Grotawho was just getting off. They fell for half a dozen floors,
then swung off and ran through more hallways until Davidwas pretty sure he'd lost any pursuit. He stopped at aT-intersection and looked cautiously down the side passage,
but it was deserted. 

Sarell was coughing steadily now. She pulled away fromhim, breathed the ambient air for a moment, then coughedagain and stuck her face back into his force field. 

"I don't know which is worse," she wheezed


"Hang in there. I think we—" 

A patch of fur on Sarell's arm turned instantly black, andshe howled in pain. David leaped into the side passage, ran tothe end of it, turned again, ran, then skidded to a stop at thenext. "They've got to be tracking my ID, too," he said, setting 

244 Jerry Offion 

Sarell down and digging DeLange*s card out of his pocket.
"That's the only way they could have found us." 

"I cannot understand you," she said. 

Of course not. Without her ID, she had no translator.
"We're about to be even," David said. He took one last deepbreath, shoved the card under another door, and grabbedSarell's hand. Together they ran on down the corridor. 

His first breath of the habitat's ambient air nearly searedhis lungs. There was enough ammonia in it to scrub the deckswith, and sulfur compounds and a couple dozen more exoticgases as well. He couldn't smell it, but he would bet moneythere was methane in it, too. All the gases that leaked out ofthe force fields mixed together. It was evidently easier toleave it this way than to try cleaning it up; besides, with somany different species coming and going, what would theyhave used for a baseline anyway? 

He hadn't blacked out yet, so evidently there was at leasta little bit of oxygen in it as well. That was a blessing, forhim anyway. Some other species found oxygen deadly. 

The gravity varied from heavy to nothing, too. Evidently itdidn't reset to any particular value after someone had passed,
but stayed whatever it had last been until another being camealong. It felt like running over uneven ground, except therewas no way to know where the bumps were. 

That explained the peculiar stumbling gait of the assassin.
And the air tank. He hadn't been carrying false ID; he hadn'tbeen carrying ID at all, for fear of being traced. 


Just as the ones chasing them now weren't. The dead oneat Sarell's suite had carried an air tank, too. David consideredlooping back for it, but he had no assurance it contained anything 
better than what he was breathing now. Besides, someone 
might still be waiting for them there. 

He wished they still had a translator, but they didn't needspeech to communicate things like "left here," or "I'm choking 
to death!" They ran, staying just a few turns ahead of theirpursuers, but slowly losing ground as they lost stamina in thebad air. 

David realized he was eventually going to have to stop andmake a stand with his two rocks. That would be suicide, ofcourse, but unless he could find a better weapon, and soon, hewas going to have to try it. 

VOLATILE Mix 245 

He was panting like a dog, but his vision was growing fullof swirling lights. He needed more oxygen. Did oxygen rise?
That depended on the average density of everything else, buthe bet it wouldn't-

But methane probably would. And hydrogen, definitely. 

Holy shit He pulled one of the rocks from his pocket, thendug into the pocket again and came out with another steelhalf-solar. Mother of God. He'd just discovered his weapon.
Maybe. But could he use it without blowing up the Andromeda 
in the process? 

Probably. Oxygen would be the limiting factor, not methane 
or hydrogen. Humanity and its cousins were a distinctminority in the hotel. 

"Up!" he shouted, pointing at the ceiling. "Find us a liftshaft!" He knew his pursuers could hear him, too, but thatwas fine. Let 'em follow. 

Sarell turned around just long enough to see where hepointed, then took off running again, zigzagging throughguest-filled corridors and meeting rooms until she eventuallycame to another lift, but instead of jumping into the shaft sheran toward one of the pulsing orifices in the wall beside it andsqueezed into that. 

"What are you doing!" David screamed, but when she began 
to rise into the wall, he realized she was right. They'd beeasy targets in an open lift shaft, but their pursuers couldn'tshoot at them in the enclosed elevator. 

David stepped in after her, wincing as the walls squeezedtight around him and a wave of constriction carried him upward. 
The walls of the tunnel were nearly frictionless; hewould hardly have been aware of movement if there hadn'tbeen an opening at each deck. 


Sarell slid out of the lift after a dozen floors or so. David 
jumped out just long enough to look down the open lift shaftand see through the swiriing tracers in his vision that, yes, theywere still being pursued by what looked like three more LorenLames, then he jumped back in and let the enclosed lift carryhim on up. He let it take him as far as it would go, eventuallyspitting him out on the top floor. It wasn't the top of the hotel,
just the top of the multi-species wing, but it was far enough. 

Aside from himself, and moments later, Sarell, the deckwas deserted. It was evidently too far up to be a convenient 

Jerry Offion 

guest deck, or maybe the hotel just didn't have enough gueststo fill it up yet, but whatever the reason there were no signsof life at all- Perfect. David looked for the air lock he knew 
had to be there, found it only a few paces away. It was designed 
for emergencies; it had a solid door rather than a forcefield, and from the hinges it looked like it opened outward.
That might complicate things, but it should still work. Hewished he knew what kind of habitat lay beyond, but at thispoint he couldn't afford to be choosy. 

