The Friyrian's Tale

21

The Friyrian’s Tale

 

    They’d gone up to Level Blue for lunch, mercifully free of Belraynians, Thwurbullerians—BrTl was betting it was blobbed onto the Intergalactic University right now, checking—and even Fix-It Beings. Well, the discovery that Jhl knew about the Bluellian Reppo having him chucked off Intergalactica had really shaken the being, hah, hah, hah. Deefer Mo wasn’t around, either—possibly it was exercising tact.

    Jhl had a bowl of Joddum noodles, so she merely ordered spring water while BrTl and Dohra ate lunch in the blue ISLA cafeteria. Dohra’s came sealed in a bubble but fortunately the mind-powers of an o-breather humanoid Pilot with a Master’s Ticket were more than a match for an ISLA lunch bubble, or, hah, hah, hah.

    “Will they give her anything that even approximates to pudding?” wondered BrTl idly as Dohra went off to the counter again.

    “Doubt it.”

    “Have you tried looking again?” he hissed, leaning forward. “Ooh, sorry!” he gulped, as his Captain made a snatch at the edge of the table.

    “Yes,” she said tiredly, regaining her balance. “I’m picking up exactly what y—”

    “Yes, but you’re humanoid: you must be able to interpret it better than me!”

    “You flatter me,” said Jhl at her driest. “I can see it’s true up to the point at which she had the interview with the Friyrian. Then it’s… not exactly fuzzy. And I can’t see that anything’s been suggested. I just get the feeling something has been.”

    “Well, that’s more than I get! What about the Gr’mmeayan mok shit?”

    “Total mok shit, but it’s as bright and real as all the rest,” she said with a sigh. “In fact, some of it’s even brighter.”

    “Isn’t that suspicious?” he pounced.

    “It’s suspicious, or it’s your paranoia, or it’s not suspicious—take your pick.”

    BrTl glared.

    “An ordinary little humanoid from a world like C’T’rea would perceive Gr’mmeaya as brightly coloured and glamorous,” she sighed. “I would, myself, for Federation’s sake!”

    “Oh,” he gulped.

    “Or would have at her age and with her limited experience,” she conceded.

    “Mm. Um, some being’s made her think the Gr’mmeayan mok shit’s real?”

    “Some plasmo-blasted good being, it’d have to be. In which case the Friyrian would be a strong contender—yes. But why? And don’t forget that dokko: she has come from Gr’mmeaya.”

    “I should have got Trff to take a look at it—I mean, it’s pretty good with dokko.”

    It was pretty good with faked-up bills of lading for almost any variety of contraband in the Known Universe, yes. And with faked-up ships’ manifests—well, given it practically had a mind-symb with the ship’s blobs, why wouldn't it be? But humanoid travel dokko? “Yeah, pretty good,” she agreed tolerantly.

    “Go on: humour me,” he growled.

    “No, well, it’s done real good with anything I’ve asked it to do. Not mentioning credit account records for large orders of Third-Stomach Fibre-Glo-Go-Go. But I wouldn’t volunteer to be the first humanoid it faked up travel dokko for. Five’ll get ya ten it’d forget some inessential point like specifying the sex of the being in question.”

    “Uh—you got a point. Um, well, couldn’t you at least look at Dohra again?” he pleaded.

    “BrTl, I’ve scoured the being! Oh, all right.”

    Dohra came back to the table and entertained them with light chat about stories much resembling that of Whatserface and The Beast, until BrTl, receiving a—ow!—sharp mind-prod from his Captain, diverted her onto stories of Silver-Ash Flyer, and Jhl duly looked. Nothing. Same like before. The persons of Josh’ryn, Hally Kally, wondreL, and the lorpoid were all as real in her mind as were BrTl, Trff and Forty-Four. Er, not her, though. Oh, well, she was a captain and Dohra was only a Cook, Third Class—make that fake Cook, Third Class—and she had only met her yesterday: natural enough.

    There being, of course, very little to do in the spaceport of the third moon of Pkqwrd unless one had mega-igs to chuck away on mega-space garbage, or was it space mega-garbage, and pkwr or 3-D whim-wham being out of the question—that was, if BrTl wanted to eat in the foreseeable future—they didn’t do anything much. Dohra insisted on introducing Jhl to Craaa, and, oh, dear, the Bzzree insisted on her having a go at tinker-tanker. All the little balls down the holes, flashing lumo-blobs, etcetera—well, she was a Pilot with a Master’s Ticket, and as she was in uniform she couldn’t pretend not to be. However, Craaa appeared thrilled to be able to give her a prize. Jhl chose a balloon—well, it’d float well down on Level Pink in the o-breather, and she knew quite a few beings who would consider it extremely rude, though unfortunately they weren't immediately in evidence.

    At the dooney-lolla booth the Lirriot Queen was seen to blench slightly at the sight of the uniform, but she greeted them all graciously, slapping the mangy consort’s nose smartly with the tip of her tail just as he started to emerge from the back of the booth, and extra-graciously urged Captain Smt Wong to choose a bead. Jhl chose the green one, on the grounds it matched her balloon—though BrTl was broadcasting “seven shades off”—and for at least ten IG micro-seconds allowed the Lirriot to believe it was gonna lose to the red one. Hah, hah, hah.

    “I really enjoyed that,” admitted BrTl as they retreated in triumph.

    “Me, too!” squeaked Dohra, suddenly dissolving in agonised giggles.

    “Thanks,” said Jhl modestly. “Well, what now? Shake shop? –I know he’ll be burping all day,” she added tolerantly, “but what else is there to do on the third moon of Pkqwrd?”

    And to the accompaniment of Dohra’s ecstatic giggles they repaired to a shake shop, where Dohra watched in awe as not only BrTl but also Jhl downed a smoking, bubbling fluorogas shake.

    “Aah! –Acquired taste,” explained Jhl briefly.

    “Yeah.” BURP! “Don’t try to acquire it,” advised BrTl.

    “No, all right,” agreed Dohra meekly. “Um, could we show her the, um—” Lift-blobs and things? she sent hopefully.

    “Eh?” BURP! “Oh: she know—” BURP! BURP!— “knows. Pardon me.”

    “Oh, of course,” said Dohra humbly.

    Resignedly Jhl felt in her pocket. “This here gold-plated VIP credit disc—”

    “Great steaming Vvlvanian magma pits!” gasped BrTl.

    “He forced it on me, all right? And I don’t wanna hear another word, all right? It’s good for me and party, number unspecified, so you two can be it, and it covers all the lift-blobs, all the porto-blobs and similar unlikely space garbage available only to the privileged, Levels Gold and Platinum, and we won't bother with Level Silver, darling,” she quoted through her mammalian teeth.

    “It’s all right, we don’t have to go!” gasped Dohra, having turned bright puce.

    “What she said,” agreed BrTl glumly. “In quintupled 5-D triangles.”

    “No, sorry: no right to take it out on you two. If I didn’t mean to use it, why did I take it?” said Jhl on a grim note. “Come on. Oh: but it’s only for the o-breather areas.”

