Extraordinary Leave

15

Extraordinary Leave

    “You got here!” said BrTl, sagging.

    “Of course,” replied Trff calmly. “No,” it added.

    BrTl gulped. He had been wondering whether Trff had asked Leader Vt R’aam’s permission before shaking the intergalactic dust of Intergalactica, actually—yes.

    “It told him-it that it had to go, because you-it needed it,” Trff explained.

    BrTl sat down rather suddenly. Fortunately Trff had been expecting it and was standing well clear. “Eh?” he croaked, after some appreciable time, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, had elapsed.

    “Yes. He-it shouted at it, of course, but it knew he-it was going to!” it explained jauntily.

    “Yuh—uh, yeah.” It wouldn’t have taken the superior mind-powers of a Ju’ukrterian it-being to have guessed that!

    “It isn’t in Space Fleet any more,” it added happily.

    “Uh—right. S’pose I’m not, either, officially, only in my case it doesn’t seem to make much difference,” he muttered glumly.

    “Also, it let him-it perceive that there might be a sort of suggestion of Su needing you-it in there, too.”

    “Yuh— Um, but she doesn’t!” he gasped. “Does she?”

    “She-it wouldn’t half mind if you-it turned up and pulled her-it out of that particular Carnuvese magma pit, figuratively speaking, by her-its tail, figuratively speaking, but she-it doesn’t need you-it, no,” said Trff judiciously. “No, you-it’s got the wrong end of the ban-ban-ban, BrTl,” it explained quickly, just he was going to shout at it. “When it said it let Y-K-W perceive that there might be a sort of suggestion of Su needing you-it, it didn’t mean there was any such suggestion. If he-it thinks it over, he-it’s going to conclude it was all in his-its humanoid imagination!”

    BrTl cringed. “Well, they’re your sprtzz fibres,” he muttered.

    “Right, but it’s not going to be in the mok shit up to them!” it assured him cheerfully. “What does you-it want it to do?”

    BrTl eyed it glumly. “You-it’s reading me, anyway.”

    “Yes, but it might be better if you-it explained it in your-its own words.”

    “Um, well, okay, it might be, yeah. You’ve got it that the Br-cognate’s coming back for its funeral in the DSRV?”

    “Yes, it’s been coming back ever since the DSRV reached the Intergalactic Relay St— Yes, it’s got it!” It was sending maths stuff about the DSRV’s mass-energy ratio affecting the rate at which the thing travelled in collapsed space, but BrTl realised this was involuntary, and charitably overlooked it.

    “Right. I’ve said I’ll meet it when they reach Whtyllian space, since that’s where they’re headed for. It’s based at Space Fleet HQ Whtyll and the Pilot has to report in for debriefing.”

    “Yes.” Trff agreed.

    “And then I’ll take the cognate on to New Qrbgg for the funeral.”

    “Yes.”

    “It might take, um, a couple of IG weeks.”

    “Twelve IG days, rounded to the nearest IG day, point of departure Academica spaceport.”

    “Exactly,” said BrTl heavily.

    “Hah, hah, very funny. It could come with you-it, if you-it likes,” it offered kindly.

    “I would like it, and I’m sure you can read that. But no, in this instance I think you’d better stay here and keep an eye, figuratively speaking, on the clone. Ex-clone,” he amended heavily. “He’s overdoing it in the opposite direction, now.”

    “Opposite direction?” it hooted blankly. “Oh! Metaphorically: it sees! Yes, okay, it’ll make him-it eat cafeteria burgers and drink cafeteria maxi-galaxy shakes, BrTl, no problem!”

    “Yes. And Trff: he-it hasn’t quite finished mid-year exams.”

    “It knows that.”

    “Yuh— Uh, just listen, there’s a good old Trff. Don’t do any nudging or—or slight helping at all, okay? Even if you-it can see that the answer or the—the point in question or whatever the thing is, fact or idea or whatever, is in his memory-store somewhere. Okay?” Had that covered all space bases? He looked at it without much hope.

    “Okay. It does remember that Third School Correspondence exam do with Wm that Jhl was wild about,” Trff admitted.

    Yeah, but had it seized why she’d been wild?

    “Not really, because the fact was in his-its memory-store. But it’s grasped that humanoids don’t approve of that sort of nudging during exams, tests and essays that the being has to write for itself.”

    “Yeah.” Well, possibly that did cover all space bases. “Good.”

    “What about Meankers?”

    And possibly it didn’t. “No!” he howled. “Not any cadets, okay?”

    “Got it. We could meet you-it at Space Fleet HQ Whtyll,” it offered.

    “Eh?”