Sarell took the hint when he pointed at the lock, and staggered 
over to open the door while he peeked down the lift shaftagain. The three disguised aliens, all of them armed and wearingbreathing equipment, were the only ones in the shaft for twentyfloors or so. Good. The other guests' force shields should guardthem from harm on the decks below, but these three would beas vulnerable as David and Sarcll. 

They were rising fast. David backed away from the shaft, ranfor the air lock, and climbed inside after Sarell, pulling the dooralmost but not quite closed. Then, just as he saw the first of theassassins rise into view, he struck his half-solar against the rock. 

It made the tiniest of sparks, barely visible under the brightlight in the air lock, but the flash of burning methane and hydrogen 
nearly blinded him and the explosion blew him halfway 
across the lock. It would have been worse, but thepressure of burning gases on the other side slammed the doorclosed with the force of an angry giant, cutting off the blastbefore it had a chance to develop to full force. 

His head rang from the concussion and from lack of oxygen. 
He crawled back toward the door, trying to stand up andget to the air controls, but everything started to swirl aroundhim and he lost his balance, falling with a thump to the floor.
He tried to stand again, but only made it to his knees. 

Sarell couldn't have been in much better shape than him,
but he watched her drag herself to the opposite door, pull herself 
upright, and punch the button that sent cold. cloudy white 


gas pouring in over them. 

Don't let it be ammonia, David thought. He took a shallowbreath. It smelled like something had died in the storage tank,
but it didn't kill him outright so he took another. Sarellseemed to be doing okay with it, too. They were gasping like 

VOLATILE Mix 

beached fish, but still alive, when security robots opened thelock a few minutes later. 

Searchers found the assassins bobbing in the currents at thetop of the lift shaft. They had either been blasted downwardby the explosion and knocked unconscious on one of thelandings below, or the pressure wave alone had done the job,
but when the security robots pulled them down they foundone dead of a broken neck and the other two alive but heavilyburned and unresponsive. All three were Bajodas, and thoughnobody could trace them to the Bajoda delegation, nobody believed 
they'd acted alone, either. 

"They wanted to start a war between humanity and theRanthanik," Sarell said when she heard the news. She andDavid were recovering in the infirmary, lying back on examining 
tables while once again wrapped in their separate forcecocoons and breathing their own atmospheres. There were afew other patients in the infirmary, mostly suffering from anxiety 
at seeing a roiling fireball rushing down the lift shaftsand drop shafts toward them, but their force fields had keptthem from any physical harm. 

"Between us and the Ranthanik?' David asked. "What 
for?" 

Sarell made a growling sound that didn't translate. Sheshook her head and said, "It's always better to have someoneelse fight your wars for you. The Bajodas want to take overhuman space, but they don't want to pay the price so theytried to get someone else to do it for them. They would probably 
have waited until the war was winding down and thenjoined the Ranthaniks for a share of the spoils. Now they'll belucky if the Ranthaniks don't attack them." 

"Bajodas." David nodded. "I guess it makes sense. But thatmeans you were right about something else; they weren't afteryou at all. They were after me, because they were afraid Iwas onto them. And I led them straight to you." 

"I forgive you," Sarell said. "It's the least I could do afterfalsely accusing you of being an assassin yourself." 

"Well, I guess maybe we're even, then." 

There was a commotion at the door, then Ambassador 


DeLange burst into the infirmary, trailing medical robots likea retinue behind him. "There you are!" he roared when he 

248 Jerry Offton 

saw David. "You're in deep trouble, Wikondu, I'll have yourhead on a stake for this." 

David sighed. "I guess I shouldn't have expected you tothank me." 

"Thank you? For what? For knocking me out and leavingme locked in a prison cell? For scaring the hell out of half thepeace delegation? For damn near blowing up the entire HotelAndromeda?" 

"Just one wing of it," David said. "And it didn't blow; 

there wasn't enough oxygen for that.'* 

"Just one wing," DeLange said with a snort. "Well, it happened 
to be the wing I was in, and I'm not about to forget it." 

Sarell said softly, "Nor am I. David saved my life. Youmay not realize it yet, but he probably saved yours and therest of humanity's as well. I suggest you calm down and consider 
the ramifications of what happened here before youblow a perfect chance for improving your status among therest of your race." 

"What do you mean?" asked DeLange. 

"I mean if I were in your position, I would much rather return 
from the conference with a hero at my side than with acriminal." 

"Oh," said DeLange. "Aha." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully 
for a moment, then nodded. "I see your point." 

David shifted uncomfortably on his exam table. "Wait aminute. I'm not going anywhere. I've got a hotel to manage." 

"I imagine they can spare you for a publicity tour to Earth,"
DeLange said- His tone of voice left little room for doubt 

A publicity tour, eh? Hmm. As a hero, no less. Staying insome of the best hotels from all through history, and dining inrestaurants famous before humanity had left the planet ... TheHightower would never have paid for such a trip, but they werelooking for something new to offer their guests. David didn'tthink he could recommend the Andromeda's new life system,
not until they worked a few more bugs out of it, but in themeantime maybe a touch of old-worid opulence would suffice. 

He made a big show of thinking it over, then just asDeLange was about to erupt with another outburst, he said,
"Well, if you insist. Maybe I could spare a week or two. 


Three at the- outside."