Hotel Andromeda Part 25

"How was / to know that gnashcats can't eat off-woriders?"

Mister Moogi rubbed primary and secondary forcclaws together in a piteous manner. "How was / to know they'd die from de- vouring Dangvims? How was / to know that gnashcats are an endangered species, protected by a body of transgalactic law thicker than this entire hotel?"

The holo stiffened, a silvery sheen freezing its features un- til it was completely transformed into a parody of a humanoid servo. Its mouth opened and closed with no distinct lip artic- ulation as it rattled off, "It is the decision of this Merchants'

Tribunal that the accused. Mister Moogi of Splendel's, be dis- ciplined as follows: "One: For failing to run a proper and complete check on the references of his hired a.s.sa.s.sin, he must close shop on Ujit's Other Tuesday and do community service. However, in view of the fact that he personally killed and ate the offending a.s.sa.s.sin for misrepresentation, this penalty is waived.

'Two: For causing the death of his neighboring merchant- brothers, he shall be compelled to offer all Dangvim merchan- dise at twenty percent off from this time forward. This injunction does not apply to any Dangvim merchandise cur- rently in stock or subsequently obtained through recognized smuggling channels.

"Three: For being instrumental in the death by indigestion of eight rare and endangered gnashcats who might otherwise have fetched an excellent price on the open gag-and-novelty- gift market, he shall be made to take into his shop as an ap- prentice merchant the orphaned Dangvim youngling known as Podvex. This a.s.sociation 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 natural death."

"If I personally killed and ate him, that would be natural for me." Mister Moogi said, four out of six eyes full of hope.

"The Merchants' Tribunal thought of that." The System unfroze the holo, which was grinning more nastily than ever.

"Maybe you don't remember the size of the fine they said they'd slap you with if your apprentice becomes your appe- tizer."

'"It's not fair." Mister Moogi sagged inside his carapace, although it would take a keen trained eye to notice the differ- ence from his normal posture. 'That Dangvim poisons every- thing he touches! Oh, why wasn't he in the shop with his parents where he belonged when the gnashcats arrived?"

"At your hearing, he testified that he was out making a per- sonal apology to a dissatisfied customer. He did not specify the underlying reason at the hearing, but I theorize that his of- fense must have been a whopper if it required in-person pen- itence."

"You see?" Mister Moogi's limbs waved wildly. "Even then he was incompetent. To say nothing of unfitial! Causes his parents to be shamed before the paying-and-potential, then lacks the common decency to die with them! It's all that Dangvim laxness, that's what it is. Faugh! What can you ex- pect from mammals? I'm surprised they kept their shop going for as long as they did. How they ever managed to conquer a merchanting territory in the first place I'll never-"

A shrill VEEeeeeeeEEEEM sc.r.a.ped the last merciful mi- crometer 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 that for Splendel's, trouble was spelled with a capital Podvex.

Mister Moogi chirruped a command that opened his office door without altering any of the interior comfort specs. The portal slipped aside, as ordered, to reveal the young Dangvim on the figurative doorstep, his paws still wrapped far too tightly around the Summon/c.u.mmin control. Mister Moogi took 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. Mister Moogisir."

IT'S A GIFT 163.

"Correction: It is a Summon/c.u.mmin, the best little narrow- spectrum presence announcer on the market Just one touch and the genetic code of any casual visitor is forever enshrined in the device's memory. On all subsequent visits, our most valued cus- tomers are immediately recognized and directed to my personal attention, while deadbeats and just-browsers are politely steered into the shop's no-man's-land, where even the servos seldom tread-where even you are not an option-and arc there left to steep until they've had enough and take their nonbusiness else- where."

"Really?" Podvex's huge, round eyes seemed to get huger and rounder with awe, physical possibility be d.a.m.ned. He gazed 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 of shudders that threatened to shake his carapace to chitinous shrapnel, "Summon/c.u.mmin can even turn 'tronic blood- hound to hunt down really good-albeit lapsed-customers and bay special sale announcements beneath their System windows until they came back to Splendel's once more. It is high tech, high cost, high maintenance, and high return.

