Hotel Andromeda
Edited by Jack L. Chalker
Table of Contents
First Nighter
The Room Key
Telling Human Stories
The Small Penance of Lady Disdain
Rhuum Service
Soft In the World, And Bright
To Caress the Face of God
Glass Walls
Face Time
It’s A Gift
The Happy Hookermorph
Volatile Mix
First Nighter
Karen Haber
Lekvich Tor was excited, perhaps even a bit overly excited. But why not? he told himself. Tonight was going to be a big night. The biggest.
He stared at his image in the holomirror and saw exactly the same thing that he had seen when he had looked at him-self not two minutes before: a short, stocky young man of eighteen, with pale purple skin, red hair cut into fashionable swirls, and amber-colored eyes, wearing a blue uniform with the logo of the Hotel Andromeda set in golden glowstitch against the right shoulder.
Proudly, Lekvich Tor shot his glowstitched cuffs. He looked fine, even if he did say so himself. It was his first night on full duty at the Hotel Andromeda concierge desk and he couldn’t quite believe that he was actually working for such a wonderful place. He, Lekvich Tor, fifth son of Velia Tor, born and raised on the fringes of the galaxy on the colony world of Vladimir’s Folly, beginning his career at the biggest orbital hotel complex in the sector. Not just a hotel, he reminded himself, but a space terminal and stopping point for every liner passing through the area! He took one last approving look at himself, then turned and hurried to his new post in the main lobby of the hotel. The grand lobby of the Hotel Andromeda was a huge circular affair, well lit and alive with people, noise, and movement. Its circumference was lined by curving service desks above which hung holosigns indicating their different functions: reception, cashier, messages, concierge. Robot dollies hovered inches above the deep blue carpeting, ferrying baggage to and from the hotel’s main portals. Public announcements in every known language in the galaxy resounded from multiple speakers.
The din would have overwhelmed a smaller space but somehow the great arcing gold-flecked dome of the lobby managed to contain and reduce the noise until it was a constant buzz, unobtrusive but electrifying.
Enormous viewing bays were set into the north and south poles of me lobby, providing tantalizing glimpses of distant stars, nebulas, and passing asteroids. The constant flow of space traffic could be seen as well: liners docking, modules uncoupling and chugging toward the hotel terminal while others returned to their mother ships. There was an endless changing show taking place just outside those windows and many guests had assembled in the viewing lounges to take a better, more leisurely look.
Lekvich Tor forced his eyes away from outer space and gazed around the lobby in ever greater excitement The vast hanging chandeliers with their yellow glow globes moving up and down! The people hurrying to and fro in every manner of dress imaginable! The sense of urgency, of important business being transacted just inches away, was palpable and intoxicating. He was dazzled by the sophistication of the decor, the cosmopolitan mix of people. Every shape, every size, every color. He couldn’t help staring in fascination. Perhaps someday he would become accustomed to all of this, possibly even take it for granted. He smiled at the thought of that distant, sophisticated Lekvich Tor, then shook his head. How could he ever take all this wonder for granted? Impossible. There was too much to see: everything was new and amazing.
His supervisor, Ranee Franklin, was monitoring the concierge board. She was a middle-aged woman with green eyes, white hair, and a cool, professional demeanor, which he envied. She greeted him with a nod. “You’re early, Lekvich. Good.”
Lekvich Tor smiled. He felt dazed and suddenly tongue-tied.
“Nervous?” Ranee asked.
“Nervous? Who, me?” He shook his head too many times. “Ranee, do you think that tonight I will see a great many aliens?” he blurted, barely able to contain himself.
“Of course.” She looked at him in surprise and said sharply, “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No. I mean, I hope not. What I mean is, I’ve never seen any before.”
“You’re in for a treat, then.” Her smile was a bit sour at the edges but Lekvich Tor didn’t quite understand why.
“Look,” she said. “Do you think you can handle the console for a couple of minutes? I’ve got to run to the loo.”
