The Mammalian Humanoid's Tale Continued

10 

The Mammalian Humanoid’s Tale Continued 

 

    Lunch had been largely occupied by Dohra’s happy account of her morning and by BrTl's discovery that the reason that Forty-Four was emanating terrific sympathy at him was that it had read the lot.

    The immediate post-prandial period was occupied by Forty-Four’s accompanying Three Hundred And Two to catch its connection. Since Dohra volunteered to go with them, BrTl went, too. Given that the plasmo-blasted being was headed for a tramp-trader on Level Yellow. Amazingly, the ship was still there when they got to its slot, its captain didn’t look likely to murder the Thwurbullerian affine within the next ten IG microseconds, and the cargo it was carrying was almost IG-legal. And there was actually plenty of room on board for a Thwurbullerian, given that it was an only-slightly-adapted Bhylloblaster.

    Dohra consented happily to using a moogletube back, since Forty-Four was taking a Thwurbullerian-sized one. The tube opened at BrTl’s approach. Didg had come with them: he was about to hop in by himself but BrTl stopped him.

    “Ow!” he gasped. “What are you on about, swiller?”

    “It’s something to do with the wind pressure—well, Trff could tell you. Anyway, you have to come with me.”

    “He has to hug us and slide on his back. They don’t make moogletubes for humanoids, isn’t it unfair?” said Dohra cheerfully.

    “Uh—no, Sweet Cheese, think maybe it really is something do with the wind pressure,” croaked Didg.

    “Yeah,” agreed BrTl, tucking him up in one arm while he hugged Dohra with a pseudopod: “Trff isn’t wrong about engineering muck. –Wrong about spotting avian you-know-whats with ships on Level Platinum, but not about engineering,” he muttered sourly. He got down on his hunkers, carefully inserted his tail first—there was a xathpyroid saying about “tail last down the moogletube” and he personally didn't intend to prove it—and then the rest of—WHOOSH!

    “Wow!” shouted Didg as they shot out of the far end of the tube.

    “Yeah. They won’t go up, unfortunately, we’ll have to take a lift-blob from here.”

    “Right. Uh, you could put us down, swiller.”

    What was this humanoid embarrassment-stuff about being carried? He put them down, and they all returned to Level Pink without incident.

    Forty-Four was already in the bar—the saying “the bigger the being the faster the moogletube” seemed to be correct—and happily reminded Dohra that she’d promised to go on with her story today.

    “Oh, but I seem to have been talking all lunchtime!” she protested.

    “Almost,” agreed Trff. “Not when you-it was masticating or swallowing, though. What? Oh—sorry.”

    “Trff, don't you have to go back to the you-know-whats?” asked BrTl kindly.

    “No, they're simmering,” it replied happily.

    “Simmering,” growled Budg. “Yeah. –I coulda come down the moogletube with ya, swiller!” he added.

    “Tail last, probably,” agreed BrTl drily.

    “Er—yeah,” admitted Didg, clearing his throat. “Never mind, Budg. Um—maybe next time?” he said to BrTl.

    “Sure! –What? Oh! No, it’s your outsides that might be affected if you went by yourselves, Didg. He’ll be all right. Next time, Budg, okay?”

    “Yeah. Next time. –Tell us a story, Dohra,” he growled.

    “Yes, please do!”—“Yes, please do!” urged the Feeny-Argyllians.

    “Go on,” said blndreL with a grin, knocking back her glass of qwlot. “Get to the being in the turban, eh?”

    “Oh, well— That was later— I mean— Well, shall I?” said Dohra, very pink.

    Since all beings now had appropriate vessels in their appendages they all urged her to. So she did. 

 

    Life on board Pleasure Ship Silver-Ash Flyer was peaceful and busy, and the transit areas on Hinnover City Spaceport on Belraynia and Orbiting Transit Station 643 of Playfair One were fascinating. And sometimes, if you spoke nicely to the being on duty at the gate, you were even allowed to go in the Tourist Halls! P.O. Bates was very kind to Dohra and when their FW R&R coincided took her on a couple of trips to Plentyville on Playfair One, where everything was sunny and beautiful and even the public transport bubble-trains were efficient, safe, and luxuriously comfortable. And once they went onto Belraynia itself with Chief Engineer Chumquck, and went to her home and met her bond-partner, a fussy-mannered, very kindly male Belraynian who apart from the physiology reminded Dohra of no being so much as Shohn’s Mum. He’d made a magnificent meal which they ate in company with Chief Engineer Chumquck’s twins. Dohra hadn't understood at all about shared brains and Belraynian twins and would have felt very ignorant, except that the Belraynian family and the P.O. were much too kind to let her.

    And so life went on, with only the mildest upsets, like the time a culture-pan’s blob wore out and it ruined the tourists’ vegetarian stew, or the time the crew got her to make a nymbo cheese cake for a Nblyterian crewmember’s naming-day anniversary and she used up the last of the nymbo cheese and then the Captain ordered it for his next pudding! Exactly what the marvellous Yeoman Whfflgrinnyllea did or said she never knew, but no being was hauled up on Captain’s Report, and the Captain didn't complain about the trifle she did for him instead. 

 

    True, Whfflgrinnyllea insisted on showing her his horrid you-know-what as a thank you, but as it was an unexpected bright blue colour, not turquoise like the rest of him, Dohra gave a startled laugh and it went all limp and that was that. He never tried to repeat the incident, so no doubt it had taught him a lesson. Dohra was happy, and hardly noticed a whole IG year fly by.

    P.O. Bates of course kept track of everything like the crew’s leave and allowances, that was his job, so he called her into his office and reminded her: “It’s time for your IG-annual leave.”

    Dohra nodded hard, looking at him fearfully.

    “No, it hasn’t been cancelled, don’t be silly!” he said testily.

    Bates, Andi was hardly ever testy, so she went on looking at him fearfully. “What’s the matter?”

    “Well—uh—” He glanced at his chrono-blob. “You can afford to get home to C’T’rea, can you?”

    Dohra nodded hard again. “Oh, yes, P.O.! I’ve been saving up.”

    “Good. How’s young J’nno getting on at Second School?”

    “Not all that good. He’s getting behind because Gramps makes him do all these jobs. Um, well, he makes him go fishing every weekend for jeffer crabs, J’nno doesn’t mind that, Shohn or one of the other boys often go with him: they think Gramps’s old creek-floater’s keen, even though it hasn’t got a blob. But then he has to spend the rest of the weekend boiling them up and shelling them and vacuum-freezing them, and after school Gramps makes him go round to his customers instead of him. And then he takes all the money, the mean old cptt-rvvr, he says it helps to pay for J’nno’s keep!”

    P.O. Bates chewed on his lip. “Look, W’ndii would love to have him, but the houseboat’s bursting at the seams with our eight kids, and it’s a really long haul to Second School, the bubble-boat costs an arm and a leg. Uh—sorry, Novatroonian saying. We’d take him if we could possibly afford to, Dohra.”

    “I know,” said Dohra, pinkening and smiling. “And he’s really looking forward to coming to see you next long holidays. It sounds like a wonderful world, with all that water and those tiny islands! Oh: if that’s what the matter is—”

    “Great galaxies, no! Uh—no, it’s about your leave…” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “The Captain wants you to deliver a message for him.”

    “Me?” she gasped.

    “Yeah. Don't ask me the ins and outs of it. All I know is he accessed the leave-lists—well, he does have access to everything, but he’s never blobbed onto my lists before— Never mind that. When he saw we had a C’T’rean on board due for IG-annual leave, he sent down Whfflgrinnyllea with a message.”

    “Yes, I see,” said Dohra numbly. “Where is it?” He looked at her blankly. “The message, P.O.”

    “Great splintered shards of quog, the Captain isn’t gonna entrust a private message to Whfflgrinnyllea or me! He wants you to go and see him.”

    “But why should he entrust it to me?” she cried. “I’m not even any good at mind control!”

    “No, can’t shield worth an ig,” he agreed. “Well, I dunno, Dohra. My guess’d be it’s not any sort of message that can be read. You’d better go, he’s expecting you.”

    “Now?”

    P.O. Bates glanced at his chrono-blob. “Yes, in four IG minutes. Straighten that chef’s hat.”

    Numbly Dohra straightened her hat.

    “Go on: he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

    Dohra was gone.

    The P.O. wiped his hand across his humanoid brow. “Steaming piles of mok droppings,” he muttered. “What in Federation can the vacuum-frozen Friyrian be up to?”

    An Ordinary Spacer, spick-and-span in the Line’s uniform, was on duty outside the Captain’s door, his blaster held at Rest.

    “Cuh-can I go in, Crewman rugelleR?” asked Dohra. “The Cuh-Captain is expecting me.”

    Crewman rugelleR came smartly to attention, shifted hands on the blaster, and saluted her. He barred the door with the arm which was now in charge of the blaster. “Chef W’t reporting!” he said loudly.

    “Come in!” called a cross voice.

    Oh, Federation! The door slid back, announcing: “Chef W’t reporting, sir! and the crewman came smartly to attention at one side of it.

    “Come in, Chef,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia, not looking up from his desk. “Take a seat; I’ll be with you in a moment.”

    Timidly Dohra came and perched on the very, very edge of a chair placed in front of the big shiny desk.

    After what seemed a very long time the Captain looked up. Dohra swallowed hard.

    “I don't think we’ve met in person, have we?” he said in a languid voice, getting up and holding out a long, slender, pale turquoise hand. “Though of course I’ve greatly appreciated your salads and triff’l.”

    Dohra stumbled to her feet, not daring to correct his pronunciation. She hadn't expected him either to stand—he was the Captain and she was a Third Cook—or to offer to shake hands, because according to the Encyclopaedia, Friyrians didn’t. Numbly she put her hot little pink hand in the long, pale turquoise one.

    “The Encyclopaedia,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia with a soft tinkle, “doesn’t know everything!”

    Dohra jumped and clutched his hand convulsively. She was used to his yeoman’s laugh, but this was nothing like it! Dazedly she recalled something that Chef hoopnD had once said about tinkling silver bells. 

 

    “Flattering!” he said with another burst of tinkles. “Er—no,” he said, clearing his throat. This time Dohra was absolutely positive it was a humanoid gesture he’d learned up, because he was also smiling carefully. “Whfflgrinnyllea and I are not particularly similar in that other regard, either.”

    Dohra gave a horrified gasp and went red as fire, quite involuntarily glancing at his smart, tight uniform pants. Help! If only she could just sink through the xrillion floor and disappear until Vvlvania froze over—or preferably longer!

    “Oh, don’t do that,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia smoothly, releasing his hand with some difficulty from her grip. “It wouldn’t be good for my wtmyrian carpet.”

    Numbly Dohra looked down at it. Holey gramolee! It was! A real one!

    “A C’T’rean expression, is that?” he asked with interest. “What is gramolee?” 

 

    “Gruh-gramolee? Uh—a C’T’rean breakfast cereal, suh-sir. Reconstituted grains in the shape of—of little circles.”

    “Hence the holes,” he said primly.

    “Yes,” she agreed limply. Too late she realised she hadn't said “sir”. She stared at him numbly, willing her gaze not to fall below the level of—not his collar, it was very rude to stare at a Friyrian’s neck-gills! His chin. She tried to look at his chin without looking at the wide, narrow-lipped, knowing mouth above it, or the handsome chased xrillion gill-collar below it.

    “Dear me, the gill-collar has that effect on very few humanoid females,” said the Friyrian in mild surprise.

    This was dreadful! He was reading everything! Not just her thoughts but what her innards were doing and—and everything!

    “Yes,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia mildly. “What a very great pity that your latent mind-powers received no encouragement when you were a child.”

    “Thuh-there are some muh-mind schuh-schools on C’T’rea, but only rich people can afford them!” stuttered Dohra.

    “Yes, I see,” he said, the slanted eyes narrowing fractionally. His yeoman’s eyes were a muddy fawn colour, but his were golden: Dohra looked up at him, mesmerised. “Please allow me to offer my sincere condolences for the sad early deaths of your parents, Chef W’t,” he said formally.

