Epilogue
On
Morphy’s Planet
“Well, we’re here,” conceded Jhl with a grin,
as she and her two ship-companions crawled through IG C&E at the end of a
mega-humungous queue and more or less fell into the Ma’manker’s waiting arms.
“And you’re here, Deefer Mo. Looking good: how are you?” It conceded it was
good, and how were Jhl and BrTl and Trff, and they conceded they were good,
too. And Jhl continued: “But if the pink being turns up, with or without a brother
in tow, I’ll eat my hat.” And after Trff had pointed out she wasn’t wearing one
and its ship-companions had shouted “Figuratively!” a few times and it had come
out of some sort of it-being dream, again speaking figuratively, of meaningful
communication with blobs and conceded that of course, she-it had meant
figuratively, she was able to add: “I mean, odds and sods of tramp traders like
us with no particular plans for Galaxy Day except avoiding our families and/or
cognates are one thing: but a pink humanoid being with a brother and other
relations back on her home world?”
Trff pointed
an antenna at her and BrTl collapsed in roars of xathpyroid laughter: just as
well the spaceport of Koo’per City was really solid. And after a passing Space
Patroller had told him they didn’t want any xathpyroid roaring here, xathpyroid
cognate, he was able to say: “You did ask for that. And actually, if you mean
cognates, she hasn’t: there’s only two old grouchy elderly cognates besides the
immature male cognate.”
Jhl didn’t bother to correct this last to
“brother”: they’d been pretty busy since the enforced sojourn on the third moon
of Pkqwrd and none of it had had anything to do with humanoid anything, let
alone—thank the Federation—kinship and the terminology pertaining thereto.
“Okay, you win: Dohra and the immature cognate are coming to Koo’per City for
Galaxy Day. Lead on, Deefer Mo.”
“Are they
here yet?” asked BrTl hopefully as the Ma’manker led the way to the public
bubbles.
“Well, no!”
it admitted with a Ma’manker ho-hoo.
“If they do
come, what’s the betting the pink being will’ve lost the address?” asked Jhl
airily.
“Three point
zero, zero, four seven six nine to one,” replied Trff.
“Uh—yeah.
Thanks, Trff, very, uh, exact. –There you are,” she said airily to BrTl.
“Ten igs say
she won’t have!” he offered crossly.
“I’ll take
it,” she said instantly.
“So will I,
I’m afraid, BrTl!” said Deefer
Mo
“All right:
another ten igs say she will come and not only will she have the cognate with
her, she’ll have dragged the Friyrian along, in his gill collar!” he said, getting rather loud.
After a
passing Koo’per City Police Patroller had told him to keep it down, xathpyroid
cognate, Jhl was able to say, rather weakly: “Look, I honestly think it’s too
early to expect that, BrTl. I’m not denying he was really struck, but there was
the responsibility thing as well: he is her captain, remember. I think he’ll
hold back until she’s finished her tour—Oh, all right, then,” she said with a
sigh. “Evens, okay?”
“Done!” he
said crossly. “You, too?” he said pointedly to Trff.
“But the
odds—Yes, done!” it hooted quickly. “Evens, BrTl.”
“In that
case, I’ll take your money, too,” said Deefer Mo heavily, finding BrTl was
glaring at it. “Sorry about the queues,” it added as they reached the public
bubble stands. “Ma’mankers do tend to head home for Galaxy Day.”
“Just like
home,” admitted BrTl, looking about him with interest at the milling crowds of
queuing—
And suddenly the milling crowds of queuing
Ma’mankers had withdrawn, leaving them at the front of the queue!
Deefer Mo
cleared its throat. “Uh—we don’t get many xathpyroids here.”
“Apparently
not,” agreed Jhl weakly.
“This does
sometimes happen,” BrTl conceded. “I usually find the best thing to do is just
grab the next bubble and go.”
