Preparations

3

Preparations

    In certain ways Sfthnyxer was a bad choice for refitting the ship. For one thing, it was full of fermented laa dives. In other ways, of course, it was the ideal choice.

    “These are really blobbed out,” noted the Chief Refitter of their Refitter Gang with his neck down the hyperdrive.

    “Yes,” agreed BrTl with his neck beside his.

    Trff didn’t need to look, it knew every blob individually. “Yes,” it agreed sadly.

    “We-ell...” With the portion of his anatomy that was outside the hyperdrive’s hatch the Chief Refitter scratched a shoulder with a hind foot. –He was a xathpyroid, but that didn’t mean BrTl trusted him. In fact none of them would have trusted any being on Sfthnyxer as far as they could have thrown them without benefit of blobs. It was true that Sfthnyxer was within the Federation. Just. Spatially it was on the Outer Rim and ethically it was even more on the outer rim.

    “I’ll get rid of these for you,” decided the Chief Refitter briskly, “and we’ll be looking at... mm, say ten rafts of super-igs for the complete refit job. –That’ll be with the trade-in, of course,” he added smoothly.

    Trff immediately broke the last symb-connection between the blobs and the ship, and BrTl began picking them delicately out of their beds with his teeth and a few odd pseudopods that helpfully shot out of his neck. It was one of the advantages of being a xathpyroid on a ship with a hyperdrive. Even Trff’s tentacles had difficulty in reaching to the bottom of the drive.

    “We'll take care of these,” BrTl corrected smoothly. “Ten rafts of super-igs, did you say? Charge it to Fleet Commander Vt R’aam’s private account, will you?”

    The Chief Refitter began to say it’d be more without the trade-in and thought better of it. “It’s your neck,” he muttered, not bothering to point out that recycling hyperblobs was IG-illegal.

    BrTl pouched a few blobs in his cheeks and agreed thickly: “Yersh.”

    Trff inserted a tentacle delicately into one of the Chief Refitter’s overall pockets. “For your-its trouble.”

    The Chief Refitter had been about to warn them they were looking at a month-long job; happily he said: “Well, this’ll take us a couple of days, at the outside!”

    “Goob,” noted BrTl thickly.

    “It’ll come back in a couple of days, then,” noted Trff.

    “The Nirvana Garden’s a good one,” said the Chief Refitter kindly. “Or the Zll Palace on Thirty-Fourth and Main. All its fermented laa is imported from Zll.”

    “Yeah, could do the rounds,” agreed BrTl from inside the hyperdrive.

    “It may do the rounds,” agreed Trff, departing.

    “I hope it’s got a hard head. Or whatever they use for heads,” muttered the Chief Refitter.

    BrTl ignored this, he was used to the disillusioned and xenophobic remarks of beings such as Chief Refitters. In fact Chief Refitters were generally like that, all over the two galaxies: seemed to go with the trade. He withdrew from the hyperdrive and said kindly: “A small tip.” A pseudopod inserted a hyperblob in one of the Chief Refitter’s overall pockets.

    The Chief Refitter didn’t point out that he had no use for an IG-illegal hyperblob. What he did say was: “You’ll have to get that lot off-world, had you thought of that?”

    “No,” lied BrTl firmly.

    “What about my records?” he grumbled.

    “Here,” said BrTl kindly, inserting another blob in another pocket.

    “Well, we’ll get on with it, then,” he said.

    “Good.”

    “The Happy Wanderer on Sixty-Third’s got great nnru juice,” he said helpfully.

    “I may drop in there, once the ship’s refitted,” BrTl agreed.

    Resignedly the Chief Refitter went off to get his gang together and start refitting.

    Meanwhile, Jhl was in uptown Thrbsh, the chief city of Sfthnyxer, also being refitted.

    The residents of Sfthnyxer were used to scruffy-looking space traders, even with merchant captains’ stars up, so the s-beings in Sh-Rn’s Quog Cave didn’t look all that impressed when she came in. In fact the one who was doing reception looked in a pained way at her boots and pointedly at their fake puce wtmyrian carpet. It allowed a discernible pause to occur before it spoke. Then it said: “May we help you, Captain?”

    “Yes, you can help me out of this garment, it’s warm in here,” replied Jhl, beginning to struggle out of the Durocloth coveralls.

    The receptionist didn’t move. It replied, still polite but even more pointed: “Do you have an appointment, Captain?”

    “Yes! In the—humanoid—section!” panted Jhl, struggling with the coveralls.

    “I’m afraid Sh-Rn’s humanoid section is for ladies only, Captain,” said the being politely.

    Jhl goggled at it. True, it was only a fluffy puce Flppu—Sh-Rn must buy them to match the carpets—but it was sentient within the Meaning! Maybe it was on iirouelli’i juice, Flppus were known to be addicted to it.

    “I am a lady. If you mean a humanoid female,” she said weakly.

    “My apologies, Captain,” it said, not sounding apologetic. “Would there be some IG ID?”

    “YES, there’d be some IG ID!” shouted Jhl, turning about as puce as the being, not to say the carpet. “My name’s Jhl Smt Wong and the appointment was made by one of Fleet Commander Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s beings, and if that doesn’t recall it to your juiced-up mind, I’ll go elsewhere, uptown Thrbsh is full of beauty parlours, in case that’s slipped your notice!”

    After that of course all the beings grovelled, and a much more up-market one took over and proceeded to waft Jhl to the humanoid section. The being was actually a Friyrian, must be down on her/s luck, noted Jhl, wondering why s/he had seen fit to tint her/s skin pale apricot, their natural turquoise was much prettier. She couldn’t tell from either her/s appearance or the fearsomely wound garment whether the being was male-tended or female-tended, and refrained from looking—bad enough that the poor being had to wear a bracelet, without being probed by every other casual customer of the cursed place!

    Finally she said weakly: “That’s a lovely garment you have on, er—S-Lyuprrbyllia.” –Peering at the pale puce lubolyon name-tag that matched her/s pale puce and silver garment.

    S-Lyuprrbyllia simpered and replied in excellent Intergalactic with a strong Sfthnyxerian accent, so s/he must’ve been here a while: “Thank you, Captain, you’re too kind! Sh-Rn graciously allows her A-Class s-beings a wide choice of dress."

    “Yes. Um, actually my sister has a garment very like it in style."

    “Many of the humanoid ladies are wearing this style this season,” the being agreed.

    Jhl gave up. She never had been any good at social nosiness. The sex-tendency of this particular Friyrian would have to remain a mystery for all time.

    “May one enquire whether you have any specific look in mind, Captain?"

    “N—Hang on: yes. I want to look like a Playfair Pleasure Girl: is that possible?"

    “But certainly, Captain! Many of our ladies desire that look!”

    “Good,” said Jhl glumly.

    There was a pause. The colour of the fake wtmyrian carpets changed from puce to pale green, so they were definitely approaching an A-Class section of the beauty parlour.

    “Er—you do mean a mammalian humanoid Pleasure Girl, Captain?"

    “Sure!” said Jhl with a would-be airy laugh.

    The Friyrian’s poise would not allow her/m to sag in relief, but s/he almost did. Jhl certainly got a strong emanation of sag. “Of course!” s/he said with the polite tinkle that was the Friyrian equivalent of a light laugh.

    “Will I have to have my hair tinted?” asked Jhl gloomily as they came up to the actual refit shop. –Whatever.

    “Not if you do not desire it, Captain!” the being gasped.

    “Oh. Uh—didn’t Fleet Commander Vt R’aam leave any specific instructions?"

    “No, indeed! Our instructions are to take our orders,” s/he said coyly, “from you, Captain!”

    Wincing, Jhl conceded that she’d leave it up to them, then. And the beings of Sh-Rn’s Quog Cave scurried up to her…

   The skin would be splendid after one or at the most two applications of Vvlvanian thermo-mud. Of course—polite laughter and tinkling—it had been deodorised! And it was available in a delightful range of perfumes, would the Captain care for Bluellian snu blossom or— She plumped for Zllian eeaiiaya flowers, why not, it might remind her of her last scented laa bath. Five megazillion light-years ago—right.

    The nails would be no problem! To this Jhl, thinking uneasily of the genuineness of her disguise, replied that she didn’t want anything artificial. But no! They had the very latest humanoid nail-culturing techniques, of course—

    … “Galloping grqwary gizzards,” she said deeply.

    The beings of Sh-Rn’s Quog Cave hovered anxiously, some supporting iridescent mirrors of real Mklontian wkli shell—Jhl had seen it before, Shank’yar’s vacuum-frozen nirvana garden was full of the stuff—some merely sustaining the coalescence of the Oononian maxi-webs, which actually provided a much better image, more like a sim-pic, and some just bearing implements and unguents in case any finishing touches should be needed. They all assured her that Madam—at what point she had changed from a Captain to a Madam, Jhl had no idea, possibly her eyes had been closed at the time—that Madam looked wonderful! A very young one, who was a Bluellian, added “Galaxious!”