    “Whuh-what? Oh, thuh-thank you, sir!” stuttered Dohra.

    “Please sit down again,” he said with an elegant wave of his hand.

    He was just so beautiful! Numbly Dohra sank down onto her chair again.

    The Captain didn’t retreat behind his desk: he pulled up another chair and sat beside her, crossing his legs in the sort of way Dohra had only ever seen a male mammalian being do on the Services, heretofore. Two galaxies! She tried to sit politely, with her knees close together, as once, a long time ago, Gran had tried to teach her. She’d never liked Gran, she’d been a strict old lady, but now she thought it was a bit of a pity she’d died, because she’d had… standards.

    “Yes,” said the Captain solemnly: “I have always believed that standards are important.”

    “I can see that, sir!” gasped Dohra earnestly.

    For an instant the Friyrian was taken aback; then he realised the little creature wasn’t reading him at all: it was merely her instinctive impression. Flattering. “Thank you,” he said, not allowing himself to tinkle. “Ah… I had a task for you, Chef W’t, but now that I’ve met you…” He hesitated.

    Dohra swallowed hard. “I can do it, sir! –So long as it doesn’t need mind-powers,” she admitted.

    “No, quite the reverse. It isn't IG-illegal, but— It could be dangerous for you.”

    “I’m not afraid!” lied Dohra stoutly.

    He gave a faint tinkle. “Yes, you are, Chef, though I respect the sentiment. Um… Well, at least you’re mammalian, you’ll understand the concepts involved,” he muttered. “Look,” he said with a little sigh, “I think I’d better tell you some of it, and then you can see whether you feel up to it, all right? And then,” he said on a firm note, as Dohra was nodding hard, “I shall decide whether or not to let you do it. But before I start, would you do me the very great favour, as this is an informal interview, of removing that travesty of a hat?”

    Numbly Dohra removed her chef’s hat. The Captain stared at the tumble of palest gold curls, not saying anything. After quite some time she realised that his left hand had clenched very hard on the arm of his chair. He still didn't speak so, not daring to ask him if anything was wrong, she ventured: “Aren’t I spit-and-polish enough, sir?”

    “What?” he said, jumping a little. “Oh—no—it doesn’t matter. Er, that’s a nominal expression, not an adjectival one. I once had a being very like you.” The even voice that in humanoid terms was a pleasant tenor here shook a little, and Dohra looked at him in concern. There was a little pause.

    “She was stolen from me,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia, the chiselled nostrils flickering a little and the gills opening and closing once within the collar, “but never mind that.”

    Dohra looked at him expectantly, but he was staring into space, and didn’t go on. After a while she went very red.

    “I apologise,” said the Friyrian, his high-cheekboned oval face taking on an indigo tinge. “That picture was quite unintentional.”

    And also very, very, very rude! Well, men did that—though no man had ever actually done it to her, W’t, Dohra B’Jn: none of the boys from their district had bothered with that sort of thing—but she knew enough to know that! But she would never have suspected a captain of having that sort of thought!

    Trembling slightly, she croaked: “It’s all right, sir. Muh-male beings often suh-send me pictures a buh-bit like that, and—and you can’t help it, cuh-can you?”

    The long mouth tightened for a moment. Then he said pleasantly: “A civilised male being can help it, Chef, and I apologise again for forgetting myself.”

    In that case there were no civilised male beings on C’T’rea, and very few amongst his crew!

    “I dare say not,” he said drily. “Where shall I start? Er… perhaps you don’t understand that unlike humanoids, Friyrians are hermaphrodites?”

    “The Encyclopaedia said that,” admitted Dohra, frowning over it.

     He saw she was trying to imagine where everything went and had to try very hard not to show his amusement. “Well, we are.”

    “Not you!” said Dohra fervently without stopping to think.

    “Technically, yes. It’s not shocking or distressing or unnatural to us.”

    “No, of course not,” she said firmly, sticking out her chin.

    He looked at the soft, rounded chin in some amusement, though at the same time aware that the pearly pink sheen of that skin was having the expectable effect on him. What a Vvlvanian-cursed pity that she was a member of his crew. “No. Some of us enjoy being male and stick with that”—she nodded hard—“and some enjoy being female and stick with that, and others enjoy being both—not simultaneously, you understand: that’s quite unusual, though not impossible—but in turn.”

    Dohra frowned over it, too interested to stop and reflect that he was the Captain of the Silver-Ash Flyer and she was only a bogus Third Cook. “I don’t think I could change, I wouldn’t feel like me—but I see what you mean, um, intellectually.”

    “Good. Well, I have sister who’s very much younger than me: her mother is my father’s second female bond-partner.”

    Dohra looked at him with great sympathy, not thinking to ask herself if he’d meant to send the message he had.  “I see; your own mother died. I’m very sorry. sir.”

    He gave a little sigh. “Yes, we have something in common, Chef W’t. Well—I suppose I’d better make it clear. My father’s had three families: the first one when s/he was female-tended. S/he had several children in the female line when s/he was young. Then s/he and that bond-partner decided to go their separate ways—quite amicably—and Father took a female-tended bond-partner, and had three children in the male line with her.”

    “That was your mother,” agreed Dohra seriously.

    “Yes. I was always strongly male-tended, my next full sibling was male-female, and the other was strongly female-tended. We were grown up, and they had both taken male bond-partners, when Father took a second female bond-partner.”

    “Your stepmother, we’d call her.” 

 

    “Of course. I don’t think you have quite the same gender rôles on C’T’rea, so I should explain that on Friyria,”—he sent her a little picture of the glorious country round Father’s country house and she gasped in admiration—“as I was saying, gender rôles are very clearly defined on Friyria, perhaps because of our hermaphroditism. Female-tended beings don’t learn to be Pilots or even cooks, In my class their rôle is to keep the home beautiful, select, train and manage the s-beings, bear the children and see that they are educated to become cultured, sensible, well-controlled beings. In the case of a being from Whfflgrinnyllea’s class they do learn simple culture-pan control, but apart from that and the care of the children, they oversee the tidy-blobs, and raise vegetables and fruit and the domestic… fowl. Boo-birds? –Yes. Their chromosomal make-up means that they enjoy such tasks. But there’s nothing to stop them becoming fully male-tended if they wish and taking on different tasks. –Though in my opinion,” he added drily, “just as boring.”

    After a moment Dohra nodded slowly. “It’s the class differences that really matter, then, isn’t it? That’s what makes you so different from Yeoman Whfflgrinnyllea, even though you’re both male-tended. I hadn't realised… I suppose we have classes on C’T’rea, too, but ordinary beings like me never think about it. You never see the rich people: they’re always in their lifters or behind their high garden walls.”

    Captain Ccrainchzzyllia blinked slightly, as he got the whole picture. “The ordinary people don’t have gardens on your world?”

    “No. I suppose it would be nice,” said Dohra wistfully.

    “I should say so! If I had to belong to that class, I’d certainly rather be a Friyrian!”

    “So would I, if I could have a garden, but I wouldn’t like not being allowed to be a cook.”

    “But of course you would have the freedom to be a cook! You’d just need to become ma—Oh,” he said foolishly.

    “Yes. I can’t, you see,” said Dohra simply. “But I can see that for a Friyrian it’s a very fair arrangement.”

    “We think so. I do have some idea what the rest of the two galaxies thinks of Friyria,”—Dohra went very red and bit her lip—“but there’s no poverty and very little unhappiness on our world. There are huge class distinctions which are not easy to breach, yes, but as you’ve just admitted, those exist on other worlds.”

    “Yes. I’ve only heard of one where they don’t have any classes: that’s Bluellia.”

    Captain Ccrainchzzyllia made a little whistling noise in his throat and then gave a slight sniff through his long, straight, handsome nose. “Aye; I tend not to take on Bluellians as crew if I can help it: they’re plasmo-blasted insubordinate.”

    Yes, thought Dohra, like Crewmen—Ulp!

    “Crewman R’sn Li, Crewman Wong Br’n, Crewman Ch’n Smt and the unlamented former Crewwoman Bl’k Chu: I rest my case,” he said very coldly indeed.

    “Yessir!” gasped Dohra. “She was awful: she was even rude to P.O. Bates!”

    “Quite. Where was I? Oh, yes: my sister Lleeayssnillia. Yes, it is a pretty name, isn’t it?” he said with a little tinkle. “She is generally considered a very pretty being. My step-mother, Zzpronichhichia—I know humanoids don't find that name attractive, don’t apologise, please,” he said to the gulping Dohra, “is also a very pretty being.” Tinkling slightly, he sent her a picture of them.

    Dohra goggled at the two tall, slender lady-beings in lovely long, flowing garments, looped up here and there with little rainbow-like blobs. One gown was silvery-grey, one very pale turquoise, several shades paler than her skin. The lady in the silvery-grey was obviously older, even though her hair was a dark indigo like the Captain’s. It was wound up in a big knot on top of her head. A thin trickle of shining colourless stones depended from each long, close-set turquoise ear and a single big stone flashed on one finger. Both of them had elegant—no, the word was aristocratic—yes, aristocratic oval faces with rather long noses, very like his. The younger lady had a mass of dead-straight, very thick silvery hair which she wore down in a very simple style. She only had tiny stones in her ears and none on her fingers but as she moved a little Dohra caught sight of a toe-ring which just flashed briefly and then disappeared again under a fold of her dress. Oddly enough they weren’t wearing gill-collars. Dohra looked sideways at the Captain in his xrillion gill-collar with his long, thick, straight indigo hair tied back severely in a big plait and didn’t say anything.

    “Female-tended Friyrians don’t wear the gill-collar,” he said mildly. “In fact it’s considered rather old-fashioned for males, these days. But then, I am old-fashioned.”

    She swallowed. “I see.” He seemed to be waiting so she added timidly: “They are lovely, sir.”

    “Thank you. Zzpronichhichia isn't a strong being, I’m afraid, so she and Father only had the one child.”

    Dohra nodded respectfully.

    “We were all very happy,” he said tightly, “until one of my half-brothers in Father’s female line learned of the way Father intended to leave his property. My brother, Rppnfeemaiyyia,”—Dohra jumped as a sneering dark turquoise face leered at her—“sorry, didn’t mean to send that—Rppnfeemaiyyia was very, very angry when he found out that Father intended leaving all the property which he’d inherited in the male line—from his father—to his male-tended offspring in the male line.”

    “You,” agreed Dohra, having worked it out.

    “Yes. My full sisters, as you would think of them, were settled happily with their male bond-partners and didn’t look like changing. There was no particular reason for Rppnfeemaiyyia to feel so bitter about it: his own father had plenty to leave him—Father’s former male bond-partner,” he explained. “But then, he was never a reasonable being. And he never liked me.”

    Dohra bit her lip. “Mm.”

    “To cut a long story short, Rppnfeemaiyyia decided to repay Father. The Meagraw of Gr’mmeaya had shown an interest in Lleeayssnillia—”

    “I’ve heard of him!” gasped Dohra.

    “Yes, I know. He wasn’t prepared to offer her bond-partnership, even in a multiple bond-partner arrangement, so Father rejected his suggestion.” His fists clenched. “So about eighteen IG months ago Rppnfeemaiyyia successfully sold poor little Lleeayssnillia to him.”

    Dohra’s jaw dropped. “Sold— Do you mean to be his Pleasure Girl?” 

 

    “Not precisely, though it’s little better than that. His concubine. Considerably less than a bond-partner but considerably above a Pleasure Girl. Do you know what a Whtyllian hareem is? –No. Uh, a chlottiu? –No. A wmboid cluster-house? Oh. Well, just let’s say that although her life is very comfortable, she lives in the female quarters of his palace, may not go outside the palace grounds without the Meagraw’s express permission and an armed escort, and of course is at his disposal any time he wishes to bestow”—the chiselled nostrils flared with distaste—“his favours.”

    Dohra’s eyes were round with horror. “How terrible!”

    “Yes.”