    “I see: they have areas on those levels,” said Dohra humbly.

    “So they say. Saves arguments between rich play-beings over ‘my level’s better than yours,’ I suppose. Come on, then.”

    “Um,” ventured BrTl, “if we take a Level Blue lift-blob, won’t it try to drop us at an h-breather area?”

    “Not if we take this one, no. Get on.”

    “Jhl, it’s two super-igs each to go up to the plasmo—All right, his credit account won’t even notice: so be it.”

    They got on. It didn’t appear to move but in about two IG microseconds it opened smoothly to a view of ultra-luxurious boutiques and stuff, advising smoothly: Welcome to Level Platinum, noble beings. Please take advantage of our wide selection of delightful facilities, including Chorro’s Grpplybeast & Grqwary Char-Grill, Z’llie’s Zi Room, and Pummo Paradise. 

 

   Jhl got off, her mouth grim. “Zi is a Bluellian beverage. Heretofore I wasn’t aware that the rest of the universe knew of it,” she said sourly.

    Dohra followed her, swallowing. “Pummos are C’T’rean shellfish,” she admitted in a small voice.

    “Right: after we’ve whetted our appetites with cups of zi and dainty snu-cakes, we’ll go on to gorge on pummos in up-market yucky sauce. –BrTl?”

    “That char-grill crack was aimed at me, all right,” he acknowledged sourly.

    “How could it do it?” hissed Dohra.

    “Read our IG IDs,” Jhl admitted. “No, well, the foul play-beings and qwlot-soaked diplos I've been forced to associate with for the last IG millennium find that sort of sucking-up flattering.”

    “Ugh!” she cried. After a moment she said, scowling: “I’d call it an invasion of our privacy.”

    “You and most of the two galaxies,” admitted Jhl, smiling at her. “Come on: want me to use the VIP disc at a plasmo-blasted boutique and buy you a lady-being garment suited to our choice surroundings?”

    Dohra gaped around at the fake wtmyrian carpets, the softly floating maxi-webs, the immense shiny pillars, twisted, carved, dotted with lumo-blobs, and ornamented in any other way that could possibly occur to the crazed mind of an ISLA interior-design being with generous funds and no natural taste whatsoever, the myriads of twinkling, flashing, or gleaming lumo-blob signs, the hovering porto-blobs, the hovering other things that were the size of an average lifter—Level Platinum’s ceiling was so high it looked misty—and similar space junk, all in the most tasteful shades of shiny platinum, touched up here and there with gold or silver. Ugh!

    “Um, no, thank you very much , but I won’t,” she said, sticking her chin out.

    “Good for you,” replied Jhl mildly, concealing her astonishment. More to the pink being than met the first mind-probe, eh? Well, possibly why BrTl liked her. “–I'd say that plant isn't real, but you never can tell,” she added, eyeing its giant platinum-coloured, diamond-patterned leaves sideways.

    “I think it’s a statue,” admitted Dohra.

    “Eh? Oh: art—right,” she said without interest. “Um, well, there’s a Viewing Area. Wanna go up there? –Get on,” she croaked as suddenly there the method of going up there was.

    “A polite word for this,” noted BrTl, getting on, “would be anticipation.”

    “Yep.” She took Dohra’s arm and pulled her on. “You won’t fall off, does ISLA want a giant IG lawsuit unto the fifth generation from a being in a party with a gold-plated VIP pass? No, no, no, and no,” she said mildly as something indiscernible closed softly round them and they floated gently up and up and up, while beams of platinum light flickered softly over their bemused forms, soft music played, and a delicious scent of something vaguely resembling blooming fields of wild snu flowers in the Bluellian spring gently stroked their olfactory organs…

    “Not your ordinary or Level Pink blob by any means,” she admitted as they got off.

    “No. It didn’t feel like clingo-jamas, either,” agreed Dohra.

    “Right. So: here we are. View.”

    Dohra headed eagerly for the—er, call it window or the being’d panic.

    What’s wrong with force fields? sent BrTl mildly.

    Apart from the mega-rafts of super-igs they cost? Apparently they induce rabid terror when placed between space and the person: go on, check.

    I don't need to, now, do I? he returned with feeling.

    Go and view.

     It’s just a bit of space with a few mega-expensive play-being-type ships sitting in the middle of it with coloured lights—I’m viewing, I’m viewing!

    Why did Dohra want to know what models all the ships were? She was incapable of remembering anything like a technical specification, and her general shape-recognition powers weren’t too magma-pit hot, either. But BrTl patiently identified them for her. Or semi-identified them; well, he got the makes right but Jhl had to correct him a few times as to the precise model.

    “That’s an Orbo Crmrokko VII!” she shouted after BrTl had identified it vaguely as a Crmrokko. “Approx. seventy times the size of a Crmrokko Super Maxi and intended for deep space flight!”

    “Whatever. Supposed to have mega-luxurious cabins, Dohra—or I have I got that wrong, too?”

    “No, no,” sighed Jhl. “Have a fruit juice on His Regal Fleet Commanderness. Yeah—menu,” she said to the servo-mech that was suddenly right at her elbow.

    “And I thought that the ones down on Level Pink were speedy,” sighed BrTl. “Do I have to?”

    “It’d do you good, but no. Make it Rwthwar—Oh, sorry. Lessee… Bluellian ale? Forget I spoke. Whtyllian honey ale?”

    “What is it?” he said cautiously.

    “No idea. What is it, menu?”

    Helpfully it explained. Gee, that helped a lot.

    “Dad used to like it C’T’rean mulg ale,” offered Dohra. “It’s suited to your metabolism.”

    “Um, shall I?”

    It seemed to be made of pure vegetable matter but Jhl refrained from mentioning that. “Why not? Think I might have—hang on, hang on. Not a plain mn-mn juice, super-galaxious though the play-beings of the two galaxies generally concede that to be. No: make it mn-mn juice and ban-ban-ban juice, mixed. –Dohra?”

    “Um, I've heard of mn-mns,” she ventured. 

 

    “Yeah; they come from some o-breather dump that's not in the Federation, so ordinarily they’d be way beyond the reach of you, me, and both our humanoid families, in fact I rather think a fresh one’d cost more than your Dad earned in an IG month, but rich play-beings scoff ’em all the time.” She waggled her eyebrows at her.

    Dohra gave a muffled yelp of laughter. “Then maybe I will! Just to try. Um, what’s the other stuff?”

    “Uh—ban-ban-bans are an acquired taste, Dohra,” Jhl admitted.

    “Couldn’t I acquire it? Or are they too expensive?” she said sadly.

    “Oh, Federation, no! Not a cheap fruit, but affordable enough for a treat. About the same price as a really good Dreamy-Creamy with nymbo cheese.”

    “You don’t eat the spines,” said BrTl on a glum note. “She claims the first segment’s just ‘ban,’ the second’s ‘ban!’ and the third’s a real ‘Ban!’ Words to that effect. They just taste watery and a bit grassy to me.”

