Hotel Andromeda Part 24

172 Janet Kagan "Watch to President Thorvald's right," w.i.l.l.y Topkind told him. "... and . -. thereF Gemmy followed w.i.l.l.y Topkind's point and saw ... w.i.l.l.y Topkind!

"That's you'" said Gemmy. "That's why your smeller seems so familiar!"

w.i.l.l.y Topkind's hand went to his nose, and Gemmy was momentarily horrified that he'd made yet another interspecies gaffe. Chief Antonini croaked happily, though-and a split second later, w.i.l.l.y Topkind was croaking even harder.

Despite having served drinks to numerous famous people of all species, Gemmy was impressed. "You actually know President Thorvald?"

"No," said Chief Antonini. "He doesn't. But he weaseled in and got his picture taken with Thorvald despite every pre- caution Thorvald's security people took."

Both w.i.l.l.y Topkinds showed great expanses of their teeth.

The picture changed to another newsgram and the w.i.l.l.y Top- kind beside Gemmy said proudly, "Here I am with Machon- Chumbly, leader of the Splagger Faction of the Emcharri."

Sure enough, there was w.i.l.l.y Topkind, showing his teeth and waving to the camera. Beside him stood Machon-Chumbly.

Even Chief Antonini seemed impressed. "Lord," she said.

"You got past Peg Winter's security?" She whistled.

Gemmy said to w.i.l.l.y Topkind, "And you don't know Machon-Chumbly, either?"

w.i.l.l.y shook his head.

"Then how ... ?"

w.i.l.l.y glanced at Chief Antonini, then said, "Maybe I'll tell you sometime. But I won't give away trade secrets while the chief is listening."

Gemmy found himself clucking. That made sense-or at least it seemed consistent in the circ.u.mstances.

Chief Antonini looked at the time. "The Mopellings' mod- ule has been docked. The reception starts in about twenty minutes, and I've still got work to do. Gemmy, if you'd like to stay here and watch the rest of w.i.l.l.y Topkind's brag disc, you may. Perhaps that will keep w.i.l.l.y out of trouble. If that's not sufficient"-she gave w.i.l.l.y Topkind a fierce look-"I'm sure Middleditch and March will be."

Gemmy was about to say he'd like that very much when FACE TIME 173.

Chief Antonini held up a finger for quiet. "What now?" she said into her lapel. She listened again, then said with a sigh.

"Send them up; I'll wait."

"Problems?" said Middleditch.

"So says Samuelson . . . Something to do with the Mopellings' s.p.a.cial sense."

w.i.l.l.y Topkind looked at Gemmy. "Samuelson is the expert on Mopelling behavior-as much as there is one yet. If she says there's a problem, there's a problem. The Mopellings are an odd species even by our"-his pointing finger indicated both himself and Gemmy-"standards. They're territorial in the extreme."

"What would you know about it, w.i.l.l.y?" said Chief Antonini in an exasperated tone.

"Oh," said w.i.l.l.y. "I've read all her papers on the Mopellings.

I do very careful research." To Gemmy, he added, "I have to: I wouldn't want to cause an interstellar incident by smiling at the wrong species."

Consistent again, Gemmy saw.

w.i.l.l.y Topkind went on, "If a Mopelling were sitting at a table in the bar, for instance, it'd be fine that you served it...

as long as you always took the same route to its table. Vary the route, though-say you stopped at another table on the way to its-and the Mopelling would have to renegotiate its position to accomodate."

He glanced at Chief Antonini. "I'll bet Samuelson's been driving the chief nuts. I'll bet Samuelson's going nuts herself-she'd have worked out where each and every mem- ber of the reception party must stand and how far each can range without disturbing the Mopellings."

Chief Antonini made a sound that reminded Gemmy of an angry stickcat about to stick someone. "If you know all that, w.i.l.l.y, what made you think you could weasel into the photos without causing all h.e.l.l to break loose?"