    She swallowed hard. “What did your father do?”

    “Snapped Rppnfeemaiyyia’s neck,” said the Captain grimly. “There is a very old law on Friyria which allows that, in such circumstances, and if Father hadn't done it Rppnfeemaiyyia’s own father would have. Father’s spent a very great deal of money trying to get her back, to no avail: Gr’mmeaya is a closed world.”

    Dohra took a deep breath. “I’ll go. I’ll do whatever you want to help get her back!”

    “Thank you, Chef W’t. You'd better hear what it is, first.”

    Dohra looked at him trustingly.

    “Well, uh—You’re not a virgin, plasmo-blasted Whfflgrinnyllea was right about that, curse his cheek,” he muttered.

    “Um, no, it isn’t really customary on my world to—to be one, when you’re grown up,” offered Dohra. “I wouldn’t mind if had to be in the, um, cluster-house and be a Pleasure Girl for the Meagraw.”

    “We’ll hope it won’t come to that. The family has a plan to rescue Lleeayssnillia, but we need to get a message to her.” He gave a faint tinkle in spite of himself.

    “What’s the joke?” said Dohra, staring, and quite forgetting he was the Captain.

    “Part of the joke is that we think she ought to become male-tended: that’ll put him off: he’s not the sort of male being that likes other males!” he said with a clashing little series of tinkles.

    Bitter laugh, said Dohra in her head. Oh, poor being!

    “Pity me if we fail, Third Cook W’t, Dohra B’Jn of C’T’rea,” said the Friyrian coldly, looking down his long nose at her.

    “Yessir! Sorry, sir!” she gasped, recalled to herself.

    “No: I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “What I’d like to do is get you in as one of a party of, uh, candidates for the hareem. –His cluster-house,” he murmured, wondering why the term had appealed to her. Cosy? He stared at her, frowning.

    “Yes, and then I can tell her your plan!” said Dohra eagerly.

    “No, certainly not. You will know nothing of the plan. I’ve probably told you more than I should have, as it is.”

    “Then what do you want me to do?” said Dohra in disappointment.

    “Just carry a message. You won’t know where it is or in what form.”

    “Then how’ll I get it out again when I see her?” she demanded crossly.

    “You don’t need to worry about that at all. Just get in to see her. Then—well, I’m afraid it’ll be up to you. Make sure the Meagraw doesn’t choose you as a Pleasure Girl, and get out of it.”

    “Ye-es… I could pretend to be really bossy and rude and, um, that other word, like Crewwoman Bl’k Chu, Su!” she gasped.

    “Insubordinate,” he said drily. “That should do it. I certainly never had the impression the Meagraw sought that from his females. Er—not the personal name last, for Bluellians. ‘Su Bl’k Chu’ would be correct.”

    “Oh, yes, of course; I forgot,” said Dohra, rather crestfallen.

    Captain Ccrainchzzyllia sighed. “You’re very young,” he muttered.

    “I am not!” cried Dohra indignantly.

    “Young for your IG age, perhaps. –I did think of doing it myself—changing my sex,” he said as she looked uncertain. “But,”—he made a wry face—“I'm not young enough, and certainly not pretty enough. One of my nieces offered but her father, uh—”

    “Threw a fit: yeah,” said Dohra comfortably. “Fathers do.”

    “Yes. In this case it was the more understandable because virginity is highly prized in female-tended beings of our class.”

    “Yes—Hang on,” said Dohra, staring at him.

    “Certainly not!” he said with emphasis. “We’re not silly!”

    “No. I was just sort of following through the logic of it,” said Dohra humbly, “without thinking about the sense.”

    “Mm. I tend to do that myself. We’re rather alike, Chef W’t,” he said drily. He paused. “Though I’m a female virgin,” he noted, even more drily.

    There was a moment’s startled silence and then Dohra went into a gale of humanoid laughter. It was a little like the sound of a flock of Whtyllian pigeons cooing in his stepmother’s ornate dovecote, and Captain Ccrainchzzyllia tinkled gently under his breath.

    “I will do it, sir,” she said when she'd recovered.

    He drew a deep breath. “In that case,” he said formally, “I and my family thank you, W’t, Dohra B’Jn.” He rose, and held out his hand.

    Dohra scrambled up, very flushed, and allowed him to shake hands.

    “No, it isn't a Friyrian custom,” he murmured.

    “I thought so! So what do you do instead?” she said eagerly.

    “It depends on the class and gender-tendency of the participants. If you were a male of my class I should do this.” He laid his right hand gently on her left shoulder. “And you would reciprocate. It may be done formally or heartily.”

    “I see! What about ladies?”

    “Two ladies would hold out their hands like this—no, not touching,” he said, holding out his left hand as if he were about to shake with it; uncertainly Dohra held out hers, “and tinkle politely, and probably say ‘My dear, how lovely!’”—she jumped, he’d positively fluted it—“and then just touch opposable digits lightly. Like this.” He brushed her thumb with his, and managed to ignore her start. “Close friends touch opposable digits ungloved. And if the ladies dislike each other they not only leave their gloves on, they contrive not to make actual contact with the gesture.”

    “Help,” said Dohra numbly.

    “Yes, it is a rather formal society. Would you care to try it again?” 

 

    No, ’cos she might have hysterics if he said “opposable digits” again, actually! Let alone if he touched hers again. “Nuh—um, what if it was a man and lady?”

    “Hold your left hand out again. –Oh, yes: thumb, I'd forgotten the Intergalactic word,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t make a claw of it, just relax. That’s better. Try to droop the hand slightly from the wrist; like this.” Dohra gave a muffled giggle, but did her best. “Good. Now I put both my hands lightly round yours, avoiding the thumb. There’s no need to stick it up like a claw, because I’m trained to avoid it.”

    “Mm,” said Dohra, very red. “I see, thumbs are for ladies to touch.”

    “Yes. But on very formal occasions,” said the Captain, a twinkle in his slanted deep gold eyes, “I might do it rather differently!”

    The unsuspecting Dohra held out her rather chapped little paw again, the thumb a little raised, the wrist limp. The Friyrian’s long turquoise hands closed gently round it and he bowed over it, just brushing the thumb with his lips.

    “Oh!” cried Dohra, snatching her hand away.

    He tinkled gently. “Isn’t there a very similar humanoid custom?”

    “No! Oh,” she said numbly. “Hand kissing. I’ve never seen it, I think it’s a diplo thing. We don't do it on C’T’rea.”

    “I’ve only met two C’T’rean ladies, but they certainly—er, encouraged the practice.”

    “I just bet they did!” said Dohra fiercely. “I bet they had a huge palace with an enormous garden and—and two silver Doodra Muh-Myhillias each!” 

 

    “I think you mean Moodra Dyhillias.”

    “Probably. I’ve never seen one. My brother, J’nno, he’s interested in that sort of space garbage,” said Dohra on a scornful note.

    “I’ve got a Moodra,” said Captain Ccrainchzzyllia meekly. “Coincidentally, silver, too.”

    “Everybody knows that!” replied his cook fiercely.

    The Captain shook slightly. Muffled tinkles escaped him.

    “Go on, laugh!” said Dohra fiercely. “You’re all the same!” Suddenly she realised what she’d just said. She clapped her hand to her mouth.

    “Well, yes: it goes with the chromosomes,” he said drily.

    Dohra bit her lip. “I’m sorry: that was rude.”

    “Rude but true,” he murmured. “Shall we forget it? I won't kiss your thumb again if you dislike it, but please rest assured of my family’s eternal gratitude.”

    “Thank you,” said Dohra faintly. “What—what shall I do, please?”

    “Just come to me when you’re ready to go on leave—in two IG days, isn't it?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    Yeoman! he sent sharply. Dohra had picked him up quite clearly: after a moment she realised he must have meant her to.

    Yeoman Whfflgrinnyllea shot in at the double. “Sir!”

    “Escort Chef W’t back to the galley, please.”

    “Yessir!” Whfflgrinnyllea wheeled about and held the door for her.

    “Thank you, Chef W’t,” said the Captain.

    “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Dohra limply. “Thank you, Yeoman Whfflgrinnyllea," she added, going out.

    Numbly she tottered down the companionway, not realising for quite a while that the yeoman was accompanying her. She stopped. “You don’t really have to come with me,” she said weakly.

    “’Course I do, Chef! Been ordered to, ain’t I? Whadd’e want?” he added curiously.

    “Never mind. Just a private matter,” said Dohra with dignity. She hurried on.

    “Go on, you can tell me!” he urged.

    Dohra stopped again and looked him firmly in the eye. “No, I can't.”

    “Like that, is it? Well, I won't breathe a word, Chef!” He gave a dirty tinkle, the imitation humanoid smirk well in place.

    She took a deep breath. “Yeoman Whfflgrinnyllea, you’re mistaken!”

    “Tell me it never entered is ’ead and I'll go to Mullgon’ya and commit meself!”

    “It didn’t!” she snapped.

    “Well, that's a lie, for a start,” said the yeoman cheerfully. “But you can think what you like, his ain't ’alf as big as what mine is, and if you ain't already found that out for yourself, you will soon enough!”

    “I can tell you this much,” said Dohra furiously, “he never tried to show me his one like you did, you rude thing!”

    He tinkled coarsely again. “That’s a real clear picture you're sending of it, if ’e didn't!”

    “I am NOT!” shouted Dohra furiously. “And a man can’t help that!”

    “No, and you wouldn’t ’alf mind. All right, ’e’s a man and a ’alf, I'll admit that.”

    “And I bet it’s not bright blue!” shouted Dohra. Tears of rage began to trickle down her cheeks.

    “No need to get in a state,” said Whfflgrinnyllea in alarm. “’Tisn’t actually, no, it’s a nice deep turquoise, like all the lordship class. Well, I seen him getting dressed, whatcher think? Anyway, it’s nothing to bawl about.”

    “No! Besides, he wuh-wouldn't, I’m only a cuh-cook!”

    “Uh—yeah. Have a senso-tissue.”

    “Thanks,” said Dohra sniffing hard and blowing her nose. She walked on slowly. The yeoman accompanied her silently.

    Once they’d reached the galley he perched on a stool and asked: “Did he ask yer: that it?”

    “No,” said Dohra tightly.

    “Well, if he didn't ask yer and he didn’t show it to yer, what’s the matter?”

    “Nothing’s the matter except you being rude, and GO AWAY! Or I’ll tell him!” she added, suddenly inspired.

    The yeoman’s faded turquoise cheeks went greyish and he got up quickly. “You wouldn’t, Chef! ’Ere, no ’arm meant, eh?” He edged towards the door. “The Captain wouldn’t try nothing on, I know that! Just a bit of fun, eh?”

    “Get out,” said Dohra grimly. She picked up a ladle.

    “I’m going! ’Ere, you wouldn’t really tell on me, would ya?”

    “Get OUT!” shouted Dohra furiously, hurling the ladle.

    The yeoman slid out, the door slid shut, and the ladle hit it with a clang.

    Dohra sat down all of a heap. “Help! I’m turning into Chef hoopnD!” she croaked. 

 

    The mammalian humanoid paused for breath, to the accompaniment of a puzzled silence.

    Little tubes, mused Forty-Four.

    Yes, agreed BrTl. They seem to think they’re very important, don’t they?

    Moodra Dyhillias aren’t bad at all, noted Trff.

    Don’t fancy Friyrians myself, but why make such a fuss about it? wondered blndreL.

    What happened to the brother?—What happened to the brother?—And is the turquoise sister separated?—And is the turquoise sister separated?

    I’ve got a big blue tube, too! broadcast the Flppu proudly and untruthfully. Praise the Great United Being that we’re not all on Friyria!

    Crush him, crunch him, punch him! broadcast Budg. Bad turkuz being!

    Didg got up abruptly. “Mok shit. I’ve got better things to do. Coming, Trff?”

    “No, the blobs have to simmer. And it has to keep an eye on BrTl, figuratively speaking.”

    “Don’t bother, thanks,” said BrTl heavily, as Didg stamped off, scowling.