“Yeah,” said
the Ma’manker limply as one drew up beside them. “Come on, then. Um, it’s my
slot: there’s some creased ones that wouldn’t hear of me taking you anywh—”
“It’s all
right: we know the syndrome,” said Jhl heavily. “I just hope you told them
about relative sizes, not to say appetites.”
“Oh, yes:
they’re looking forward to meeting him!” it said happily, and off they went.
Gee, Deefer
Mo’s very pleasant slot was full of milling crowds of Liakki sub-group
relatives, or cognates, or affines—oh, right, just sub-group members, that made
it easier. The smaller ones reminded Jhl forcibly of her own nieces and
nephews—they were certainly in the same state of rabid excitement about its
being Galaxy Day tomorrow—and the creased ones bore an
amazing—amazing—resemblance to Great-Aunties Mrsha and H’lln. And the fussy
ones in the aprons were dead ringers for her own Mum and eldest
sister-in-IG-law: why in Federation had she bothered to come all this w—Oh,
forget it. She did know sentient life was like that.
They weren’t all staying with Deefer Mo, but
gee, there were sub-group members Queefer Do and Bheefer Mo in the same
building, and sub-group members Feeper Ko, Geefer Bo and Keefer Yo in the next
block—Yeah, yeah. Fortunately Deefer Mo had an excellent Guest Room, so Trff
was okay; they had been on worlds that had never even heard of atmo-blobs, let
alone Guest Rooms. But Morphy’s Planet wasn't primmo at all, in fact they were
a lot better off, never mind the milling sub-group members, than they would
have been on Bluellia.
As if to
prove it, Deefer Mo took them to dinner at an excellent restaurant: Iggy’s
Intergalactic Eatery: quite relaxed and down-home in atmosphere, but an amazing
selection of dishes from all round the two galaxies. So BrTl was able to have a
giant joo steak, which he hadn't had since last time he was home on New Qrbgg!
Deefer Mo looked at it weakly and agreed it was giant, all right, so then they
had to explain that it was from the giant joo—Yes, it must be—no, the giant joo
was its name! There weren’t smaller
joos, no, but if it could see the animal it’d understand. Jhl wasn’t feeling
homesick, funnily enough, so she didn’t have roast grqwary, even though Iggy in
person assured her it was on tonight, she had Joddum noodles, which she hadn’t
had since they were on the third moon of Pkqwrd, which in many respects seemed
like a lifetime ago, with a mixed blue salad, but hold the Whtyllian kale,
thanks. Trff just had agar-agar: Deefer Mo watched anxiously as it siphoned it
up. “Okay, Trff?”
“Delicious!”
it hooted politely.
“It’d say
that anyway,” explained BrTl, checking, “but I think that is the truth.”
“Yes,”
agreed Jhl mildly. “How’re the grqwary pancakes, Deefer Mo?”
“Very good,
but not as good as creased Heeper Mo’s—only don’t tell it that!”
Amiably they
agreed they wouldn’t, and got on with the eating mixed with the eyeing other
beings’ plates with interest …
“This is a good salad!” discovered Deefer Mo.
“Ri’,”
agreed Jhl with her mouth full. She swallowed, and sighed. “These grqwary
pancakes are extra! Mum’d love the
recipe—wish I could describe them properly!”
“Ooh, grqwary meat in pancakes! Different!”
discovered BrTl.
Deefer Mo
was making the same discovery about giant joo steak without pancake. And the
meal continued in similar vein, Deefer Mo finishing it off with Whtyllian
sponge cake, and Jhl and BrTl with sweet Ma’manker pancakes, BrTl with such a generous
helping that a dozen Ma’mankers came and clustered round their table to watch
him, the younger ones broadcasting very clearly their impression that this was
a special Galaxy Eve treat. And Trff finished it off with a glass of excellent
laa.