A scuffle at the entrance to the bar cut off w.i.l.l.y's reply, which was too bad, because Gemmy had really wanted to hear the answer.

"Here, Dr. Samuelson!" Chief Antonini waved across the room. A very plump and very agitated Terran waved back and charged through the crowd, none too politely, to pull up short and breathless before them.

174.

Janet Kagan "We've got one h.e.l.l of a problem," Samuelson said without preamble- She waved a sheaf of papers at Antonini. stabbed the off b.u.t.ton on the 'gram display, and shoved aside the drinks to spread the papers across the table. They showed a map of At-Three, with a lot of circles and dots. Ah, thought Gemmy, that's where each member of the delegation is sup- posed to stand.

Samuelson jammed a finger at one of the circles. "The Terran delegation changed plans at the last minute-the utter incompetents. I've got n.o.body to fill this position. n.o.body that's the right size, at any rate. See, we've got two tall people here"-jab, jab-"so we need short and ma.s.sive here. We also need two more here and here, since we've got the Terran amba.s.sador here." Her final jab almost punched a hole in the paper.

"Gemmy would do for short and ma.s.sive," w.i.l.l.y Topkind said. When Samuelson's head came up to stare at Gemmy, w.i.l.l.y added, "And he'll stay where you put him. He's the best waiter in the bar-he knows how to behave around other species. What do you say, Gemmy? Want a little face time with the Mopelling amba.s.sador to Terra?"

"Shut up, w.i.l.l.y," Chief Antonini said.

"No," said Samuelson. "He's right. Gemmy, would you be willing to help out?"

"Of course," said Gemmy.

"Good," said Samuelson, as if that settled everything. She fixed her eyes on w.i.l.l.y and said, "Now, any suggestions for the other two?"

"You don't need two," w.i.l.l.y Topkind said. He leaned for- ward and touched the map. 'Take this one out and put me just here." He rocked back in his chair, making Gemmy gasp with wonder at the balancing act. "I've got a purple suit."

"Purple?" said Samuelson. "Purple? What wavelength?"

w.i.l.l.y Topkind reached for his carryall, stopped at a look from March, and gestured March to do it. Chief Antonini nodded permission. From the carryall, March pulled out a suit that was exactly me same wavelength as the purple in At- Three w.i.l.l.y Topkind had claimed to find so overwhelming.

Samuelson caught up the suit, held it aloft, and said, "Per- fect!"

Samuelson bent to examine the dots and circles once more FACE TIME 175.

and her head bobbed furiously. "It'd work. It will work. Why the h.e.l.l didn't you tell me you had a backup expert on tap, chief? Gemmy, you come with me. And you"-that was to w.i.l.l.y Topkind-"you get into that appallingly glorious suit!"

She paused suddenly and thrust her hand at w.i.l.l.y. 'Tammy Samuelson, and am I ever glad to meet you!"

w.i.l.l.y Topkind caught her hand and shook it. "Just call me w.i.l.l.y the Weasel," he said. "Everybody does."

"Strangest week I ever spent," Gemmy said to Milly and Dubs when the various delegations had gone their separate ways. "n.o.body ever asked me to be an Official Presence be- fore. Now I know how the game pieces on a fespall board feel, I think."

"Agh," said Milly. "They could have at least given you a bonus...."

Gemmy clucked. "They did. And w.i.l.l.y gave me this." He laid a small glittering disc on the bartop. "Put it in the player and you'll see."

Dubs did, and the disc sprang to life. It was the complete news coverage of the first meeting between the Mopelling and the Terran delegations. "Wow!" said Milly. "Look at you-right next to the head honcho of the Mopelling delega- tion!"

Even Dubs seemed excited, though the tape hadn't yet got- ten to the best part. "There! There's Gemmy with the Terran amba.s.sador... -"

"Here," said Gemmy, feeling his fringes rise with his ex- citement. "Here's the best part coming up now."

