A.B.G.

23

A.B.G.

    It was two weeks since Fl’Jfaffl’s funeral and Su was still inconsolable. Jhl and Shank’yar were due to go off on an extended tour of the more remote settled regions: it had been planned ages back, and the settlers would undoubtedly have arranged all sorts of celebrations in their honour.

    “We can’t not go,” said Jhl uneasily.

    He sighed. “I know. Su will just have to cope. At least she’s got the servants to look after her. Er—and we can’t leave BrTl behind, darling, we need him for transport, the rhoofers will never cope with a sustained journey like that. And he’s looking forward to seeing G’gg and L’Thea again—you know he’s always been very fond of them.”

    “Yeah. Well, I don’t think I’d cope with being jolted all the way in that carriage of yours by the plasmo-blasted rhoofers,” she admitted. “So how many other beings has your Lordshipness decided oughta come with us?”

    “Only ten, Jhl. The settlers will expect some sort of escort, and we’ll need a cook, and I thought a cook’s assistant, and camping gear and so forth, and plenty of provisions: some of the outer villages are widely scattered. We’ll need at least four xathpyroids, including BrTl.”

    “Four?”

    “Mm, well, the gear, and we’ll have to travel fairly fast to meet the schedule. KrZl’s keen to come, and his cognate KrVv: she’s a sensible and intelligent being. Then there’s BrQl, he’s living downtown but only copying stuff for Athlor: he’s keen to get out of the city.”

    Him and most of its inhabitants in the hot weather, mm. “Don’t tell me, goes to the same qwlot dives BrTl favours,” she sighed. “Okay, four. There is the small point that BrTl’s bringing Vt R’aam Thirty-Two over to the office every day, Shan: who’s gonna do that? Or do you expect him to hop all the way?”

    To her horror at this he looked airy, waved a hand airily, and said: “Oh, I thought he might as well stay in the house, darling.”

    “You idiot,” she groaned.

    “But—“

    “Throwing them together won’t work,” she groaned.

    After a moment her sophisticated bond-partner admitted sadly: “I thought she might feel sorry for him, because of his foot.”

    Oh, dear! “Um, not in her present mood. And I’ve done my best: I’ve stuck the splintered bits of bone back together and encouraged the—um, are those meaty things muscles? Yeah. What about the stringy bits?”

    “Ligaments,” he said faintly.

    “Yeah: both of them, to stick together, and I’ve eased the pain as much as possible—”

    “Taken it, you mean. I’ve noticed you wincing, off and on,” he said on a grim note.

    “Mok shit!” said Jhl briskly. “Don’t start comparing it with that time when Rh’aiiy’hn was wounded, it’s nothing like it! The rest will just take time, it’s perfectly normal. But he has to rest it.”

    “Well, yes: so wouldn’t it be sensible for him to stay in the hou— No, very well.”

    “BrPl can fetch him, it’s school holidays anyway,” decided Jhl firmly.

    “If you think so, darling,” Shank’yar agreed weakly.

    All went as planned, in that BrPl got on over to Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s little house every working morning, conned a second breakfast out of him, and brought him over to his office, duly taking him back again after work. Su continued miserable. Blndry and Rollo were very glad to take off on their summer holidays, leaving her to it. Well, a being could sympathise with her, she had known Fl’Jfaffl all her life, but it was a bit hard to take close up, all day and every day, they admitted guiltily to each other. Most of the other beings from the erstwhile stable block were also on holiday, as the weather was very hot, and the transcribers who worked in the house were all away, too. Partly as a consequence of not having so many mouths to feed and partly because she was at a loss for any other way of cheering poor little Su up, First Cook Kadry was preparing more and more elaborate meals. Finally Su had to ask her not to, it was too hot for fancy food. Um, just one hot and spicy dish, maybe not meat every day, eh? And fruit was enough for pudding, really, in the hot weather. Well, um, jelly if she really wanted to, and had the gelatine or the agar-agar— She did.

    Most of New Whtyll was also on holiday, so there wasn’t much correspondence to copy: one person could cope with it easily. If Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had been hoping Su would have to come and fetch it in person, he was disappointed: she co-opted one of the former house clones and summarily ordered him to do it. He was very glad to, it was much better than being in the house at Vt R’aam Forty-Nine’s mercy, unnecessarily polishing My Lord’s silver, and similar rhoofer shit.

