Hotel Andromeda Part 28

208 Kevin J. Anderson "I ... I've never done anything like this before," he said in his own dialect, sounding like wet glue oozing from a tube.

They always said the same thing, even the veterans-as if a hookermorph like me realiy cares about excuses.

"You'll be just fine," I said to the lonely Stugwump, ca- ressing him with one of my tendrils. "I'm already hot for you." 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 have been my preference. But my Slugwump body adjusted to it in a few minutes as I glided in after him on his own trail of slime. They find that sort of thing erotic, you know. He closed the door portal behind us.

Inside the room, he turned on some sort of subsonic music that sounded like very large bubbles bursting deep underwa- ter. I had to be amorous and whisper into his auditory pickups while the surround-speakers kept going bloop-bloop-bloop.

Humidity generators worked silently to keep the environment comfortable for him.

In the middle of the room lay a corralled-off patch of pow- dery sand, which I took to be the area of repose. The client oozed 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 to tentacle to tentacle in a hypnotic fireman's brigade; he hadn't managed to dispose of it before it burned one of his append- ages, and I s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his grasp, tossing it to the sand in the sleeping area.

*'I keep wanting to make small talk," he said, "but I can't think of anything to say."

I nudged him over the rim of the corral into the sleeping area. His body elongated and he flowed over to the sand. "I don't want to make small talk," I said. "I want to make love to you."

Again, he goggled with his eyestalks. By now I could see that I would have to take things into my own hands- figuratively speaking, that is. If I waited for him to take any sort 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 squished together and rolled on the gritty sand, which heightened the pleasure at the tips of our exposed nerves. It took us quite some time to link up all his appendages with all my orifices, but I found it ultimately satisfying. I managed to fake an or- gasm in nineteen of the orifices, and I think I had genuine spasms in four.

The petals of the flower b.u.med down to the pollen, where they 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 his membranes quivering as we sat against each other, shoring up the gelatinous bulk as we secreted off our outer coating of slime, washing away with it all of the irritating sand we had gathered in the throes of our lovemaking.

"I just can't believe it... a stunningly beautiful female like you even bothering to spend time with someone like me." He condensed his body volume in what seemed to be shy with- drawal.

"You aren't so bad. Take a good look at yourself-and don't sell yourself short."

In truth, how was I supposed to tell the difference between an ugly male Slugwump and a handsome one? And I didn't want to remind him that this little service wasn't free, after all.

As I expected, he tipped magnificently, in addition to the normal fee. Twenty-three tentacles-see what I mean?

Being a hookermorph isn't necessarily easy, but it's a liv- ing.

I sauntered along the lobbyways in the hotel. This morning I wore a bipedal body with muscular legs, the kind that en- joyed walking. I felt refreshed and vibrant, having just en- joyed a long ultrasonic bath in the form of a creature that thrived on such things.

Potted plants that may or may not have been hotel guests sat in the alcoves. Other life-forms stood open mouthed in front of the ashtrays they had replaced, waiting for a snack of used tobac-stick b.u.t.ts. Motivator ramps tilted at various an- 210 Kevin J. Anderson gles to accomodate life-forms from worlds with different gravities, 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 least talk to'"

I turned to see John-23, one of the cyborg members of the Hotel Security staff. He could always read my genetic ID code with a blink of his enhanced left eye. John-23 had lost his arm, his shoulder, and half of his face during a cargo- shifter accident ten years ago. Most of the pa.s.sengers in the stateroom container had died; they had been thrown from the high-pressure inner atmosphere of a gas giant, and turned into dripping tatters of flesh from explosive decompression.

John-23 had spent a month or so in mech-regrowth, having new android body parts connected to his own body in a cell- to-cell match- To humans, he looked completely healed, indis- tinguishable from his former appearance, but whenever I looked at him through infrared-sensitive eyes, he looked all screwed up.

"I feel good this morning, John-23," I said, actually mean- ing it-and he could tell. John-23 and I have worked at the hotel for longer than either of us wants to admit.

Unfortunately, my good humor was not rubbing off. He was in one of his introspective moods. "What are we doing here, Ilkiy? You're so cheery. Have you finally figured out what you want out of life?"

'There's really nothing much I want. I enjoy life, I like my job. What else is there?"