Lekvich Tor blushed with pride and embarrassment. Already, she trusted him enough to leave him in charge. To share intimate information about bodily needs! His purplish skin glowed with pleasure. “You can count on me.”
“I hope so.” She handed him the concierge headset.
He watched her broad back as she strode away toward the staff lavatory. A powerful woman, not unlike his mother. Carefully, almost reverently he fit the headset around his ears and mouth.
The con board lay before him, its glittering display of lights winking lazily, red and blue and yellow and green. He would fax his mother tonight and tell her that he had been selected for extra responsibilities and for once she would boast about him to his brothers instead of the other way around.
Bzzzzzt!
A call! Someone was ringing from—he checked the screen carefully—room 1522. And Ranee had not returned. Which meant that he, Lekvich Tor, must take the call. Hands trembling, he filled his lungs with air and punched the appropriate flashing button—”Hotel Andromeda, concierge,” he said. His voice sounded a little high, he thought. He’d have to watch that. He took a deep breath, pressed his hand against his diaphragm, and tried to modulate his tone downward. “Good evening.”
“There’s a Voltorran bat in my room!”
“Sir?”
“I said, there’s a Voltorran bat in my room! Hanging from the chandelier.”
“I’m afraid you want Housekeeping—”
“I distinctly ordered a Mykonian bat, in fact, four of them. With hot mustard.”
“One moment, please,” Lekvich Tor said. “I’m cross-scanning the net. Ah, yes. I see. It was room 527 that requested the live Voltorran bat with implant and sonar control. I’ll send someone up to collect it and deliver your order at once. Our apologies for the inconvenience.”
“Make it fast. I’m starving.”
“Yes, sir. And to compensate you for the inconvenience, the bats will be on the house.” Ranee had often told him: “Smooth frayed tempers with freebies.”
“Good. Appreciate it.”
Lekvich Tor shut down the line and grinned happily. His first official call and he had handled it without a hitch! If only Ranee had been there to hear him. Certainly she would have approved. But she was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, women spent more time than men in the WC. He knew that. He would be patient and wait, and perhaps he would even be able to take another call before Ranee returned.
Sure enough, he had no time to savor his triumph. The call line was buzzing once more.
“Good evening. Hotel Andromeda, concierge. Can I help you?”
“No. I mean, yes. That is to say, I’m not quite sure.” The speaker had a pleasant baritone voice and sounded like a middle-aged Terran.
A high, shrill voice cut in. “Don’t listen to him, he’s lying.”
“No, he’s not,” said a silky female contralto. “Oh, this is all terrible, just terrible.”
Lekvich Tor was taken aback by the jumble of voices.
“Hello? Excuse me, please,” he said. “Is this still room 1274? I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. Two calls seem to have crossed. I hear more than one voice on this line.”
“No, there’s been no mistake.” T
he baritone sighed deeply.
“We’re all in here, together.”
“I don’t understand, sir. Your room is listed as single occupancy.”
“I’m from Veroni-Anspel.”
“Oh.” Lekvich Tor was stunned. He had read about the Veroni-Anspelians but he had never expected to talk to one, much less one apparently in estrus. He felt his cheeks growing hot at the very thought.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I hadn’t realized.” One fact blazed in his mind, remembered from his hotel training: Veroni-Anspelians developed multiple personalities during estrus. Lekvich Tor didn’t know what to say next, or to whom he would be saying it. Luckily, the Veroni-Anspelian rescued him from his confusion.
“I’m afraid that I miscalculated the onset of my period,” he said. “And so I’ve arrived completely unprepared.”
“Not to worry, sir,” Lekvich Tor replied, thinking rapidly. “Our pharmacy can supply you with personality dampers.”
“Do you have super absorbent?”
“Yes. Five- or ten-day supply?”
“Ten. And please tell them to hurry.”
“No, forget it,” said a basso-profundo voice.
