Hotel Andromeda Part 7

One of the many public computer terminals gave her the location of the s.p.a.ce Personnel General Posting Office. Once she was registered, any captain looking for a pilot would see her name. And she could look for any ships wanting someone with her skills.

They were almost at the office when Blondie suddenly eeped excitedly and trotted a dozen yards ahead. Calico and Blackie followed quickly, leaving her behind. Surprised that they had left her, she watched as they accosted a Terran.

The man was large, almost six feet tall, with black curly hair and almost as dark skin. He walked with the easy confi- dence of a man who was his own master. He stopped when Blondie reached him. A moment later she heard him laugh as he greeted the alien. They apparently knew each other. He did not appear surprised to see Calico and Blackie with Blondie.

She couldn't hear what Blondie was saying. As she came closer, 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 of her TSL jacket.

"Hi," the man said, sticking his hand out as he matched her steps, "My name is Charles Coal. of the ship Australian Gold, a million-tenner."

"Hi, I'm Pat McCreney." As small freighters went, a mil- lion tons was a respectable size. The TSL California, by com- parison, was rated at a million and a half.

As they shook hands, Charles took in her TSL uniform and the way the three furry aliens crowded in close beside her as they walked down the corridor. She was acutely aware of their tails and the way they kept touching her legs.

They didn't impede her, just kept a soft pressure that told her they were there.

"Your mates did me a good turn the other day. I've never seen a group work so well together, or so quickly. And they told me they had never seen a drinks machine before." He shook his head wonderingly as they walked on down the cor- ridor.

"I can't believe my luck." He smiled ruefully. "My bleedin' mechanic's a.s.sistant's contract expired when we ar- rived here, and I've had the devil's own time finding a re- placement. Usually, I can get someone in a couple of hours, but I've been waiting for two days now." He frowned unhap- pily. "And now I'm a full day behind schedule."

She saw his gaze flit to her insignia, and a speculative look came into his eyes.

"Say, maybe you could help me. Do you know any me- chanic's a.s.sistants looking for work?"

Before she could respond. Calico spoke up, "Uz. We look por work. We wordk bery hard. We good wid macines."

Pat was startled. Apparently, they were not as intent on staying 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 scat- tered throughout.

Calico pulled a small card out of his pouch. A pa.s.sport. He handed it to the captain. Biondie and Blackie quickly added their pa.s.sports to Calico's.

Captain Coal frowned. He glanced at the insignia on the front of the pa.s.sports. It meant as little to him as it did to Pat.

He moved over to one of the terminals and slid the first pa.s.sport 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 pa.s.sport 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 pa.s.sport included the phrase "unbonded and traveling se- cure 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 bounc- ing up and down like a little kid who was just told he was go- ing 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 in- terrupted. "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 pro- tested.

"Zhe no wid dhem. Her zheep lefd and zhe nod on id."

Pat could feel her face turning hot and red with embarra.s.s- THE ROOM KEY 45.

ment. "I last served on the TSL California," she said before he could ask the obvious questions.

"Ah, I heard about them coming in last night with most of the crew ill."

Startled that he had heard of their troubles, she could only say, "Yea. The rest of us had to pull double and triple shifts."

Pat looked down at the floor, chagrined. She might as well tell him everything. "That's why I'm here today. I was sup- posed to transfer to the Star Cruiser Africa today, but I over- slept." She sighed again. "I never got a wake-up call, and when I did get up ... well, it was too late. My contract was terminated when 1 didn't board."

"Standard contract?"

"Worse. I lost all accrued pay and bonuses by missing the ship."

"Log?" he asked holding out his hand.

Pat pulled out her ID card, standard issue for all licensed s.p.a.ceship personnel in this quadrant, and handed it to him. He stepped up to the terminal and inserted her ID in the slot in the side. Instandy, her job experience log appeared on the dis- play, updated by the captain before she had debarked last night.

'Twenty-six. Served on three ships. You've been certified for only four years. You had a five-year contract, with only six months to go." He shook his head in sympathy. "You don't have much experience."

"But all my supervisors gave me glowing reviews and high marks."

He frowned again and gave her back her ID tag. "I don't really need another copilot."

Why the Kreene were insisting tfiat she go with them. Pat didn't know. But if it got her a job this fast, she would go along. Once she had some money, she could make other plans.

"Really? Most ships I heard about always could do with an extra pilot. Plus, you did say you've been waiting for two days. Do you want to take a chance on waiting longer?" She hated job hunting, she found it hard trying to convince people into hiring her. That was one reason why she had hired on with TSL, so she wouldn't have to go hunting after every 46 Terry Kepner contract. TSL tended to keep people who worked hard and did a good job. She did both.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. "Thirty-five thousand for all of you, and one crew's share."

Pat was amazed. As an offer, that was robbery. Even as a starting TSL copilot, she had earned more than that. "No way," she said firmly. "We each get twenty thousand and a crew's share. On a one-year contract." She did not want to chance a longer contract until she knew the captain and the ship better.

"I don't need another copilot," he said quietly. "And these three are unskilled. Forty thousand. And a one-year contract with a one-trip probationary period."

That was a good idea. If the situation did not work, then he wouldn't be stuck with an expensive foursome for a year, and they wouldn't be stuck on a ship they hated.