    Jhl stared at the multiple reflections of a small mammalian humanoid with a swirling cloud of finest black T-K silk fronds round its head and the pubic heart to match. The Bluellian girl assured her she could have a beautiful cut quog stone in her tummy-button, if she liked: the Pleasure Girls often did that! Jhl replied drily that she didn’t have a quog stone but a being immediately opened a box and showed her some.

    Jhl gulped.

    “I’m sure it would please Fleet Commander Vt R’aam, Madam,” cooed a small apricot Flppu.

    “I’m sure he’d laugh his vacuum-frozen head off,” replied Jhl glumly.

    This for some strange reason embarrassed the Flppu: it began industriously polishing her already gleaming toenails. –Shlaa, it was the latest shade favoured by the Pleasure Girls, according to all Sh-Rn’s beings.

    “Try it, Madam,” urged the Bluellian girl.

    “Does your mother know what you’re doing for a living, S-Kh’rn?” returned Jhl heavily.

    S-Kh’rn explained she was doing her apprenticeship: she was going to open a Sh-Rn’s Quog Cave in Bluell City when she qualified. Her parents had paid fifty super-igs to get her the apprenticeship!

    Wondering grimly if Kh’rn’s parents had realised the apprenticeship would entail the wearing of a bracelet, Jhl said: “I see. I’ll try a hunk of vacuum-frozen quog in my navel if you all think it’s the thing.”

    They all did, so she tried one. Great splintered shards of—hah, hah—quog!

    “This had better vacuum-frozen-well go on the Shank’yar Vt R’aam account,” she said feebly.

    They assured her that naturally it would. Madam.

    “What’s happened to my cheeks?” she then said suspiciously. They all quickly looked at her cheeks but they remained, fore and aft, the same glowing pinkish-shlaa-ish shade they had been when she’d spoken.

    “Is this a tint?” she added, poking gingerly at one side of her face. They assured her that it was all done by stimulation of the nerve ends—the natural way—and that Sh-Rn only permitted the very best stimo-blobs— Yeah, yeah.

    “Is that It, then?” she said glumly.

    S-Lyuprrbyllia had left them to it for a while, but returned to supervise the insertion of the Oononian mini-web in the hair. (Yes, well, how else would it swirl out like fine fronds of T-K silk, it was only mammalian hair, after all.) S/he now said smoothly: “Unless the Captain would desire anything further?”

    “I don’t know,” sighed Jhl. “He wants me to look like a Playfair Pleasure Girl. Do I, do you think?"

    S-Lyuprrbyllia and all the s-beings assured her eagerly that she looked exactly like that! Almost swamping her with emanations of sympathetic fellow-feeling, so much so that she had to check that her shield was still up. So that was what it was like, being another being’s Pleasure Being. Ugh.

    BrTl fell around the bridge, laughing helplessly. Fortunately the ship was built to take it.

    “Shut up! SHUT UP, YOU MOK LOVER!” she shouted.

    “Sorry—Captain—sir!” he gasped, when he could utter. “Does that Oononian mini-web tickle?” he enquired politely.

    “Shut up,” said Jhl through her beautiful naturally pearlized teeth. –She had begun to wonder grimly just how much of Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s beauty was natural. Because those teeth of his, now she came to study her own closely, had “pearlized” written all over them.

    “If you wear those gold skimpies at the Thrbsh Astoria, beings’ll take you for a genuine Pleasure Girl,” he warned her.

    “Object of the exercise,” returned Jhl glumly. “We need to run a trial.”

    “I think you’ll be able to tell without having to say yes to the first piece of Vvlvanian magma-scum off the streets of Thrbsh,” he assured her kindly. “Um… wear your uniform to the Thrbsh Astoria and buy a fearsome garment in one of its vile boutiques and change in the hygiene cabinet,” he decided. “I’d better come with you. –Must you wear that quog rock? I feel quite uncomfortable in the company of a being whose button is worth more than half this ship.”

    “I can’t take it out, it’s stuck in with super-permo-gell, I was afraid Shan might make me reimburse him for it if I lost it.”

    “What will you do when you eventually wish to divest yourself of it?” he asked politely. “Have yourself cut off it?”

    “Very witty. No, I’m hoping that they’ll have invented super-unpermo-ungell, by then. –All right, let’s get it over with.”

    A garment was duly purchased and charged to Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s account. Green—BrTl chose it, it was his retinal predisposition, he always liked green. She didn’t have to go into the hygiene cabinet, the beings in the boutique wound her into it then and there. It felt like a Gervaynian prison-cage.

    “You look like Lle’onee’ya,” he reported on a mournful note.

    “Good,” she said heartlessly. “Is it possible to get out of it unaided?” she asked.

    All she had to do was think Drop at the silver blobs, Madam!

    “Good. And now explain how to walk in it,” she said glumly.

    After they’d realised that this wasn't a joke, the boutique’s beings explained that one had to take very small steps, Madam.

    That was that, and they went into the downstairs side bar of the Thrbsh Astoria—called The Qwlot Cup, not that they cared—and ordered. The Qwlot Cup specialised in exotic drinks. —Strictly speaking, everything was exotic on Sfthnyxer, it had been an uninhabited hunk of rock until some enterprising Developers had got hold of it, provided it with an artificial atmosphere, and installed a Meteorologist. Now Sfthnyxer not only had seasons, it also produced many exotic blooms, most of which were exported for the lucrative and very up-market IG fresh flower market. Or, in the case of blooms all the way from Sfthnyxer, slightly vacuum-frozen flower market. Beings such as Lle’onee’ya would occasionally wear a bloom from Sfthnyxer on their heads or shoulders for very grand occasions. Beings such as Shank’yar Vt R’aam, of course, had their own flowers growing in their nirvana gardens on plasmo-blasted Playfair Two. And beings such as Jhl’s Mum or M’mri’in innocently wandered out onto the plains of Bluellia and picked wild ones by the armful in spring and summer, at a cost of nothing but the effort of doing so. It was a funny old Known Universe, all right.

    Jhl firmly ordered a straight shot of qwlot.

    BrTl ordered a De Luxe Willunian Moon-Blaster Special and when it came was extremely disconcerted to find that it consisted of one drop of qwlot in a layer of something yellow and sticky, a horridly pink layer of fermented laa, a layer of pale blue froth, and one drop of something bright pink and probably not intoxicating, not dissolved in the froth. And a flower.

    “Do I eat this?” he said cautiously to the small, spherical, fluffy waiter. –A Flppu, puce to match the up-market wtmyrian carpet, there were a lot of Flppus on Sfthnyxer, mostly descendants of the original germplasm imported at the time the planet had been Developed.

    “Certainly, Great Lord, if it should suit your metabolism!” it squeaked.

    He sniffed at it dubiously. “I don’t think it does, actually.”

    “The De Luxe Willunian Moon-Blaster Special is not generally ordered by our xathpyroid customers, Great Lord,” it squeaked apologetically.

    “Fancy. –Why are you calling me Great Lord?” he asked with interest.

    The Flppu looked up at him with tremendous admiration and giggled helplessly.

    “Leave us,” he groaned.

    Giggling, the Flppu left.

    “Juiced up,” he reported.

    “I think they all are. I would be, too, if I was a Flppu. Especially on Sfthnyxer.” Jhl picked up her shot glass. Just to show how up-market the Thrbsh Astoria truly was, it actually was an S/IG shot glass (humanoid size). Not over-weighted, not optically altered to disguise the fact that it held less than half a shot—just a shot glass. “Through the hatch.”

    “Through the hatch,” agreed BrTl, approaching his mouth to his phthyffia straw. “Ugh! Uh—think I’ll switch to qwlot,” he conceded lamely.

    Two rounds later it dawned that the reason no-one had approached Jhl with a proposition was that they were all scared of BrTl. Well, the Flppu had returned with a whispered suggestion, but BrTl had choked into his basin of qwlot, and the Flppu had retreated, wiping its fluff with the little towel the waiters all mysteriously carried in up-market bars like The Qwlot Cup. –Cleared that mystery up, they noted.

    So BrTl went off to a booth at the far side of the room.

    Three-quarters of an IG hour later it was fairly clear the disguise had worked, in fact the trial might have been said to have been completed successfully, and all hands could now stand down.

   Jhl had been propositioned by five sentient beings. Three of them humanoids, one actually a Bluellian, whom she informed sternly he ought to be home in bed (he was a ship’s boy). The other two were above the Bluellian age of consent, however.