    “Um, which of the segments would be in the juice?” asked Dohra cautiously.

    “All of them!” said Jhl, tasting it. “Mmm! Not bad at all! If I hadda compare it to anything I'd say it was a bit like mn-mn juice brightened up with a shot of Huyajhangwanian brandy. Oh, go on, if you don't like it we’ll recycle it.”

    Eagerly Dohra took the glass the servo-mech was holding out. “Blue ice!” she gasped.

    “Shades of plasmo-blasted Ponicho Mull,” groaned BrTl.

    “Drink your lovely mulg ale,” said Jhl with a smile.

    “I’ll taste it,” he conceded.

    She watched sardonically as they both tasted their drinks cautiously. An amazed smile spread slowly over Dohra’s round pinkish countenance. After a moment BrTl’s tail was seen to relax completely and he emanated relaxation and relief.

    “Not bad, I gather?” she said drily.

    “Good!” they chorused.

    Jolly good show. Jhl drank exquisite chilled mn-mn and ban-ban-ban juice, wondering grimly if the Vvlvanian-cursed Whtyllian would even glance at his credit account and knowing, alas, that the answer was “No.” What a waste of effort! Well, at least the drinks were being appreciated.

    The big excitement after that was the arrival of a group of richly dressed play beings, all well away, who sat down and began placing very silly orders. No, sent Jhl firmly to BrTl’s wistful suggest that he, too, might try a “Trypthfymian Blurryanker Plasmo-Blast.” To name only one, it’s got Whtyllian blasterberries in it alongside the qwlot.—And raw boo-bird eggs, added Dohra.—Yeah. And if that’s not revolting enough, fresh blrtlberry juice. I concede the mixture of that with the raw eggs comes out sort of green—It was all right, he was sending UGH!  So they just sat back and watched and listened…

    It’s Morpo! sent Dohra excitedly, almost falling off her flop couch.

    Eh? replied Jhl with a yawn. These Level Platinum flop couches were certainly super-comfortable.

    Morpo! It’s him! I never knew he was a lorpoid!

    Huge excitement: why?

    “That being that sold the Pleasure Girls: he was a lorpoid,” BrTl reminded her, not bothering to send it. “In her story.”

    “Uh—oh, yeah? Yes, well, this being is, too,” she conceded.

    Dohra leant forward and hissed: “No! You don’t understand! He’s Morpo! You know!”—Manifestly Jhl didn't, but she didn’t bother to contradict her.—“He writes all those clever text-blobs!”

    “Eh?” she groped. “Romances, are they?”

    “No! ’Course not! About real things! Like, Morpo’s Pocket Guide for the Intergalactic Traveller, we’ve got that in the ship’s library, and um, there's one for all the popular tourist worlds, like, Morpo’s Guide: Belraynia for the Intergalactic Traveller, didn’t you read that when you were posted there?” she said, going very pink.

    “Nope. Why would a being need to buy one of those when it could blob onto the Encyclopaedia?”

    “Ssh!” hissed Dohra, looking over at the oblivious hard-drinking, make that drunk, Morpo and his friends, make that sycophants and general hangers-on. “Well, they tell you things that you really need to know, useful things, that the Encyclopaedia doesn’t have!”

    “It has everything,” objected BrTl mildly.

    “Um, yes, I know, but sometimes it’s very hard to find, because a being doesn’t know how to put it or, um, you might not want to—you know!” she hissed in agony.

    “Oh, right, goddit,” conceded Jhl. “Like if you asked it how much an average meal cost on the FW dump in question, it’d assume your account couldn’t expect any top-ups for the next IG millennium or two and you’d find your credit was cut—No?”

    “Um, no. Not that sort of thing.”

    “Yes, it would,” objected BrTl.

    “Um, yes. Only I meant, um, well, like where was the J’rd’s?”

 

    They looked at her blankly.

    “I mean, I asked it that and it was hopeless! It flashed up this enormous map of the whole planet!”

    “Uh—and this Whatsisface’s text-blob?” groped Jhl.

    “It’s easy as anything, because you just say ‘Start’ or even think it, and there’s the list of what’s in it and it always says J’rd’s! And then you poke it or just think ‘J’rd’s’ and there it is, with Hinnover City right at the top and a nice little map and it says ‘Dohra, you are here,’ and the Encyclopaedia never did that!”

    “Did you ask it to?” asked BrTl cautiously.

    “No, ’cos I never knew I needed to!” shouted Dohra angrily. “And that’s the Encyclopaedia all over!”

    “She’s right. Well, good on the being,” said Jhl, yawning. “Should’ve got one for Btcx, kept getting lost on the plasmo-blasted FW dump. And Encyclopaedia or not,” she said to BrTl, “when you’re lost in a maze of city streets with all the street signs in the local script—never mind what IG Regs might say a world’s gotta do when it's pre-Fed, the primmo dump hadn't bothered—where are you gonna find a receiver?”

    “Exactly!” beamed Dohra. “Um, though if it’s not a place where a lot of beings want to go there might not be a blob for it,” she admitted cautiously.

    “You got a point. Still, good for this Morpo, eh?” she said tolerantly. “He’s onto a good thing: must be megazillions of beings in the Known Universe that can’t, um, don’t like the Encyclopaedia or need information when they haven’t got access to it,” she finished somewhat lamely.

    Fortunately Dohra didn't register the lameness: she replied ecstatically: “Exactly!” And stared avidly at Morpo.

    It was an exciting sight, all right: a very average rotund male lorpoid with the usual pale grey skin, neat many-pocketed suit, and the usual little round hat with a bobble on it. Sure, his hat was gold scintillion and the bobble was red silk ornamented with diamonds and emeralds, matching the bright green scintillion lorpoid suit trimmed with more of the gold, not something that a being saw every day, no—but all the same, a pretty average lorpoid.

    After quite some time BrTl sent: I’m picking up it wasn't him that wrote all those text-blobs, it was um, more like a company.

    Uh-huh. Quite a little industry. Well, good on the being. Whatever his name is.

    Isn't it—Ooh, no, nor it is! Uh, is that IG-legal?

    Jhl yawned, but took another look. It’s an IG-legal trading name, yeah. Dare say he can call himself by it if he fancies it, why not? His IG ID’s genuine: that’s all any gate or IG C&E being’ll care about. Well, that plus and the huge bribe he’s quite prepared to offer the latter to let him and those quog rocks on his lorpoid extremities on or off wherever it might be.

    Right. Had enough?

    Aeons ago, but has she?

    Er… no, he discovered sadly.

    “’Nother drink?” said Jhl heavily. “Nibbles? Want nuts, Dohra? Cakes? Uh—think they’ve got any style of cake you care to—Great splintered shards of quog!” she choked as the cake menu unrolled before her dazed mind.

 

    “Gosh,” said BrTl, more simply.

    “All right, slices of—Hang on, what’s this trolley business? All right, to Blerrinbrig’s with him and his plasmo-blasted credit account: bring it—” She broke off, gulping, as it brought itself in.