    “It has to bother, Jhl’s gonna check up on it,” it said placidly.

    Yeah, right. He leant back in his corner. “Little tubes apart, that wasn’t at all bad, Dohra, for an introduction to a Lost Cause.”

    “Ooh, another Lost Cause!” cried the Feeny-Argyllians brightly. “What fun!”

    “Yes, it was rather like that,” admitted Dohra limply. They all seemed to have picked up a lot of stuff she hadn’t thought she'd put in. And what was the matter with Didg? She hadn't said hardly anything about—about anyone!

    “Have a glass of zhr’ee,” said blndreL kindly, “and then tell us about the being in the turban.”

    “Yes, why not?” agreed the Thwurbullerian kindly. “One glass’ll do you good.”

    And then perhaps there won’t be so much of the little tubes stuff, noted BrTl.

    Er—well, yes, one doesn't want to hear about them all the time! it agreed.

    Quite. There was a saying round the two galaxies that mammalians had only one thing on their minds. You only had to look at the scrambled mess that most of their minds consisted of to know it wasn’t true—but at this moment he felt he knew how that saying had arisen.

    So Dohra sipped her zhr’ee and—once Forty-Four had pointed out that that much n’nk salt wasn’t good for Budg and Trff had removed his impulse to eat it—went on with her story. 

 

    The second interview with the Captain was very much shorter than the first, in fact Dohra couldn’t remember anything really happening in it, except that he gave her some extra tickets and explained where she had to change for Pflaumschnau’Provia IV, where she was to meet up with the party of candidates for the Meagraw’s cluster-house—no, harem.

    The change was accomplished without incident: there was just nice time to get a maxi-galaxy shake and play one game of pongo-pongo while she drank it, so whoever had ticketed her through was a very efficient being—and soon she was in the spaceport of Pflaumschnau’Provia IV!

    There was no problem meeting up with the others because as she came down the tunnel from the ferry she saw, in amongst all the other flashing message-blobs, a big one which read “W’T, DOHRA B’JN! HERE, HERE, HERE!” And as soon as she came up to it, it told her: Collect your baggage and go through IG C&E. You’ll be met: look for a being with another sign. How thoughtful! So she collected her bag and went up to the gate. The three-legged being on duty was tall, she thought it might be a Ma’manker from Morphy’s Planet. She couldn’t see much of its face because of the helmet but it looked a pretty shade of puce, so it probably was.

    “Can I go through?” she said.

    “Go through by all means. If you've got anything IG-illegal on or about you, it’s your ending-sizzle,” it replied, so it must be a Ma’manker, she’d learned about those ending-sizzles on the Encyclopaedia. They didn’t die as such: they just decided to have a nice ending-sizzle, so they got together and had one, with Ma’manker pancakes, of course. Once the being was sizzled they put the remains into a little, um, pod, she thought, and guess what? It grew again! That had been a very interesting Encyclopaedia entry—

    “I can see what you’re thinking, humanoid,” it warned. “And you’re not gonna get the recipe for our pancakes! But if you’re that interested, come to Morphy’s Planet next Galaxy Day: there’s a creased one that’s decided to go off with a real big sizzle. There’ll be free pancakes for every being. Koo’per City, Block 692, Level 84, Slot 840002,” it said, handing her a little blob. “It’s in the blob.”

    “Oh!” gasped Dohra. “Thank you so much! I’ll do my best to be there! Um, could I possibly bring my little brother, too?”

    “Sure, all pancake-eaters welcome,” it said. “Go through, W’t, Dohra B’Jn.”

    Beaming, Dohra went through the gate. It tickled like anything so, not to be anything-ist, maybe it was a Special Offer gate.

    “Thank you, Gate,” she said.

    You’re welcome. Have a nice day.

    Dohra looked round carefully. There were several beings with signs, but none with her name or anything about candidates for Gr’mmeaya or like that. There was nowhere to sit, so she just put her bag down and prepared to wait. Three servo-mechs asked if she wanted a porter and several beings came up and offered her tours of the city or even the whole planet but she just said politely: “No, thank you very much, I’m being met,” and they went away again.

    And then a panting short, fat, pale grey being rushed up. He had three blobby arms and three fat legs and he was very smartly dressed, with one of those distinctive little round hats with a bobble on it, so although she’d never seen one in the flesh before, she knew he was a lorpoid. “Are you W’t, Dohra B’Jn?” he gasped.

    Dohra was just about to say she was: then she thought better of it. After all, maybe he could read her name. “Why?” she said.

    “What? Oh!” He tried to snap his fingers but they were rather fat so it didn't work. She could hear him sending SENSO-TISSUES! very loudly and so she quickly opened her purse and a bunch floated out for him.

     “Thanks so much, polly-lolly!” he gasped, mopping his brow. “The public bubbles here are frightful! It swore it’d get us here in time—and I don’t know where the polly-lollies are, I just rushed on ahead!” He looked round wildly.

    He seemed pretty genuine, so after a moment Dohra said: “You wouldn’t have a message-sign for me, would you?”

    “What? Oh! Sorry, polly-lolly!” He fumbled in one of his many smart pockets—the suit was dark grey with a deep orange trim, and the little lorpoid hat was also dark grey, with an orange bobble, very smart—and produced a blob which flashed up a big sign: “W’T, DOHRA B’JN, FOR GR’MMEAYA! HERE, HERE, HERE!”

    “Yes that’s me,” said Dohra in some relief.

    “Of course it is, polly-lolly! Very pretty,” he said, blinking his three bulgy round eyes quickly at her. “We haven’t got a yellow curly one. But that horrid garment won’t do, polly-lolly!”

    “Um, I haven’t got many dresses,” she said, realising belatedly that “polly-lolly” must be what he called girls—well, possibly specially girls that wanted to be a Meagraw’s Pleasure Girls—and wondering why she hadn't been given any by—by someone, she couldn’t for the life of her think who.

    “Here they come!” said the lorpoid as a gaggle of panting girls appeared.

    “Aren’t they pretty!” cried Dohra admiringly.

    Indeed they were. There were seven of them, with Dohra that made eight, and they were due to collect two more tomorrow morning, the lorpoid explained, mopping his brow again. Six of them were humanoid, five being Human var. Official like her, and one being Human var. Gilled. She had a bluish tinge to her pale skin, with blue-painted lips, silver-green eyeshadow, and tiny glittering drops outlining her eyebrows; more of these tiny drops appeared at her hairline, and the hair, which was drawn tightly back off her face and then curled and twisted fantastically, was deliciously variegated shades of pale green and pale blue with silver streaks in amongst them.

    “Qwolla, isn't she delightful?” beamed the lorpoid, putting an arm round her waist and giving her a squeeze. Easy to do: the waist was very slender, though what was above and below it, especially above, wasn’t. She was dressed in a tight silver clingo-suit delicately patterned with more of the sparkling drops and Dohra looked at her with simple admiration. 

 

    “Now let me see: Janna and Panna—well, they’re in there with a chance if the Meagraw likes twins, polly-lollies!” Two red-haired girls with turned-up noses, wide, square-jawed faces, and cheeky expressions grinned at Dohra. They were very alike—the matching outfits, short gold jackets and very short, tight gold pants that showed most of their mammalian thighs above knee-length jade green boots accentuating the likeness—but, thought Dohra, not identical twins. The long red hair was worn drawn back off the face and then draped over one shoulder in a big fat plait wound with gold ribbon, the end allowed to frizz and curl madly just above the point of the breast. An effect which Dohra rather thought was deliberate. Janna’s plait was over her left shoulder and Panna’s was over her right, so they were certainly a striking sight. Their wide eyes were a bright jade green, like their boots, with the whites colourised gold, but Dohra had seen the sim-ads for that effect, so she knew they’d had it done.

    “She can see we’re not twins, Jojo, so don’t bother, and while you’re at it, why don’t you introduce yourself?” said Janna cheerfully.

    “Oops, sorry, polly-lolly. What with the rush!” he apologised to Dohra. “Ro-ann Ishurbitawillally doj Jorannivanorffwyallo’, but all the polly-lollies call me Jojo.”

    “Yes, um, is that all right?” fumbled Dohra.

    “Of course, polly-lolly, we don’t want to be here till Federation Day! Where was I? Oops, I haven’t introduced you! This is Dohra, polly-lollies, she’s been a cook, if you can believe it.”

    “No wonder you want to try out for the Meagraw’s hareem!” cried one of the other humanoids sympathetically.

    “Um, yes,” said Dohra in confusion. Why did she want to? She was sure there must be some good reason, but she couldn’t think of it! She smiled at the girl. She was short, only about Dohra’s own height, and very slim, with long, thick, straight, and very shiny black hair, falling to mid-thigh in a glorious shiny flood, and slanted black, very sparkling eyes. She smiled back, showing little opalescent teeth within a deep cherry, deliciously curved mouth. Her skin was a dark golden shade, the cheeks just delicately tinged with apricot. If the Meagraw of Gr’mmeaya didn’t pick her, he was due for Mullgon’ya! The slim figure was ornamented by very pointed little breasts, perfectly outlined, actually too perfectly for C’T’rean tastes, by the clinging long-sleeved, full-length dress in the same deep cherry as those perfect pouting lips.

    “This is Seetrabandlaubwau’unereean,” explained Jojo, putting a second arm round her waist. “But the polly-lollies call her See.”

    “Yeah, call me See,” she said in a rough, scratchy voice that assorted very ill with her dainty appearance. Dohra blinked.

    “Too many chemo-blobs,” said Jojo with a sigh. “I have to admit, polly-lollies, the voice spoils the effect.”

    “They keep me sane,” said See composedly, withdrawing one from her garment—Dohra swallowed: as she moved it was apparent the front of the dress was slit from the high collar right down to the tiny waist—and sniffing at it. As she did so the deep cherry, white-spotted orchid behind her left ear that was her only ornament besides the gold-painted nails moved gently. Dohra gaped at it. Occasionally the tourist ladies on the A-Class decks wore one of those to dinner when they were invited to the Captain’s table—she’d only seen them because Steward M’Df, Pt J’n, a C’T’rean like herself, had kindly let her look through the peephole from the serving-room. Unfortunately the Captain himself was completely blocked off by an ornate pillar, but there was a good view of the ladies. Different ladies at each sitting, they all had to have a turn or there were tantrums at Chief Purser ailgardY’s office and complaints to Head Office of the Line.

    “Nah, ’s’not an ackshuall Phang-Phangian senso-orchid,” said See regretfully to her thought. “’S’got a blob. But it’s good, eh?” 

 

    “It’s lovely, See!” agreed Dohra sincerely.

    She smirked complacently. “Yeah; I got it at Rashwallah’s, the Marrijullanabhad branch on Huyajhangwania,” she said on a careless note.

    “As a matter of fact she got most of it there,” explained Jojo, “but what being’s complaining? It’s the effect that matters, and a girl has to make the best of herself, doesn’t she, polly-lollies? Come on, now, Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All, don’t hang back!”

    Dohra waited for someone to say they called her something else for short, but no-one did. “Hullo, Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All,” she said to the tall, voluptuous, brown-haired girl. She had a dark brown skin, an oval face with a long, straight nose, a wide, sulky mouth tinted scarlet, and huge dark brown eyes. The glossy brown hair was wound up in a high, elaborate style. Her dress was fascinating: Dohra had never seen anything quite like it. Underneath it seemed to be a clingo-suit of white, um, something gauzy: the skin showed through; and the outer layer was a flowing web of white meshes with brightly coloured artificial flowers scattered on it here and there, at more or less strategic places, but it was very apparent that her pubic hair had been dyed bright blue and shaped into a heart configuration. Her open-toed sandals were the exact same shade of blue—it could hardly be coincidence—and she wore a great many sparkling toe-rings. She avoided the lorpoid’s third arm and said sourly to Dohra in a deep, very musical voice: “Don’t imagine you’ll stand a chance with me in the running.”