And the high, shrill voice cried, “Leave us alone! That’s all. Just leave us alone!”
“Shut up, all of us’” bellowed the Veroni-Anspelian.
“Don’t worry,” Lekvich Tor said. “I’m sending the order to the pharmacy right now.”
“Thank you.”
“To hell with you,” said the high, shrill voice.
“Goodbye,” Lekvich Tor said quickly.
He hung up feeling a bit unnerved but quite pleased by the way in which he had handled the call. He couldn’t wait to tell Ranee about his progress—but she still had not returned from the ladies’ room. Perhaps she had fainted. Women had that tendency, he knew, because his mother would often faint when her children did something of which she disapproved. Should he send someone to look for her? Anxiously he scanned the lobby. No Ranee. Well, don’t panic, he told himself. At least wait a few minutes more. Surely she’ll come back soon. She’s probably on her way right now.
Bzzzzzt!
“Hotel Andromeda, concierge.”
“Yes, this is room 3251. I have a euthanasia appointment tomorrow at noon.”
Lekvich Tor scanned the records quickly. “Mr. Ediin, yes.”
“I’d like to reschedule. Something came up.”
“Same time next week?”
“That would be fine.”
Lekvich Tor made the notation. “I’ll see that Euthenetics gets the message.”
Bzzzzzt!
“Hotel Andromeda—”
“I want to talk to robodealer forty-five in the casino.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Lekvich Tor said smoothly. “Those lines are busy. But I’d be happy to place your bet for you.”
“Swell. I’d like to bet on the cyberraces.”
“Which steeds?”
“Halley’s Snowball.”
“To win, place, or show?”
“Place.”
“Very good, sir. As you know, your winnings or your fee will be applied to your hotel account.”
“Much obliged.”
Lekvich Tor shut down the call, sat back on the web seat behind the con board, and crossed his arms in satisfaction.
Maybe Ranee was never coming back. And maybe he didn’t care—
Bzzzzzt!
“Good evening. Hotel Andromeda, concierge.”
“I need an unabridged edition of Dante’s Slippers by Rockwell, translated into English III.”
“An English III version?” Lekvich Tor scanned the library scrolls and his spirits fell. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. The only edition we currently have available on line is in English II.”
“Can you have it updated?”
“Let me check the translation grid. Hmmmm, they’re not too busy right now. Yes, ma’am, they should be able to have it for you in roughly half an hour.”
“That’s fine.”
“Very good, ma’am. I’ll have it delivered to you when it’s ready.”
As he rang off he saw that the woman had tabbed a generous tip into his account. Lekvich Tor grinned broadly.
Bzzzzzt!
Lekvich Tor nearly flew to the console. “Hotel Andromeda, concierge.”
“Lekvich?”
“Yes?”
“This is Ranee. They were cleaning the ladies’ room so I went down to deck five. But that one was filled with Mantarian troglodyte nurses and I couldn’t hear myself think straight so I’m on deck nine now. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
She hung up before he could say a word.
Lekvich shrugged philosophically. She would be back soon, surely.
Bzzzzzt!
“Hotel Andromeda, concierge.
“Yes, I’ve just conceived a child.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Are you deaf? I said I’ve Just conceived a child. Ten minutes ago.”
Lekvich Tor scanned his memory but could not find any appropriate reference or response from his training. Nervously, he improvised.
“Um, congratulations.”
“But I’d like to take a few prenatal precautions. If this one turns out to get my nose the way the last one did, I’ll just scream.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am?” Now he would have given anything to see Ranee’s broad figure barreling toward him and her hand reaching for the headset.
“A splicer. Do you have a gene splicer on staff?”
“Oh. Right. I’ll have to check.” He began to understand what the caller wanted. But as he flipped through his service directory, two other lights came on, two other calls buzzing for his attention. Where was Ranee? He wasn’t supposed to leave any call unattended for more than two rings.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll be right back. Please hold.” He punched up the blue button. “Hotel Andromeda, please hold.” He punched up the red button. “Hotel Andromeda.” A voice began squawking. He cut it off, “Please hold,” and returned to the original caller.