Indeed, I do enjoy my job. It's always different, and I'm good 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 cylin- drical thing that showed all his pulsing internal organs; 1 had serviced him and taken my fee before I learned that Paramecons always mate for life. Luckily for me, Paramecons also die within a few days of mating; but he followed me around like a parasite for half a week, and I didn't dare change form and shatter the illusion for him. When he finally bowed over and I watched his heart-equivalent pump stop pumping, I know he expected me to split open and shower the room with our offspring before dying beside him. But THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH.

211.

hookermorphs are sterile, as far as I know; I've never needed to use any form of birth control, and the Lexicon doesn't give too much information on my own kind.

Sometimes the job does get a little boring, though. One time I had to stand absolutely still for four hours while a plantlike male Dandel client budded and showered his pollen all over me. Apparently satisfied, but without a word, he paid his fee and shuffled out of the room on stubby mobile roots.

As I reminisced, I saw that John-23 was waiting for me to say something a bit more profound. "I think it might be inter- esting to find a little more stability, I suppose. I've never had anything that lasts."

"Nothing ever lasts," John-23 said. I've seen him in occa- sional glooms like this ever since his accident.

"I can make it better for you. Anytime you give me the chance," I said. "No charge."

I had made the offer before, but never seriously, and John-23 knew it. I've known him long enough that I could se- lect a bodily form that would make his hormones short- circuit. I could give him absolutely everything he had ever fantasized about, and he knows it.

But John-23 also has a wife and three kids back in the em- ployees' annex. His marriage is a good one, solid. He doesn't need me mucking it up. He's too good a friend, and I would never do that to him.

"Don't tempt me," he said. His voice was husky.

"Offer withdrawn," I said, then deliberately shifted into an- other body that would look bulbous and ugly to him.

John-23 touched the pickup implant behind his ear, then nodded. "Gotta go. One of the Swelft guests is trying to take a shower but can't figure out how to turn the water on. Those d.a.m.ned critters are so unintuitive! What's complicated about turning a k.n.o.b in the bathtub?" He stomped off, waving good-bye, but I could already see a new sense of purpose be- hind his movements.

John-23 likes his job, too. He just hates not being busy.

I sauntered through the pearlescent arches leading into one of the hotel's primary bars. I wanted to share my energy, use it 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 notice anyway.

Since so many species operate on completely different cir- cadian rhythms, n.o.body at the Hotel Andromeda particularly cares what time it is. All things at all times, that was their motto. At the bar itself, various organic and robotic bartenders consulted their databases to determine which substances were known to be intoxicating to which life-forms.

I glanced around the bar, cataloging the customers, my prospects. Many of the species were familiar to me, some of them good tippers, some of them good lovers. Most were al- ready with a companion. But I wanted something a bit more exotic, a bit of a challenge.

Then I saw it perched on a stool that had never been de- signed to accomodate its insectile frame. Metallic turquoise blue on its back casings and segmented legs, an ovoid head with gleaming silver domes for eyes, whiplike antennas-1 had never seen its type before, which meant it was fairly rare. A challenge.

While staring at it, I consulted my Lexicon implant, wait- ing one second, then two as it searched for a match. I began to grow concerned and exhilarated at the same time. An un- known? Not quite. The listing popped up an image and a name-BORRAK. Very little data about the species. Just some specifics on their homework!, temperature ranges, gravity- all the stuff that's easy to gather from a few s.p.a.ce probes, but nothing that demonstrated extended sociological study.

This excited me even more, especially after recalling my recent conversation with John-23- I could provide some new data for the Lexicon compilers, give them vital information about a mysterious species. The Lexicon pays handsomely for such contributions, which was enough of an incentive already, but it could also let me do something permanent, to make my mark on the galactic civilization.

Since the Lexicon entry gave so few useful facts, I was go- ing to have to use my intuition and my skills to the fullest.

Drawing from the image in the Lexicon and extrapolating from what I could see hulking over the barstool, 1 altered my form into my best approximation of a Borrak. I made my exo- skeleton a little brighter, the antennae more feathery, hoping THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH.

213.

I had made a correct guess about what the race found beau- tiful. I approached the Borrak, who seemed to be huddling in misery over a gelatinous intoxicant. All the better.