    “Nonsense, polly-lollies, everyone stands a chance, and with a bit of luck he’ll take all of you!” cried Jojo brightly. “Now, Dohra, you must meet my two prize exhibits!”—Dohra winced, but none of the girls seemed to mind being called exhibits.—“This is Josh’ryn oog pMeemeetee, and I say it as shouldn’t, but she is a princess back home on bMeemeetee. –A bit shy, polly-lolly,” he added to Dohra in what he might have imagined was a lowered voice. He used his third arm to draw her forward. “Call her Josh’ryn, polly-lolly, no ceremony here!”

    Dohra smiled uncertainly: “Hullo, Josh’ryn, it’s lovely to meet you.”

    Shyly Josh’ryn raised her extraordinary face and replied timidly in a little bell-like voice: “Hullo, Dohra.” Then the bright blue eyes fixed themselves on the floor again.

    Jojo must have picked up Dohra’s emanations because he explained quickly: “She is humanoid, polly-lolly, but quite unusual, isn’t she? They’re all like that on bMeemeetee, they say it’s something to do with the sun.” 

 

    Dohra nodded numbly. They saw lots of humanoid varieties and sub-varieties on Silver-Ash Flyer, because of course Playfair One was the most popular tourist venue in the two galaxies, and Belraynia, for those who could afford it, ran it a close second, but she’d never seen one of these! Josh’ryn’s skin was a bright pink. A very pretty shade, yes, but very unexpected: where Dohra’s own pale skin looked a bit pinkish, Josh’ryn’s was pink pink. About the colour of the Novatroonian watermelon flesh that figured largely in the fruit salads and fruit platters on the ship and that P.O. Bates always complained he never got his fair share of, for the greedy passengers. The small but full-lipped mouth was much darker, almost a maroon, and her cheeks were delicately blushed with a powdery white. The thick, straight hair was also white, cut in a fringe across her wide forehead and falling in two heavy plaits over her shoulders to mid-thigh, the ends linked by a wide bar of gold.

    Unlike the other girls she was not dressed in figure-hugging, revealing garments. She seemed to be wearing layers of what at home on C’T’rea would have been dressing-gowns, garments strongly recommended for all nice girls by Dohra’s late Gran, who had in fact given her one for every Galaxy Day until she’d died.

    Josh’ryn’s dressing-gowns, however, were much nicer than Dohra’s had ever been. The innermost one, that just peeped at the vee-neck and again at the toes, was a bright apple green, possibly mn-mn silk. Next was a darkly patterned one, maroon on navy blue. A bit more of this one showed. Then came a white quilted one in a satin fabric, scattered with tiny coloured flowers, very pretty. Quite a bit of it showed at the neck, and there was about a hand’s-span visible above Josh’ryn’s feet and also at her wrists. Over it the top dressing-gown was plain white: also quilted, but not in simple lozenges like the other: in elaborate whirls and circles. Its sleeves featured enormous cuffs turned back to the elbows. A wide sash of heavy white satin edged with a gold and brown striped stuff was tied in a big sort of bunched bow at the front. If anything had been needed besides the layered dressing-gowns to obscure what sort of figure the girl had, this sash would have done it. The bright shades of the coloured flowers of the under-garment were picked up in the elaborate head-dress of heavy, matte gold curlicues ornamented with flower shapes in coloured stones. Heavy earrings, also in gold, dangled great drops of a dark blue stone almost to the shoulders of the top dressing-gown. Showing beneath the layers of hems were white quilted boots with thick maroon soles. Dohra didn’t really need Jojo’s assurance that this was traditional bMeemeetee costume.

    The seventh member of the group wasn’t humanoid, she was a Nblyterian, and she’d been standing by watching the rest of them sardonically. “Hi, Dohra,” she drawled. “I'm wondreL. Glad to meet you.”

    “Nblyterian,” said Jojo in a lowered voice. “Oh, you know them!” he discovered in relief. “Yes, well, wondreL’s been a marvellous help in keeping the polly-lollies in line.”

    She must have been, yes. She was tall, more than an IG fluh taller than Dohra herself, and positively towered over the rotund Jojo. Her crest was a very bright lime green, and instead of the usual Nblyterian yellowish shade with a bit of green in it, her skin was a light lime. Traditional Nblyterian female dress consisted of strips of stuff wound round the body at intervals, giving the impression that they had been torn haphazardly, though Dohra knew from the Nblyterians on the Silver-Ash Flyer that the effect was deliberate. The sardonic-eyed wondreL was wearing a sort of abbreviated version of it, in a screaming metallic purple that certainly looked its brightest against the lime skin. The Nblyterian sandals, open-toed with the straps wound up the legs almost to the knees, were also bright purple. She put her hands on her hips and grinned at Dohra. “Like it? Had it done at Sh-Rn’s Quog Cave in Hinnover City.”

    Dohra nodded dazedly: Chief Purser ailgardY uw noouweL herself had taken her round the Belraynian capital city and shown her the outside of that beauty parlour, specifically warning her against its prices and the beings that infested it, her word, and called themselves beauticians.

    “When she makes up her mind to do a thing she does it properly!” said Jojo proudly.

    Dohra nodded. Yes, wondreL had done it properly, even to the bright purple stone in the mammalian navel and the fluorescent lime-green fingernails and toenails, which actually looked as if they’d grown that way naturally.

    “Doesn’t look like a tint at all, does it?” said wondreL proudly, holding out a hand.

    “No, it doesn’t, it’s galaxious,” said Dohra quite honestly.

    “Of course it is!” cried Jojo loudly. “You all are, polly-lollies!” 

 

    Ignoring the glares from Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All, See, and the twins, he added: “Now come on, back to the hotel, and first one that believes a word of a public bubble’s claims about anything is a Friyrian lordship with his gill-collar on!”

    He’d taken a suite at a pleasant Business-Class hotel which, judging by its lobby, was full of tired business-beings in transit who wouldn’t have half minded a Pleasure Girl to cheer up their evening on Pflaumschnau’Provia IV. He bustled them onto the lift-blob, loftily ignoring the offers being made. The suite was very comfortable, though they had to share the large lorpoid-style round beds.

    Polly-lollies needed their beauty sleep, so they would not go out to eat, and Jojo firmly ordered from the Room Service menu for all of them. It was lorpoid-style food, though quite suited to the humanoid and Nblyterian metabolisms: there was much giggling over the little pickers which were provided instead of forks, but most of them were soon happily trying the little cubes of fried fish and mato-meat, raw squid, assorted raw and fried vegetables, and raw Pflaumschnau’Provia sea-jelly. All of the little cubes were exactly the same size: Dohra wouldn’t have half minded seeing the culture-pan that had produced those!

    Only Jojo and Qwolla could face the sea-jelly: it was the consistency of stiff agar-agar, but very salty.

 

    Most of the girls, in spite of some references to figures, ate heartily; but Josh’ryn just there staring at her plate with an expression of dismay on her lovely pink face.

    Dohra was sitting beside her; she said in a low voice: “What’s the matter, Josh’ryn?”

    “Is—is this food?” the little bell-like voice asked timidly.

    “Yes; it’s very nice. Very nourishing. But that stuff”—she pointed with her picker to the semitransparent bluish sea-jelly cubes—“is very salty: you might not like it.”

    “But… Where’s the meat?” she said in a tiny, tiny voice.

    Oh, help! “Um, well, this is lorpoid food. They don’t eat meat, they eat fish instead.”

    “What’s that?”

    Great steaming Vvlvanian magma pits! How in the two galaxies could she explain? “Um, haven't you got any, um, oceans or lakes on your world?”

    Josh’ryn said nothing for a few moments. Then she said: “I’m not sure what you mean.”

    “Well, um, like on C’T’rea we’ve got land, that’s where we build our dwellings.”

    “Yes.”

    “Um, but as well as land, we’ve got oceans, that’s, um, lots and lots of salty water, very deep. Like where the land ends, it’s the ocean. Or you can call it the sea.”

    “The land doesn't end on bMeemeetee,” said the tiny bewildered voice.

    Right. Goddit. Dohra took a deep breath. “I see. Then of course you wouldn’t know fish! Um, well, some worlds have got lots and lots of water, very deep, it stretches for as far as you can see, and the fish, they like, um, they live in it. They’re like meat animals from the water, geddit? Instead of from the land.”

    “So this is fish?” she said dubiously. “It’s very square.”

    “No, it doesn’t come like this naturally!” said Dohra quickly. “All of this has been cut up—look, this is a vegetable: see, it’s just a Bluellian squash!” she said desperately, picking out a cube from her own plate and holding it up. “All cut up. Lorpoids like their food to look very neat and tidy, that’s all.”

    “We have sour-squash on bMeemeetee,” she said dubiously.

    “Well, there you are!” Dohra encouraged her.

    “Yes. So which is fish?”

    “That, and that. But that stuff’s just kind of, um, reconstituted vegetable stuff,” she said, waving her picker at Joshryn’s mato-meat.

    “I see now. Thank you, Dohra.” Dohra sagged in relief—too soon, because she added: “But who will taste it for me?”

    “Tuh—Oh, Asteroids of Hhum! I've only seen that on the off-world Romances! You really are a princess, aren’t you? Haven’t you had a meal with the others yet, either?”

    “No. I got here this afternoon, Father’s PlayWay Reonia Number Fifteen dropped me off.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she dabbed it away with the sleeve of her dressing-gown. “He needs the money for me,” she said dolefully.

    Cringing, Dohra replied quickly: “Yes, well, never mind that now. They tell me that everything’s completely luxurious and lovely at the Meagraw’s palace. This food is all perfectly okay: look, all the other girls are eating it, and we’re all mammalians like you! Fish tastes different from meat but it’s got that sort of um, consistency. Try a bit.”

    Dubiously Josh’ryn tried a bit. She choked, coughed it into her hand and gasped: “It’s bad!”

    Right, that was it, thought Dohra grimly: there was no reason the poor little thing shouldn’t at least have a meal she could eat: it was bad enough being sold by your father—and what sort of being must he be, whoever heard of—On second thoughts she could just see plasmo-blasted Gramps doing exactly that if it came down to a choice between him and J’nno. She got up and went over to Jojo. “Jojo, the food’s delicious, but Josh’ryn can’t eat it, she comes from a world where there’s no fish at all. Or mato-meat,” she added firmly.

    “But polly-lolly, a being isn’t made of igs!” He must have picked up an emanation or two because he added quickly: “Oh, very well, we do want her to look her best, after all. Order her something from the menu, Dohra, polly-lolly, but do me a favour and watch the igs, will you?” He handed her the menu-blob and Dohra returned triumphantly to her seat beside Josh’ryn.

    “We’re gonna choose you something else instead. Tell me what meat you’d like.”

    Josh’ryn would like fricasseed e’chpowee or a small e’kmpommee steak or stewed e’mwongee. Yeah, well. Dohra began to eat her dinner with the picker held in her right hand while she pointed at the menu’s pictures with her left hand and ascertained that it wasn’t that or that or— Finally Josh’ryn admitted that the picture of sliced grpplybeast fillet steak with Whtyllian pepper sauce looked a bit like e’kmpommee steak. Dohra was about to order her that with a green salad but just in time thought to ask what colour were the vegetables on bMeemeetee? Dark blue—probably be the same muck in the sun that turned humanoid skins watermelon pink, thought Dohra uncharitably—and the sour-squash was white. That cut out every vegetable on offer except for Whtyllian blue kale, which was revolting: they’d almost had a mutiny the time the Purser’s Office had got a Special Offer load of that and she’d been ordered to serve it up to the crew, or New Rthfrdian bolos, more accurately dirt-bolos, which were about as putrid as their name. Tasteless. The New Rthfrdians liked them fried, as chips: they tasted like fried nothing, you had to load them with salt to make them palatable, and why any being would choose them over yam chips—! But yams in Dohra’s experience were either bright orange or deep puce or bright pink—rather the shade Josh’ryn was—so they were out. She ordered her a sustaining dinner of plain grpplybeast fillet steak, steamed Whtyllian blue kale and boiled New Rthfrdian bolos. 