    Then came a day when BrPl set out as usual to fetch Vt R’aam Thirty-Two but didn’t reappear. By morning teatime even Su had stopped scoffing at the idea that he might have had an accident.

    “What shall we do?” moaned the ex-clone. “What if he’s fallen down a big cliff and hurt himself?”

    “Shut up,” said Su grimly. “There aren’t any cliffs between here and there!”

    “But something must of happened to him, Young Mistress!”

    “Shut up, that’s an order!” Su got up. “I’m gonna see what First Cook thinks.”

    First Cook looked at her in horror. “Su, deary, we ain’t got no-one left on the estate what’s strong enough to haul a hurt xathpyroid home!”

    This was precisely what Su had been thinking. Along with the thought that if the plasmo-blasted being had rolled on Vt R’aam Thirty Two, it was all over.

    “No,” she agreed grimly. “Well, I’ll get out and have a hunt for them, we’d better know what we have to cope with.”

    “Yes. And if it is bad,” said the cook, taking a deep breath, “you better get on over to Silver Rhoofer Farm, Captain Ccrainchzzyllia will know what to do’ They got lots of big rhoofers there, maybe they can, um, help,” she ended lamely.

    Su winced at the picture the being was unintentionally broadcasting of a team of silver rhoofers hauling home a dead BrPl. “Yeah. Um, First Cook, didn’t Dohra say something about they were going to the seaside this summer? When were they gonna go?”

    The cook gulped. “Federation! I’d forgotten about that! Well, not sure, deary. Think maybe the young ones was keen to go, and Captain Morthiwell: he likes the seaside.”

    “Yeah. Well, we may not need them,” said Su grimly. “I better get going.” She marched outside, grabbed a tri-pedaller and set off. There wasn’t much of a track to the little house, but too bad, it was faster than walking. And if she did have to get on over to Silver Rhoofer Farm, it’d take ages on foot: pedalling cross-country might not be easy but it’d be faster, for sure. She bumped on grimly.

    The little house was silent and closed up. She banged on the door for ages and called out, and kept sending Vt R’aam Thirty-Two! It’s Su! Open the door! But nothing happened. They must of left. It was pointless to look round the place—for one thing, it was all pretty flat round here, if BrPl had maybe taken a slightly different route and tripped or something she would of seen him. And if they hadn’t headed for the office she had no idea where they might’ve gone. She got back on the tri-pedaller and set off on the direct route for Silver Rhoofer Farm.

    The sun was high in the sky by the time she got there and Su was sweating—and also, though denying it angrily to herself, very, very scared. The farm seemed to be asleep, except for a small flock of plasmo-blasted po-geese pottering around the front drive. Whether they’d got out of their enclosure, Federation alone knew.

    “Shoo!” she called, perforce coming to a stop. She waved her arms at them wildly. “Shoo! Woo! Will ya get out of the way, ya plasmo-blasted birds!” They waddled slowly aside and she pedalled up to the front door.

    She had to knock for ages, and was sure they must all have gone on holiday by the time someone answered.

    “Hullo, Su, dear,” said Dohra, looking surprised. “Is anything the matter?”

    “Yes!” gulped Su. “Is Captain Ccrainchzzyllia at home, Dohra?”

    “No, he’s in town, dear. Can I help?”

    The being was about Su’s own height, and at the moment, being clad only in a limp, faded sleeveless floral dress and a large apron very much the worse for wear, and into the bargain very flushed and untidy-haired, with smudges of flour on her face, didn’t look as if she could even help herself.

    “Um, no, I mean, are any of the others home?” she faltered. “Riffan, or—or Brtelli?”

    “No, they’ve all gone to the seaside, dear. Ccrain and I are going to join them in a day or two but he’s got a couple of meetings in town first. Come in, Su, you’d better tell me all about it,” she said comfortably.

    “Nuh—um, this is urgent, Dohra! BrPl and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two never turned up this morning and we think something must of happened to them!”

    “Oh, dear,” said Dohra with the utmost placidity. “Well, you’d better come and have a cup of zi, Su, dear, and we’ll think about it.”