    One of them was a male-tended Friyrian. Jhl had always rather fancied them, they were so tall and slim. Bipedal mammalians, not that far removed from humanoid. And the natural turquoise skin was very pretty. He was wearing the sort of up-market male leisure-wear with which J’f had astounded, or possibly sickened, the family on Galaxy Day. To wit, a refitter’s overall, pockets and all, but in pastel scintillion rather than Durocloth. J’f’s had been yellow, rather boring, really, but the Friyrian’s was turquoise, toning with his skin. He suggested a five with a turquoise Flppu that was his personal s-being, a female-tended Friyrian, and a three-legged Slgr from Slr.

    The fifth proposition was from a crested Nblyterian in her/s female stage. She suggested a three with a gentleman over there who was rather shy. This very young humanoid gentleman wore Space Service Number Twos with Whtyllian flashes, so Jhl said, smiling at the Nblyterian, who was really very pretty and rather sweet: “Thanks, but I don’t think that would be a very good idea. Well, tell your friend over there that I know Fleet Commander Lord Vt R’aam of Whtyll very well, in fact he sent me here for a beauty treatment—and see what he says.” Presumably the gentleman said: “Let’s go,” or words to that effect, because they both went.

    BrTl came back after that and said sadly: “That Nblyterian was very pretty. A green crest.”

    “Yes, but I was in a three once with one of them, and it didn’t work out: they get very possessive.”

    “So was I—no, it was a four, actually, but same difference. After a while ours started trying to be both sexes at once and went schizo. Had to go off to a nursing home on Mullgon’ya.”

    “Poor being!” cried Jhl. “Um—what did you actually do in this four, if I may ask?” she said weakly, trying to imagine a xathpyroid doing anything.

    “Whatever they liked. They were all very nice beings. Usually they just wanted to get on my back and roll around doing things to one another.”

    “Oh, well, whatever blobs you up,” said Jhl comfortably. “Have a nnru juice?”

    “Thought you’d never ask. –You’d better not, on top of that qwlot,” he warned. “Some being has to guide me back to the ship, after all.”

    “That reminds me, have you heard from Trff?"

    BrTl concentrated. “No,” he reported.

    Jhl sent for a Flppu. “A shot of nnru juice for me, and a small basin of it for my friend. How much is our tab now?”

    The Flppu told her and she said firmly: “Charge it to Fleet Commander Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s private account, would you?”

    The Flppu couldn’t bow, balls of fluff being the wrong shape for that, but it bobbed very obsequiously and went off to get their drinks. The which proved something-or-other.

    “It didn’t ask for your IG ID,” said BrTl numbly.

    “They don’t, in very up-market—” A slow smile spread over her face. “You’ve never been in one before, have you?”

    “Not one with real wtmyrian carpets where you can tell them to charge your tab to a Fleet Commander’s account, no!” he said with feeling. “I’m only a Wavey-Spacey Lieutenant!”

    “Wavey-Spacey Lieutenant-Pilot,” she murmured.

     BrTl shrugged. “Can you contact Trff?” he said after a moment.

    Jhl concentrated. “No. –Hang on: yes, it’s there, though I couldn't say exactly where, and it’s very full of fermented laa.”

    “You are better then me,” he noted.

    Jhl sighed. “Will I be good enough, though?”

    “Mok droppings,” BrTl noted politely.

    Glaring, the Chief Refitter retorted: “Those ten rafts haven’t appeared in the Thrbsh Number Seven Refit Account, yet.”

    “No, and they won’t until this ship is properly refitted and in working condition.”

    “If you were an engineer you’d see that it is properly refitted, it’s just that you're not”—he got a mind-message—“reading the blobs properly,” he finished feebly.

    BrTl just eyed him blandly.

    Growling under his breath, the Chief Refitter called to his gang. They got on with it.

     …“Well?” said BrTl.

    “Nothing fits,” replied Trff mournfully.

    “Fermented laa does that,” he agreed. “What about the hyperdrive?”

    “Nothing fits,” it repeated.

     BrTl squared his shoulders. He lashed his tail.

    “NO!” screamed Jhl.

    “STOP!” hooted Trff madly.

    Too late, BrTl and the Chief Refitter were rolling round the spaceport tarmac in a xathpyroid battle to the almost very-nearly death or at least unconscious. Fortunately Thrbsh’s heavy-duty tarmac could take it. BrTl won, but they hadn’t thought he wouldn’t, this was one of the reasons that they’d chosen Sfthnyxer for the refit.

    Five S/IG hours after he and the Chief Refitter had rolled off, necks entwined, to a nnru dive, xathpyroid culture-pod cognates for life, or at least until the next argument over a refit job, the ship was ready. Trff fine-tuned the hyperblobs and then it really was ready.

    The Sfthnyxer Excise went over it with a fine-tooth comb but didn't find a thing out of place. The Intergalactic Customs and Excise went over it with a fine-tooth comb and their shades lowered but didn't find a thing out of place. Then they put all three of them through Decontam. but the only thing they found was Jhl’s quog button and she had the dokko for that.

    Then they were allowed to take off.

    A goodly distance out of Sfthnyxer space, in fact well away from any inhabited planet, they stopped the ship and Trff broke the symb-links with the hyperdrive. Strictly IG-illegal, of course. Then BrTl stuck his neck down the drive and carefully retrieved all the blobbed-out blobs hidden there. It seemed the obvious place, so it was funny it was the one place IG C&E never looked. Well, they looked, but they never saw anything, because Trff would always have told the new hyperblobs to block out the view of the old ones. It seemed the obvious move, it was odd IG C&E had never thought of it. Of course not many tramp-trader ships had Ju’ukrterian Chief Engineers, maybe that had something to do with it. Well, none, really, except theirs. Ju’ukrterian it-beings tended not to mix: they were more interested in theory than in practice. Trff had become an engineer because mind-symbs with blobs of all kinds were its special subject. No-one had ever thought to ask it this except Jhl and BrTl (and, more latterly, M’mri’in). So there you were.

    Then they entered hyperspace and hypered off to another place entirely, in fact so entirely that it wasn’t in the Federation, in fact it was well beyond the Outer Rim, and made a nice little packet on the recycled hyperblobs. Which after the ride with their brand-new buddies had become almost lively again. When the buyer had signed for a large consignment of mok droppings (why not? there was a use for everything in the Known Universe, if you knew where to look), they returned, with a hefty number of super-igs in their account, to the environs of their appointed rendezvous. Sort of.

    “Where in the Asteroids of Hhum ARE we?” roared BrTl.

    “You’re the navigator, don’t ask ME!” shouted Jhl.

    “We’re in the right place,” asseverated Trff.

    “FERMENTED LAA-BRAIN!” roared BrTl. “Where is he, if this is the right place?”

    Trff pointed an antenna solemnly into space.

    “WHERE?” they bellowed.

     “...two, one,” it counted. “There.”

    Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s Addra Reonia-5 blinked out of hyperspace.

    “Great splintered shards of quog, I wish you-it wouldn’t do that!” shuddered BrTl.

    “Do what?” it said blankly.

    BrTl might have replied, in fact he was taking a deep breath to do so, but the comm-receiver shivered and Fleet Commander Vt R’aam’s voice said: “I trust you’ve disinfected the hold after that load of mok droppings you off-loaded beyond the Limits?"

    “Yes, indeed, Great Lord,” BrTl assured the voice, bowing deeply. Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s sim-image appeared and he stopped bowing and hurriedly saluted. “The ship is quite pure, sir, should you wish to board,” he added obsequiously.

    “I’m sure it is,” the Fleet Commander replied drily.

    “Although to those with super-re-sensitised olfactory organs,” said Jhl, looking hard at his, almost as if she suspected he might have had it done, “there might still be a faint hint of mok in the atmosphere.”

    “I’m sure there might,” the Fleet Commander replied drily. “Lieutenant-Pilot BrTl is known for his attention to detail.”

    BrTl saluted again but Jhl asked keenly: “Does that mean this is official, after all?"

    “Let’s just say that, for the period of his secondment to the Slaetho-Xathpyrian Delegation, Lieutenant-Pilot BrTl is temporarily recalled to active duty from the Fleet Reserve.”

    BrTl groaned, but automatically saluted.

    “You-it'll have to wear your-its uniform,” noted Trff.

    “With a Grand Occasion saddle?” asked Jhl drily.

    “No, for everyday wear. While he-it’s on duty,” it explained.

    They didn’t bother to groan, engineers were all like that.

    “Do you wish to board, sir?” BrTl then asked obsequiously.

    “No, thank you, Lieutenant. I'll send L’Thea over and then you can send Jhl.”

    “Send,” she muttered.

    “It’s the hair,” explained BrTl kindly.

    “And the cheeks,” added the Fleet Commander, shoulders shaking slightly.

    Jhl made a gesture very seldom seen outside the thermo-mud pits of Vvlvania. And certainly very seldom seen by Fleet Commanders. This one must have understood it, though, because his shoulders shook even more and he made a strangled noise. –Trff adjusted its translator, whistling crossly.