Sometimes it can sense a caller's ident.i.ty without being touched, simply by an a.n.a.lysis of the cloud of shed skin-cells or other bio-detritus surrounding his person. You did not need to touch it at all. You certainly did not need to tear it out of the wall and strangle it, Podvex."

Podvex looked up into Mister Moogi's face and conjured up a sickly smile. "Urnr, I wasn't sure if it rang or not when I touched it, so I sort of ..." He tried another angle. "I thought maybe it could use a tune-up so I wanted to detach it from the wall because you always say these repair-droids cost a 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 clacking out a staccato beat until he sounded like an avalanche of cas- tanets. "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 want that."

"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 just so, giving it the force of a falling sandbag. Poor little Podvex cringed. "Considering your past performance, I must say that only a four hundred percent increase in personal sales com- pleted 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 shoulder fur was beginning to lose its gloss due to the strain he was under. The formidable Mister Moogi had scared Podvex enough when they were Just neighbors, but as an employer he was Terror in a giant dung beetle suit.

"If I can get you out of my shop and into one of your own before either one of us perishes of old age, that would be rea- sonable. It would also be reasonable if you remained my ap- prentice until your dying day and when I sold your corpse for the value of its component elements, that sum would equal your debt to me. But it won't, so it looks like my only hope is you bettering your sales record."

A hint of sheen seeped back into Podvex's shoulder fur. His wide mouth arched up in the middle, the Dangvim equivalent of a smile. "But that's why I'm here. Mister Moogisir! To give you the good news."

"You're quitting my apprentice program? You'd be willing to pheromark an affidavit to that effect in the presence of the Merchants' Tribunal? You've found some other employment in the hotel that interests you more?" Mister Moogi's opti- mism was so delicate and lovely to behold, it was a sin to mash it into the dust.

"Oh, no." Podvex was adamant. "I could never leave you after all you've done for me. Mister Moogisir."

"All I've-" Holding on to sanity and scent sacs by the thinnest of threads. Mister Moogi attempted to make sense of his employee's unwanted loyalty. "Podvex, you lower marsu- pial, I had your parents murdered!"

"Yessir, and mighty quick it was. Dadder always did say that if he had to go, he'd like to die on the job, selling right up to the last moment, and Mommer ... Well, I'll let you in on a little secret. Mister Moogisir: I was 'way past the age for most Dangvim cubbters to leave the family den and set up their own establishments. Mommer and Dadder were going to give 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 kill and eat me. So you see, I owe you my life. I'd never quit on you."

Mister Moogi began exuding a waxy substance much prized for its ability to grow hair on mate Terrans of a certain age. It was the only way his people had of expressing despair.

Dutiful Podvex set down the ruined Summon/c.u.mmin unit and fetched a gross of plastic ampoules, continuing the con- versation while he used these to harvest his employer's ex- tremely 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 with- out shame or remorse. "I should hope that Splendel's may boast at least a customer at any give instant."

"Ah!" Podvex gestured with a full ampoule. "But this was a sentient customer-"

"Many paying-and-potentials eschew their servos for the pleasure of coming to Splendel's in person."

"A wealthy customer-"

"Haven't I taught you that having wealth and being willing to part with wealth do not always share the same cocc.o.o.n?"

"A Terron customer-"

"I have found, Podvex, that moneyed Terrans are not the only race in this part of the galaxy who don't know the value of a credchip."

"A desperate customer!"

"What?" Instantly Mister Moogi's whole demeanor changed. He whirled around and seized little Podvex in two sets of foreclaws. Pale yellow striations played up and down his cheek flaps, an indicator of gut-level elation he had not had cause to use since the day his queen had told him she was not going to personally kill and eat him after s.e.x. "Where is he, Podvex? You didn't let him get away, did you?"

"Oh, no. Mister Moogisir. He's sitting in the Glorioski Lounge having a nice cup of squeeze tea and some cakes-yes, I made sure the cakes were nontoxic and properly drugged this time-and he said he didn't mind waiting however long it took." Podvex puffed out the Hilled fur on his chest. "He said he 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's desperate and he's rich and he's ours. That's all that counts, isn't it, Podvex, my fine young clutchmateT His foreclaws combed nervously through Podvex's shoulder fur in an at- tempt at bonhomie.