Next day of
course was Galaxy Day and after the ritual exchanges of small gifts and “Oh,
you shouldn’t haves,” and naturally after breakfast, BrTl made the aggrieved discovery
that there was nothing wrong with his comm-blob and nothing wrong with Jhl’s or
Trff’s, and nothing wrong with Deefer Mo’s comm-receiver, either—but he was sure he’d given Dohra all their
frequencies: had Deefer Mo forgotten to—No, it hadn’t.
“I was
afraid this’d happen—sorry,” said Jhl with a sigh as BrTl retreated to the
hygiene cabinet, growling under his breath. “He will take up with these
unlikely beings, and then he can never understand that it was nothing but a
passing episode in their lives, and that they’ve since become immersed in
getting on with said lives.”
“Uh—that’s all
right, Jhl. Oh—hang on!” gasped Deefer Mo, as the comm-receiver announced: Deefer Mo: call for you. “Yes, I’ll take
it!”
And gee, the
comm-receiver lit up with a lovely sim-image of a puce—and rather
creased—Ma’manker face, and a rather cracked voice said: “Deefer Mo, dear,
creased Bheefer Do was just a little
upset by that growling just now: it’s too creased to understand about
xathpyroids, dear: so I wonder if you could just drop a hint in your lovely friend’s auditory organ?”
“Yeah, okay,
Queefer Do. –Ear—you can say ear, they’re not that much different from us,
inside,” it added glumly.
Queefer Do
blenched but said valiantly: “Really, dear? That’s nice! Well, we’ll see you
later!”
“Yeah. See
you later, Queefer Do,” agreed Deefer Mo glumly, and the sub-group member
blobbed off. “They live upstairs—sorry.”
“Federation,
don’t apologise!” said Jhl with a laugh. “I’ll tell him, if you like.”
“Er—thanks,”
it said weakly. After a moment it admitted: “I was dead sure that call was
Dohra.”
Jhl made a
face. “Me, too.”
“Was you-it
and you-it? It wasn’t,” said Trff in some surprise.
“No,” she
sighed. “Uh—well, is it too early to head for the ending-sizzle?”
“Of course
not!” said Deefer Mo, cheering up. “There’ll be endless sizzling sagas from
slightly creased ones—well, slightly creased and very drunk ones, probably! And
the celebrations go on all day. The actual sizzling won’t be till tomorrow:
Sizzling Day, we call it. Lots of creased ones choose to go out that day.”
Jhl was
emanating uneasiness.
“Yeah; okay,
Trff, you don’t have to warn me, I can see she’s nervous. There’s nothing horrid
about it; the creased one just fades out—right, thanks, Trff: you’d call it
dying, Jhl: we say it leaves go of its essence, but I don’t know if you—No.
Well, that leaves its body. And we put that in the sizzling grate and when it’s
sizzled we put the remains in its pouch—um, no, nothing like that: you’ll see
what I mean tomorrow—and the pouch produces the next generation.”
“Um, yeah,”
said Jhl limply. She looked at Trff but it just sat there like a ball of pale
green fluff, what else? “Um, next generation?” she said cautiously.
“Sure! Like
if it was me going off, I’m Deefer Mo—no, well, Deefer Soh-Liakki-quão-Mo,
legally and IG-legally—the one in the next generation would be Deefer Bo.”
“Oh,” said
Jhl feebly.
Mo is its generation name, explained
Trff.—Gee, that helped.—Nothing like the
it-being, it added placidly.—And that. Jhl tried not to glare at it.
You-it should just ask! it sent
jauntily. What they call the essence and
you-it thinks of as the personality doesn’t regenerate. Deefer Mo won’t mind if
you-it asks it.
Did she need
to, now? “Um, yeah, um, correct me if I've got the wrong end of the
ban-ban-ban, here, Deefer Mo, but, um, a new one doesn’t remember anything
about the previous generation, does it?”
“No, we’re
just like you in that respect,” it said calmly.
Jhl sagged.
“Yeah,” she croaked. “Goddit.”
The pink being had it slightly wrong,
sent her helpful Chief Engineer.
YES! SHUT UP!