    BrTl then cleared his throat.

    “L’Thea’s bringing the new translators and FW packs with her,” said Shank’yar drily.

    “In that case, sir, we’ll send Jhl after L’Thea’s aboard,” he noted obsequiously.

    Shank’yar Vt R’aam merely responded drily: “Do that.”

    L’Thea came aboard forthwith. She was the same body-weight as Jhl, that was good. Should any being chance to aim a long-range probe in their direction. A Space Patrol captain, for example. Even in Durocloth coveralls, however, she didn’t look much like a Bluellian captain, she looked more like a Whtyllian s-being that had been told off to get itself into Durocloth coveralls.

    “Just try and—uh—think like a captain,” groaned BrTl.

    “Yes, Master,” she said meekly.

    “I’M NOT A LORDSHIP, ASTEROID-BRAIN!” he roared.

    Quailing, L’Thea squeaked: “No, sir! I mean, yes, sir!”

    “It will take care of her-it,” decided Trff.

    “Some being had better,” he groaned. “Either that or we’ll just fill her with nnru juice for the duration.”

    “Was she the best you could do?” asked Jhl of the sim-image.

    “Yes. She looks like you. Well, she’s the same body weight and she’s humanoid, those are the two main points. All these fools have to do is get her to Mullgon’ya and sign her in at the Lord R’jt Vt R’aam of Whtyll Memorial Nursing-Home as you. –-Can you manage that?” he said in a nasty voice that verged on his Fleet Commander’s Report voice.

    “Yes, sir!” they both gasped, saluting. Trff went on rubbing L’Thea’s temples soothingly with two other tentacles while it did so, but nevertheless for a Ju’ukrterian it-being that verged on subservience.

    “And GET A RECEIPT!” he roared in his Fleet Commander’s Report voice.

    “Yes, sir!”

    BrTl then spoiled the effect slightly by adding to Jhl in a puzzled way: “Would that have been a cognate of his?"

    “Mm?” Jhl glanced up briefly from a detailed inspection of the new FW packs. “Oh—yes. His grandfather. His dad’s dad.”

    “I see,” he lied politely.

    Trff then spoiled the effect of this by saying: “It and he-it thought that there could only be one dad per mammalian family.”

    L’Thea was feeling a lot better under its soothing tentacles so she interpolated helpfully: “Yes, but his dad would have had a dad, too, you see!”

    BrTl and Trff tacitly conceded defeat. Well, concluded it wasn’t worth bothering about.

    “Get aboard,” the Fleet Commander then ordered Jhl through his beautiful pearly teeth.

    “Hang on,” she replied, with her head in BrTl’s new FW pack.

    Shank’yar Vt R'aam glared at the pinkish-shlaa-ish cheeks.

    BrTl was trying his new translator on. Ooh, little gold sparkly bits, all racing about like anything!

    “It likes you-it,” agreed Trff, trying its on. “Say something in your-its Slaetho-Xathpyrian dialect.”

    “You-it speaks Slaetho-Xathpyrian!” objected BrTl.

    “Ah, but does this translator?"

    BrTl said something in Slaetho-Xathpyrian.

    “Not with your-its translator on, asteroid-brain!”

    At this point L’Thea broke down and giggled helplessly and the Fleet Commander roared: “GET ABOARD! We’re in hyper-hop, in case your asteroid-brained Chief Engineer hasn’t reported the fact to you!”

    “She-it knows,” it said.

    “No wonder I thought he wasn’t there!” discovered BrTl aggrievedly.

    “Addra Reonias can sustain hyper-hop for five IG hours,” said Jhl, though not as if she was vitally interested in the fact, beginning to inspect Trff's new FW pack.

    “Let it do it, Jhl,” it said.

    “No, it’s my responsibility. –I know I won’t do it as well as you, Trff, nevertheless it's my responsibility.”

    “Yes,” it replied vaguely, as it inspected BrTl’s new FW pack.

    The Fleet Commander drew a deep breath, and L’Thea clapped her hand over her mouth in an effort not to giggle again.

    Finally Jhl was satisfied with the quality of the new FW packs. And they were all satisfied with the quality of the translators. Well, without having tested them on an unknown language, that was. BrTl asked L’Thea hopefully if she knew any, but she only spoke Intergalactic and Whtyllian. Neither as well as he. He and Trff then embarked on argument as to whether that in itself could be a true test of the translators’ abilities but Jhl settled that one by pointing out that A-Class translators knew enough to switch themselves off when the interlocutors and interlocutees spoke the same language. Even if only one of them was wearing a translator at the time, yes.

    “Get ABOARD!” shouted Shank’yar Vt R’aam.

    “Yes: he-it’s in a hurry to unload that holdful of Finest Grade T-K silk,” agreed Trff.

    “I was under the impression,” said Shank’yar Vt R’aam very grimly indeed, “that this ship had a shield round it.–Correct me if I’m wrong,” he added over his shoulder. From the fuzz behind him a voice gasped: “Yessir! Nossir!”

    “Did you-it penetrate it?” asked BrTl hopefully.

    “No,” replied Trff calmly.

    “Then how in the Known Universe do you know that’s what he’s carrying?” he gasped.

    “It... sensed it? It sensed with its semi-olfactory antenna, aided by its sprtzz fibres, that that was what he-it has in the Addra’s hold.”

    BrTl began to look very thoughtful. The Fleet Commander had begun to look very thoughtful some time earlier. –Jhl had ignored the whole bit, she was struggling into her Durocloth Thing. A grateful expression appeared on L’Thea’s face as it dawned on her that (a) being forced to wear one was not an Extraordinary Punishment dreamed up for her because she’d displeased her Great Lord, and (b) there was another female humanoid in the two galaxies that wore one. Not necessarily in that order.

    “Chief Engineer, I think you’d better come aboard, too,” Shank’yar decided. “Uh—I’m afraid the best we can do about the weight-displacement thing is a bright blue Flppu. –Force-feed it a bit,” he added over his shoulder.

    “Yessir!”

    “Is it S-Fl’Oo-ooueroii, Master?” asked L’Thea meekly.

    “I have no idea what its appellation might be, L’Thea,” he replied politely. “Er—it may not be a bad idea to put a few Jhllish sentiments into that head of hers while we’re waiting,” he noted. “Taking her bracelet off doesn’t really seem to have done much for her."

    “Yes: go on, Trff. –Of course, if we can’t get them out again, you’ll have ruined your lovely s-being, sir,” noted BrTl politely.

    “I’m quite sure a Mullgon’yan nursing-home will take care of that, Lieutenant.”

    BrTl wasn’t. Not when a Ju’ukrterian it-being had fiddled with her sentiments. He didn’t say anything, though.

    After a few moments a bright blue Flppu, bulging slightly through the fluff, came aboard, bobbing obsequiously.

    “Great splintered shards of quog, it’s stuffed like a grqwary on Galaxy Day!” choked L’Thea in Jhl’s very accents.

    “It worked,” noted BrTl.

    “Naturally,” Trff agreed.

    “Where’s its bracelet key?” Jhl demanded.

    “No,” returned Shank’yar, very drily indeed.

    “This is a free ship. No being wears a bracelet on it, Shan.”

    “A Flppu?” he laughed.

    “GIVE ME THE VACUUM-FROZEN KEY, SHANK’YAR!” she roared.

    There was a faint plop and S-Fl’Oo-ooueroii’s key appeared on the floor of the bridge. Jhl applied it immediately, and the bracelet fell off.

    “Welcome aboard, Fl’Oo-ooueroii,” she said. It giggled gratefully. “Put these down the hyperdrive,” she said to BrTl, handing them to him very gingerly, as if they’d been the droppings of couple of Vvlvanian—well, anything, really, the whole of Vvlvania was like that, if not as bad as Mklontia. BrTl took them gingerly and retired.

    “Lapped them up,” he reported. “They’re turning them into useful auxiliary-blobs as I speak.”

    “Right. This is It, then,” she said grimly.

    “Yes,” BrTl agreed glumly.

    “Mind you don’t sign anything except L’Thea’s in-ticket on vacuum-frozen Mullgon’ya.”

    “Can we get these touching farewells over with and GET ON?” shouted Shank’yar.

    “SHUT UP!” she screamed, kicking the comm-receiver in the guts. It flickered madly and expired.

    “Steaming Vvlvanian magma pits!” croaked BrTl in dismay.

    “It’ll re-blob it,” said Trff. “Must it come, Jhl?”

    “Yes. It won’t be for long, I don’t think. Don’t you want to, Trff?”

    “Not much.” It turned off its translator. “He-it has no notion of we-it-beingness, only of he-it, Jhl.”