"You bet. Mister Moogisir" Podvex was so taken by his employer's sudden gush of goodwill that he jabbered care- lessly away in Underg'lac without noting how each hoi-polloi syllable made Mister Moogi wince.

Master merchant and apprentice scurried to the Glorioski Lounge posthaste. There Mister Moogi found the customer of whom Podvex had burbled. "So it is no dream," he breathed, taking in every juicy and costly-looking detail of the Terran's attire. There was wealth here, and plenty of it. And he didn't gaffe it. There may yet be hope of getting rid of Podvex, Mis- ter Moogi told himself.

Feeling quite rejuvenated at the thought. Mister Moogi hastened to greet this potential source of credchips unlim- ited. His superprime foreclaw flickered up to trigger his Taboolator implant (Terraculture file). The Taboolator was a lovely little device all upper-crust merchants employed so as not to accidentally make some unfortunate remark or gesture perfectly acceptable in their own cultures but anathema to the prejudices of their customers.

"Welcome, welcome to Splendel's, my honored guest,"

Mister Moogi gushed. 'To what do we owe the joy of serving so handsome a customer?" He was about to a.s.sign the Terran's good looks to having ritually devoured all of his sib- lings, but the Taboolator squealed a warning just in time.

The Terran stood up quickly. "Oh boy, I sure hope you can help me," he said. "I need a courtship gift, and I've got no idea 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 hotel gift shop money can buy. Our selection of goods is second only to our skill at matching the perfect gift to each lucky re- cipient In matters of romance, we are exquisite and randy by aims, as desired. Of course I needn't tell a sophisticated sen- tient like yourself that before we can begin to a.s.sist you, there is the matter of the contract-"

"Contract?" The Terran blinked. Mister Moogi's implant IT'S A GIFT.

187.

translated the grimace to mean that the man was somewhat taken aback. "I thought we took care of all that."

"We did, we did!" Podvex scampered forward, waving his paws frantically at the System port on the lounge wall. The shineout 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 but the means to project scent as well as sight.

"Your Mister Podvex agreed to help me find exactly what I need," the Terran said.

"I see, I see," Mister Moogi muttered, eyes dancing over the plump terms of the contract. In brief it explained to any- one interested that Splendel's, as represented by Podvex, had become lord, master, and queen of the Terran's financial re- sources provided that Splendel's could come up with a court- ship gift for one K'taen-ka'a, a highborn Kha'ak of the world commonly known as Osprey. Galactic coordinates were given in the same boilerplate paragraph that held the lucky recipi- ent's DNA identification codes. It was all pretty formulaic.

Something got into Mister Moogi's skull as he reviewed the contract. It wasn't the fact that Podvex had done some- thing right for a change. That was just the law of averages on his side. (As the old saying goes: Even a queen who eats all the young of one generation will manage to devour the incip- ient democrats with the rest.) No, there was something subtler at work here, making his brain twitch and jig. He leaned closer to the shineout, bringing all eyes into play.

There was a scream followed by the overwhelming stench of long-restrained mature adult scent sacs letting go.

"I'm sorry," the Terran said to Podvex as they sat opposite each other in the Without Portfolio, a hotel bar favored by the amba.s.sadorial set. "1 didn't know your boss felt that strongly about diplomats."

"Strongly isn't the word," the furry blue Dangvim replied.

He had taken so many cleansings that his folicles were shrieking for mercy and still the smell of Mister Moogi's out- burst lingered at the roots. "It's not your fault, Frankmacgre- gorsir. You told me you were a dipper. / should have known Mister 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 done to you."

"Oh, Mister Moogisir will get over it." Poctvex shrugged and sipped his squeeze tea. "We'll find you the perfect court- ship gift for Miz K'taen-ka'amam, you'll pay us a lot of money, I'll get my commission, and I'll never sign up another dipper customer as long as I live."