    “I don’t want ZI, ya dozy being!” shouted Su, at the end of her tether. “Vt R’aam Thirty-Two might be DYING! What if BrPl’s rolled on him?”

    “Rolled on him?” she replied vaguely. “Oh, I see, dear. Well, I don’t think that’s very likely. I mean, you do mean today, do you?” she added, looking very puzzled.

    “YES, today, what’s WRONG with you?” screamed Su.

    “Well, nothing, only this silly recipe just won’t work out...”

    “Dohra, pay ATTENTION! Stop thinking about your stupid recipes!” shouted Su as visions of elaborate little golden pies, adorned with unnecessary twists and curls of the pastry, danced before her mind’s eye. Rhoofer shit, she could even smell the plasmo-blasted things! Meaty, savoury—some sort of spice or herb.

    “It’s a mixture of grqwary meat and, um, P,O,G-you-know-what,” said Dohra, eyeing the flock on the drive warily.

    Abruptly Su burst into snorting sobs.

    Not seeming at all surprised or shaken, in fact remaining astoundingly placid, had Su but been in any state to notice it, Dohra put a warm arm round her and urged her into the house and down to the kitchen.

    It was very hot in there. The bench and the big table were cluttered with bowls, jars, and trays of obviously failed pastries. A pink Loogher was sitting on one of the chairs, complacently licking one fat hand.

    “Moo-Moo, dear, don’t do that at the table,” said Dohra mildly. “And pastry isn’t good for you, dear.”

    Su stopped sobbing out sheer indignation. “Boot him off!” she gasped.

    “Well, he is sort of a pet. Sit down, Su, I’m sure nothing’s wrong, BrPl wasn’t going to fetch Vt R’aam Thirty-Two today,” she said placidly.

    Had the dozy being lost it, in the heat? The cook-fire was positively blazing, added to which she'd forgotten to pull the back verandah blinds down, so the kitchen was getting the heat from outside, as well.

    Su gulped and sniffled loudly. “Of course he was! First Cook said he set off like usual!”

    “Yes, I’m sure he did set off, dear, but he didn’t go there, because Vt R’aam Thirty-Two didn’t want him, he came over here and collected Ccrain.” Dohra poured water into her kettle from her big jug.

    “What are you talking about?” cried Su.

    “Well, I popped over to see Vt R’aam Thirty-Two yesterday evening—bother, I’ll have to get some more water from the well,” she murmured to herself. “Where was I? Oh, yes, I popped over to see Vt R’aam Thirty-Two—”

    “I got that,” said Su grimly. The picture of a not entirely maternal-looking, very pink-cheeked, smiling Dohra, bending solicitously over Vt R’aam Thirty-Two as he sat back in a big chair with his sore foot up on a footstool, in the very act of popping something delicious into his mouth—his willing mouth, he was smiling, too—was only too horridly clear.

    “I popped over to see him: we’ve got his spare door key, you see, just in case of emergencies.”—Su glared: the garment the being had been wearing was nothing like the rag she had on today! Pale pink, very tight, rather shiny, and showed all them too-generous curves, especially at the front, where it was very low-cut indeed.—“And he seemed very tired, he said he thought he might have a day off, and the foot was hurting him a lot—I know Jhl did her very best, but I don’t think it’s healing very well, and he looked rather feverish to me.”—Feverish? Any male humanoid between the ages of nine and ninety would of looked feverish with them two bulges hanging into his face like that!—“So I gave him some medicine—well, it is Friyrian, but I’m sure it’ll work just as well on humanoids, it’s guaranteed to cure a fever and take any sort of pain aw—”

    “Friyrian medicine?” gasped Su in horror. “Their metabolisms aren’t the same as ours!”

    “Close enough!” replied Dohra with a loud, dirty snugger.

    “Not that! Have you ever taken this muck yaself?”

    “Well, no, but—”

    “How do ya know the right dose for a humanoid, then?” screamed Su.

    “Oh, well, I just gave him the same dose as I would Ccrain, and it seemed to agree with him. Well, he said it was helping with the pain and he thought he’d have a little nap, so I just crept out and left him!” she beamed.