“Ma’am, we can have a technician with splicer outside your door in an hour. I see from our records that she’s just finishing up with a litter of Monosikhs.”
“Well, I hope it won’t be too long. I can just feel all those little nasal cells dividing inside me even as we speak.”
Lekvich Tor frowned. “Actually, ma’am, as I understand Terran reproductive processes, it’s really too soon for that sort of cell specialization, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be so literal, silly. I was joking. And tell your splicer to hurry just the same. Who knows what kind of trouble an unsupervised zygote can get into?”
“She’ll be there in a flash.” In a blaze of inspiration Lekvich remembered a keynote from his training manual: meet all needs, cover all contingencies. “And,” he said, “in case you have any complications, ma’am, you might be interested to know that we can also provide termination services.”
“Really? Excuse me for a moment”—her voice grew muffled—“honey, they’re offering terminations as well. What do you think? Still want to go through with it? Remember what happened with the last one, the police, the mutations, and all that fuss. Still want to? Honestly, you’re such a sentimental softy. Of course if you want him or her then I want him or her.”
Lekvich Tor watched the other calls blinking and wished that he had six ears, three mouths, and six arms. Why hadn’t they hired an Arcadian arachnian to handle this job? “Very good, ma’am,” he said, putting a bit more volume into his voice to regain her attention. “Room 2651?”
“That’s right.” She sighed theatrically. “He always gets so attached to his own children.”
As Lekvich watched in horror, one of the blinking lights on the console went out. A caller had actually hung up! Lekvich wanted to hang his head in shame, but the con line receiver would have cut off his circulation.
“Goodbye, ma’am.” With an urgency bordering
on panic he snatched up the remaining call. “Concierge. I’m terribly sorry you had to wait.”
“Who’s this?” demanded a deep male voice.
“Lekvich Tor.”
“Isn’t Ranee on tonight?”
“She just stepped away from the desk—”
“Tell her to call Scadool when she gets back.”
“Would you like to leave a message? A number where you can be reached?”
“She knows.”
Before Lekvich Tor could say more, the caller hung up.
Ranee had now been away from the console for almost an hour. Lekvich Tor was growing more and more worried about her. Surely she had found an acceptable bathroom by now in the huge hotel complex. He couldn’t leave his post to look for her. Should he send someone else? If he alerted the night manager, Ranee might get in trouble. But what if she were already in trouble? Lekvich felt his head swimming. He decided to wait another five minutes and then to inquire—discreetly—if someone could please look for his supervisor in the ladies room.
An orange, fur-covered humanoid from Fragis Ipsilon approached the desk on three of its six limbs. “Excuse? Excuse?”
Lekvich Tor took a deep breath. It was his first alien, face-to-face. Luckily it seemed to speak some English. “Yes? How can I help you?” he said.
“Halp, yesh—Halp.”
“That’s what I said. How can I be of service?”
“Servish?” The Fragis Ipsilonian seemed puzzled by the concept. His eyestalks drooped in what must have been confusion. “Servish? Thish one?”
Lekvich Tor felt his patience begin to unravel. “Yes, I’m the concierge,” he said. “At the moment, anyway. What can I do for you?”
“Rum,” said the Ipsilonian.
“You want the bar?” Lekvich Tor said. “But I thought alcohol was poisonous to Ipsilonians.
“Rum, plish.”
Lekvich stared at the matted orange fur in growing confusion. What did it want? To drink? To commit suicide? To drive Lekvich Tor crazy?
Bzzzzzt!
“Excuse me,” he said, turning to the board. “Concierge.”
“This is room 2651, again.” The caller sounded tearful. “I want to cancel the genetic splicer and order a relationship counselor instead.”
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