    Jhl replied politely in Ju’ukrterian: “It’s always known that, Trff. But if it and you-it don’t help him-it, doesn’t that mean it and you-it are as bad as he-it?”

    “No, certainly not,” it replied, astounded.

    “Oh. It would to a humanoid,” she said weakly.

    “It doesn’t think in those terms,” it explained. “Or, indeed, in terms.”

    “No. Well, don’t come, then, Trff.”

    “It will come. It may be able to help.” It pointed a longing antenna at the bright blue Flppu. “And if it and you-it do what he-it wants, he-it might let it keep it. The mind of a Flppu is very much akin to the sensory impact of a blob.”

    “Oh! Um—well, he-it doesn’t mean it to keep it, it doesn’t think. But when this being comes back, it’ll buy you-it one, Trff."

    “The odds against your-its coming back, Jhl, are—”

    “THAT’S ENOUGH!” roared BrTl. “WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW!”

    “Be quiet, BrTl,” said Jhl grimly. “We’re going.” She took Trff’s tentacle in her hand.

    BrTl gulped. He got up, and saluted. “Good luck, Captain.”

    “You, too,” said Jhl, tight-lipped. “Come on, Trff, concentrate.”

    They concentrated, and went.

    “She can do it herself!” gasped L’Thea.

    “Yeah,” he said drearily. "Well, most of that was Trff. –Mind you, I was lending my mass-energy, too.”

    L’Thea looked at his mass in awe. “Lord Vt R’aam had to send me.”

    “The Lieutenant sent me!” squeaked the Flppu. “But I helped!”

    “Liar,” they both said automatically.

    “Is—is the Captain mission’s very risky, Great BrTl?” L’Thea then asked timidly. Trff apparently hadn't given her the works. Probably just as well, they didn't want two of them kicking irreplaceable pieces of equipment in the guts.

    “Yes. Trff reckons—well, the Ju’ukrterian it-beings reckon—five million to one against. If you’re a betting girl, L’Thea, that’s a lot of super-igs,” he explained kindly.

    “I can play pkwr,” she offered.

    BrTl rolled his eyes. L’Thea cowered.

    “Sorry: I’m expressing great approbation,” he said. "Well, a nice game of pkwr’ll while away the trip to Mullgon’ya, won’t it?"

    She nodded enthusiastically and the Flppu bobbed madly and squeaked: “I can play, too!”

    “Yes. But without its bracelet, it’ll cheat,” she warned.

    “They all do,” agreed BrTl.

    “Got any iirouelli’i juice on board, Great One?” it squeaked cheekily.

    “NO,” he said in a terrible voice. “And don’t call me that. Nevertheless, you—are—subordinate—to me. Get it?”

    Much abashed, the Flppu bobbed up and down frightfully.

    “What shall we call you, then?” L’Thea asked cautiously.

    “Lieutenant will do,” he sighed.

    “Right. Lieutenant, you can start working on that vacuum-frozen receiver the minute you've got us on our way to FW Mullgon’ya,” she decided.

    “All right, Surrogate-Captain, sir,” he sighed. “Seats, everyone. –SIT, AND DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!” he roared at the Flppu.

    It sat—more or less, given the physiology. BrTl ignored the strong emanations of sitting.

    “If we’re doing it, we might as well do it,” he muttered sourly.

    “It’s not far to Mullgon’ya, is it?” ventured L’Thea.

    “Not that,” he said between his crunchers. Mullgon’ya! he sent, and they went.

    On the Addra Reonia-5 Jhl and Trff scarcely had time to blink, or stir a sprtzz fibre, when the Fleet Commander hyper-hopped back to wherever it was the ship really was. Or wasn't, depending on how you looked at it. Jhl barely had time to wonder how the Ju’ukrterian it-beings looked at it before they were there.

    Not as you-it does, Trff sent.

    “Not as she does what?” asked Shank’yar.

    “Conceives of the hyper-hop environment, sir,” it said with a bob.

    “Pray don’t bob, Chief Engineer, my sense of the fitness of things really cannot take being bobbed at by a Ju’ukrterian it-being,” he sighed.

    “Don’t salute, either, asteroid-brain,” groaned Jhl, struggling out of the Durocloth. “Hullo, P’ll,” she said to a young lieutenant in Service uniform with Whtyllian flashes. He smiled eagerly at her.

    “The Fleet Commander is in uniform,” Trff pointed out.

    “All right, salute,” she sighed.

    “It already has, Jhl.”

    “SHUT UP, TRFF!” she bellowed. “And STOP GRINNING!” she bellowed at the Fleet Commander.

    Trff pointed out kindly: “Most male humanoids would grin at the pinkish-shlaa-ish cheeks and the gold skimpies, Jhl. In fact the lieutenant is.” –The young man went very red and looked hurriedly away.

    “Shank’yar thinks it’s funny, asteroid-brain,” she groaned.

    “Only on you-it. But as well, he-it’s truly enjoying it. His-its mammalian—”

    “That’ll do,” she said, gulping.

    “May it ask, sir, if you-it never wishes to switch the mammalian mating urge off?”

    “It learnt a lot about the cruder side of mammalian life on the farm over Galaxy Day,” she sighed.

    “I see,” he said, lips twitching. “No, Chief Engineer, I can truly say I have never in my life wished to switch it off.”

    “That’s interesting,” it said politely. “Jhl often wishes to switch it off, she-it finds it distracts the mind.”—Jhl was very red. Fore, though not aft.—“Other mammalian beings, though, such as Bhl or Bht, or Mum or Dad, are not aware of it as a distraction.”

    “I don’t think the Fleet Commander’s in that category, Trff,” said Jhl faintly.

    “No, he-it has a most developed mind for a mammal,” it said courteously.

    “Mm. Well, possibly after your mind and mine have communed a little, Jhl and I might retire in order to—er—distract each other,” he noted.

    “In a two?” it enquired.

    “Certainly.”

    “Grqwaries have fifty-ones, was you-it aware of that, sir?"

    Jhl choked.

    “It doesn’t think it’s got it wrong, Jhl. Dad said there was one male and fifty females in the breeding flock. Which makes fifty-one.”

    Shank’yar Vt R’aam returned politely to this effort: “That is quite correct, Chief Engineer. Tell me, have you ever heard of the beings known as bees?”

    Jhl choked again.

    “Certainly, Fleet Commander. A tree on Bluellia told it many things about the habits of those beings, which frankly it would rather not dwell on."

    “Give up,” Jhl advised him drily.

    “Er—yes. Come along to my cabin, would you, and we’ll talk things over.”

    “This cognate may come, may he-it?” asked Trff politely as the young Lieutenant followed them from the bridge.

    “His son,” she explained.

    “It thought—”

    “Shut up,” she warned.

    “These beings are all entirely loyal to him-it, in fact most of them are also cognates.”

    “What?” she gulped.

    “Not the Flppus. But he-it won’t unlock their bracelets. Besides, it’s doubtful if a Flppu could communicate meaningfully, even if its bracelet was unlocked.”

    “What if it was probed, though?”

    “That’s what it meant,” it returned tranquilly.

    “Give up,” advised Shank’yar Vt R’aam drily, showing them into his private cabin.

    They sat on its flop couches and the young lieutenant took up a position with his back to its closed hatch.

    “How many of them besides P’ll are your children?” asked Jhl limply.

    “The two girls are my granddaughters. The men are all my sons. –By Whtyllian s-women or peasants, mostly: don’t look like that, they’re part-sons: none of them have a fraction of my encoding!” he said impatiently.

    “What?” she croaked.

    He shrugged. “The lordship class of Whtyll has long since worked out ways in which stupid quarrels over inheritance rights may be prevented.”

    “Less than twenty percent of my genetic inheritance is from My Lord,” explained P’ll.

    “Don’t look so morally superior, Jhl, I’ve seen you zap a shuttle full of free beings just because you couldn't isolate the traitor amongst them,” Shank’yar said irritably.

    “It was them or me and my crew,” she replied grimly.

    “Quite. Well, now that we’ve got that over with, shall we have a glass of something? Eeaiiaya-scented fermented laa,” he ordered. “And I’ll have a k’fi with a shot of qwlot.”

    These were immediately produced and Shank’yar himself handed the glasses to his guests. “You can stay on guard, asteroid-brain,” he said irritably to his part-son.

    “Yes, sir,” the young man said glumly.

    “Whose fault is it, if he is?” countered Jhl swiftly.

    “Go on, Jhl, rub it in. I’ve begun to regret it deeply these last few years, would you like to hear that, too?” he replied, nostrils flaring.

    “No,” she admitted, burying her nose in her laa.

    “It believes it is possible to make a drink of k’fi and grqwaries’ milk, sir?” said Trff courteously, siphoning.

    “Shall we drop the social chit-chat, Chief Engineer?” he said grimly.