    Su gaped in horror at the picture of the pink curves creeping out leaving a passed-out, snoring Vt R’aam Thirty-Two in their wake. “Dohra, he’s not nearly as tall as the Captain and he doesn’t weigh nearly as much, and he’s not Friyrian! Are you mad?”

    “I dare say it will make him sleep for a bit—”

    “That or KILL him!” screamed Su. “I’m going right back!”

    “If you think so, dear. Hang on, here’s the key,” she said, feeling in the pocket of her grubby apron. “Take my Silver Shadow, it’ll be much quicker. I’ll just get him!” she said brightly, popping out the back door.

    Su was about to rush off on her tri-pedaller, but Dohra, due for Mullgon’ya though she was, was right. She went outside and, not registering that the rhoofer must have been already saddled, followed as Dohra led it round to the front drive.

    “Just say and send ‘Hop’ if you want him to leap, dear!” she carolled happily, helping her up. “But I’m sure everything’s all right!”

    “Rhoofer shit,” said Su between her teeth. “HOP!” Hop! HOP! And with that they leapt off.

    Dohra stood in the shade of her front verandah, waving, though Su didn’t turn her head to notice her, until they were a fair way off. Then she went inside and closed the door. She went down the passage to the kitchen.

    “Oh, dear!” she said to Moo-Moo. “That was very naughty!” She clapped a hand over her mouth and gave a stifled giggle.

    “[Verbless particle] Moo-Moo hungry,” replied the Loogher.

    “Oh, of course you are! [Verbless particle] Moo-Moo hungry.” [Verbless particle] Moo-Moo hungry, she agreed. She bustled around clearing away the spoiled savoury tarts, dumping them in the bucket for the livestock, and, shaking her head at the fresh block of pastry waiting to be rolled out, hastily popping it into the cool of the stone-lined larder. Then she opened a kitchen cupboard, produced a large platter of perfect little pies and, setting them on the table, carefully chose one with a pastry flower on top of it for Moo-Moo. “Quoshy,” she murmured. “Here you are, Moo-Moo, dear!” The kettle had come to the boil: she took it off the fire, quickly made herself a pot of zi, and took a savoury tart marked with a small pastry bird.

    “[Subjectless particle] [verbless particle] yum-yum food!” discerned the Loogher brightly, as she sat down.

    “Exactly, Moo-Moo, darling! Yum-yum food!” agreed Dohra firmly in Intergalactic. “[Subjectless particle] [verbless particle] yum-yum food!” [Subjectless particle] [verbless particle] yum-yum food! she added in Loogher. The rest of the family maintained that the Loogher word did not mean “yum”, and that the repetition of the syllable did not mean “quoshy”, which of course was not a native plant. And that “yum-yum food” therefore could not possibly mean “quoshy pie”. Silly, weren’t they? Too clever for their own good, really.

    The Loogher had eaten three quoshy tarts and Dohra, who had, after all, had a stressful morning, had eaten four savoury ones and drunk two cups of zi before she felt up to doing anything else. Looghers didn’t complain about the heat, but she knew they felt it. She got up and fetched Moo-Moo a small fan made of locally grown wh’h flax, putting it into his hand and waving it firmly a few times to remind him what it was for. Then she went calmly out onto the back verandah and, smiling a little, lowered the big blinds.

    The rhoofer’s leaping motion, which entailed pushing strongly from his three large, plantigrade hind feet, using his three much smaller front limbs, which the creatures also used as arms, to counterbalance the leap by pushing on the ground in front, and then repeating the process after a jarring landing, had made Su feel queasy. Ignoring this, she jumped down, ran over to the little house, and rushed up onto the verandah. Her hands were so sweaty and shaking that it took ages to work the big iron key. At last! She rushed in.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two was lying back in his big chair in the front room, just as in Dohra’s picture. He was breathing—in fact snoring. Su rushed over to him, hurled herself to her knees beside him, and burst into snorting sobs.

    The sobs gradually abated and she’d just begun to think she might be going to throw up, the more so as the little house was very hot, when he said very faintly: “Darling... Su. Don’t... cry.”

    Not unnaturally Su burst into tears all over again. “Thought—dead!” she sobbed. “Stupid—Dohra! Fri-y-ri-uh-uh-an!”

    Very, very faintly, he replied: “Muck.” His hand groped weakly for hers.