"That's for sure," Frank said rather heavily. He leaned across the table. "Do Dangvims handle alcohol without ex- ploding?"

"It makes us giddiloopers, but we don't explode," Podvex replied.

"Good." Frank signaled the nearest servo and ordered them both a stiff drink. "Belt it down the black hole," he instructed Podvex in lowest Underg'lac. "You're gonna need it."

Sometime later, a definitely giddiloopers Podvex blinked at the Terran diplomat, mouth gaping. "Droppings," was all he could 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 take you along for the hea.r.s.e ride." He frowned at a thought that nibbled one brain lobe. "I don't know what possessed me to drag you in on this with a fully formal contract. When I went into Splendel's all I wanted was some casual advice about this gift-the alien point of view and all that. Nothing binding. It wouldn't be fair to involve other sentients just because my lingonberries are on the line. Why would I have done some- thing so ... ?"

"My fault." Podvex stared into the echoing depths of his empty gla.s.s. "When I heard you say price was no object, I did what Mister Moogi always told me to do: I hustled you up to the lounge and fed you cakes specially ... um ... seasoned to make you more receptive."

"You mean drugged?" Frank raised an eyebrow.

"Enough to make you hand me your sister if I asked for her." Podvex's spongy tongue mopped up the last drops of al- cohol from the bottom and sides of the gla.s.s. "Standard mer- chanting procedure. So don't feel bad on my account. I've dirtied 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. "The same thing happened to me, all because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut. I'm not even supposed to be here. The Hotel Andromeda was just a stopover for me en route to my next posting, but when I registered I saw a public shineout about the wedding of the age booked for this hotel: a marnage made on Osprey! Who'd have thought it?"

"They don't marry on Osprey?" Podvex asked.

"Oh, they marry, all right. The rituals and taboos surround- ing marriage within the tribes of the Kha'ak and the P'toon are taught to every fledgling dip. If you don't run away screaming, they figure you'll do. Marriage is very important to both tribes. Only children bom in wedlock to the Kha'ak are permitted the supreme honor of becoming warriors who get to slaughter the P'toon, and vice versa."

"Like the servowars during post-Bingema.s.s sales." Podvex nodded. "I see."

"What makes this wedding special-special, h.e.l.l; incredi- ble?-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 read that shineout three times, just to make sure it was real. Third time's when I caught her name on it. Ever since we were stubtails in the dipcorps school, Juanita VanTeufel has been my nemesis. Don't get me wrong: Juanita's a beautiful woman and a great dip, but the way she always gloats when she one-ups me! For bringing off an intertribal marriage on Osprey she'll get to crow over half the galaxy. To this day I don't know how she did it."

"So you sought her out to-congratulate her." Podvex gave Frank a knowing look. Industrial espionage was also an inte- gral part of the successful merchant's life, as Mister Moogi had taught him.

"Have it your way. The Terran dipcorps maintains a perma- nent suite in the hotel, you know, and when I weht up there to try learning how Juanita pulled off this coup, instead of a party I stumble into a wake. Juanita's crying, her boss is yell- ing 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 recognized me as a friend of Juanita's-they even cut off the multilevel harangues and recriminations and left the room to give us some private time to exchange the social pleasantries-but they refused to breathe a word about why the wedding was history. I wasn't one of them, see, so they couldn't give me an official 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 young Dangvim.

Frank swallowed one reply and voiced another. 'The P'toon refuse to recognize a wedding as legal or binding until the groom has sent the bride a courtship gift. That's the only thing that Juanita told me. Oh yes: Also that the gift cannot be selected or delivered by the groom himself, or by a servo, and that if the bride shows any indication that she doesn't like it, the wedding's off. The P'toon indicated that they wanted a Terran dip to do their shopping for them."

"It was therefore a question of responsibility that had dis- rupted the harmony of your friend's place of employment." It was too bad that Mister Moogi wasn't there to hear his ap- prentice phrase the situation in flawless Demigalac.

"Uh-huh. That's what she said." Frank signaled the servo and bought another round, downing his before he added, "Served me right for forgetting that in the dipcorps the first thing they teach us is to listen for what the other person doesn't say."