“No,” said K’taen-ka’a. She snapped the silver fork in two.
“No? But—but perhaps you didn’t understand me.” Podvex wrung his paws. “Anything Splendel’s stocks, all things Splendel’s stocks, yours for the asking! The Terran ambassador will be only too charmed to make up the difference between your bridegroom’s budget and the actual cost out of his own pocket. And all you’ve got to do is—”
“No.” K’taen-ka’a roiled over so that her vast naked belly was exposed to the heat lamps and scent sprinklers so needful to her comfort. “Now you listen to me, little one,” she said in a level voice. “This wedding your Terran friends are so delirious about is none of my doing. I was raised to be a warrior, to slaughter P’toon, and eventually to bear children who in turn would slaughter P’toon. Then along comes this busy nose Terran female who yatters her way into our chief’s good graces, does the same on the P’toon side, and convinces the pair of ‘em that instead of slaughtering each other’s people as the gods intended we should start breeding together.”
She flopped back onto her belly and her expression was not comforting to see. “I was chosen to be the first. I must abandon all hope of ever seeing P’toon blood running over my knuckles in this life through no fault of my own.”
“You did say you could try killing your mate after you bear his first cubber.” Podvex didn’t like to see anyone unhappy.
K’taen-ka’a spat again, without benefit of lizard scale. “Under his degenerate tribal law. Under mine, a wife who kills the father of her child is left naked in a room with a few old, embittered women and many sharp objects.”
Her fingernails dug feather-spewing trenches in the cushions of her divan as she said, “I would kill the odious visTonktonk now, if I could, but since we are betrothed it is decreed under his law and mine that if we come face-to-face, we must marry immediately.”
Podvex was about to suggest the classic stab in the back as an alternative, but decided to let the lady unburden her heart without interruption. Besides, he had no idea whether backstabbing was approved under Kha’ak or P’toon tribal law. Mister Moogi always said not to second-guess the customers unless they paid for it.
“I would hire board-certified assassins from Room Service to do the deed,” K’taen-ka’a went on, “except that would shame me before my sisters as too lazy to attend to my own murders. All that is left to me is the ri’khak-umrow, and by the seven and a half breasts of the Second Greatest Mother, I intend to use it!”
“We have some very nice weresilks at Splendel’s this season,” Podvex pressed, even while he knew it was hopeless. “Also genuine Terran all-cotton T-shirts with witty mottos and racial slurs. I’m sure Mister Moogi would have one specially printed up for you saying something nasty about the sexual preferences of the P’toon.”
“Ri’khak-umrow,” the Kha’ak repeated, savoring the words. “Disgraceful death by presents. It is one of our oldest and most insidious customs. No matter what the visTonktonk gives me for a bridal gift, I shall respond by returning it accompanied by an even more lavish present. Since I have returned his gift to me, he must send back both the gifts with a still more expensive one. Then it is my turn to respond in kind, adding a fourth gift to the sum, and so it shall go until the miserable wretch is left shamed, poverty stricken, and impotent to outdo the sumptuousness of my final offering.” She closed her eyes and reveled in the thought of an impotent P’toon.
“What if he does outdo you?” Podvex asked timidly.
K’taen-ka’a’s eyes snapped open and fixed on the meek little Dangvim. “Impossible. Honor prevents a marriageable male P’toon from using any funds but his own. I, on the other hand, as an independent unmarried maiden, may do what I damned well like with the resources of my entire clan. If they don’t approve of my spending habits, they’re free to try killing me. Little chance of that, in this case: The giving of a gift to a trueborn Kha’ak is tantamount to declaring that her kin are unable to support her in fitting style. It is therefore an insult to my whole family. They’ll let me spend whatever I want to destroy the insolent rogue.”
“But you don’t get to kill him; just destroy him financially,” Podvex pointed out.
“I know.” K’taen-ka’a’s eyes were gleaming yellow slits. “It’s much less merciful that way.”