    Su took it and held it very tightly. “Wake up, don’t go to sleep again, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two!” she gulped. “That muck she gave you’s too strong!”

    His hand squeezed hers weakly. How... long?

    Su gulped and sniffled. “How long you been asleep? A whole duh-hay-ee!” With that she burst into tears again.

    With an immense effort Vt R’aam Thirty-Two opened his eyes. “She... did it.”

    “Yuh-hes!” gulped Su. “I’ll never”—sob—“forgive”—sob—“her!”

    He squeezed her hand again. “No.” He swallowed. “Thirsty,” he whispered.

    Snuffling, Su wiped her hand across her eyes. “I’ll get you a drink—hang on!”

    The little house only had two rooms downstairs: the front room, which was a sort of combined sitting-room and dining parlour, and the kitchen at the back. She hurried out to it. She poured the water but then— “Blast!” she gasped. She threw up painfully in the sink.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two could hear the retching but he was far too weak to do anything about it. He tried to send her a message of consolation but he was too weak for that, too.

    Shuddering, Su drank the water she’d poured for him. Oh, rhoofer shit! She couldn’t possibly give him that glass! But the fire was out, there was no way to wash it properly. She opened the cupboard again. Only a mug. Okay, a mug of water. She poured carefully: the jug was heavy. Rhoofer shit, that only left about a cupful, she’d have to pump up some more for him. The big disadvantage of the little house was its water pump, out the back. It worked okay, in that it pumped up water, only you hadda be real strong to get it started.

    “Here,” she said gruffly, holding out the mug. Then she realised— Vvlvanian curses! She held it to his lips. “Drink.” Some of the water went down his front until Su got the hang of the procedure. Never mind, it’d cool him down: it was Vvlvanian magma pits in here. “Better?”

    “Mm. Thanks.” Slowly the slanted blue eyes closed.

    “Don’t pass out again!” cried Su in anguish.

    “Uh—sleepy,” he muttered. “Sit.” He pawed vaguely at her.

    Biting her lip, Su sank down at his knee. At least he wasn’t snoring again, but he was definitely asleep. Um, well, Mum said that sleep was good for you if you weren’t well—but galloping grqwary gizzards, he’d been asleep since yesterday evening, hadn’t he? And it was late afternoon, now!

    Below the soft, baggy white Whtyllian pants the wounded foot had a giant bandage round it. Mum had reckoned it hadda be immobilised and she’d stuck some muck Trff had produced round it on top of the ordinary bandage. The muck had hardened so that you couldn’t peel the bandage off. Su peered anxiously. If it was too tight wouldn’t it block his circulation? But the toes looked normal and so did the bit of shin above the giant bandage. The leg looked thin, though. So did his face: thin and strained. She hadn’t seen him look this bad since they’d been dumped out of stasis on the plasmo-blasted PBTT. After a bit she felt for his hand. He didn’t stir. Su sat on in the stifling heat of a late New Whtyllian summer afternoon, holding his hand.

    Suddenly he said: “The plasmo-blasted being did it deliberately.”

    “What?” she gasped, jumping sharply.

    His hand squeezed hers. “The plasmo-blasted being did it deliberately.” His eyes opened. “Dohra. Did it... deliberately.”

    Su’s jaw dropped. “Eh?”

    She had time to wonder if his mind was wandering before he said: “Mm.”

    “Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, I don't think you’re feeling yourself,” she faltered anxiously.

    “No. Fine. Just... doped.” There was a long pause and Su thought he was drifting off again, but no: he said: “Dohra. Doped me. Gave me... far too much... that muck.” Another pause. “Friyrian muck.”

    “Yuh— Nuh—Ya don’t mean she gave ya too much on purpose? To make ya pass out? Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, your mind’s been affected! I mean, she’s a dozy being, but she wouldn’t do a thing like that!”

    “Yes,” he said faintly. His eyes closed again. Making an immense effort, he opened them and said: “Ruthless. That type of... female. Brighter than... most beings... realise.”

    “Nuh—look, this is mad!” cried Su. “Look, I’ll getcha some more water and, um, maybe something to eat, if there— Anyway, I’ll look!”