The Gemmy in the footage followed Samuelson's strict in- structions and loped across the room, coming to a halt right next to w.i.l.l.y Topkind. w.i.l.l.y, in his purple suit, showed all his teeth at Gemmy-and Gemmy clucked and brought a hand to his eye to salute the Terran with the familiar smeller.

"There," said Gemmy, with enormous satisfaction. "There I am-getting face time with none other than w.i.l.l.y the Wea- sel!"

IT'S A GIFT.

Esther M. Friesner

Mister Moogi moistened his superprime foreclaw and es- tablished contact with the System. "Serving," said the everywhere voice.

"He's got to go," said Mister Moogi.

"Query?"

"Podvex."

"Satisfied." The System hummed, calling up every micromillibleep of data on Sentient: Podvex. It didn't take long. It took longer to say how very little time it took. The humming stopped. A pause ensued.

"Well?" Mister Moogi inquired impatiently. Here in Splendel's, arguably me second-most prestigious gift shop within the Hotel Andromeda, not even the staff was used to waiting for anything, let alone computer response. The Sys- tem's silence boded no good. "What do you say?"

"Query T'

"About getting rid of Podvex."

177.

178 Esther M. Friesner "Agreed." There was another of those atypical pauses, and then: "In spades."

"Query?" Mister Moogi was so startled by the System's uncharacteristic means of expression that he lurched out of his normally urbane Demigalac drawl and tumbled into Mech.

"I said the critter's a menace to navigation, democracy, and one hundred sixty-four separate and discreet economic sys- tems as outlined and described in Jayne's Guide to Intergalac- tic Unfriendly Takeovers," the System responded. Gone was the terse communication of Mech. Mister Moogi's private of- fice now echoed with the far more colorful, far, far more vul- gar accents of Underg'lac.

Mister Moogi had dismissed seven sentient clerks for their accidental lapses into that dreadful, decla.s.se patois, even if the incriminating slips of the tongue took place on their break time. (Like any good merchant, Mister Moogi paid top rates to have his employees spied upon in the privacy of their own homes.) Rumor had it that he'd personally killed and eaten two more who had actually addressed potential customers in the aforementioned pariah dialect.

Despite a body that appeared to be chitin-sheathed within and without, particularly in the region of whatever heart or hearts he was supposed to have, Mister Moogi could not per- sonally kill and eat the System. Therefore he was reduced to hissing, "He did this to you, didn't he?"

"Query?"

"Podvex."

"Bingo, babycakes. He was bored, so he thought he'd try his paw at reprogramming this filament. Got some pretty cute effects tied in now, and no way the little dwingle can gel 'em out, either." The System uttered something very much like a chuckle. "He tried to fix it, after, but he couldn't unsnag his own handiwork. Then he brought in a rogue wizard to give me a look-see on the q.t. Negatorious resultwise, but you'll be getting the bill for his time. Try it yourself and you'll proba- bly set off a crash. Tell the SysCops and you'll be responsible for all repair costs plus a hefty penalty. Thou shall not allow thy apprentices to jack around with thy shop's filament of the System. Amen. Hallelujah. Booga-booga."

"He dies." Mister Moogi would not nod his head, lacking a neck, but he clicked his secondary foreclaws in a manner IT'S A GIFT 179.

that did not speak well of poor Podvex's chances to collect an old-age pension. "I was wondering what I'd have for lunch."

"Negative," said the System.

"Why in the queen's egg-fast name not?*' Mister Moogi's cheek flaps shaded off from purple to pink, a sure indication that he was being thwarted and was about to release his scent sacs in protest.

"Whoa, hold on to your stinkybags, big daddy!" The small, blue, ovoid plaque on the office wall that was Mister Moogi's port to the System zapped a holo of a human hand right under Mister Moogi's proboscis. The hand was upraised in the tra- ditional Euramterra sign for Stop! "Last time you let fly, we couldn't get a paying sucker in here for two turns and a tum- ble."