    “The ex-clone will have finished his-its exams by then, and can apply for Funeral Leave on Extraordinary Grounds.”

    “Y— Um, think he’s still gated, Trff.”

    “Extraordinary Leave overrides that. Including Funeral Leave on Extraordinary Grounds.”

    “Right,” he said groggily. “Never tell me you-it’s remembered all that Academy Regs mok shit!”—Trff was silent, so possibly it was obeying this injunction.—BrTl cleared his throat slightly. “Uh, next question: does the case of an ex-clone, clone as he was then, as a passenger on a ship where the cognate was Navigator— Deceased cognate, I mean— Not his cognate, I mean— Mok shit, I can’t do this Academy Regs stuff!”

    “The Academy would look favourably on the case of this ex-clone, in his-its former clone state passenger and then emergency captain of a ship stranded in deep space during a Deep Space Emergency within the Meaning, wishing to attend the funeral of the Navigator who died during the event which caused the Deep Space Emergency,” Trff assured him.

    “Really? Oh, good! –Hang on: Deep Space Emergency within the Meaning?”

    “Yes.”

    “But surely Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s eligible for the Federation Medal, in that case!”

    “You-it’s thinking of the Two Galaxies Star: for extraordinary valour. In this case, involving the saving of lives, though that isn’t a stipulation.”

    “Well, yeah!”

    “No: that being wasn’t a serving officer at the time of the extraordinary valour,” it reminded him calmly.

    “Well, mok shit!” replied BrTl with feeling.

    “You-it said it: in quintupled 5-D triangles!” agreed Trff.

    “You mean all the being’s gonna get out of it is Funeral Leave?”

    “That and the uncloning,” replied Trff dubiously. “It supposes,” it added even more dubiously.

    “Y— Um, I dare say, but that was at Y-K-W’s lordly pleasure!” he cried.

    “That’s the phrase it was trying to think of,” it admitted sourly.

    “Well, why couldn’t his High and Mighty Leaderness award him a medal like yours?” he cried.

    “Clones aren’t eligible for the Third Galaxy Extraordinary Heroism Medal,” explained Trff glumly.

    “By the three-tongued blurryankers of Trypthfymia!” he cried.

    “Yes. Jhl’s very cross about it,” it offered.

    “I’m not surprised!”

    “Though at the same time very pleased that it’s got its medal,” Trff added cautiously.

    “’Course! Oh. Um, the one doesn’t contradict the other. No standard logic involved, Trff,” he explained kindly.

    “It gets it. So shall it and the ex-clone come?”

    “Eh? Oh, Federation, yes, Trff!”

    “Good. We’ll meet you-it at Space Fleet HQ Whtyll by the big nwhortlp recycler in the Officers’ Mess, O-Breather, at zero five hundred hours, IG, on Day 3 of— Um, we’ll see you-it when we get there!” it amended quickly, as it picked up the emanations.

    “Yeah,” said BrTl limply. “Well, I’ll probably be in the Officers’ Mess, yes. Or one of the Officers’ Bars.”

    “It’ll be lunchtime.”

    “Mm. Uh—nwhortlp recycler?” he added in spite of himself.

    “That cafeteria’s been redecorated since last time you-it and it were there.”

    What? The last time they were there was when the Expedition Fleet—that was, the First Federation Expedition to the Third Galaxy—had been getting ready for departure! Like, ten megazillion IG millennia ago!

    “All right,” he said, tacitly conceding defeat. “Good show. I’d better go, then. Um, I’ve told them you-it needs a proper Guest Room.”

    “Thanks, BrTl. Though it could’ve gone up to the Academy: the Principal’s dwelling has got some very suitable Guest Rooms.”

    “Um, yeah. Just as you-it likes.”

    “This xathpyroid lodging house is much, much nicer!” Trff assured him quickly.

    Er—yeah. Better take it as meant. And at least—

    “At least it won’t be surrounded by Space Fleet sparf, here!”

    Exactly. Remembering at the last moment to grab his uniform cloak, BrTl thanked it fervently for coming, and went. It was a fair lope from the village to the Academica spaceport.

    Acres of glorious pink Carnuvese sands overlooked by further acres of palest yellow mansion surrounded by odd-looking trees had unrolled before Jhl’s household’s dazed eyes…

    Finally G’gg, who had come over apparently in order to present his aunt with a couple of cloned Whtyllian calves, collapsed in helpless sniggers, gasping: “We get it!”

    “Um, off,” said Jhl feebly. “I think we’d better have some supper before we see the rest of it!” she said loudly over the emanations of disappointment.

    Helpfully First Cook Kadry’s chrono-blob told them the time, and the cook shot out to the kitchen, making tutting noises.