"h.e.l.lo, potential companion," I said in Basic dialect.

The Borrak turned and reared back in what could only be an expression of astonishment. Normally, I dislike chitinous beings; it's impossible to read any expression on a brittle face-therefore more difficult to know when I'm doing some- thing right-but their body language is usually more exagger- ated- "Why are you here?" it said without any preamble.

"I would like to spend some time with you. Would that be acceptable?" I usually leave out all discussions of fees until after I have the client on the hormonal hook.

To my surprise, the Borrak drew itself up, bristling in an apparent defensive posture with perhaps a hint of dismay.

"No, that would not be acceptable," it answered. "I think it would be wisest if you remained far from me for the duration of your stay at the Hotel Andromeda. I would not want to be forced to engage you in mortal combat."

Now that was a h.e.l.l of a rebuff, but I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. The Borrak scrambled itself off the barstooi in a dizzying ballet of segmented legs, then marched out of the bar.

Failure is certainly nothing new to me, and I can usually take it with a measure of grace. But I was preoccupied with trying to figure out what I had done wrong. I moved to a va- cant table, changed form into something that would sit com- fortably 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 inadver- tently stepped on some insectiie toes. Who could tell?

"Excuse me," said a gruff, demanding voice with no under- tones 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 dif- ficult 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 a.s.signment."

Maybe the day would have something interesting and un- usual after all, I thought. I transformed into the body of a fe- male Rybet, then waddled after him out of the bar.

Up in the Rybet's room, we waded into shin-deep luke- warm 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 a.s.signment, 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 s.e.m.e.n 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 par- tially 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 wid- ened.

"HI try. Even a.s.suming I can find a Hoojum. getting one as a customer is no minor task."

"An entire Hoojum tour group is on the transport arriving this 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 to leave, but he leaped up and splashed in the water after me.

"Wait!" he croaked- "I'm paying you a hundred credits for this 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 gen- erated, then pulled out a few handfuls of black sterile eggs into the lukewarm water. The egg ma.s.s looked like an island THE HAPPY HOOKERMORPH.

215.

of black caviar surrounded by a wispy ma.s.s of the semi- mobile algae. The Rybet sloshed up to it and loomed over the eggs.

After he had spilled his milt over the cl.u.s.ter, he let out a long breath of satisfaction. "Ah, very pleasurable. Thank you very 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 thousand credits 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 s.p.a.celiners arrive. All you see is a bright light as the ship, itself as big as the continents on many worlds, swings into orbit. Smaller chunks break off the liner's main body and drop down like shooting stars to the transfer points at Hotel Andromeda.

Sometimes I like to go out to watch the descending cargo modules, each like a city in its own right, carrying thousands of staterooms, each pressurized with the occupants' desired atmosphere. Watching the great ma.s.s of the dedicated module land that afternoon, I was reminded all too clearly of the flames, the groaning metal, the spouting death that John-23 had encountered right out here on the primary receiving bay.

But extra safeguards had been designed in the decade since that accident, and I had nothing to worry about.

The hot air smelled of industrial pollutants, outga.s.sing from 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 of the Slugwumps.

Somewhere among the thousands of pa.s.sengers on that dedicated module was a tour group of Hoojums. I just had to wait and watch.

Even without trying, the Hoojums succeeded in making ev- erything difficult for me. It seemed to be a particular talent of theirs.

First off, they were a bunch of religious fanatics of the worst 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, billowy robes of violet and orange, embroidered with threads of eye- numbing intensity so that they looked like walking moire pat- terns wherever they went.

The whole group would disappear for hours in prayer meetings and verse chantings. The few times I managed to catch one by himself, he rebuffed my advances completely.

Five times. After following them around for three days with- out success, I decided it was time to change tactics.

I uploaded their version of holy scripture and scanned it into my forebrain. Pretty standard stuff, commonplace for all those religions that claim to have the One True Message. Of course, those types of fanatics never allow themselves to read scripture adopted by any other religion, so they never seem to notice all the similarities.

I did a context-insensitive search for the items I wanted in the ma.s.sive book of writings. This sort never bothers with context when they want to quote something from a holy writ- ing anyway, as long as the words prove the point they're try- ing to make. So, armed with the appropriate verses to support my scheme, I waited to catch another Hoojum alone.