 

    Boiled bolos? echoed the menu-blob, sounding as if it was going to expire on the spot.

    “Yes. You could put some Whtyllian cows’ butter on the side,” said Dohra, regardless of Jojo’s bill—well, he was going to make a fortune if he sold even one of them to the Meagraw, she was in no doubt of that—“but please don’t put it on the bolos.” She sat back limply. “It’ll be here in a few IG minutes.”

    “Thank you, Dohra,” said Josh’ryn timidly.

    “That’s all right,” said Dohra, seizing her glass of spring water and drinking it off thirstily. She noticed Josh’ryn watching her wistfully and glancing at her own glass. Oh, why not? “Spring water. Ya wamme to taste it, eh?” Josh’ryn nodded. Dohra picked up her glass and gulped a bit down. “Mm, ’licious!” she said cheerfully. “Hey, and I’m not dead yet!”

    Suddenly Josh’ryn gave a little clear laugh. “No being ever is!” She picked up the glass and drank thirstily.

    When her food arrived Dohra tasted it just to make her feel at home—well, and also because the lorpoid diet was delicious but not all that filling, when you’d been travelling all day. The blue kale was revolting, the bolos were bolos, though the butter was excellent, and the steak was really good. She watched in terrific relief as Josh’ryn ate it all up. Even the butter, which she spread on the meat. Oh, well, whatever blobbed you up!

    “Dohra?”

    “Mm?” said Dohra through a mouthful of cubes of caramel fudge.

    “Do you think the Meagraw of Gr’mmeaya might have that delicious kale vegetable at his palace?”

    Only if the being was ready for Mullgon’ya! Choose Whtyllian blue kale when you could have anything in the Known Universe? “Sure to!” she said cheerfully. “It’s a lordship thing, isn't? Must be, it comes from Whtyll!”

    Josh’ryn smiled happily.

    “Eat ya pudding,” ordered Dohra firmly. “Every being likes caramel fudge, even cut up into cubes.”

    Meekly Josh’ryn ate her pudding.

    After dinner they spent an IG hour watching the Services—the other girls, except for Josh’ryn, all wanted a Romance that Dohra had never seen, The Continuing Story of Princess Ma’Bella of New Galaxia (or, No Such Place), followed by Intergalactic Wrestling, perhaps they didn’t know that those were all cloned beings, cultured to do that—and then Jojo ordered them all firmly off to bed. Dohra, wondreL and Josh’ryn had to share one of the big beds but to her tremendous relief, instead of crying once the light-blobs were out, as she’d feared, Josh’ryn fell asleep immediately. So did wondreL, flat on her back, snoring. Dohra sighed and closed her eyes, wondering muzzily what in Federation she was doing here…

    There was plenty of time next morning to find something decent for Dohra to wear, so Jojo took her firmly down to the boutiques on the ground floor of the hotel and found something. It was a soft, dusky blue, it was clinging, it was long and apart from the fact that it wasn't, thank the Federation, slit to the waist at the front, it was a dead ringer for See’s cherry-red dress. It was the loveliest dress—and incidentally the most grown-up—that she’d ever had. When she came into the suite wearing it See clapped her hands and cried: “Galaxious!” so her nature must be as pretty as her face, Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All scowled horribly, better than a compliment, really, wondreL said frankly: “Thank the Federation! What an improvement!” and the twins, likewise, cried: “That’s better!”—so that Durocloth coverall must have looked pretty bad even though she’d worn her own big pink belt with it. And Qwolla smiled her lovely smile and said: “Oh, very pretty, Dohra!” Josh’ryn, however, looked very dubious.

    “Don't you like it?” said Dohra with a laugh, spinning in front of her to show it off.

    “It’s wonderful, Dohra, but you don't look like you,” said the little bell-like voice.

    Actually it had struck Dohra, as she was trying it on, that she looked more like Mum than herself, so she took the little pink hand firmly and said: “I’m still me underneath.”

    “Yes,” said Josh’ryn in relief. “So you are.”

    And with that, polly-lollies, they all had to bundle into a bubble and rush out to the spaceport to meet the last two! And then it would be ho! for Gr’mmeaya!

    They were in plenty of time to meet S’draa, the girl who was coming from Plouervangornia, so most of the girls decided they’d go and relax in the bar, leaving Jojo, Dohra and Josh’ryn to meet S’draa. And off they went, wondreL promising firmly to see that no-one drank too much.

    “Here they come!” said Jojo at last, as the blob-sign above the gate lit up with the message: “Plouervangornia TRP001238 DISEMBARKING.” “And let’s hope she isn’t fat!”

    Why should she be fat? Dohra and Josh’ryn only had time to exchange puzzled glances before they saw why. Those must be Plouervangornians—help.

    “Yes, well, it’s the metabolism,” said the rotund Jojo.

    “Yes, of course,” agreed Dohra quickly.

    “But the diet doesn’t help,” he added.

    “I see.”

    They waited…

    “There’s a girl!” squeaked Josh’ryn, as she swished past them, her striped wtmyrian cloak swinging. 

 

    “No, dear, that’s a female business-being,” said Jojo firmly “And Federation preserve me from the likes of it! At least my bond-partners both stay home and leave me to run the business! No, well, G’wijjy, that’s the senior, she’s always nagging me to bring one of you home, but as I keep telling her, that wouldn't be economic, polly, and frankly, what do we need with a Pleasure Girl? Pau’rojjy, that’s the junior, she thinks we might train one to oversee the tidy-blobs, given time, but all she’s capable of is depositing the egglets, and frankly, polly-lollies, she’s not too good at that!”

    The two girls blinked as they got a strong picture of what he meant. Josh’ryn was broadcasting dazedly: Isn’t she thin?

    “Lorpoid females are,” said the plump Jojo complacently. “It’s us males that’ve got the tiresome job of incubating the egglets in the flap,”—he patted his tummy: the girls nodded, their eyes very round—“not to say, producing the male cream to start them off in the first place, and if you think that’s a sinecure, you ought to try it, that’s all I can say! And as for feeding the lorpies while they’re in the flap—exhausting! You better believe it!”

    “I see: it’s a bit like marsupials,” said Dohra.

    “Marsupials!” he said with a scornful whistling noise. “Those beings never had it so good! They’ve got their females trained to stay at home and do all the incubating and feeding!”

    “It must be very tiring for you, especially when you have to work so hard,” she said kindly.

    “It is, polly-lolly, it is, and now G’wijjy, would you believe it, is agitating for another lot. I said to her: ‘No—way, polly!’ Six is enough: two threes, see? Very nice! But she’s afraid Pau’rojjy might go for a nine next time.”

    “How many did she have last time?” ventured Josh’ryn.

    “Only three,” he said heavily. “Got no notion of the meaning of the phrase ‘Getting it over with in one litter,’ that female.”

    “Um, so that makes nine altogether?” said Dohra.

    “Yes, a nice round figure, and that’s enough!” he said firmly. “They’re eating us out of house and home, as it is!” He sent them a vivid picture of a bunch of small lorpoids, some plump, some thin, playing outside a dear little neat lorpoid house, built low to the ground, with curved roofs and walls all in one, and set in a pretty garden that featured a series of pools.

    “See the water?” said Dohra in a low voice to Josh’ryn.

    “Yes; is that the oceans?”

    “No, just small pools.”

    “Fish pools,” said Jojo, smirking. “I say it as shouldn’t, but you know you’ve made it when you can afford a house with three fish pools!”

    “The fish live in the water!” cried Josh’ryn, as one of the lorpies bent over and splashed in a pool with two of his fat arms and a thin older lorpoid came running out of the house and snatched him away.

    “That’s right, polly-lolly,” he said kindly. “–That was G’wijjy’s idea of keeping a couple of eyes on them, if you can believe it.” They were looking at him in horror. “Lorpies swim like fish,” he admitted. “But wet clothes, and probably nose-colds as well—!”

    “We get those,” admitted Dohra. “There is an Oononian chemo-blob you can take, but it doesn’t work too well.”

    “Tell us about it, polly-lolly! –Ah! Let’s hope this is her!” He held up his blob-sign. “MR’GN, S’DRAA, FOR GR’MMEAYA! HERE, HERE, HERE!” The elegant blonde girl in the checked wtmyrian cloak glanced at it indifferently and swept on past. “Well, bother! Where is she?”

    “There’s lots more coming off,” said Josh’ryn kindly.

    “Yes, but polly-lolly, none of them are girls!”

    This was true. They waited…

    “If this isn’t her, I'm a turquoise Guess What with his gill-collar on!” said Jojo at last.

    It was a tall, black-skinned, black-haired girl, draped in a cloak of spotted wtmyrians, leaning on the arm of a Plouervangornian with “tired business-being” written all over him. “Was she supposed to be with some being?” asked Dohra.

    “On the contrary, polly-lolly! Strictest instructions not to get off with no being!” said Jojo  crossly. He waggled his blob-sign.

    The tall girl was seen to kiss the plump business-being affectionately on the blobby ear—Jojo gave a muffled whistle—and accept something from his plump appendage. She wiggled over towards them slowly on amazingly high orange platform-soled shoes. “I'm S’draa! Be through the gate in two IG microseconds!” she cooed.

    “If that cloak’s paid for,” muttered Jojo. They waited…

    “Here she comes!” said Dohra in relief as the gate disgorged a giggling, wriggling S’draa. “It must be one of those tickly gates.”

    S’draa wiggled up to them—it wasn’t just the shoes, she was definitely doing something with her hips as well. “Hi, there.” She smiled at them and stroked her wtmyrians.

    “Ugh, it moved!” gasped Josh’ryn, backing off.

    “They, polly-lolly, they,” corrected Jojo heavily. “Tell her about wtmyrians some time, Dohra, polly-lolly,” he added heavily, “only spare me if you can! Now, this is S’draa, of course, lovely to see you at last, polly-lolly,” he added on an acid note: she and the business-being had been almost the last off and the gate was now closed—“and this is Dohra and Josh’ryn.”

    “Pink, eh? Effective,” owned S’draa, nodding at Josh’ryn. “Got any snuhl, lorpoid?”

    “No!” he said crossly. “Any girl caught taking snuhl gets left behind, it's illegal on Gr’mmeaya! And do not even mention the word ‘klupf’! And it’s Jojo to you.”

    She shrugged. “Right: Jojo. Is this gonna be worth my time?”

    “That depends on what you got off that business-being, doesn’t it, polly-lolly?” he retorted acidly.

    “Five super-igs,” she said casually.

    “Do not ask what she did for that!” Jojo warned the other girls crossly. “What do you want to be in the Meagraw’s hareem for, if you’re earning that sort of igs?”

    “Thought it’d be a nice rest. I deserve to take it easy, been doing this for—Never mind.” 

 

    Jojo blinked his three round bulgy eyes at her. “Done,” he said under his breath. “You do realise the Meagraw might chuck you out if you can’t produce egglets for him? Uh—what do you call them, again, Dohra, polly-lolly?” he added, endeavouring to snap his fat fingers.

    “Babies,” said Dohra limply, taking another look at S’draa’s perfectly modelled features and superbly contoured form.

    “Huh!” snorted S’draa. “Well, let him chuck me out, I’ll of had a bit of a break.”

    It was now pretty clear that this was her aim. Wondering how old she really was, Dohra picked up one of her bags for her—they were spotted to match the cloak but only made of lubolyon—only to be told loftily to give that to a servo-mech. And Jojo, Dohra, Josh’ryn, S’draa and the servo-mech went off to the bar.

    It was hate at first sight between Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All and S’draa. Perhaps this might have been expected: the tall, striking-looking S’draa was the only other dark-skinned candidate and thus inevitably a rival. Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All looked her up and down with a sneer, especially the spotted cloak. “Spoils of long-past victories?” she drawled, raising her perfectly curved eyebrows.

    In return S’draa looked hard at the bright blue pubic heart and cooed: “Some of us can afford not to be obvious, love.”