    “This’ll do!” said BrTl happily. “Quite a good-sized snack trolley! Now, which one…”

    “Fruit seeds, not dead insects, BrTl!” gasped Dohra.

    His hand retreated. “Oops! Thought they were dried muggo bugs, they’re real tasty, haven't had them since I was last on, um, never mind where,” he added quickly in response to Jhl’s sudden mind-message.

    “Um, but the cake’s sweet,” said Dohra.

    “Of course… This one?”

    “It hasn’t got any fruit it, but it’s got a very high sugar-lev—” They watched feebly as he conveyed the whole plateful to the maw.

    “He is large,” said Jhl a trifle limply. “That amount of cake won’t do him any harm at all.”

    “No, I see that now,” Dohra admitted. “—That one’s got real Whtyllian cows’ cream on it as well as the Whtyllian passionfruit seeds.” 

 

    “I will if you will,” said Jhl amiably, not revealing that she’d eaten buckets of the stuff on Btcx, the plasmo-blasted Whtyllian ordered up that sort of thing as a matter of course for afternoon tea—and usually didn't touch a crumb of it, he was the sort of being that watched his figure.

    They ate cake…

    After quite some time Jhl and Dohra gave up and let BrTl finish the trolleyful, except the ones that featured fruit prominently, and a strange-looking brown one that he didn’t like the look of, though they’d both found it delicious. Well, delicious and revoltingly over-rich, but that was rather the point.

    After that they just sat back and digested, ignoring the drunken shouts, whistles, giggles, hoots, and etcetera from Morpo’s group and the assorted Pleasure Beings that had now been summoned to join them… Then the Orbo Crmrokko VII took off; what more could a being ask of an afternoon in the Viewing Area of Level Platinum of the spaceport on the third moon of Pkqwrd? No, well, it was remarkably like any vehicle taking off, but Dohra was thrilled.

    “Sorry, Jhl,” said BrTl once they were back in their room and Dohra had gone out like a light-blob on the bed.

    “Don’t be silly, it was a thoroughly pleasant day.”

    “You were bored,” he pointed out glumly.

    “Of course I was bored! You were, too, weren’t you? But that isn’t the point!” she said with a laugh.

    “Oh, isn’t it? Thanks,” he said gratefully.

    “Think I might sleep off the cake, too,” admitted Jhl, lying back on the flop couch. “Go on: go for a lope.”

    “It’s the sugar. Well, it wasn’t all that much, in xathpyroid terms. But yeah, okay: my legs do all feel as they need stretching.”

    “Yeah. Go. We’ll think about dinner when you come back.”

    He brightened. “Oh, right! Well, see ya!”

    “See ya,” said Jhl, going out like a light-blob. 

 

    The tall, handsome Friyrian came into the Level Pink ISLA bar, and paused, tinkling just a very little.

    “Oops,” said Jhl under her breath as they were suddenly deafened by the emanations of: Look out! And: Better leave now—better safe than sorry; or, more simply: Ugh!

    That’s him, spotted BrTl. Pilot, Master’s Ticket…Um, can’t read much else.

    In quintupled 5-D—look out!

    The Friyrian was making his way slowly through the crowded bar—it was only mid-morning, IG time, but three troop-transports had docked, plus two large ferry-loads of sports clones of various sorts—well, various sorts to the humanoid or xathpyroid eye but they’d all induced the same sort of growling in 62 and 310.

    Jhl could feel BrTl wondering frantically whether to warn Dohra or not, but before he could make up his xathpyroid mind—she herself wasn't gonna, she felt she needed to see the two beings flung together without preparation of any sort on at least one side—here he was.

    “Captain!” gasped Dohra, going deep puce and bounding to her feet.

    “Good morning, Chef W’t,” he said politely. “I thought I might find you here.”

    “Yessir!” gulped Dohra, saluting.

    “Please don't salute, Chef,” he said nicely. “I’m on leave, as you see.”

    Anything? sent BrTl madly.

    Not a syllable, replied Jhl sourly. Think he’s laughing—or tinkling—up his sleeve, but I can't say I’ve picked anything up. Aloud she said, very, very mildly: “Don’t tell us this is your Captain, Dohra?”

    “Um., yes!” she gasped, still bright puce. “Suh-sir, may I introduce Captain Smt Wong of—of Bluellia,” she ended limply, realising she didn’t know if their ship had a name. “Thuh-this is Captain Ccrainchzzyllia of Silver-Ash Flyer, Captain Smt Wong.”

    Jhl gave him a sardonic look, but politely held out her left hand, thumb just slightly raised. “Pleased to meet you, Captain Ccrainchzzyllia.”

    “Delighted, Captain Smt Wong,” he said, politely, taking it in his two hands in the correct manner and bowing slightly over it.

    Then there was a pause. Jhl didn’t fill it, though possibly it would have been kinder to. She could feel BrTl was paralysed. Forty-Four was emanating interest but under that considerable annoyance that it imagined it was hiding—good. Ponicho Mull was both interested and terrified. Musho was even more paralysed than BrTl, and the clones must’ve been more sensitive than she’d thought, because they’d picked that up and were also paralysed. Great paw halfway to the maw, in 310’s case, and as a matter of fact— BrTl! Put that plasmo-blasted grqwary wing DOWN! The young Belraynians hadn’t joined them this morning, very possibly because of her own gracious presence, so that left Deefer Mo: emanating considerable interest and a strong desire to break down in the Ma’manker equivalent of mad giggles.

    BrTl was slowly lowering the half-gnawed grqwary wing.

    “Do, please, introduce me to the rest of your friends, Chef,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia nicely.

    “Um, yessir!” she gasped. “This is BrTl, he’s Captain Smt Wong’s First Officer.”

    “I’m very pleased to meet you, Lieutenant BrTl,” said the Captain politely. “I can see you’ve been keeping an eye on Chef W’t: may I express my thanks?”

    “Um, that’s all right, sir,” he said lamely.

    “And this is Forty-Four from Untranslatable Shade of Mauve Sector,” added Dohra, emanating unease over the name.

    “Please don’t get up, Thwurbullerian,” said the Captain quickly. “It’s a pleasure. I think I may have met an affine of yours: Forty-Nine from Fztpttcxh’owüst-ptch y’Ggwlrpstchç.—I'm so sorry, everyone: I didn’t mean to override your translators.”

    Not much! sent BrTl feelingly.

    Yeah, agreed Jhl, doing her plasmo-blasted best to penetrate the turquoise being’s shield and failing. He was explaining that he’d met Forty-Nine at a large conference on the law of intergalactic transportation—yeah, yeah—and Forty-Four was agreeing that of course it was it, and urging the being to call it Forty-Four… Vvlvanian curses!

    Anything? sent BrTl hopefully.