They settled on ten thousand for her and twelve thousand each for the Kreene, with two crew's shares for the four of mem. Even a short trip would give her a better basis for job hunting.

And a year would give her time to think about what to say to "Modher."

TELLING HUMAN STORIES.

Margaret Ball

The raised voices bounced all the way down the hall and around the comer to where I stood. There seemed to be three of them wrangling; and the voice in the middle, the loudest of the three, had a p.r.o.nounced Old Terran accent- Might have known. You want conflict in an interspecies re- lationship, just put a human in the middle of it. We'll do it ev- ery time.

Yeah, I know. Who am I to run down my own species, and all that. Well, for one thing, I'm a professional, trained to deal with situations just like the one I could hear developing as I zipped down the corridor. That one fact puts me ahead of most of the human tourists and diplomats and travelers that pa.s.s through Hotel Andromeda. And I'm not from Old Terra-which puts me way ahead of anybody who had just checked into the Terra 4 module with the OT delegation.

The argument was going on in the public corridor just out- side the Terra 4 mod. A Dendje was growling and brandishing

47.

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 chit- tered and squeaked and added its own discontinuous element to 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 its furry 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 Secu- rity," I said, which was true enough, although Security didn't always respond this fast. "Now, if you'd just explain the problem in your own words ..."

"That big ape just a.s.saulted the little guy!" the Terran an- nounced. "Right out here in front of G.o.d and everybody! And when 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 they refuse to carry voicemods, insisting that the squeaky little noises they make sound just fine to them.

"... smashing your head down in between your external genitalia and cutting off a.s.sorted body parts ...," the Dendje continued the line of conversation that had been occupying it when I came on the scene. I sympathized some with the Dendje. I'm told their native language is particularly rich and fluent in a.s.sorted insults that just don't translate into Standard Galactic. It takes a little mental agility to figure out a totally culture-free phrasing for insulting someone. Dendje like to in- sult other gentlespecies, but they aren't agile in any way.

Must be frustrating.

Then again, when you outma.s.s any other species in the Terranormal modular zone by at least fifty kilos, and stand a meter higher than most of them, with arms longer than most Terranorms' 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?" I nodded toward the Old Terran suite, hoping he'd take the hint. "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." I glared at the skittering Skiouros. "Might I recommend some more private area than this corridor?"

".. - right to pursue peaceful social interaction unimpeded by prejudice of horribly underground-pale, exceptionally low-IQ interfering species ...," the Dendje grumbled.

"... duty to abstain from deliberate provocation ...," I re- plied in the same low-pitched monotone. "An Old Terran del- egation just checked in; there'll be more like this gentleman coming along, and all subject to the same, ah, tendency to misunderstand. Now, if you two gentlespecies want to finish your ritual in private. Hotel Security will appreciate it was alt just a misunderstanding. Remaining in public s.p.a.ce could be construed as conduct tending to alarm or frighten fellow spe- cies."

The Dendje grunted and shambled off, gnawing medita- tively on the shredded Skiouros limb. The Skiouros bounced up to its shoulder, cartwheeled off a side wall with seven or eight furry limbs sticking straight out, caught itself on the Dendje's mat of backbone hair, and squealed something rude at us in departing.

"I don't believe it," the Old Terran said. "You gonna let him tear the little guy up and eat him, long as they do it in private?"

This time I did sigh. "I'm afraid you've misunderstood a grooming ritual, sir. Dendje and Skiouroi have a symbiotic re- lationship. Skiouroi continually extrude new limbs but have no mechanism for shedding the old ones; takes more muscu- lar strength than they possess to pop the dead limbs out of the cartilage. Dendje groom them, pull off dead legs, and get to eat them as a reward." I paused while the Old Terran a.s.sim- ilated this information.

"Christ on a crutch," he said finally, "that's disgusting."

"Watching a Dendje eat anything is kind of disgusting, by human standards," I agreed. "And if I were telling human sto- ries about them-which I advise you not to do-I'd accuse them 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 our training is not to tell human stories. And now, sir, if I could just 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 explaining things. Jack Kerensky's the name.' Buy you a drink?"

"Not on duty," I said, "but I'll take some kave, if you have any."

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 instead we wound up in one of the attached modules that was being set up around us for a party. An extensive party, to judge from the number of roboservitors bustling about, unfolding seating and bar modules and stacking supplies behind the movable paneling. I sipped my kave and let Jack pick my brain about human stories and interspecies relationships.

"You see a lot of interspecies problems at an intergalactic center like this," I admitted, "but we humans are far and away the worst. I think it's because we evolved in isolation. We got in the habit of telling stories about our own feelings and ac- tions. Protecting the Young, Claiming Territory, Who's In Charge Here ..." No use rattling off the names of the cla.s.sic myths; they clearly didn't mean anything to this guy. I slowed down. "Anyway. Our stories work pretty well as long as they're only applied within one species. We even told the same stories to explain our domestic animals, cats and dol- phins and so forth, and because they couldn't talk, they never told us how wrong we were."

"Dolphins aren't exactly domestic animals," Jack corrected me, "but I don't get the point."

"Well." I stirred the kave and watched it turn from muddy brown to brownish white and back again in lazy spirals.