    Hastily Jojo intervened with introductions, and they all sat back with drinks. Josh’ryn hadn't recognised anything listed by the servo-mech so Dohra had simply ordered her a maxi-galaxy shake, caramel-flavoured, since she’d seemed to like last night’s pudding. Then she had to show her how to use the phthyffia straw but she'd pretty well expected that. “Nice?”

    “Galaxious!” gasped Josh’ryn, looking up from it with a beaming smile.

    “Good.”

    And after Jojo had refused flatly to let S’draa drink a third shot of qwlot, and threatened the twins with all sorts of dire penalties if they ate any more jing-jing nuts—guaranteed to give a humanoid polly-lolly spots, polly-lollies!—it was time to meet the last candidate.

    “Hally Kally, but I’m not sure which is the personal name,” said Jojo, tiptoeing as he held aloft the blob-sign: “HALLY KALLY, FOR GR’MMEAYA! HERE, HERE, HERE!”

    Crowds of beings, mostly very shabbily dressed, were coming off the ship. “Itinerant workers,” explained Jojo as a mixed gaggle of gnarled and scarred beings and rusty servo-mechs passed them.

    Dohra squeezed Josh’ryn’s hand comfortingly, as the bMeemeetee girl shrank. “I haven’t seen any humanoids.”

    “No-o… Think some of those were, polly-lolly. Well, mutants.”

    “I’ll hold it up for a bit, if you like,” said Dohra kindly, as Jojo switched arms yet again on the blob-sign. Thankfully he resigned it to her.

    The crowds had cleared the gate, some Merchant Service officers in uniform had come through, two hoo-ing Meanker stewardesses had come through with some passing cheeky remarks to the IG C&E being on duty at the gate, and there was no sign of any humanoid girl!

    “Are you sure she’s humanoid, Jojo?” ventured Dohra.

    “Yes! The Meagraw only takes humanoids. Or Nblyterians, but they’re very hard to get, they don't take domination well when they’re female-tended.”

    Dohra nodded. The lime-crested wondreL had already explained to her and the wondering Josh’ryn that there wasn’t much opportunity back home on Nblyteria if you didn’t have qualifications—Dohra could certainly relate to that!—and she’d decided this was a good chance to make some igs and better herself. And the igs were going to go into an account that her grandmother was managing, Jojo wouldn’t have a hope of getting away with a thing! The picture of a Nblyterian matriarch was more than enough to convince the girls of that. Dohra had wondered what would happen if the Meagraw wanted to keep her permanently but wondreL had winked and said: “He won’t wanna do that. In the first place I won’t be able to breed for him, even with genetic manipulation, ’cos I've had it turned off, see? And in the second place, if he doesn’t get rid after the specified minimum term—only two IG years, the word is he gets bored with his hareem girls pretty quick—I’m gonna go into my male stage.”

    Jojo was just deciding crossly to give up when a depressed-looking Bdeeg appeared, leading a grimy braceleted object on a chain.

    “Surely that isn’t her?” croaked Dohra.

    “It can’t be! She’s dirty!” gasped Josh’ryn.

    “It better not be,” threatened Jojo. “Wave that sign, polly-lolly!”

    Dohra waved the sign and in return the Bdeeg produced a sign which flashed: “S-HALLY K_LLY, FOR JOJO. PAY THIS BDEE_ TEN IGS FOR DE_IVERY.”

    “What?” screeched the lorpoid indignantly. “I’m not taking delivery of that!”

    “Muh-maybe if we give her a wash?” faltered Josh’ryn.

    “I don’t think we’ll have to,” admitted Dohra as the IG C&E being stepped forward and, keeping its distance with the aid of its blaster, pointed the Bdeeg and its grubby charge in the direction of the Decontam. units.

    “I refuse to believe,” said Jojo crossly, “that even an IG C&E Decontam. unit can do anything for that—that matted being!”

    They waited…  

 

    The recycler next to the Bdeeg’s Decontam. unit emitted a loud burp and disgorged something.

    “If that was up the whistle, that’s that, polly-lollies,” predicted Jojo. “Oh, no: only the blob!” he said in relief as it lay there flashing, looking much brighter than before: “S-HALLY KALLY, FOR JOJO. PAY THIS BDEEG TEN IGS FOR DELIVERY.”

    “Is she an s-being?” asked Josh’ryn.

    “Well, within the Meaning, polly-lolly, yes, since some being’s put a bracelet on her,” he admitted. “Though not what was quoted, I do assure you!”

    They waited…

    The Bdeeg came out of its Decontam. unit. Ooh, its garment wasn’t grey at all, it was pale yellow! It picked up its blob-sign and waved it suggestively at Dohra.

    “It thinks I’m you, Jojo, you’d better have this back,” she said on a weak note, giving him his blob-sign.

    They waited.

    The recycler outside S-Hally Kally’s Decontam. unit emitted a burp and then a sort of ding-ding noise which Dohra for one had never heard from any recycler ever, not even on Silver-Ash Flyer, which had huge, efficient ones. “What’s wrong?” she hissed.

    “I think,” said Jojo as the IG C&E being, clearly displeased, stamped over to the recycler, “that those rags the creature had on couldn’t be recycled.”

    The IG C&E being stamped over to the barrier. “Oy! YOU!”

    Jojo went forward nervously. “Yes, Officer?”

    “If you’re waiting for this s-being, you’ll have to give me a garment for it, because all the recycler could manage was this.” It held out a tiny square of material, less than the size of a senso-tissue.

    Jojo sighed. “Dohra, polly-lolly, could you lend her your coveralls?”

    They were in her carry-on bag. Obligingly she got them out and Jojo passed them to the IG C&E being. They waited…

    “Asteroids of Hhum!” gulped Jojo as a very pretty pale blue being appeared from the Decontam. unit in Dohra’s coveralls.

    “What is she?” whispered Josh’ryn. “Is she another Qwolla?” 

 

    “No, polly-lolly: that,” said Jojo with glee, “is a friymanoid! Half humanoid, half Friyrian,” he said with relish. “Rarer than blue Faindorgean glass, and hardly ever for sale! Well, the Friyrian must have lowered his turquoise self so far as to do it with an off-world humanoid female, that’s all I can think, polly-lollies, and that happens about as often as Vvlvania freezes over! Spread his lordly male cream around outside bond-partnership? Unheard of! –HEY! Bdeeg! Come here!” The Bdeeg hurried up and Jojo conned it into unlocking the s-girl’s bracelet before he handed over the ten igs. The bracelet fell off, and, holding the ten igs well out of the Bdeeg’s reach, Jojo demanded possession of it. Resignedly the Bdeeg handed it and its key-blob over, and accepted the ten igs.

    The pale blue girl with the long, straight indigo hair was just standing there. “Go through the gate, polly-lolly!” cried Jojo loudly.

    No response.

    “Federation,” he muttered. “’Scuse me, Officer, can you send the girl through the gate?”

    Sighing, the IG C&E being pushed the girl with a gloved digit up to the gate and through it. Jojo went up to her. “I am Jojo,” he said clearly. “Can you understand me?” –No response.

    “She hasn’t got a translator,” noticed Dohra.

    “No, and she doesn’t speak Intergalactic, any more news?” he said crossly. “Oh, to Blerrinbrig’s with it!” Briskly he snapped the bracelet back on her wrist. The girl brightened, and smiled at him. “Now who’s gonna lead her?” he grumbled.

    “Could she just take your hand?” ventured Dohra. “Or mine, if you like.”

    “Very well, Dohra, polly-lolly, but she’s your responsibility!” he warned.

    “Okay. Come on, Josh’ryn.” Dohra took the blue-faced girl’s hand with the hand that wasn’t already holding Josh’ryn’s and said kindly: “Hullo, S-Hally Kally. I’m Dohra.”

    “Hullo, S-Hally Kally,” ventured Josh’ryn. “I’m Josh’ryn.”

    S-Hally Kally smiled and smiled, revealing perfect pearly little teeth, but didn’t speak.

    “Well, she’s got good teeth, that a plus, that’ll be the Friyrian side,” muttered Jojo. ”I suppose this means we’ll need a porter—Yes!” He shouted at the servo-mech that had slid up to him. “Half an ig or nothing, geddit?”

    Half an ig, it agreed smoothly, grabbing Dohra's bag.

    “Come on,” said Jojo grimly. “’Boutiques, ho. –Polly-lollies! Polly-lollies! Come on!”

    The giggling, whispering group of the twins, wondreL, Qwolla and See dissolved, S’draa put her mirror away, looking bored, and Murrandr’a Kapaldi-L’All glared. And they all set off to the boutiques to buy something that would make S-Hally Kally look like something more, if they would excuse Jojo, than a bag of New Rthfrdian bolos!

    See selected a white, tight, long garment in a sort of furry plush fabric. Jojo vetoed it crossly but she got S-Hally Kally into it regardless.

    “Oh!” he said. “Well, yes! I must say, See, polly-lolly, you’ve got perfect taste! It doesn’t make her look fat at all! –No blob-driven flowers,” he added quickly, as See was looking wistfully at a white one spotted and streaked in blue. “Come on, girls! We have to go up five levels and cross the spaceport for the Gr’mmeayan ferry!”

    And off they went…

    “I am not,” said wondreL, flushing orangey-green, “having a bracelet put on me!”

    “Polly-lolly, you have to,” explained Jojo, mopping his brow with a bunch of senso-tissues. There were plenty: they were in the humanoid hygiene cabinets. The female ones, but if he wasn't worried nor were they. “They won’t let any of you on-world without them, that's a Gr’mmeayan world law, see? It’s a closed world: I’ve got an on-world permit, but I’m a Specially Licensed Trader. I’ll take them off as soon as we’re on-world. Er, well, out of the spaceport,” he conceded with a muffled whistle.

    “Oh, why not?” said S’draa. “If that’s what it takes—we’ve come this far, girls!”

    They were almost deafened during the brief trip across the concourse to the ferry by the emanations and shouted offers. But soon they were through IG C&E—the being in charge didn’t even glance at them—and walking up the tunnel to the ship.

    Two tall humanoid guards in giant turbans were stationed outside the ship’s hatch, blasters on their hips “Dokko, lorpoid,” said one.

    The other twirled his long black moustache and looked the girls over. “Pink? Hey, look, Cl’v, there’s a bright pink one!”

    “Ugh!” replied the other guard frankly. “You have her. Hey, five igs for a poke at the blue one, lorpoid!”

    “She bites,” said Jojo laconically, and the guard drew back.

    “Ugh, keep her! Not into that! I’ll have this one, then!” he suggested, fondling See’s little pointed breasts while she wriggled and smiled.

    “You and the Meagraw both, ’ud this be?” retorted Jojo smartly, and the guard’s hand withdrew—though he waggled his tongue at the smirking See.

    Meanwhile the other guard’s hand had got inside wondreL’s brief Nblyterian pants. “Gee, the same as humanoid,” he reported. “Thought Nblyterians were different?”

    “Ya thought wrong, bald-crest!” she snarled.

    Smile, polly-lolly, SMILE! sent Jojo. “They’re all for the Meagraw, as you can see from this dokko, Officer, and if I was in your Service Issue boots I really wouldn’t!”

    “Space Issue!” he snapped.

    “Lorpoid,” explained his fellow. “Can’t help himself: ignorant as mok shit. Fifty igs to forget you ever had this one with the yellow hair and big tits,” he offered, squeezing Dohra’s bottom.

    “And fifty igs says the Meagraw’ll remember how many he was promised!” retorted Jojo.

    “Uh—yeah. But couldn’t I just give her one?” he said, undoing his pants and getting it out.

    “Hey, yeah! And I’ll do this yellow one!” agreed the moustachioed guard, getting his out. “Come on, lorpoid, ten igs a poke! That’s fair!”

    “Officers, we aren’t interested, and from all I’ve heard of your Meagraw, he’d take one look at us and read the lot,” said Jojo, quite undisturbed.

    The two members were observed to shrink, and both owners stuffed them hurriedly back into their pants.

    “Yeah,” admitted the one called Cl’v. “All right, get on board.”