    NO! And stop distracting me! The Friyrian was now being introduced to Deefer Mo, and a smooth mention of one, Commander Gorquonchyzzllia, had rapidly removed its desire to giggle, poor being. And as for Ponicho Mull: the Friyrian barely glanced his way down his long turquoise nose and the poor Fix-It Being was just about kneeling to him…

    “Eh?” she said with a jump. “Oh! Yes, I do know H’bl, uh, Princess H’blwlldreffna, actually. Uh, I dare say their families would both like it if s/he and Frr’gg, uh, Lord Frr’gghurrhynvycia were to bond-partner, but, um, I don’t think either of them wants that.”

    In quintupled 5-D triangles they don’t! sent BrTl feelingly.

    No, not ready for Mullgon’ya yet, agreed Jhl automatically, trying to penetrate the plasmo-blasted being’s shield as he acknowledged Dohra’s faltering introductions to Musho and the clones and kindly offered them Rwthwarian ale… Nothing. Nothing! And don’t keep on prodding me, I’m doing my poor best! Well, he’s let me see he graduated top of his class at the Academy, ’ve you—? Yeah. And the distinguished Service career and the getting on the wrong side of Admiral uYu fonTorPalu that ended it—for which one can only respect the being! 

 

    In quintupled 5-D triangles, agreed BrTl with considerable fellow-feeling but also very glumly. I think I’ll give up: any moment now he’s gonna give me a reprimand.

    I don’t think he’s quite as bad as vacuum-frozen Shank’yar—or as good, to put it another way—but yeah, stop, BrTl, she agreed kindly.

    A sufficiently agonised period passed, in which Forty-Four and the Friyrian made polite conversation into which Ponicho Mull occasionally ventured a quavering addition, and nobody else uttered—except Jhl, when addressed. But at long last Forty-Four—possibly in response to a nudge, who knew? Nobody in their immediate circle, make that the entire ISLA bar, was capable of perceiving the turquoise being’s nudges—noted that it was time for lunch and firmly removed the Fix-It Being, meanwhile mind-suggesting forcibly to Musho that he remove himself and the two clones. Deefer Mo got up emanating terrific casualness, saying it was going to try the Level Red cafeteria for fun, and removed itself, too. Not without a Rather you than me! directed feelingly at BrTl, true.

    Gee, guess who that left? Jhl and BrTl tried not to look at Dohra, or at him.

    Dohra looked shrinkingly up at the Captain.

    “My dear Chef W’t,” he said in a lightly amused voice: “what in Federation are you doing hanging about on the third moon of Pkqwrd? Why didn’t you tell me you’d be stuck here? The Moodra could’ve collected you; you’re wasting all your leave.”

    “It’s all right, sir,” she squeaked.

    “Nonsense! What about that brother of yours?”

    “Um, J’nno?” she faltered. “Um, he’s gone to the Gallamfic Ocean with his friend Shohn: his dad, I mean father, he’s taken them for the holidays.”

    “Well, you could have gone, too!”

    Dohra bit her lip and said nothing.

    “I see,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia, looking from Jhl to BrTl with a very faint tinkle, “that I'd better explain it all.”

    Jhl took a deep breath. “Look, sir, I apologise for getting Fleet Commander Vt R’aam to contact you. It was a plasmo-blasted impertinence.”

    “Not at all: you were looking after Chef W’t’s best interests;” he murmured, kindly pretending not to notice his chef’s dropped jaw.

    “Er—yeah. Something like that.”

    “Mm. One moment, please, Captain Smt Wong,” he said, holding up a long, elegant turquoise hand. Jhl looked at it limply: it was very like Frr’gg’s hands, which she’d always most admired, and what were the odds the being had spotted this and was doing it deliberate—Thirty megazillion to one, sent BrTl sourly.

    “I don’t think you quite realise, Chef W’t,” said her Captain on a firm note, “that your storytelling gifts are of considerable interest to Forty-Four from Untranslatable Shade of Mauve Sector.”

    “Um, I know it’s interested, because it’s a professor at the Intergalactic University and oral narratives are its speciality,” said Dohra cautiously.

    “Comparative oral narrative—yes. Possibly you don’t realise the extent of its interest, though.”

    “Um, it would quite like me to go there on my next leave,” she ventured.

    BrTl opened his mouth but thought better of it.

    “Quite,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia, horribly dry, in fact Fleet Commander-level dry, in fact Whtyllian Fleet—Yeah. “I wish I’d known about this gift of yours before I asked you to undertake that errand for me: I could have protected you.”

    “Um, could you, sir? But I’ve been fine,” she said in a bewildered voice. “Um, Forty-Four says that you can’t tell if a being is one until it tells you a story.”

    “I believe that is so,” admitted Jhl. “And you presumably wouldn’t have been asking your ship’s chef to tell you stories, would you?”

    “No, exactly,” he said coolly. “Forty-Four would do almost anything to get you onto Intergalactica, Chef, and in fact at the moment I came into the bar was contemplating offering that Fix-It Being a considerable sum to get you there. In the way he managed to get the offspring of a certain Whtyllian lord out of the clutches of a Dwymanian brothel-keeper, was what I picked up.”

    Dohra gulped. “He druh-drugged him—it was a son, sir—he drugged him and rolled him up in a carpet and smuggled him off the planet as luggage.”

    “I hope you’re not claiming he wouldn’t drug you,” said Jhl drily.

    “Um, nuh-no… I didn’t think most of it was true, actually,” she said weakly.

    “The wtmyrian carpet bit wasn’t: they don’t like being rolled up,” noted BrTl.

    “Quite. But the point is that Forty-Four is actually capable of having you drugged and kidnapped, Chef W’t,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia firmly. 

 

     “Mm,” she agreed, biting her lip. “I see. I’ve been stupid. Um, BrTl did try to warn me that it mightn’t be as harmless as it looks, but I… I’m awfully sorry, BrTl.”

    “That’s all right. The thing is, Forty-Four was mind-suggesting harmlessness and I wasn't good enough to counteract it. Though I think over most things it is pretty harmless, and it was perfectly sincere about not wanting you to sleep in the sim-lounge or the bar,”—her Captain, he saw with considerable pleasure, was now failing to hide his emanations of horror and guilt—“only not when it comes to its subject.”

    “Yes,” said Dohra miserably: “I see. So, all of that, that I was thinking a while back, that it might be nice to go to Intergalactica and maybe start a degree myself—that was just Forty-Four, was it?”

    “Well, mostly,” admitted BrTl.

    “I did think it sounded nice… And I know I’m awfully ignorant: it would be good to learn something solid and develop my mind as much I could… Only then I thought about giving up my job and never seeing all the people on Silver-Ash Flyer again,” she said, going very pink, “and I knew I couldn't!”

    Captain Ccrainchzzyllia made a sad little noise in his throat and Jhl said quickly: “Sorry, Dohra. Some of that was me, counteracting the Thwurbullerian’s suggestions.”

    Dohra stared at her, slowly going very, very red.

    “You’ve got every right to be angry,” admitted Jhl glumly.

    “I‘d have done it myself if I could!” said BrTl quickly.

    “BrTl, shut up,” said his Captain briefly.

    “No! She only did it because I asked her to, Dohra!”