    Determinedly she went out to the kitchen. Nothing. The place had a very small larder, stone-lined, like First Cook’s big one: she had a look. Eh? Shakily Su picked up a large platter of small pies, on which reposed a note in fat, curly, childish writing: “Pis with flour on topp are kwoshee, pis with burd are grikeree & po-goose.”

    What? How old was the be— Oh, rhoofer shit! Dohra was C’T’rean, they had their own language, and Mum had once said she’d only done Second School and hadn’t done that well there—Su could certainly relate to that—and though of course she spoke Intergalactic she’d never of had to write it, because on Friyria they’d all of used Friyrian! And with text-blobs there’d been no need for beings to do actual writing, anyway.

    Next to the pies there was a large lubolyon jug standing on another note. Su peered. “Witilian llssii. Sore grikerees milk & sollt. Wil kip.”

    Uh... It was obviously llh’ssi, she’d sort of given it a Friyrian spelling, well, natural enough, and she meant “sour” not “sore”, and “sollt” must be salt, the way everyone drank it here, though Dad reckoned on Whtyll they sometimes had it sweet, with raffleberry juice, but... Goddit! She meant it would keep! Smiling a little in spite of herself, Su went back into the front room with the big plate of pies and the jug of llh’ssi and, carefully setting them on the floor by his chair, sat down again.

    Once he'd managed to drink a mugful of llh’ssi he obviously felt better: he smiled weakly at her. “Thanks.”

    “You better eat something," said Su anxiously.

    “Mm. Do you feel better?”

    “Me? Yeah, sure! Oh.” She reddened. “I threw up, yeah. It was only motion sickness—that plasmo-blasted rhoofer of Dohra’s.”

    “Mm,” he murmured. “I begin to see...”

    Su picked up a small pie. “Dohra seems to of left these for ya. They look all right. She was mucking round with them today, she reckoned she couldn’t figure out the recipe. Dunno why it was okay yesterday and not today.”

    “Subter... fuge,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two weakly.

    “Huh? Never mind, eat this. Think it’s quoshy, the sugar content'll prolly do ya good. That or clash with that Friyrian muck and you’ll pass out again,” she noted sourly.

    He took the little pie and though his hand shook, managed to eat.

    “Better?” said Su anxiously,

    “Mm. It was quoshy.”

    ”Good. Now, don’t try to talk. She left a note, see—well, can’t spell in Intergalactic, but never mind, she would never of had to learn. But them others, they’re definitely grqwaries’ meat. That’ll be protein, so get one down you.”

    “You, too,” he said faintly, allowing her to press one into his hand.

    “Well, okay. But I’m a bit thirsty, acksherly.”

    “Drink of water?”

    Yeah, something like that. Su got up. “Nah, I’ll have some of the llh’ssi. I’ll just grab a mug.”

    When she came back he’d closed his eyes again.

    “Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, don’t pass out again!” she cried. “I can’t bear it! I thought you were dead!”

    The slanted blue Whtyllian eyes opened slowly. “Yes. I thought you were, too—plasmo-blasted PBTT. Worst moment... my life. I thought, if you were dead, I didn’t want to live.”

    A tear ran down Su’s rounded cheek. “Me, too.”

    He drew a deep breath. “I can see you love me, Su. I love you, too.”

    “Then why have you been so horrible?” cried Su.

    “Didn’t think I... Dohra told me I was distant.” He made a wry little face.

    “Distant,” said Su bitterly. “Puts it well.”

    “I don’t know why—well, too old, thought a younger being; and you didn’t seem...”

    “I know I was horrible to you, but I dunno why! Only I was miserable!” she burst out.

    “Mm. Me, too. Well, only a clone.”

    Her mouth opened in shock. “You can’t of thought that mattered!”

    “Acksherly,” he said wryly, “I did.”

    “Rhoofer shit!” shouted Su.

    “Yes. –Vvlvanian curses, now I'm crying! It’s this muck the woman fed me.” He sniffed hard. “’Tis rhoofer shit. Sort of see more clearly, now. –Come here, Su.” He patted the arm of the big easy chair.

    Su perched on it nervously.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two managed to put his arm round her—it felt, talking of plasmo-blasted rhoofers, as if he was lifting a fully grown one. “Stay,” he said faintly.