"Sorry." Mister Moogi closed three eyes and ventilated his midsection, a maneuver which always calmed him. When he felt himself in control again, he repeated the question a little less stridently: "Why not?"

For answer, the System made the hand holo vanish and re- placed it with a s.h.i.+neout of Splendel's latest rating in the ho- tel directory, accompanying this projection with an image that Mister Moogi always found to be quite odd.

"Why do those Terrans always dress up their bad news with a holo of one of their own endoskeletons dressed in a long, black, hooded robe and carrying a ... a ... What is that thing. System?"

"Scythe: an ancient Terran agricultural artifact, now no longer in-"

**0h, never mind." Mister Moogi brought all six eyes to bear on the s.h.i.+neout. If the Terrans who had programmed the System included me robed skeleton as their little joke. Mister Moogi was not laughing. (Mister Moogi could not laugh, as Terrans would understand it, but his clutchmates always said there was no one who could tell a "dumb mammal" joke bet- ter.) "You see the problem, huh?" the System asked.

"We have slipped." Mister Moogi could hardly believe any of his eyes. "We are now no longer rated as the second-most prestigious shop in the Hotel Andromeda, but-oh, agony!- the third. What is worse"- he rescanned the posting, cheek flaps aquiver-"it says that all paying-and-potential custom- 180 Esther M. Friesner ers arc quite welcome to ... to ..." He was powerless to go on.

'To bring the kiddies," the System finished for him. "Yup, no sorer way to blow your cachet. Shoot, if they can bring their younglings along, how exclusive can we beT'

It blinked away the s.h.i.+neout and replaced it with a projec- tion of a lank-limbed Terran youth in grubby slim-fits leaning against the wall and whistling. When next the System spoke, the holo moved its lips in perfect synchronicity. "It was that last marketing blitz what done the deed, compadre. You are hoist, like the fella says, by or with your own petard."

Mister Moogi moaned. It was true, too true for even the slickest advertising campaign to expunge from the record, even if they did guarantee to rub out any witnesses. Too many paying-and-polential customers had seen it happen. Too many slopdroids had been needed to suck up all the blood.

"But it was Bingema.s.s!" Mister Moogi whined at the plas- tic ovoid. "The heaviest shopping season we've got! Why, there are at least five major gift-giving Terran holidays alone that take place within those ten days, and if you add Qui Nook's Skinshed. the Cantyrean Feast of the Second First- born, the Anniversary of Pelmuddle's Ride-"

"Not a good time to try expanding your shop," the System said.

"Yes, it was!" Mister Moogi protested. "You even said it was. Every single one of those holidays is marked by the ex- change of presents! Splendel's is second to none when it comes to providing our paying-and-potential customers with the finest in merchandise, gift suggestions, and on-site ethico- psych counseling for dealing with residual post-purchase guilt. You told me that if I doubled my floor s.p.a.ce in the mid- dle of Bingema.s.s, I'd quadruple my business!"

"Could be I did," the System allowed. A thin red smokewand appeared between the Terran hole's fingers. The image raised it to its lips and drew a long pull from it until pastel pink curls of smoke trickled out its ears. "Only I know for a doc.u.mented fact that I didn 't tell you to double the floor s.p.a.ce by hiring a board certified a.s.sa.s.sin to send your Dangvim neighbors a box full of gnashcats."

Abruptly, the holo disappeared as the System jerked back into Mech, reciting: "Gnashcat: Any one of several species of IT'S A GIFT 181.

felinoid carnivore native to Sheldrake IV. Unretractable razor- sharp claws as long or longer than the paws and double rows of constantly self-replacing fangs make the gnashcat one of the galaxy's most efficient killing machines. Although no larger than the common Terran house cat, this creature exhib- its a startling level of brainless ferocity and homicidal mania when it encounters any being outside its own species."

"That's just what the a.s.sa.s.sin told me." Mister Moogi said bitterly. "A killing machine."

The Terran holo was back, this time with a sleazy grin creasing its face. 'Too bad it wasn't an eating machine."