    After some thought Athlor ventured: “It’s gotta be one of Uncle J’f’s blobs, wouldn’t you say?”

    “Too right!” choked his Cousin G’gg. “Cultured up to show ninety percent of his plasmo-blasted nirvana garden to ten percent of any other content!”

    “Mm.” Athlor looked at the sim-receiver out of the corner of his eye.

    “They were palm trees, I think, Athlor,” said his mother, smothering a yawn. “But by all means look them up.”

    “Yeah. Think you can make some sort of oil from them,” said G’gg, also yawning. “Uh—they do on Gall’ay’a, I think. Oh, and one of the wmboid worlds: not Kaibfurstenh’g, I don’t think. Um, and what’s that place where the best rose brandy comes from? Monpettihor? Think they grow there, too. –Palm trees,” he said to his cousin.

    “W’nntrania Two?” ventured Jhl.

    “It’s h-breather, asteroid-brain!” replied her middle-aged nephew scornfully.

    “That wouldn’t necessarily stop J’f.”

    “Palm trees,” repeated G’gg, ignoring her. “Go on, Athlor, look them up.”

    Weakly Athlor ordered: “Encyclopaedia! Palm trees!” For some reason, whenever G’gg came over he, Athlor, always ended up looking silly.

    “Well?” said G’gg, smothering another yawn.

    “Um, yeah,” said Athlor feebly. “You’re right, G’gg. All those places you said. They grow on lots of o-breather worlds. Need a semi-tropical or tropical climate.”

    “Well, Carnuva’s certainly got that,” said Jhl heavily.

    “Mm. Some of them have edible fruit, but it doesn’t sound very nice… Favoured as a street tree in lots of tropical cities!” he reported, brightening.

    “J’f can’t’ve known that when he ordered his s-beings to plant them. That or he wanted the tropical city look,” she decided, yawning. “Don’t tell us if they do produce oil, ta; not a Need-To-Know.”

    “No,” he agreed gratefully, blobbing off.

    After a sustaining supper Su’s relatives felt strong enough to face J’f’s recorder-blob again, so they had it. The conclusion could only be “Poor Su.” Though admittedly G’gg did offer weakly that J’f had always been pretty bad.

    It wasn’t until they were staggering off to bed that Athlor ventured: “How’s she gonna get away from him, Mum?”

    “Dunno,” replied Jhl sleepily. “Well, don’t look at me! She has got free will: presumably the man didn’t kidnap her!”

    “No-o. Um, look, Mum, I know he’s your brother,” he said uneasily, “but he doesn’t sound to me… Well, he is a qualified Pilot, isn’t he? And didn’t he make Admiral?”

    “So?”

    “Hasn’t it dawned that he might have implanted the suggestion in the poor little thing’s head that she wants to stay there?” he cried.

    Jhl eyed him drily. “J’f would be more than capable of it, but the notion hasn’t dawned as such, no, ’cos the minute it raised its ugly head I realized that if he’d been silly enough to try it Shank’yar would have stopped him in his tracks, Trff would have stopped him in his tracks and accidentally-on-purpose left him immobilized until Vvlvania froze over, and BrTl would have stopped him in his tracks and, given the quality of his mind-powers, not to mention the way he’s been neglecting them ever since he opted for grazing with the cognates round about the time Su turned three, crystallized his mind-processes for good an’ all. And J’f, Gervaynian worm though he is, is smart enough to have realized it, too.”

    Athlor sagged. “Oh. Yeah,” he said weakly.

    “Mm. But I must say I’m glad you can summon up enough sympathy for your sister to call her a poor little thing. I should say she’ll get out of it by giving your father a sim-call and bawling. –It has always worked in the past,” she reminded him. “That or she’ll get that pair of asteroid-brains to dream up some unlikely reason for needing her presence sooner than yesterday.”

    “Oh. Yeah,” he agreed weakly.

    Space Fleet HQ Whtyll was even more humungously huge than BrTl remembered it. However, it wasn’t hard to find your way around it, because in the first instance it had the standard Service layout and in the second instance every second being you encountered could read your every intention clear as daylight without benefit of shades and was more than willing to direct you, not to say ask you five zillion mind-bogglingly boring questions about the Third Galaxy. Unless they happened to be xathpyroids, of course, only unfortunately most of them weren’t. As the IG time was zero five hundred hours, he was in the Officers’ Mess, O-Breather. Near the plasmo-blasted nwhortlp recycler, yeah.