    “I am,” replied Su sturdily.

    “Not—that.” There was a long pause. “Stay... forever,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, weakly but clearly.

    Su gulped. “All right,” she growled.

    His arm tightened fractionally. “Good.”

    Not surprisingly, Dohra had spent a rather nervous afternoon.

    “You better read me,” she said grimly, fronting up to her bond-partner as soon as Ccrainchzzyllia got home that evening.

    Raising his eyebrows slightly, he looked. He staggered.

    “Sit down!” said Dohra quickly. “I know it was dishonest and all that mok shit—underhand, if ya like,” she amended sourly, as he was broadcasting the word, loud and clear. “But some being had to do something!”

    Ccrainchzzyllia staggered over to the sofa and sank down onto it. “Apparently,” he agreed limply.

    Pouting, Dohra marched over to the cabinet where he kept his plasmo-blasted Friyrian liqueurs and poured him a shot of pott’hu’salzza. She’d kind of thought they might of seen the last of that when they came out here, but gee, Leader Vt R’aam’s cellar was stuffed with it, and Jhl had kindly donated a whole case of it. Well, a sip or two in the evening was okay, but it was just too sweet, really!

    She’d used a qwlot tumbler. His mouth twitched slightly, but he drank some: doubtless the sugar content was good for shock.

    “Dohra,” he said faintly: “you gave a humanoid zzvvlemm?”

    Dohra stuck out her rounded chin. “So? The servants all used to reckon it makes you think straight!”

    “Darling, that’s folklore!” he stuttered.

    “When I was on the third moon of Pkqwrd,” replied Dohra obstinately, “Forty-Four from Untranslatable Shade of Mauve Sector told me that folklore always represents truth!”

    “Dohra, the being wanted to KIDNAP you!” the driven man shouted.

    “Well, yeah, but it was gonna give me a nice life at the Intergalactic University,” Dohra returned fairly. “Anyway, I bet I was right, and it’s cleared his mind.”

    “How do you know you haven’t killed the poor humanoid?” he shouted.

    She looked airy. “Me and BrPl nipped over there about half an hour back. Su was sitting on the arm of his chair and he was kissing her, see?”

    The neck-gills opened and closed a couple of times. He gave in and finished the tumbler of pott’hu’salzza.

    “BrPl wasn’t in on it!” she added quickly.

    “No, I see. What lies did you tell him, may I ask?”

    In reply he got a vivid picture of Dohra and Silver Shadow lurking—no other word for it—under a morgher tree in the early morning, waylaying BrPl, telling the innocent being that Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had sent a message to say he wouldn’t need him today, and if he’d like to, could he help her, Dohra, over at the farm, and triumphantly leading him off. At the farm she’d handed him over to one of the farmhands, who was very pleased to have him: a big tree had fallen down over on the far boundary and they’d been wondering how to haul it back for firewood. They’d got two rhoofers that could work as a team, but it was far too heavy for them, but with a xathpyroid’s strength to help— BrPl had gone off happily for the entire day, the more so as Dohra had provided him with a whole roast grqwary for his lunch.

    She must have had to roast it at crack of dawn... Ccrainchzzyllia just looked at her limply. He had known, of course, that there was far, far more to his little bond-partner than met the eye, but...

    “Great splintered shards of quog,” he muttered. “I don’t know how you dared to take the risk!”

   “I know,” replied Dohra simply.

    “Actually,” Jhl admitted when the intergalactic dust had finally cleared, and she, her bond-partner and her two old ship-companions were at last able to collapse in the privacy of their own sitting-room and knock back a stiff shot of qwlot, or fermented laa, according to taste, “I sort of had a feeling that if any being could do something about the pair of them, it might be Dohra.”

    “Yeah,” agreed BrTl. “You did once tell me that there was more to her than met the first probe through the mind-shield. Figure of speech, Trff: I know she can’t shield worth an ig.”

    “Three times,” it corrected placidly.

    BrTl and Jhl both had to swallow. “Okay, three times,” he agreed.

    “I’m completely stunned,” admitted Shank’yar. He drank qwlot. “She gave a humanoid zzvvlemm?”