    “It begs your-its pardon, sir. It had assumed that since you-it had seen diplomatic duty on Zll—”

    “Great steaming piles of mok droppings, that’s why it’s been using the formal voice!” cried Jhl.

    “That’ll do,” said Shank’yar grimly. “Tell me how you knew about my cargo, Chief Engineer.”

    “You-it had better explain in Ju’ukrterian,” said Jhl, turning her translator off.

    “Mm,” said Shank’yar thoughtfully, when the explanation, if such it could have been called, seemed to be over.

    “Connection, it uses the term loosely, would depend on several factors,” explained Trff, switching back to Intergalactic.

    “Like you-it being on the FW dump so’s I could send to you,” agreed Jhl glumly.

    “No, it could reach you-it, it uses the term loosely, if it was in a ship not too many megazillion glps away.”

    “Not through a World-Shield, Trff!” she gulped.

    “No, darling, you’ve got it wrong,” said Shank’yar. “That’s the whole point of the sprtzz fibres. It can, if the it-beings are willing to help. –I’m sorry, Chief Engineer, I didn’t put that well.” He rubbed his pointed chin slowly. “They’d all be pulling together?” he said to Jhl.

    “Ye-es… Well, I think they are anyway. –Speaking loosely,” she said to Trff.

    “Yes,” it agreed.

    “If you’re only picking up semi-sensory impressions, though,” said Jhl weakly, “and—uh—whatever the sprtzz fibres pick up—”

    “The term isn’t exactly—”

    “Trff, if I didn’t get it in Ju’ukrterian, I’m not going to get it now, my feeble mammalian brain can’t encompass the concept,” she groaned. “How do I not-send these not-messages?”

    “They will be... imaged in any sensory impressions it receives from you-it, Jhl.”

    She looked at it blankly, emanating blankness.

    “The it-being won’t have any trouble in deciphering them,” it said, forgetting to use the tactful plural. “Though it’ll be easier if your-its shield’s down.”

    Jhl was aware—though few sentient beings had ever bothered to take the trouble to find out—that the Ju’ukrterian it-being, in spite of the renewals at what could only be translated as “brood pen”—or possibly what it had mind-suggested appear in other beings’ perceptions as “brood pen”—was in physical and mental fact the original it-being that had existed for as long as the Known Universe had had sentient life. A corollary to this was that of course it lacked the humanoid perception of time. Not infrequently she thought it must surely also lack the common perception of the space-time continuum, but there was no way in which Trff could have clarified this for her if she had asked, so she never had.

    “How long will this deciphering take?” she said cautiously.

    “Oh, not long. Not if you-it’s lowered your-its shield.”

    “In S/IG time units, Trff,” she sighed.

    “Possibly as much as five IG milliseconds,” it said apologetically.

    There was a short silence.

    “You don’t meant IG megayears, do you?” she said weakly.

    “No. There’d be no point in discussing the question if it did, Jhl: all your mammalian lives would have ended long since, and these concerns would no longer be—”

    “Yeah, yeah,” she sighed.

    The Fleet Commander’s lips twitched but he said firmly: “Well, that seems most satisfactory, Chief Engineer.”

    P’ll cleared his throat.

    “Go on,” said his father heavily.

    “Well, sir, doesn’t that mean that it will be very dangerous for the Captain? –Of course I didn’t understand all of it, I can’t speak Ju’ukrterian.”

    Jhl peered incredulously. “Why isn't that boy wearing a translator?” she cried angrily.

    “Permit me some privacy on my own ship!” said Shank’yar impatiently.

    “You’re the Vvlvanian end, Shank’yar!” she cried.

    “It’s a safety precaution, Captain: if I’m not privy to my father’s secrets, then no being can probe them from me,” the young man said anxiously.

    Jhl took a deep breath. “I see,” she said kindly.

    “Captain, won’t—won’t it be most dangerous to go about on a strange world with your shield lowered?” he said, flushing brightly.

    “Not as dangerous as you might think, P’ll,” she said weakly.

    “Leave us,” said his father briefly.

     P’ll saluted and left.

    “Shan, you might have told him!” she cried.

    “I noticed you using the words ‘Old Rthfrdia,’” he retorted acidly.

    Jhl glared.

    “Darling, you’re scowling horribly, it’s ruining the effect of those lovely shlaa cheeks. We’ll really have to give you a little course in Pleasure Girl Pleasing,” he drawled.

    Jhl went on glaring.

    “Has you-it got the correct blob, Fleet Commander?” asked Trff.

    Jhl turned the glare on it.

    “Not exactly; I’ve got a blob of the Playfair One Pleasuring Course (Standard Humanoid Edition), but I was hoping you could customise it so that she isn’t—er—turned into one,” he said, the slanted blue eyes sparkling.

    “It will be delighted to, sir,” it said, emanating pleasure.

    When it had gone off to make a start Jhl demanded baldly: “Do you really think its vacuum-frozen semi-sensing garbage’ll work?”

    He grimaced. “We’ll run a few trials, but… I’m really not sure. Picking up T-K silk ship-to-ship is rather different from communicating through a x’nb-web and a pre-Fed World-Shield from a megazillion glps out.”

    “Ye-es... Though it wasn’t really ship-to-ship, was it? You were in hyper-hop.”

    “Oh. Uh—I’m Vvlvanian-cursed if I know what that would mean to a Ju’ukrterian, darling,” he said, making a rueful face. “Though I rather think it might mean the ship was in two places at once."

    “Or that the distance between the two places didn’t exist,” she said weakly. “Um—bent space?”

     He shrugged. “Mm.”

    There was a short pause.

    “There’s a lovely big bed in the adjoining cabin,” he pointed out.

    Jhl smiled. “No, let’s do it on a flop couch."

    “All right. Where shall I start?” he asked meekly. “Shall I undress you?”

    Jhl’s gold scintillion skimpies consisted of— Well, they covered the Pleasure Girl pubic heart. That was about it, though: they afforded a good view of the quog button. From the back she appeared to be wearing a gold belt and some narrow gold string. This feature was greatly appreciated by those who admired the Pleasure Girl look, so Sh-Rn’s minions had assured her. She therefore replied drily: “Are you sure you can manage?”

    He was quite sure. Jhl was astounded to find he became terrifically turned on by the vacuum-frozen pubic heart. Terrifically. To the point of almost coming as he merely pressed his highly excited member against it. Great steaming Vvlvanian magma pits! He also greatly admired the aft pinkish-shlaa-ish cheeks. And the just very slightly plumped and raised breasts. With the slight hint of shlaa in the tint of the nipples. Jhl enjoyed herself but at certain points she found herself wondering whom, exactly, he was enjoying. Not to say why she was still enjoying it as she wondered.

    “Perhaps we could make a child when you return from Old Rthfrdia,” he said afterwards, yawning.

    “And perhaps we couldn’t. How much of your delightful genetic encoding were you planning to endow it with, Shank’yar?” she asked politely.

    “The normal amount!” he said crossly. “Fifty percent you and fifty percent me!”

    “I’m honoured,” replied Jhl drily, knowing that unfortunately in Whtyllian terms she could consider herself so.

    “I’d like to have one son with a chance of growing up as intelligent as I can make him!”

    “Poor little scrap,” she muttered.

    Shank’yar looked at her in surprise.

    Jhl didn’t explain. She merely said pointedly: “What if it was a girl?”

    “We could arrange for it not to be.”

    “You’d be arranging for it not to be all on your ownsome, then. I was born on Bluellia. We don’t do that sort of thing,” she said bluntly.

    “Darling, don’t be so primmo!”

    Jhl shrugged.

     Shank’yar raised himself anxiously on one elbow. “Do you really not want to?”

    “Not your way, no.”

    “Well—well, if we took our chances with its sex?”

    “And you brought it up on Whtyll if it was a boy, and I was left with it on my hands if it was a girl?”

    “No!” he said angrily, flushing. “Naturally my full child would be brought up on Whtyll.”

    “On your ancestral acres. With your old mum. Blast it out your ear, Shan.”

    “What?” he said numbly.

    Jhl swung her legs off the edge of the flop couch. “An ancient Bluellian expression of refusal,” she explained drily. “Impolite.”

    Shank’yar stared angrily as she made her way across to the hygiene cabinet’s hatch. “What in Federation’s name do you want of me?” he cried. “I've offered you everything I have to give—what else can I offer?”

    Jhl kicked the hatch in the guts. It got the point and opened hurriedly, murmuring: “Profuse apologies, Ladyship.”

    “DON'T LADYSHIP ME!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “That goes for you, too,” she said over her shoulder. She went in, and the hatch closed.

    Shank’yar Vt R’aam bounded to his feet and kicked the flop couch furiously in the guts. It folded up completely on itself, bounced up to the ceiling, and shot across to the other side of the cabin. “PIECE OF SPACE JUNK!” he bellowed.