The Dangvim grew thoughtful. “If Mairphot Garoo visTonktonk doesn’t give you a bridal gift, the wedding’s not legal under his people’s law. If Mairphot Garoo visTonktonk does give you a bridal gift, you can commence death by presents under your people’s law.”
“There you have it.” K’taen-ka’a yawned, content.
“Didn’t the Terrans know about this situation before they got your chiefs to set up the marriage?”
Again Podvex found himself staring into the glare of K’taen-ka’a’s full set of teeth. “What do you think, little one?” A bubbling noise welled up in her throat, part merriment, part slurp. “Now run along and do your shopping for my future bridegroom. As I said, I’m not fussy. Anything will do. Because whatever it is you choose, I’ll send it right back to him with a better gift in tow. You can price it low, but that will only make the game stretch out a little longer. The end result will be the same.”
Podvex dragged his paws all the way to the door. Before he left, he turned to try one last suggestion: “You couldn’t just… just accept the gift and marry him?”
“I am a trueborn Kha’ak,” came the reply. “After I am wed, I may take no more independent actions until the day I am judged to be past childbearing. With all that to look forward to, would you be in such a hurry to kiss your virginity goodbye?”
“Yes, but for the sake of peace—”
“Ah, how fond you are of peace, little one!” There was a dangerous undertone to K’taen-ka’a’s seemingly casual words. She swung her legs over the edge of the divan and started toward Podvex, saying, “And who are more peaceful than the dead?”
The Dangvim didn’t stop running until he was safely back in the Glorioski Lounge at Splendel’s.
“It looks bad,” said Frank.
“Bad,” Podvex agreed.
Mister Moogi glowered at the pair of them and refreshed the squeeze teas. He had not said a word since the scent-sac incident, but the play of color bands over his cheek flaps told its own tale of irritation, indignation, and occasional speechless rage.
Now, as the colors shaded up into the deeper purple hues, he finally broke silence. “Bad is not the word!” he sputtered. “Ruination does not begin to describe it. I don’t blame you, Podvex. For once, I have come to expect a certain level of idiocy from you, and you have yet to disappoint me. But you, sir!” He turned on Frank. “We never expected much from Terrans as far as the finer points of galactic society go, but at least we thought they’d know how to behave themselves in a hotel.”
“Wha-wha-what—?” Frank’s stammered bewilderment made no impression on Mister Moogi.
“The wedding will not take place. That much is clear. Your people will lose a great deal of face for having backed a worst-selling line of goods. Your own career will of course be over. The female who so cunningly maneuvered you into this predicament will avoid all blame and make your existence a misery and a shame with her gloating now. You would have done better to have devoured her after sex, like any civilized sentient.”
“Don’t I know it,” Frank muttered.
“So much for you. As for Podvex, he will always bear the stigma of an unfulfilled and unfulfillable contract. He will be”—Mister Moogi shuddered—“my apprentice forever.”
“I wouldn’t mind it that much. Mister Moog—” A single icy glance from his employer shut Podvex’s mouth for him.
“Forever might not last as long as you expect, Podvex. Word of the wedding’s failure will pass into legend, and legend will be sure to explain just why the wedding failed. Names will be named. Your foolish haste to sign a contract whose terms you did not fully understand will become immortal. So will the name of the sh
op lack-wit enough to have creatures like you on staff.”
“You did tell me that any publicity is good publicity, Mister Moogisir.” Bravely Podvex tried to salvage some crumb of hope from the ashes.
“I lied.”
“Oh.” The crumb crumbled.
“To say nothing of what’s going to happen to Osprey,” Frank remarked, thinking aloud. “No wedding, no peace. Boom. Bum. Armageddon. Ouch.”
“Osprey?” Mister Moogi bristled. “What is Osprey?”
“Just a whole world of short-tempered sentients that’s going to be turned into toast, that’s all.”
“And what is that to me?” Mister Moogi demanded.
“Probably nothing,” Frank allowed. “I just thought that toast goes well with a little of the milk of human kindness.”