Gee, it shut
up like the proverbial dendrion nut. Jhl bit her lip. “Sorry, Trff. Uh—beg your
pardon, Deefer Mo. Trff was trying to help explain, and, uh, I didn’t know much
about Ma’mankers and the Encyclopaedia wasn’t all that much help, and, um, some
of the impressions I had came from BrTl or Dohra, so—Yeah,” she said feebly as
Deefer Mo dissolved in Ma’manker giggles.
The entire
building that was Block 692 in the grid layout of Koo’per City appeared to be
celebrating the creased one’s ending-sizzle, judging by the open doors, the
to-ing and fro-ing, and the noise: not just Slot 840002, or even Level 84. The
place was so busy that even the lift-blobs were all hypered: theirs asked them
brightly: Level 84? before anyone
could even formulate thought. And up they went.
This must be
it, because there was such a crowd in the passage it was impossible to see the
door. “This must be it,” noted BrTl, peering about for pink mammalian humanoids
and/or brothers and Friyrians.
Gee, all of
a sudden the crowd cleared. Even though Deefer
Mo
Finally a
rather creased one came forward and quavered: “Hullo, Deefer Mo, dear.”
Any being
might have been excused for thinking this was the same rather creased one that
had made the sim-call, but Trff sent quickly No, just as Jhl was opening her great fat mammalian mouth to shove
her plantigrade hind appendage into it, so she shut up like a dendrion nut.
Sub-group member Feeper Ko from the next block—right.
Feeper Ko
had got over its terror and was telling BrTl nicely that that delicious smell
was special Galaxy Day pancakes: yes. Jhl peered unavailingly: the slot was
crammed with Ma’manker backs. Not to say ringing with Ma’manker noise.
Two of them are reciting sizzling sagas,
explained Trff. Different ones.
That explains eighty percent of it, then!
she replied jocularly, fool that she was.
No: five point zero, zero three repeating
percent. She-it isn’t here, her Chief Engineer returned
kindly.
Quite. Jhl
sighed, and prepared to listen nicely to sizzling-sagas and kindly Ma’manker
enquiries after her own sub-group whilst stuffing her mammalian gob with Ma’manker
pancakes…
“If that
creased Feeper Ko stuffs BrTl with any more pancakes,” she sighed, “—I’m
speaking figuratively, here, but only just—he’ll burst.”
“It knows
what you-it means,” Trff agreed. “Creased Feeper Ko keeps sending messages to
its s-beings to bring more over from its own slot—Sorry, you-it got that.”
“Yeah. –I’ve
been trying to tell myself it’s the exotic mixture of sour and sweet that's the
appeal—I think they’re using New Attl’nntyan limes along with the nymbo cheese
and shaved hard taffy, correct me if I’m wrong—but I haven’t managed to
convince myself: it’s just his normal greed.”
Yes. And you-it is wrong: they’re using
Turraburran citrons: the juice and the outer layer of the epidermis. It
supposes the taste would be very like New Attl’nntyan limes to a humanoid.
Though there’s Wurratonoonian desert lemonberries as well, that’s the secret
ingredient.
Jhl gulped. Don’t you-it repeat that to any being, Trff!
Not even BrTl?
No, he’d open that great maw of his and let
it out.
There is an eighty-eight point seven six
nine percent chance of that, yes,
it conceded.
Jhl gulped
again. That much? She hadn’t thought he was that bad!
Only when it comes to food. All right, it
won’t.
Huh?
Oh—right, right. Good on you, Trff.
BURP! “Federation! Pardon me!”
“Granted!”
it said jauntily. “This fermented laa’s good!” Hic! “Pardon it!”
Er—yes. Good
thing it was small, not to be anything-ist, because there was every chance that
some being’d have to carry it back to Deefer Mo’s slot after this little do.