    “Yes,” said Trff.

    Everybody relaxed except Shank’yar Vt R’aam, who was sitting up very straight with his eyes closed, concentrating on maintaining a shield round Jhl. She had her shield up, too, but wasn’t kidding herself that it was doing much. And P’ll had eagerly volunteered, so he had his round her as well, but that was only because she’d been too kind-hearted to tell him to blast it out his ear.

    “Go on, then, Trff,” she prompted.

    “You-it was thinking of a song in Old Bluellian. It doesn’t claim to have seized the melody but the meaning was ‘Small Bluellian insect-being, measuring the snu flowers, You-it and your-its mathematics are likely to go far.’ Not exactly logical.” It stopped.

    “Yes,” said Jhl.

    “Really?” gasped P’ll.

    She saw he was rather blue around the mouth. “Double shot of qwlot,” she ordered. She handed it to the startled young man. “Drink it, you look drained. Don’t play any more of these mind-shield games, they’re not good for you.” He reddened but took the drink meekly.

    Jhl went over to the Fleet Commander and touched his knee gently. “Shan.” He didn’t respond. She took his hand. “Shan. You can come out of it now.”

    After a little his hand tightened painfully on hers. He opened his eyes but it took some time before they focused. He blinked, and said: “Well?"

    “It deciphered what I was thinking, all right. It was pretty silly—not the sort of thing a Ju’ukrterian would guess easily, I wouldn’t say.”

    “Mm,” he said, rubbing his temples.

  · “Did it get through your shield?” she asked.

    “I don’t think so. Did you feel anything?"

    Jhl shook her head. “No. But I don’t think I would. Not if it didn’t want me to.”

    “No,” he said, sighing. "Well, I suppose that was a trial, of sorts.”

    P’ll explained helpfully: “She was concentrating on a song, Father. ‘Small Bluellian insect-being, measuring the snu flowers, You and your mathematics are likely to go far.’”

    “Yes,” Trff agreed.

    “Mm. It missed a few nuances,” said Jhl cautiously.

    “Like the exact name of the insect? Mm,” he said thoughtfully.

    “Fleet Commander, if all it has to pick up, it uses the term loosely, is success or failure, it doesn’t think it can fail to decipher it.”

    He frowned. “It may be more complex than that, though.”

    “Yes,” it agreed tranquilly.

    Jhl was aware of Shank’yar’s impatience with its literal-mindedness. Oh, dear. Well, press on! “If Shan and I take a pod, you can try and pick us up from inside the ship, Trff, with its shield up, too. Or would it be better if he stayed behind and reinforced the ship’s shield?”

    It didn’t think it was material, so they tried it, with Jhl concentrating on an episode with an old flame, many years back. Trff picked this up without difficulty. Then they tried it with Trff in the pod and Jhl and the Fleet Commander on the ship, he reinforcing the ship’s shield. She concentrated on the precise cut and colour of a dress Pt’Rshaa had worn in her late teens (Bluellian reckoning) to a summer ball. Trff picked this up, too. They had another go, and this time she concentrated on a complex formula for hyper-jumping between the two galaxies. It picked that up even faster than it had the previous message.

    So there you were. Well, possibly. Well, put it like this: no being had come up with a better idea for getting a message off a world with a World Shield up.

    “We’ll do it on Whtyll,” he said.

    “Rubbish, Shan, it’s the worst place you can possibly choose, everybody knows you, and what if some being recognises me?”

    “You’ve never been to Whtyll!” he replied in astonishment.

    “Not to your parts of it, no.”

    “In any case, they won’t recognise you, you’re a Pleasure Girl I picked up somewhere on my travels as a swap for S-L’Thea. And Captain Jhl Smt Wong's just been checked in at the R’jt Vt R’aam Memorial Nursing-Home.”

    “All right,” she said, sighing. It was his brain he was risking: if he wanted it to be on vacuum-frozen Whtyll with his old mum, so be it. “But don’t imagine a Ju’ukrterian it-being will go unnoticed on vacuum-frozen Whtyll!”

    “We'll disguise it as a Flppu.”

    “YOU WILL NOT!”

    “Why not? About the same size, same body weight. If it retracts its tentacles it'll look just like a Flppu. It can be your pet, with a fake bracelet and a silver chain. Pretty!” He grinned.

    “Shan, you can’t insult the it-being like that,” she whispered.

    “I don’t think its values are ours, darling,” he returned, not betraying his astonishment that Jhl thought of the it-being as essentially a single entity. “Shall we ask the Trff?”

    “All right. Be diplomatic,” she said anxiously.

    His lips twitched a little but he agreed he’d be diplomatic.

    Trff thought it was the ideal plan. It immediately contracted its tentacles and practised bobbing. After some practising it successfully gave three of its antennae the appearance of a Flppu’s flexible appendages.

    “Will you be all right through Customs?” asked Jhl.

    It’s never had its shades spotted yet! it sent jauntily.

    “Not that. Can you kid them you’re a Flppu?"

    “Of course. Emanating near-mindlessness isn’t hard.”

    “Er—yeah. Um—you could stay on board, Trff, then we’d only have to declare you.”

    “No, I’d rather it came. You may need it,” said Shank’yar.

    It’ll hold your-its hand with its tentacle, Jhl.

    Jhl went very red. That was what she’d been hoping, yes.

    “Ladyship, this may be upsetting for you-it,” said Trff formally.

    Lady Myr-Lah gh K’ml Vt R’aam replied in formal Ju’ukrterian: “Let the Slp-Og V. Trff not be troubled over this trifling matter; this humble being-not-of-it-beingness has the perceived need to be present at this occasion. This humble being-not-of-it-beingness offers—”

    “Mother,” said Shank’yar impatiently: “if you don’t drop the formal Ju’ukrterian we’ll be here until Vvlvania freezes over!”

    Lady Myr-Lah pursued implacably: “–offers the it-being its unworthy gratitude for the caring notice it has bestowed on the unworthy being-not-of-it-beingness.”

    “MO-THER!”

    “Don’t be rude, Shank’yar,” she said, curtseying very low, Whtyllian fashion, to Trff. She came and sat on a chair by the foot of the couch on which her son lay.

    “Look, Mother, I don’t think—”

    “Frequently,” she agreed acidly.

    “Shan, if your mother wants to stay, she’s got a right to, surely,” said Jhl.

    “Women have no rights on Whtyll, not even ladyships,” he reminded her.

    “Rubbish,” said Lady Myr-Lah gh K’ml Vt R’aam briskly. “I manage all his estates when he’s not here. Which is most of the time. Who does he imagine gives the orders to fell trees or put down elderly bullocks, or reward dutiful s-beings?”

    “Can’t imagine,” agreed Jhl, smiling at her, and involuntarily wondering what sort of beings these unfortunate bullocks were.

    “Come on, darling,” said Shank’yar, tugging at her hand. “Lie down beside me and put your pinkish-shlaa-ish cheek next to mine.”

    She did so and Trff came up silently beside her and took her free hand in a tentacle.

    There was a long silence. During it the natural colour faded out from Lady Myr-Lah’s cheeks and Jhl saw with a little shock that she painted, and that she was really a very old lady: in Bluellian years at least eighty.

    At last Shank’yar’s breathing became very slow and deep and Trff sent: He-it’s relaxing.

    Jhl’s mouth tightened. At the foot of the couch Lady Myr-Lah clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. The knuckles stood out whitely.

    They waited. Eventually his face relaxed and his mouth sagged little. Trff sent a message that could not have been expressed verbally at all, and Jhl, biting hard on her upper lip with her bottom teeth, her eyes tight shut, gingerly probed Shank’yar’s mind.

    There was a long, long silence in the room. Tears of pain trickled very slowly down Jhl’s cheeks. Once Lady Myr-Lah, who had not expected it to be painful for the girl, or even thought about the girl except as a vehicle for her son’s task, swallowed.

    Very gradually Jhl’s tense face relaxed. As it did so Trff put out an antenna and gently touched her forehead. Lady Myr-Lah gh K’ml Vt R’aam watched this gesture anxiously: it was not what she had expected. The Captain was supposed to open her eyes and come out of his mind and Shank’yar— Her lips trembled a very, very little.

    Nothing else happened. Lady Myr-Lah had been conscious of the it-being as a soothing presence in her mind: now it was no longer there. Trff was motionless, its antenna on Jhl’s face. Finally the old lady whispered: “What—?” And Trff sent out a very long tentacle and took her hand. She felt the message: Help it, and not knowing whether it was the it-being that she was supposed to help, or whether Trff had forgotten about gender and meant Shank’yar or Jhl, sent in a panic-stricken moment: What shall I—? and was answered by a wave of feeling so strong that her old-lady’s mind was taken back about half an IG century to the birth of her son and she ceased consciously to think at all and just lent herself to the imperative MUST, must, must, that was the retrieval of the lost Jhl.