    Dohra’s eyes filled with angry tears and she cried loudly: “I didn’t think you had any axe to grind, BrTl!”

    “What?” he groped.

    “It’s a C’T’rean expression,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia briskly, “meaning any ulterior motive, Lieutenant. I can assure you he hasn’t, Chef, and nor has Captain Smt Wong. I concede she overdid it in her eagerness to counteract Forty-Four’s suggestions, but she meant well. Like most Bluellians—certainly the ones I’ve served with—she’s imbued with the notion that every being has a right to self-determination.”

    Dohra swallowed hard. “The crew all know you never liked Bl’k Chu, Su. –I mean Su Bl’k Chu.”

    “Didn't you mention her before?” asked BrTl.

    “Mm,” she said, blushing and looking hard at the floor.

    “Uh—yeah. Um, well, Jhl’s always going on about free will—honest, Dohra!”

    “Of course,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia. “And as for Crewwoman Bl’k Chu—I disliked her intensely on a personal level, and as a member of the crew she was disruptive and insubordinate, but she certainly respected the concept of free will.”

    “Yes,” said Dohra limply. “I'm sorry, Jhl: I understand now. You were only trying to help. Sorry, BrTl. Of course you haven’t got an axe to—I mean one of those interior things.”

    “No, he’s quite a decent being!” admitted Jhl with a grin. “Bumbling, inefficient, and paranoid—yes. But decent with it!”

    “Thanks. I think!” returned BrTl, cheering up. “Well, uh, you get it now, do you, Dohra?”

    “Um, ye-es…”

    “Hardly,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia on a cool note. “And nor, I think do the two of you.”

    “No,” admitted Jhl. “Since you're here, would you mind telling us the rest of it, sir?”

    “I intend to. Shall we have a cup of something before I start? Zi, perhaps?”

    Jhl smiled weakly. “Not on Level Pink. Make it feverfew tea, I could do with a pick-me-up.”

 

 

    Dohra also had feverfew tea, and BrTl gloomily conceded he’d stick to spring water. And Captain Ccrainchzzyllia, having ascertained the menu did not offer Friyrian veenikk tea, also had the feverfew.

    “I can see,” he said mildly, having sipped, “what Chef has told you. But I assure you that my sibling Lleeayssnillia is safely at home on Friyria, where s/he has always been.”

    “I’m sorry, sir!” gasped Dohra, turning a fiery crimson.

    “Not at all. It looks as if it was a most entertaining story,” he said with a polite tinkle.

    Dohra shrank back in her seat, trying to smile.

    “And I have never,” said the Captain, his long, narrow mouth twitching in a very convincing imitation of a humanoid smile, “had a sibling called Rppnfeemaiyyia. Though Rppnfeemaiyyia is a Friyrian name: s/he’s the villain in one of our old traditional tales.”

    “Mm. Yeoman Whfflgrinnyllea told me it,” said Dohra in a small voice.

    “Really? You astound me,” he said lightly.

    “I made the baby up, too,” she said in a squashed voice to BrTl.

    “Huh? Oh, the silver-haired being’s pup! Sure, that follows.”

    “I see,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia with a little burst of tinkles. “That’s very like my picture of little Hally Kally!”

    “Yes,” said Dohra, swallowing hard. “Only I made him a boy, because… I don't know, really.”

    “So is Hally Kally real?” asked BrTl. “The friymanoid, right?”

    The gills opened and closed once within the chased xrillion collar. “Yes. My daughter.”

    “Only it wasn’t her after all!” burst out Dohra, her eyes filling with tears. “And I’m so sorry, Captain!”

    “No, please, Chef. It was a bow at a venture, and I shall be eternally grateful to you for trying,” he said with a sigh. “–As I say, Captain Smt Wong, Hally Kally is my daughter in the male line. Her mother was a humanoid. I see that Chef mentioned she was stolen from me, Lieutenant: that is correct, though of course the being involved was not my sibling. To my shame,” he said, the chiselled nostrils flickering slightly and the gills opening and closing once, “I did not at the time make the sort of effort to get her back that Chef described in her story. There was a certain amount of family pressure— But that is no excuse. I have since regretted my conduct deeply.” He drew a painful breath. “Be that as it may, I had picked up a rumour that Hally Kally had been sold to a lorpoid who was collecting candidates for the Meagraw of Gr’mmeaya’s hareem, so I asked Chef if she would join the group and ascertain if it really was her.”

    “So the lorpoid was real?” asked BrTl.

    “Yes,” he agreed. “The plan was that Chef W’t would try to find out all she could about the girl, arrange not to get chosen for the Meagraw’s hareem—yes, Captain Smt Wong, I concede that might have been difficult: I’m afraid I suggested she might model her conduct on that of the unregretted Crewwoman Bl’k Chu—and report back to me as soon as she was off Gr’mmeaya. Which she did,” he said, awarding her a nice humanoid smile and a little burst of tinkles.

    “Yes,” agreed Dohra. “It was easy, BrTl: I wasn’t in danger. Well, I didn't let the Meagraw win at 3-D pwm, you see: he didn’t like that. All his hareem ladies let him win.”

    “Well done,” said Jhl, sending: Dare say he wouldn’t care if she had been in danger, no, BrTl, but since he’s undoubtedly picking you up, I’d stop sending! At which her First Officer shut up like a dendrion nut. “So you made up all those other girls you told BrTl about, did you?”

    “Um, no. Um, the girls were real,” she admitted on an uneasy note.

    “Trff thought that that S’draa was real enough, did I tell you it bet—Uh, yeah.”

    “S’draa?” said the Friyrian distastefully.

    “She was all right, really, sir!” said Dohra quickly.

    “Just not nayce,” noted Jhl in a hard voice, broadcasting a few additional thoughts about dainty afternoon teas—well, neither of them was in the Service in any more, and if he didn't like what he saw he could either stop reading her or choke on his feverfew tea. “About what you might have expected her to meet on that sort of mission.”

    “Her heart was in the right place,” said Dohra in a small voice.

    “Er—of course,” said the Friyrian. “Thank you again, Chef.”

    “Circumstantial is the word you’re looking for,” said Jhl in a bored voice to her First Officer.

    “Uh—yeah. That Major-Domo being—”

    “He was real, and he did admire See, but he didn’t want her for his First Concubine, I made all that up!” said Dohra quickly, blushing brightly.

    BrTl, she wants us to drop the topic of bond-partnership and unlikely girl candidates being picked as First Whatevers by mature mammalians; have you stopped reading her as well?

    What? No! I just wanted to get it clear! “Um, goddit, Dohra,” he said lamely. “So the See being was real.”

    “All the girls were real, BrTl,” repeated Dohra in a small voice.

    “Yes, I see.”

    He didn’t, actually, so Jhl said cautiously: “The pink-faced one? Think you made her a princess, if I’m reading you right?”

    “Mm. From bMeemeetee. She was.”

    “The intergalactic dump to end all intergalactic dumps: it’s practically a dust world,” said Jhl dazedly.