    “Also llh’ssi and small pies of pastry round either cooked quoshy mushed up with a sugar substance and certain spices, or grqwaries’ meat and po-goose meat finely chopped, also with spices, different ones, and an amount of finely chopped cepo, approximately fifteen percent, rounded to the nearest whole number, of the bulk of the total content— Oh, it sees,” Trff admitted. “Zzvvlemm is only plant essences.”

    “So is zuff weed,” noted Jhl pointedly.

    “So is Vvlvanian-cursed klupf, come to that!” cried her bond-partner.

    “Is it?” she said in surprise.

    “YES! Haven’t you ever looked?” he shouted.

    “She-it did look when she-it had to take it to pass through the x’nb web and the World Shield for that do on Old Rthfrdia,” Trff allowed. “But only at its surface. –Blue, to the humanoid eye,” it murmured. “Viscous is the other word you-it’s trying to think of, Jhl. It is in your-its memory store.”

    “Yuh—er, could we not mention that x’nb web and World Shield do again, please, Trff?” croaked Shank’yar.

    “Shan, no-one gives a cptt-rvvr’s fart about that out here,” sighed Jhl.

    “I do!” he said with feeling. “I was terrified for you, you idiot!”

    “Of course, sir. It won’t mention it again. –What about in an emergency?” it added just as the misguided man was about to thank it.

    “Service Regs, Trff!” said Jhl quickly.

    “Right you-it is, Captain! Hic!”

    “Fermented laa,” noted BrTl laconically. “Only a plant essence.”

    Jhl choked. “Yes, well, all’s well that ends well, eh? Uh, Bluellian saying,” she added to the doubtful emanations from all three of them.

    “Yes; I think you’ve used it before,” Shank’yar admitted unwisely.

    “Hic! Twenty-four times in your-its hearing, sir. Fifty-seven in BrTl’s. –Yes, BrTl, it sort of has ended as well as you-it and it thought, that time before Su got on the plasmo-blasted PBTT. But the being’s not her-its butler.”

    BrTl blinked incredulously. “What? Space garbage! I wasn’t thinking— I mean, it might sort of been in the back of my mind, in a sort of way, but— Oh, what’s the use?” he groaned. “Let’s just drink to Su and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two.”

    “Good idea!” Hurriedly Shank’yar got up and fetched them all refills.

    They drank. “To Su and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two!”

    Thoughtfully Shank’yar refilled BrTl’s glass again.

    “Ooh, thanks awfully, sir!” He drank. “Aah! –Can’t remember when I’ve been so relieved!” he admitted. “Well, back when we found out Su hadn’t been reduced to sli— Um, sorry, didn’t mean to put it like that,” he said as Su’s two senior cognates winced horribly. “But back then; don’t think anything can compare to that, eh?”

    “No,” Jhl allowed, smiling at him.

    “No,” BrTl agreed gratefully. “But Federation, this comes close! I mean, first she manages to get him uncloned, and then he comes through magnificently on the plasmo-blasted PBTT—I’d never have dreamed a clone could— What, Trff? Oh—right, not in that order, as commonly perceived in the commonly perceived space-time continuum—no, you-it’s right. But he comes through magnificently, any being’d have to admit that, and then he gets us all back home without a mind-strug— Um, never mind that. And he does the Deputy-Leader stuff jolly well—well, by that time it was obvious to me that he’d be the ideal being for the job—and wouldn’t you have thought that that’d bring him and Su closer? But great galloping herds of grpplybeasts, if anything it has the opposite effect! –Uh, figure of speech, Trff: probably not opposite in your-its terms, no. All right, not in those of the commonly perceived you-know-what, either! But what I’m trying to say is, I was beginning to think it’d never happen!” He shook his head slightly. “By a Loogher’s whisker!” he concluded.

    With huge emanations of approval, the company expressed agreement with him. And Jhl was just about to suggest kindly that he might as well have another shot, when he added thoughtfully: “You’d never, ever have believed he was only a clone.”

    The humanoids were incapable of speech, but Trff replied jauntily: “It would—hic! Though you-it’s right, BrTl: with the whole of the Known Universe against him-it—figure of speech—what being would ever have believed he-it would actually manage to maximise his-its potential? ...Hic!”

    And, as no being could argue with that one, they left it at that.

THE END

of the story of

The Admirable Clone