But by the look of that particular member of the Liakki sub-group, it wouldn’t
be it. Jhl smiled nicely at a slightly creased one that was urging a gooey
mixture of qwlot, raw boo-bird eggs and Morphy’s Planet sconger cactus juice on
her—once you got used to the texture it wasn’t half bad, the cactus juice was
naturally sweet and just slightly milky, though according to a certain small
pale green fluffy being it had nothing in common with grqwaries’ milk other
than its liquid state and certain elements common to all c-based—
Jhl stopped listening at that point: never
mind Galaxy Day, there was a limit!
“Um, no, thanks all the same, Heeker Po, I
think I’ve had enough—though it’s really nice: I wonder if you could give me
the recipe for my Mum? Um, my slightly creased sub-group member,” she corrected
herself.
Happily it
gave her the recipe…
“And then
the gallant Cheefer Bo did slash and cut most valiantly!” chanted creased
Cheefer Jo. “And hacked, and hacked—”
“From the
far horizon, three eyes a-gleam, came valiant Peefer Ko, upon its trusty
steed!” shouted creased Peefer Ro.
“And hacked,
and hacked, and hacked, and hacked, and
hacked!” screeched very young Teeper Mo, hacking another small sub-group
member with a Galaxy Day present. –Why older sub-group members, older cognates,
older affines and older relatives would insist upon giving the immature ones
toy weaponry, reflected Jhl, was one of the great mysteries of sentient life as
generally experienced in the Known Universe…
“I see: then
we all go for a brisk walk. Jolly good idea!” she admitted, as Deefer Mo urged
them towards the lift-blob.
“It’s cold
out there,” whined BrTl.
“Shurrup.
Tell your FW pack to go into hyperdrive, or shomething,” she ordered.
“It doesn’t
need a walk. It isn't full,” objected Trff. “It’s only had—” Hic! “A plate of
agar-agar,” it finished unconvincingly.
“Yeah, a
plate of agar-agar and too much fermented hic laa,” replied Jhl unkindly. “You’re
coming!” BURP!
“It’s the
sweet and sour pancakes with that Galaxy Day glop of creased Heeker Po’s: I did
try to warn you,” said Deefer
Mo
“Yep.” BURP!
“Sho you did.”
“Get on.
Grab my arm,” it said weakly.
Jhl reeled
onto the lift-blob, hanging on tightly to its wiry arm: she wasn’t proud.
Blerrinbrig’s, it was nippy, all right! They walked briskly—Uh, rolled
unsteadily, in Trff’s case, bother. “Give me your-its tentacle.”
“It’s
upside-down,” it noted mildly.
“What?
Vvlvanian curses! Well, get right-side-up!” And she took its tentacle, and they
reeled on…
“We’ve come
too far,” admitted Deefer Mo.
“Too far for
what?” asked Jhl with a giggle.
“To get back
without you and me collapsing, Jhl.”
“Get on,”
groaned BrTl.
“How drunk are you?” asked Jhl suspiciously.
“I’m not
drunk at all. That glop stuff wasn’t suited to the metabolism,” he said
virtuously. “And I’ve walked off the pancakes. Get up.”
So Jhl and
Deefer Mo joined Trff on his back and BrTl walked quickly, well, quite quickly,
back to Block 692. On the way kindly giving lifts to four Liakki sub-group
members that had also walked too far.
And they
went up in the lift-blob without benefit of any orders at all, and were met at
the door of Slot 840002 by—
“There you all are!” she cried.
You owe me—uh, lots of igs, sent BrTl
dazedly.
Yeah, agreed Jhl dazedly. By the
three-tongued blurryankers of Trypthfymia! That gangly male humanoid in a
developmental stage was undoubtedly the brother, the spots and the incipient
moustache alone would have proved that, but not only that—
“How are
you, Captain Smt Wong?” said the Friyrian mildly. “Good to see you again.”