Mister Moogi’s vents made terse, snuffling sounds, the equivalent of a human’s disdainful sniff. “Milk is for mammals” he said, wearing contempt like a fine cloak. “We are speaking of the fate of Splendel’s.” Using every free foreclaw on his body, he gestured toward the panoramic windows of the Glorioski Lounge. Through these glassy portals and via the networks of viewscreens above them it was possible to see every corner of the gift shop.
It was a striking spectacle, one that never failed to impress Podvex. Almost against his will, he found himself drawn fascinated to the windows and the viewscreens, his eyes sweeping the vast abundance of the gift shop’s wares. His heart beat a little faster and a tear rose to his eyes. “Everything from soup to numps.” he murmured.
“What was that?” Mister Moogi snapped.
“He said, ‘Everything from soup to nuts,’ “ Frank supplied.
“He did not. He said numps. I heard him. Podvex, how dare you!”
“How dare I what?” The little Dangvim held up his paws in abject helplessness.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. I never saw such an apprentice for getting out of work. Hmph! Probably use the excuse that this Osprey-thing-world’s about to blow itself up. Well, it won’t hatch any clutches with me!” Mister Moogi’s foreclaws jutted out in an attitude of impatient expectation. “Podvex, I am waiting. Isn’t there something you should be doing?”
“Uhhhh, ritual suicide?”
“Business before pleasure,” Mister Moogi said sternly.
“Oh, my fur and follicles!” Podvex slapped his own forehead. “The ‘numps’.”
“And the yumas, and the sevreens, and the Weimaraners, and the—” Mister Moogi was left to enumerate to an empty lounge. Podvex had streaked out, followed at a respectable gallop by the Terran.
“So that’s a nump,” said Frank, peering into the sonocage at a square-shouldered, baggy-eyed creature that looked like a cross between a throw pillow and a hamster.
“Uh-huh,” Podvex replied. “Splendel’s might not be the top gift shop in the Hotel Andromeda, but we do have the top pet department. It’s my job to inspect the animals daily and reprogram the servos according to any changes I observe. What with all the excitement, I forgot.”
While Podvex attended to his duties. Frank strolled from cage to cage, idly studying the animals inside. “You know, Podvex,” he remarked, “I think maybe I’m in the wrong profession. Animal husbandry, now there’s the ticket for a peaceable man like me. Take these critters, for example”—he waved at the denizens of one cage—“I could probably breed them and sell them for a living. I’ll bet there’s a nice market for them somewhere.”
Podvex glanced at the cage that held Frank’s attention. “Mister Moogi says there’s a market for everything somewhere, even lagbels. The only trouble is, you’ve got to find a really wealthy market: they cost a paw and a tail.”
“Really?” Frank’s interest was piqued. He had just been making conversation with all his talk of quitting the dipcorps. But now he took a closer look at the lagbels in their cage. They were not very large animals, both about groundhog size, one slightly plumper than the other. There was nothing especially striking about their dull gray coloration or smooth-haired coats. They had simple binocular vision, four paws apiece, and medium-sized tails that looked incapable of doing more than balancing their owners despite an odd tuft of stiff, prickly-looking hair at the tip. Snuggled against one another, they looked up at the curious Terran with large, moist green eyes.
“Why are they that expensive?” Frank asked. “They lay golden eggs?”
“They’re mammals; they don’t lay any eggs,” Podvex replied. He joined his customer at the lagbel cage. “I don’t know much about them, Frankmacgregorsir. Mister Moogi just told me to keep the pets alive and not to ask stupid questions.” The Dangvim grew thoughtful. “There is something about lagbels I remember, though.”
“What’s that?”
“You know the Tyrrhenians who always take over the hotel for their annual Mating Convention every Newtfolly Eve?”