    And they went on board, See, it must be admitted, returning the moustachioed one's tongue gesture.

    “Really!” gasped Jojo, falling into his seat. “I may have said smile, but were tongues mentioned, See, polly-lolly?”

    “Why not? Hey, he had a good pronger on him, eh?” she said in her hoarse, rasping voice.

    “They call them that where she comes from, though not in the nicer parts, and please: do not use the expression in front of the Meagraw if you want to be chosen,” sighed Jojo.

    “What if he’s innerested?” See replied simply, sniffing at a chemo-blob.

    “If he’s interested he will make the first move—geddit? Do you all get it?” he shouted. Possibly they didn't, but they all nodded meekly.

    The seats were in blocks of four, as it was only a ferry, and wondreL had an aisle seat, next to Dohra. “The males don’t make the first move on Nblyteria,” she admitted. “So what’ll he do, pull his w’nger out of his pants like the guards?”

    “He might,” admitted Dohra. “Lots of humanoid males are like that, wondreL.”

    “Already stiff?” she asked incredulously.

    “Um, yes, those guards were, um, usual.”

    The Nblyterian gave a dirty chuckle, nodding happily and tapping her foot.

    Dohra cleared her throat. “Um, yes. Um, but as he’s a lordship-type being, he might try to kiss you first.”

    “Ooh! Um, no, hang on, does that mean I take my pants off? Doesn’t that count as a first move, for humanoids?”

    “No!” she gasped, turning considerably pinker than Josh’ryn. “Not like that! I think a Meagraw’d only do that in his bedroom! Just on the mouth.”

    “I see, humanoid males don't do the other much,” she said, picking up her thought.

    “They do, I think, only not to me,” admitted Dohra.

    “Well, ya gotta encourage them, but on Nblyteria the males really like that. Specially if they get to kneel, ’cos see, they like you to stand over them, specially if ya keep telling them what to do.”

    “Mm,” said Dohra, trying not to shut her eyes and wishing she’d let Josh’ryn sit next to the Nblyterian instead of giving her the window seat and placing S-Hally Kally between them. “Um, I really think all you’d have to do would be, um, respond when the Meagraw, um, does something.”

    “Respond!” she said with an incredulous laugh.

    “Girls on bMeemeetee respond if a man kisses them, I know that much,” said Josh’ryn, leaning forward.

    “Uh—yeah. Oh, Federation, ya don't know nothing much else, do ya?” realised the Nblyterian, staring. “Hey, she’s a virgin,” she croaked.

    “I’m not surprised, wondreL. Um, maybe you better not say any more.”

    “She never understood what I said before, what makes ya think she’s gonna—No, all right. But I get the picture: ya think I oughta be submissive like a male, eh?”

    Dohra swallowed. “I think it wouldn’t hurt, just at first, until he gets used to you.”

    “Right. Submissive. Well, that’ll be a new experience! But are ya sure he’ll be able to get it up if I am?”

    “Yes,” croaked Dohra. “Pretty sure.”

    “Oh, right: Friyrian males are the same, are they? Never knew that,” she said with interest, reading her like a text-blob. “Yeah, well, dare say little S-Bluey’s mother could tell us all about that. –Hey, do ya think she’s actually dumb?”

    “Uh—Oh! Can't speak! Help,” gulped Dohra. “How could we tell?”

    Casually wondreL leant across and pinched the friymanoid’s white plush arm.

    “Ee-oow!” she squeaked.

    “Well, she can make a noise,” conceded the Nblyterian, sitting back.

    “Honestly! –It’s all right, S-Hally Kally, she didn’t meant to hurt you,” said Dohra, patting her hand.

   “It’s all right, S-Hally Kally,” Josh’ryn assured her, patting her other hand.

    The s-girl smiled uncertainly. “Garble, garble, garble S-Hally Kally,” she said.

    “See!” beamed Dohra. “She can talk! Yes, you’re S-Hally Kally, aren’t you?”

    “Yeah. Pity it’s not Intergalactic,” said wondreL drily, picking up her free audio-blob, removing its hygienic covering, slipping that into the disposal slot, and putting the blob in her ear.

    “Gall’ay’an—Gall’ay’an—Gall’ay’an—what’s wrong with this ship?” she demanded aggrievedly, removing the blob. “It’s all Gall’ay’an pop!”

    “Those’ll all be sponsored channels,” said Dohra placidly.

    “Well, mok shit!”

    “You could try paying.” Dohra looked dubiously at the row of non-sponsored blobs.

    “I only got a few igs, I took my Granna’s advice,” she admitted. “Well, if this comes off I’m not gonna need igs, am I? And if it doesn’t, we’re ticketed home, Granna got that in quintuplicate, you bet your Space Issue lorpoid boots!"

    “Yes, good. –Whtyllian pop’s good.”

    “Yeah, but how much’ll one ig pay for? Oh, why not?” She put in her ig and took the blob. “Hey, galaxious!” she beamed.

    “Uh-uh,” said S-Hally Kally, pointing.

    “Um, yeah, it’s Gall’ay’an pop. Gall’—ay—’an," said Dohra carefully.

    “Garble, garble,” she said.

    “Give it a go,” Dohra decided. “You can only hate it, eh?” She picked up the s-girl’s free audio-blob, took off its hygienic cover, disposed of that, and gave her the blob, pointing to her ear. S-Hally Kally beamed, and put it in. “Garble, garble, garble!”

    “Yeah, good-oh,” said Dohra with a sigh.

    “What are they?” asked Josh’ryn, leaning forward.

    “Uh—Asteroids of Hhum,” she muttered. “Audio-blobs, Josh’ryn. Hang on.” She leaned forward, picked up Josh’ryn’s free audio-blob, took off its hygienic cover, disposed of that, and gave her the blob, pointing to her ear. “Music.”

    “Music?” she said with a laugh. “No: beings make that, Dohra, on musical instruments!”

    “Yeah, well, I dunno how they get it in, but that blob’s got music in it. If it’s too loud, just think ‘quiet’ at it.”

    “Really? You don’t have to shout and clap your hands?” Cautiously Josh’ryn put it in her ear. “Ooh! Quiet!” she cried, clapping her hands. Slowly she smiled.

    “I’ll go to Mullgon’ya,” muttered Dohra. “Smarter than the average blob.” She leant back in her seat. She didn’t have many igs with her, some being had told her not to travel with a lot of igs. Uh—not the Captain, what a stupid idea! Well, she could just sit here and wonder if the Meagraw was anything like him…

    She gave in, took out an ig, and chose Whtyllian pop. Hey, wow! Dohra leaned back in her seat, smiling…

 

 

    “Poke ’em all! Poke all the polly-lollies! Give ’em to Budg, he’ll poke ’em!” shouted the mutant, bounding up.

    “Give Budg a big turquoise poker!” squeaked the Flppu. “He’ll show the vacuum-frozen beings with the gill-collars!”

    Before anyone else could utter, Didg appeared from behind the large mannanna plant that decorated, possibly not the word, the Level Pink ISLA bar, scowling. “Ya won’t, Budg, and shut up! –You’ve got him over-excited, why in Federation did ya have to tell him all that stuff about poking and girls talking dirty and those vacuum-frozen guards with their pokers out?” he said angrily to Dohra.

    “I never!” she gasped.

    “There was quite a lot about little tubes,” murmured the Thwurbullerian.

    “But I never said anything about that!” she cried, very red.

    “Ya sure enough said a lot about that wondreL! Talk about knowing from nothing! Well, ya gotta leave Nblyteria if ya wanna try the submissive stuff with a humanoid or a Friyrian or a Meanker, I'll admit that!” said blndreL with a dirty chuckle. “Or train them up to enjoy being dominated, contrariwise!”

    “But I never said a word about that, blndreL!” she cried tearfully. “I wouldn't! It wasn’t—well, she didn’t realise, of course, but it wasn’t nice!”

    “Budg, will ya shut up!” said Didg crossly to his swiller as he growled something about blue pokers. “I tole ja not to talk about them in spaceports, didn’t I?”

    “I picked up a lot about little tubes,” admitted One.

    “And a lot about garments,” added Two.

    Certain beings had almost forgotten the paired beings could speak independently: they jumped slightly.

    “Uh—yeah,” admitted BrTl, blinking. “There was a lot about garments, wasn’t there? I liked the recipes, though lorpoid food’s a waste of time: too fiddly.”

    “Oh, no, it’s excellent!” cried the Feeny-Argyllians. “I love sea-jelly, though fish isn't suited to the metabolism!”

    “Salty!” growled Budg. “Budg wants sea-jelly! Gimme sea-jelly!”

    “NO!” shouted Didg. “Look, I'm gonna have to take him back to the ship. And in future, watch what ya say in front of him!” He glared at Dohra.

    “There is an expression for it,” noted BrTl, suppressing a yawn.

    “Storyteller,” said Trff with the utmost placidity.

    Forty-Four choked on its spring water. “Of course!” it gasped. “Silly me, I never realised! Of course, that’s what she is!”

    “Eh?” croaked Didg, his jaw sagging. “But she can’t send worth an ig!”

    “Oh, no, but that’s quite different,” it said complacently. “Quite different. She can’t help it, you know: once she embarks on a story, we get everything. There are very few of them in the Known Universe. Of course, there are artisan-beings who’ve been trained to do it for a living—but not so graphically.”

    “Uh—yeah, we’ve got a couple back home, they’re plasmo-blasted boring,” he admitted.

    “Yes; I once met the one who serves the Grand Prince of DorAven. I wasn’t impressed.”

    “That explains it!” said blndreL. “Hey, Dohra, if ya don’t wanna tell us the lot, I'd stop!”

    “Whuh-what do you mean?” quavered Dohra.

    “You’re a Storyteller, Dohra!” chorused the paired beings. “How exciting! The united beings back home will be thrilled to know I've met one!”

    “’Course you are, Dohra,” said Didg heavily. “I was an intergalactic idiot not to have spotted it. But that means you gotta monitor yourself, or poor old Budg’ll go crazy.”

    “No, he-it won't,” said Trff kindly, pointing an antenna at him.

    “Uh—Trff, you haven’t taken the urge away entirely, have ya?” croaked Didg.

    “No, just corrected how much he-it picks up from female mammalian humanoids.”

    “Uh—good. Thanks. I think.”

    BrTl had a look “He seems much calmer,” he offered.

    He not only seemed much calmer, he’d sat down and was sucking his opposable digit.

    “Yes, he’ll be happier now,” agreed Forty-Four.

    Didg looked at them limply. How could they possibly understand?

    “I'll take him back to my room and check him out, if ya like,” offered blndreL.

    Didg was aware that Dohra was gaping at them in horror. “No, thanks all the same, you don’t know how rough he can get,” he said stiffly.

    “But rough stuff’s right up my moogletube!” she urged. “Come on, Budg, ya wanna come and show me your—what does he call his w’nger, again?”

    “Uh—P,O,K,E,R,” croaked Didg. “Look, are you sure?”

    “Yeah! Come on, Budg, you come with me,” she said kindly, taking the hand that wasn’t in his mouth, “and ya can show me your w’nger—poker.”

    Budg brightened. “Dirty WORD!”

    “That’s it!” Grinning, blndreL led him off.

    Didg passed his hand over his brow. “I gotta have a drink.”

    BrTl’s attention re-focussed. “Nnru juice here! –Anyone else?”

    Dohra got up unsteadily. “If it’s all right, I think I might go back to the pod.”

    And look up Storyteller in the Encyclopaedia, agreed Trff. “It’ll come with you-it, Dohra. It’s found a friendly tran-blob that’ll take us all the way. No: on this level: Pink. Then you-it and it’ll take a very friendly lift-blob that’s pretending not to be in working order—no, not a freight lift-blob, a nice being-carrier—and we’ll be right at the little tube leading to the pod!” It caught the emanations. “Tunnel,” it corrected itself weakly. “Small tunnel.”

    “That sounds lovely,” she admitted. “I really need to—to think.”

    Something like that! it sent jauntily. And off they went, hand-in-tentacle.