Lots of igs, repeated BrTl dazedly as
Jhl allowed him to bow over her hand, Friyrian-style, and was then introduced
to Wessy Kally. She was certainly very, very pretty—well, the plasmo-blasted
Meagraw’s loss, huh? Captain Ccrainchzzyllia then stood back with a little
smile and a muffled cascade of tinkles while Dohra explained eagerly to them
all that the Captain had adopted Wessy Kally as his daughter!
Great
splintered shards of quog! Why? groped Jhl. Well, to please Dohra, this was
very, very evident. But—uh—one friymanoid was much like another? Oops, no,
according to Dohra, while he hadn’t given up all hope of finding Hally Kally,
there was realistically very little probability of it—that was right, Trff,
lots of numbers—and Wessy Kally had had no-one to take care of her, and the
Captain—lovely pink blush—was a lonely man!
Not for long, sent Jhl sardonically to
her First Officer.
No, obviously. What with arranging for the
blue being’s education—Eh? Oh! Yeah: I was right all along, see!
You weren’t! I mean, I wasn’t wrong; I’ve
always maintained, after seeing them together on the third moon of Pkqwrd, that
he’ll offer Dohra bond-partnership eventual—Oh, forget it. You were right all
along, yeah, yeah.
And they
found, with some difficulty and the application of the kindly Deefer Mo’s three
very sharp elbows, a quietish corner and occupied it and began to exchange
small tokens and “Oh, you shouldn’t haves” and—Flaming Vvlvanian magma-pits!
The misguided girl had brought a nymbo cheese pie for BrTl!
—And news.
Dohra was
still occupying the position of Acting Chef: chalk one up to her, Jhl Smt Wong.
But—blushing and avoiding Captain Ccrainchzzyllia’s eye—she was doing a Third
School Correspondence Course from the New Rthfrdian Third School.—How in
Federation had he got her into that? The New Rthfrdian schools were famous for
their high academic standards!—And Wessy Kally was doing lots of schoolwork as
well as helping with the culture-pans!
“I can do
‘minus’ now,” said Wessy Kally proudly.
“Goob show,”
said Jhl kindly, if thickly.
“Yes, and
she made those blrtlberry buns!” revealed Dohra proudly.
“The
culture-pan done it all, really,” said Wessy Kally modestly.
“Did it all,
my dear,” corrected her adoptive father mildly.
“Yeah: only
slobs like me say done it all!” agreed the brother hoarsely, grinning.
Great
galloping herds of grpplybeasts, was the Friyrian mending his manners for him,
too?
Yes, sent Trff helpfully. He-it's got him-it off C’T’rea and on the
ship where he-it can keep an eye, figuratively speaking, on him-it, and he-it’s
coaching him-it in maths.
Right, recognised Jhl: the brother was
gonna go to Space Fleet Academy and become a Pilot and his subsequent career in
the Service would be the most glorious of any humanoid surrogate son of any
Friyrian that ever got on the wrong side of a venal Admiral with all four eyes
on the main cha—
“J’nno wants to be a Pilot, silly!” said Dohra
with a laugh.
Jhl
reddened. “Yeah, ’course ya do, J’nno. Good on ya.”
“I’m gonna
try for a Fighter squadron!” he said eagerly.
That’s what he thinks, noted BrTl drily.
Yep, agreed Jhl. Naturally his sister,
in the way of female humanoid sub-group members, had no desire to see him
racing round the two galaxies trying to get himself blasted into a megazillion
pieces of intergalactic dust: so if she had anything to do with it, it wouldn’t
happen.
Gee, what are the chances of her having
something to do with it? wondered BrTl
smugly.
Given that the Friyrian’s completely under
her opposable digit—
In terms of the commonly perceived
space-time continuum, it’s a sure thing!
concluded Trff, redundantly but jauntily. Hic! “Pardon it.”
It sure was!
And with that the ship-companions gave up completely any last vestige of worry
about the fate of W’t, Dohra B’Jn, and just sat back and let Galaxy Day on
Morphy’s Planet and all ceremonies and customs pertaining thereto wash over
them…
No comments:
Post a Comment