Frank shook his head. “I’m not a hotel resident like you, Podvex. The only thing I know about Tyrrhenians is they’re one of the most peaceful races in this sector of the galaxy.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you ever saw their Mating Convention. Twenty-nine fire alarms per day minimum, slime on all the mirrors, and they always steal the housekeeping servos. Anyhow, toward the end of the convention, when things are settling down, all the newly mated couples come in here and buy breeding pairs of lagbels. One lagbel’s expensive, but two—! So once, when I was pretty sure Mister Moogi was busy elsewhere, I asked them why. The Tyrrhenians told me that the lagbel’s probably the most fiercely monogamous creature in the galaxy. They mate for life, and they coexist peacefully the whole time they’re together.”
“Neat trick,” Frank muttered.
“Oh, it’s no trick, Frankmacgregorsir; it’s science! The Tyrrhenians told me that laboratory experiments showed that the male and the female each give off a different kind of musk to attract the opposite sex. When they find each other, the two musks combine in midair and the resulting substance has a tranquilizing effect on the lagbels. There’s no research to back this, but Tyrrhenian tradition says the musk also has the same effect on other sentients that get within breathing distance, which is why… which is why… Why, Frankmacgregorsir, why are you staring at the lagbels like that?”
“Podvex,” the Terran said slowly, a smile replacing the look of black despair that had been clouding up his features. “Podvex, does Splendel’s deliver?”
Podvex was humming happily to himself as he tidied up the cosmetics section when the assassins sprang. He was just able to sound the alarm summoning security servos before they stuffed him into a sack and tossed him into the back of the linen cart they had hijacked for their purposes. It was an armed linen cart of the sort that could be left unattended in the hotel corridors without fear of any greedy passerby helping himself to the little shampoos and soaps. In seconds, every security servo in the vicinity was reduced to a smoking heap of slag and the assassins made a clean getaway.
Podvex next saw the light in K’taen-ka’a’s room. The assassins dumped him on the rugs and paused only long enough to accept the Kha’ak maiden’s generous tip before departing. Then K’taen-ka’a turned to face the trembling Dangvim.
Her fury made every layer of muscle on her immense body ripple until it made poor Podvex seasick Just to look at her. “Where is it?” she demanded.
“Where is what?” Podvex cheeped. It was an honest question, the kind that always makes people get really angry and shout:
“You know what!”
Podvex watched the thin strands of saliva vertically banding the Kha’ak’s gaping maw and decided he’d be safer making an educated guess than being honest again and likely ending up dead for his high morals.
“Oh! You mean where is the… gift?” K’taen-ka’a’s wicked hiss sounded affirmative, so Podvex dared to add, “It… it ought to be here. I delivered it myself. You remember. I gave it right into your hands and you asked if it bit and I said I didn’t think so, although when we took it out of its—”
“Is it? Oh dear. That’s terrible.”
“That is worse than terrible,” the noble Kha’ak maiden snarled.
“You—you liked it so much? Goodness, I’m glad to hear it. It’s always so difficult picking out gifts for someone else. Sentients have such differing tastes, especially when it comes to pets. That’s why I seldom recommend them as gifts unless you know the recipient really well. I told the Terran that—”
“I did not like it at all!” K’taen-ka’a’s roar made the lightsticks jiggle. “It was a gift, you fool! Did I not tell you that to my tribe, a gift is an insult and an insult that must be returned?”
“Re-retumed? Yesssss, you did say something like—”
“And to be returned, a gift must be somewhere I can find it to return!” She thrust a sharp-tipped finger at the empty sonocage in the corner. Podvex crept over to examine it and found that the lock control panel—one of the best—had been assaulted from within with a keen, pointed object. For an instant, a vision of the lagbel’s spiky tail flashed across the Dangvim’s mind.
“Please, K’taen-ka’amam,” Podvex said, cringing. “Surely you don’t blame me for this?”
“I do not.”
“Then why… why have you brought me here?”
“What? You are surprised?” The Kha’ak herself looked startled. “Doesn’t Splendel’s offer shop-at-home service? I merely wished to place an order for a replacement beast so that the ri’khak-umrow could commence.”
Hotel Andromeda Page 22