    Suddenly Jhl was there and the old lady abruptly released Trff's tentacle and fell back in her chair, very blue around the lips, panting.

    “Steaming Vvlvanian magma pits,” Jhl said weakly.

    Rest, said Trff’s voice in her mind and she opened her eyes and said: “Trff. I was lost.”

    “It knows. Better now,” it said.

    “Yes,” said Jhl, falling fast asleep.

    Trff transferred its antenna to Shank’yar’s forehead.

    An s-being came hurrying in and administered a chemo-blob to the old lady. “My Lady—”

    “Silence!” hissed the cracked old voice. She took the chemo-blob and sniffed. Go! she sent angrily, and the woman, looking distressed, crept out.

    Jhl slept quietly. Shank’yar appeared also to sleep. Trff was motionless, its antenna on his forehead. Finally Lady Myr-Lah got up, looking very grim. “Is his mind still there?” she demanded hoarsely.

    “Yes. Everything is there. But he-it has lost the ability to use it.”

    “I see,” she said in a harsh voice. “Is there anything we can do?”

    “The it-being cannot say, Lady Myr-Lah,” it said politely. “The we-it hasn’t experienced this phenomenon before.”

    “Never?”

    “Not with a humanoid, no,” said Trff calmly.

    The elderly lady knew that Ju’ukrterians were not capable of such emotions as panic or despair. Nevertheless she experienced a strong desire to hurl its imperturbable fluffy body across the room. She took a deep breath and said: “I've known similar cases where the patient had been in some sort of accident. The personality can be gradually restored, with time and care.”

    “Ye-es... The Friyrians have mind exercises which may be of help,” it said dubiously.

    “Yes. We’ll try them. –Will he have to learn to talk again?”

    “He-it will have to learn everything again.”

    The old lady’s mouth tightened. “I see. We’ll get the girl out.” Two s-beings came scurrying in and she said: “Take the girl to her room. And don’t wake her."

    Bowing, they lifted Jhl and bore her off.

    “There’s nothing wrong with her, I suppose,” said Shank’yar’s mother bitterly.

    “No. She-it will be able to carry out her-its mission.”

    “I wish he— Never mind.” She pulled a chair up to the couch and took her son’s hand.

    “He-it may sleep for some time, Ladyship,” said Trff dubiously.

    “I shall be here when he wakes,” she said grimly.

    “Don’t do that water-from-the-eyes thing again, Jhl,” it said anxiously.

    “I’m not,” she said grimly. “We’d better go, I suppose?”

    “Not yet. We need to give the impression that the Fleet Commander’s leading a normal life,” Trff reminded her. “One of his-its part-sons who looks like him-it externally will accompany you-it in a lifter to various places of interest, where you-it and he-it will allow the populace to catch sight of you both.”

    “I suppose this is what the old she-mok wants, is it?”

    “Yes. Though it thinks he-it would want it, too. –She-it was of great help in retrieving you-it, Jhl,” it reminded her.

    “Was she? Well, Shan and I were perfectly happy together, Trff, so what does that prove?”

    “It doesn’t know. It’s only another sentient being, Jhl. It knows that mammalian humanoids have to eat and breathe and exercise their physical bodies in order to live, however.”

    “So we’d have died happy!” she shouted.

    “That’s true.”

    Jhl scowled.

    “Jhl, if you-it could think of it as—as a snuhl trip?” it suggested anxiously.

    “It wasn’t in the least like a snuhl-trip!” she cried indignantly.

    “No. But if you-it could look at it as being on that level—”

    “No.”

    “Jhl, you-it was like this after your-its first laa-bath—”

    “SHUT UP! It’s not the same!”

    “No,” it acknowledged resignedly. It shivered a little and wrapped its tentacles round itself.

    Whtyll was ten IG fluh deep in snow. “Are you cold? Or is it only reaction?”

    “It’s cold,” it said grumpily. “This is an FW dump, how can mammalians bear it?”

    “Most of them have got shaggy coats,” said Jhl dully.

    “Like BrTl’s. But his-its world isn’t cold."

    “No-o. Didn’t they originally come from somewhere else?”

    “It could check.”

    “Don’t bother.”

    After a while it said grumpily: “It misses BrTl."

    “So do I. –Does you-it really, or are you just expressing the correct o-breather sentiment?"

    “Yes, it does. Though this sentiment is very small in the vastness of the it-being.”

    “I think I see,” she admitted.

    “Good. –You it’ll have to wear a shaggy coat for your-its outing,” it warned.

    “Very funny, Trff.”

    “No: they do, Jhl, in winter time. The coats are made of the skins of those very furry beings they have in the trees.”

    “In the trees?"

    “There are lots of sentient beings in the trees.”

    “Do you mean in the forest?” said Jhl weakly.

    “It thinks so. Some of them live in the trees. They’re small and eat vegetable things which the trees produce. Some are very large, though not as large as BrTl, and eat both vegetables and other o-breather beings.”

    “You mean they’ve got meat-eaters in the forests?” she gasped, rushing to the window.

    “Yes. They don’t precisely farm them, as Dad farms grqwaries. It’s very difficult to explain, Jhl.”

    “No, it isn’t, he does the same thing with his plasmo-blasted nirvana garden on Playfair Two,” she said grimly. “He lets them live until he feels like killing them."

    “It thinks that’s the system—yes.”

    “It’d serve the plasmo-blasted Whtyllians right if these meat-eaters came into their homes and ate THEM!” shouted Jhl.

    “At times they do. It is quite interesting, for those who enjoy Bio.”

    “All right, you’re cold and you’re bored, I get it,” she sighed.

    “It isn’t its subject,” it said apologetically.

    “No.” Jhl peered out of the window. “Meat-eaters? The FW place isn’t safe! Can we get hold of a blaster, do you think?”

    “Not legally. You-it’s a female without World Rights and it’s a Flppu,” it reminded her.

    “Oh!” she said, looking at its fake bracelet. “Yeah. Well, come on. If I’ve got to go on a jaunt with this lookalike part-son of Shank’yar’s, I’d like to get it over with.”

    “Come along, the J’rd’s branch is really quite good!” said Tm-Wm cheerfully, half an IG hour later. He was one of the dimmest of the part-sons and had no idea of the trouble his father was in, let alone of who Jhl really was.

    Under the interested gaze of the populace they got out of the lifter, Jhl swaddled in a fluffy white coat, and Tm-Wm swaddled in a huge striped shaggy thing, with a large fluffy hat of his father’s pulled well down over the sparkling, slanted blue eyes that were just like Shank’yar’s. Grimly Jhl looped Trff’s silver chain round her forearm and picked it up. They presented an adorable picture, the fluffy green pet cuddled in the fluffy white coat.

    In the J’rd’s store it was very warm, so they flung back the coats. Tm-Wm was wearing a Whtyllian lordship’s outfit consisting of a gauzy zpandria-cloth blouse, gold with a floral pattern in blue and pink, tucked into huge baggy cream nyr-suede trousers. However, almost no beings looked at him, they were used to lordships on Whtyll. Why look at a lordship, when next to him was a genuine Playfair Pleasure Girl in gold skimpies, with a quog rock in her button? Ooh!

    “Hullo, Shan,” she said, taking his hand.

    Shank’yar lay there smiling vacantly at the ceiling, wiggling his bare toes a little. The old s-woman, S-B’rtha, who had been his wet-nurse—a custom which Jhl Smt Wong had found very hard to credit—said: “He’s begun to take an interest in his toes, Madam.”

    “Good,” said Jhl in a strangled voice.

    “Smile at him, Madam, he’s smiling at you,” she prompted.

    So he was. Rather as R’shn’s baby back home did. Except that Shank’yar had a full set of pearly teeth. Jhl essayed a smile that failed, and cast herself against the old woman’s mammary glands and wept and wept.

    They took off for the nirvana garden on Playfair Two next day, Jhl as the Pleasure Girl, Trff as a pet Flppu, and Tm-Wm as Shank’yar. How Lady Myr-Lah gh K’ml Vt R’aam was going to explain the disappearance of Tm-Wm to such nosy old she-moks of Whtyllian high society as Lady Gw’dl-i’in gh Wl’hlm Nr M’snn, to name but one of she-moks she’d been exposed to in the past few days, Jhl was past caring. But she was in no doubt that Shank’yar’s mother would manage.

    –Possibly the experience of Jhl’s retrieval should have brought the two women closer together. On the Romance Services which Jhl’s young female cognates such as R’shn and S’draa followed breathlessly, it would undoubtedly have done so. But Lady Myr-Lah still loathed her, and it was still mutual. Real life, as Jhl Smt Wong had long since discovered, was nothing like the Romances.