    “Yes, she said there were no oceans or lakes,” Dohra agreed.

    “Yeah, but a princess?”

    “Well, that wasn’t their word, and I don’t think my translator was working all that good, because half the time I could see she was saying more than it said, but that was how it, um, came over. Um, well, all the other girls were hooked on that stupid Romance, The Continuing Story of Princess Ma’Bella of New Galaxia—um, sorry, Jhl, you won’t of heard of it—so maybe that’s why the translator used the word.”

    “No Such Place,” said Jhl heavily to BrTl. “Well, princess’ll do. BrTl said the Meagraw took her as his bond-partner: that right?” 

 

    “Y—Um, no! I mean, I made that bit up!” she gasped in agony. “He didn’t, but she was really, really nice!”

    “Too pink for him, huh?” spotted Jhl sympathetically.

    “Yes, but once you got used to it, she was beautiful, Jhl!”

    “What about those hideous purple garments?” asked BrTl suddenly.

    “What? Oh! The Meagrawaine’s garments for the bond-partnering ceremony. They were real: one of the concubines showed them to me, they keep them in a special case, like, on display, only no being’s worn them for hundred of years.”

    “Right. I said it was very convincing!” he said to his Captain in a vindicated voice.

    “You did, indeed,” said Jhl, very, very mildly.

    The Friyrian gave a smothered tinkle. “Er, yes. Well, I think that’s cleared it—No?” he said politely as BrTl twitched.

    “Uh—well, yes, it has, sir, thanks very much. Er—no need to come yourself, you kn—Ow!” he gasped as his Captain’s mind-prod connected, too late. “Um, no, well, I was just wondering what really happened to them all,” he finished lamely, shooting out a pseudopod and catching the teacup—fortunately empty—that Dohra had suddenly hurled into the air.

    “Thanks,” she said limply as he handed it back. “I—I duh-don’t think you cuh-can have that right, BrTl. He’s on leave, he’s not here specially.”

    “I am on leave, yes,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia levelly. “But of course I am here on your account, Chef. Captain Smt Wong and Lieutenant BrTl sent a message to say that you were in danger of being taken in, to put it no more strongly, by Forty-Four.”

    “You’re here because of that?” she gasped.

    “Yes,” he said simply.

    Dohra just gulped.

    After some time Jhl broke the silence by saying mildly: “He does owe you one, Dohra.”

    “No! I mean, my tour of duty isn’t over, I’d never desert the sh— I mean, thank you, sir!” she gasped.

    “No, please don't thank me, Chef. Captain Smt Wong is quite right: I am in your debt.”

    Dohra swallowed hard. “I was glad to. If only it could have been her.”

    “Yeah, but who was she?” burst out BrTl.

    Dohra licked her lips, looking uncertainly at Captain Ccrainchzzyllia.

    “I think you’d better explain, Chef,” he said nicely.

    “Yeah, tell him who they were and what happened to them, because if you don’t, he’ll be chewing it over until Vvlvania freezes over,” admitted Jhl heavily.

    “Oh, well, okay. Um, it wasn’t Hally Kally at all. Um, it took ages, because we couldn't talk to her, only See got the Major-Domo to give her a translator—”

    “But didn't you say he didn’t—I never spoke,” ended BrTl quickly.

    “He did, only not as his First Concubine, BrTl. Um, like I say, she got a translator out of him and then we could talk to her—we’d just been calling her Bluey, I'm afraid,” she said, turning a sort of purple shade, and avoiding Captain Ccrainchzzyllia’s eye, “because Jojo didn't know her name and, um, it seemed better than calling her ‘Friymanoid.’ Anyway, then we found out her name was Wessy Kally, not Hally Kally. I mean, in Friyrian they’d be like, Wessikalli or Hallikalli, but, um, they’re not the sort of names that the ladies have…” She glanced miserably at Captain Ccrainchzzyllia.

    “That’s right: those are friymanoid names. And she is about my daughter’s age,” he agreed.

    “Yes. Um, she told us all about her mother and it obviously wasn’t her. –The Meagraw didn’t want her: he thought she was too blue.”

    “He might just as well have stuck to Gr’mmeayans, by the sound of him!” said Jhl with some feeling. “Well, I mean, the rest of you were too blue or too pink?”

    “Ye-es. Well, it’s not as if he’d been off-world and seen lots of beings that aren’t like Gr’mmeayans, I s’pose it’s understandable,” she allowed. 

 

    “Pretty typical of beings from closed worlds,” put in BrTl kindly.

    “Mm. He was all right, really,” said Dohra on an uncertain note, “only a bit, um, childish. Spoilt and childish, I thought.”

    “Had it all his own way all his life: of course,” Jhl agreed. “So who did he take?”

    “None of us. Well, he would of taken me,” she said with a blush, “only like I say, he didn't like it when I wouldn’t let him win at pwm, so he didn’t. –He thought Qwolla was ugly!” she burst out indignantly.

    “The gilled humanoid?” said BrTl with simple curiosity and no axe to grind at all. “Thought you said she was lovely?”

    “She was, and very sweet-natured! And him and Major-Domo Jay-P’ll, they both said the twins were clones, and he thought S’draa was too old, and Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All was too ordinary! He meant too like the girls he was used to, but if he thought that, why didn’t he want Josh’ryn or Qwolla or Wessy Kally?” she said indignantly.

    “Yeah. And See?” asked Jhl.

    “If you really want to know,” said Dohra tightly, “he told Jojo she was ‘a common little thing’ and the Major-Domo was welcome to her! Well, she was very glad to go to him, she liked him, only of course he didn’t make her his First Concubine, not after his master had said she was common,” she finished, scowling.

    “Uh-huh. And wasn't there a Nblyterian?”

    “Yes,” said BrTl involuntarily.

    “Yes,” agreed Dohra. “WondreL. He said to Jojo: ‘Well, a curiosity, lorpoid, but having met her, I’m not tempted.’”

    Jhl raised her eyebrows, but nodded.

    “Help, so he didn’t make a sale at all?” croaked BrTl.

    “Er—sorry about the insistence on the commercial theme, sir: we are traders,” said Jhl limply to Captain Ccrainchzzyllia.

    “Not at all, Captain Smt Wong: I’d like to know, too,” he said politely. “Go on, Chef.”

    “Yes, sir. Jojo sold See to the Major-Domo for a very good price, and the twins to one of the Meagraw’s Ministers, he thought they were like clones, too, only he found that intriguing, and he sold S’draa to a fat old merchant from the town. –It was true the New Rthfrdian Ambassador wanted her, but he was afraid of what people would say back home, so he never made an offer,” she said glumly to BrTl.

    “I see. So at least the lorpoid made something out of the trip,” he said with satisfaction.

    Jhl waited, but that seemed to be it. She gave in and asked: “So what happened to everyone else, Dohra?”

    “Well, Jojo sent Josh’ryn back home to her father and her Mimmoo: that was the agreement, he’d taken her as a speculation, is that the right word, BrTl?”

    “Mm? Oh—yes, that’s right. If it had come off, he’d have done plasmo-blasted well out of the deal. You win some, you lose some.”

    “That’s just what he said!” she approved, suddenly smiling. “And the same with wondreL: she went home to her Granna and Mumma.”

    “You mean,” croaked Jhl, “there was no male humanoid on Gr’mmeaya with enough spirit of adventure in his make-up to take her on, Dohra?”

    “Not after their Meagraw had said she was a curiosity but he wasn’t tempted—no!”

    “Pathetic types, these Gr’mmeayan males must be,” she said lightly.

    “Actually,” said Dohra grimly, “I thought so, too. Jojo said he’d have no problem selling Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All, in fact he had a Whtyllian customer lined up for her already, and he’d advertise Qwolla and Wessy Kally, and in the meantime, he’d take them both home. Qwolla was thrilled: he’d shown us all a picture of his dear little house with his fish-ponds. And Wessy Kally was pleased: Qwolla was always very kind to her.”

    “Uh-huh. Well, he’d get a good price for them,” said Jhl kindly.

    “Yes,” she agreed gloomily.

    “Er—he sounds all right, Dohra,” she said uncomfortably.

    “Yes, he always does his best to find customers who’ll be nice to his girls, but—Oh, well. That’s life,” said Dohra sadly.

    “Do you want me to take them?” asked Captain Ccrainchzzyllia suddenly.

    “What?” she gasped, turning puce. “No, sir!”

    “I can see you do,” he said grimly. “Very well: since you won't take money for helping me, let me do this for you.”

    “No!” she gasped.

    “Yes. Give me the lorpoid’s frequency, please, Chef.”

    “No, he charges too much,” said Dohra, red but defiant. 

 

    “Nonsense. I can assure you I won’t be reduced to selling the Moodra. Give me that blob he gave you, please. Or do I have to order you?”

    Dohra held up her chin and looked him in the eye. “Yes, you do, because the whole crew knows that you don’t have Pleasure Girls!”

    What does he have? sent BrTl in confusion.

    Shut—up, warned Jhl.

    “Very well, then, I’m ordering you,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia grimly.

    Dohra glared, but produced a blob from a pocket of her coveralls.

    Am I misreading the being, or is his reaction to that big pink belt the same as that young DorAv—

    Will you shut UP!

    No, it’s interesting: what I mean is, it’s just the same sort of mixed reaction, Jhl!

    Uh—yeah, it was. Jhl swallowed. Comes from a nayce home, she sent feebly.

    Uh-huh. Dainty afternoon teas! replied BrTl with huge satisfaction.

    Meanwhile Captain Ccrainchzzyllia was contacting the lorpoid, agreeing a fair price for Qwolla and Wessy Kally, and arranging to have them sent right over. He blobbed off and said to the red-faced Dohra with a smile: “Qwolla seems to be keen on joining the entertainers on the ship: I think she’d be quite an attraction: she could use the big tank in the Blue Bar on the Promenade Deck.”

    Dohra nodded uncertainly. “Ye-es. Um, what would she do?”

    “Just swim!” he said with a little cascade of tinkles. “That’ll be quite thrilling enough for most of our humanoid, Friyrian and Nblyterian customers!”

    “Yes, it will,” she realised, suddenly smiling at him. “WondreL tried to hide it, but she was terrified the first time Qwolla jumped into the water.”

    “That’s right: Nblyterians don’t swim. Er—I’m afraid I’ve no idea what to do with the friymanoid. Would you like to have her?”

    Dohra went red again. “C’T’reans don’t have beings.”

    “Nor do Bluellians,” agreed Jhl drily. “Free will and so on.”

    He almost managed to ignore that, but she caught the emanation of annoyance—hah, hah. “I beg your pardon, Chef,” he said stiffly. “I should have said, would you care for her to be your assistant? Though I get the impression,” he admitted dubiously, “that she’s a being of limited intelligence, and certainly very limited vocabulary.”

    “If beings don’t talk to you, how can you learn words?” said Dohra fiercely to her Captain. “We can’t all come from lovely homes with veenikk tea every afternoon! ’Course she can be my assistant! I’ll learn her up in no time, you’ll see!”

    “Mm. Good,” he said, concealing a wince at the “learn her up.” “Of course you will, Chef.”

    “And after my tour of duty, um, maybe she could come home with me.”

    The brother’d probably enjoy her, sent Jhl on a sardonic note to BrTl.

    “I heard that, Jhl,” said Dohra grimly, “and it wasn’t funny!”

    It was Jhl’s turn to go very red. “Sorry.”

    “Added to which, BrTl didn't even understand it!”

    “Nope!” he admitted cheerfully.

    “See? –All right, then,” said Dohra fiercely, turning to her Captain, “but I’ll pay you back for Wessy Kally!”

    “What? No! That’s absurd!”

    “Not to me,” said Dohra grimly.

    “My dear Chef W’t, in the first place there’s absolutely no need to pay me back: it’s I who am in your debt; and in the second place, your salary couldn't possibly cover—”

   At this point BrTl received an urgent mind-message from his Captain and the two of them got up and crept quietly away…

 

    “Phew!” he said, setting down his empty fluorogas shake glass. “Mammalian emotions! –Though at least we know what was real and what wasn't in that story of hers,” he added with satisfaction. BURP!

    “Improbable though the truth is, yeah,” Jhl  agreed with a grin, setting down her empty shake glass. “Mind you, my money’s on the pink being in the long run.”

    “No!” BURP! BURP! “The Friyrian’ll never take her money!”

    “Not that!” she said, shaking slightly. “Well, Joddum noodles? Oh, sorry: forgot.”

    BURP! “That’s okay. We’ll go to the Joddum noodle boutique first,” said BrTl kindly. “I like watching you try to eat them before the black ones”—BURP!—“pardon me—can.”

    “Okay,” she agreed. “Then it’s ho! for the cafeteria and a haunch or two of praer.”

    They did that.

    “I never expected,” admitted Jhl, quite some time and several exotic alcoholic concoctions later, “that the Friyrian would come himself.”

    “You and me both!” he agreed. “Hey, look, there’s one!”

    They peered down from the immense height of the Level Gold Viewing Area to the concourse far, far below.

    “You’re right,” conceded Jhl. “A Whistling Carrio in a scintillion garment is what the being is. And by the Federation, does it look silly! Have a tenth of an ig.” Solemnly she handed him back the ISLA credit disc she’d just won off him. “Next?”

    “I bet,” said BrTl slowly, “that we’ll see a Crypto-Rwthwarian in a silly hat—”

    “This is Level Gold: isn’t it mandatory to wear silly hats?”

    “Wait for it,” he said smugly: “and an FW pack, before the next ten IG minutes are up!”

    “I’ll take that bet,” said Jhl solemnly.

    They leant on the elegantly curved gold rail of the invisible-to-the-unshielded-eye balcony of Level Gold’s Viewing Area, and peered down at the concourse far, far below…