    The DSRV Pilot had turned out to be a very pleasant being, very sympathetic. Which was odd, because she was a friymanoid—half humanoid, half Friyrian, yeah. The ones BrTl vaguely remembered meeting—hadn’t there been some on New Whtyll? In fact hadn’t Athlor once bond-partnered with one, or just done repro stuff with one or, um, something?—Anyway, they had been sort of bluish, but Pattsee wasn’t, possibly because the humanoid half, um, parent, had been brownish yellow and that had mixed with the Friyrian turquoise to produce a sort of yellowish green! Much, much nicer than blue! It was almost lurghple, but not quite, had a little too much brown in it. More of a p+pmmitt shade, really, Yes, p+pmmitt. “P+pmmitt,” he murmured to himself.

    “Ooh!” gasped Pattsee, clutching at her friymanoid ears.

    “Help, sorry, did I override your translator? Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

    “That’s all right,” she said bravely, refraining with an effort that made her neck ache from looking round the room to see how many other beings were evincing body language indicative of shock and pain.

    “Fourteen,” said BrTl glumly. The mess wasn’t very full. Whtyllians were o-breather and so other officers didn’t tend— Pattsee had now collapsed in giggles.

    “Er—didn’t mean to broadcast,” he said uneasily.

    “It’s all right, you only sent it to me!” she gasped, collapsing in giggles again.

    “Good,” said BrTl happily. “What about a shot of qwlot while we wait?”

    “Go on, you talked me into it.”

    “Right. Er—it won’t run to anything fancy like Jangir’s Old Smoky, but, well, Lulli Pedrew?”

    “Ta, that’ll hit the spot,” replied Pattsee happily.

    “There was a being called Lulli in my class at First School,” she said reminiscently over the genuine S/IG shot glasses.

    “Oh, yeah? Male-tended or female-tended? Or was it an it?” replied BrTl kindly.

    “Male-tended, it’s a male humanoid name. But ironically enough his parents, um, senior cognates to you, BrTl, were the sort that wouldn’t touch the stuff.”

    “Eh? But it must be suited to the humanoid metabolism! I mean, maybe you can’t take Jhl as typical but—but the senior cognate, and the cognates on Bluellia! And all Bhl’s—forget what they called them, now. Um—oh, yes! Old mates.”

    “Drinking companions and friends of one’s youth, yes,” agreed Pattsee.

    BrTl shook the wrist that bore the Space Issue translator, glaring at it. “Piece of officious space junk,” he muttered.

    “Qwlot is suited to the humanoid metabolism, but the point is, poor Lulli’s parents didn’t believe in drinking the stuff, BrTl,” the Pilot explained. “Not just qwlot: any hard liquor. There is a word for it, but I’ve forgotten it.”

    Mad? he wondered.

    Teetotal, BrTl.—Teetotal, Commander BrTl!

    Not a Need-To-Know, replied BrTl with some relief. “There you are!” he said as Trff and the ex-clone came up to them. “Thought I told you not to call me Commander unless Su’s senior cognate’s present?” he added.

    Smiling, Cadet Vt R’aam Thirty-Two replied: “Service etiquette, I’m afraid, sir; been drilled into me!”

    “Twenty demerits points at one blow for forgetting to use a senior officer’s rank—yeah,” he conceded. “I suppose you’re forgiven. Been eating in the cafeteria, have you?” he added casually.

    Laughing, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two agreed: “In several of them!”

    “Good.” He tried to direct a certain thought Trff’s way whilst shielding it from the ex-clone, though he did know the being had got even more Vvlvanian-cursed good than he had been back on New Whtyll.

    “I think what I wrote in the exams was all me,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two meekly.

    “Yeah, hah, hah,” replied BrTl with a very good simulacrum of a humanoid grin.

    Pattsee recoiled, gasping, and the ex-clone said mildly: “It was a grin, Lieutenant. The Commander’s lived with humanoids for a long time.”

    “A humanoid, mainly,” corrected BrTl firmly.

    He was thinking of the period on Madam’s ship, which was technically longer than the time on New Whtyll if you were counting the extended period coming to the Third Galaxy with the Fleet, but actually, he wasn’t counting it. Vt R’aam Thirty-Two already knew that the period he’d spend with Madam and Trff as tramp traders had been the happiest time of BrTl’s life: he smiled at him and didn’t point out his error.

    Introductions, BrTl.

    Stop prompting, me, Trff, I’m getting around to it!

    Sooner than yesterday, figuratively speaking, it added with emanations of extreme glumness.

    BrTl was just about to stare at it in astonishment when he realised why. Great splintered shards of quog! No!

    Yes.

    Clearing his throat, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two said to the Pilot: “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant: Commander BrTl and the Chief Engineer have been ship companions for so long that they tend to—uh—”

    “Forget their IG manners: you don’t have to wrap it up in clean clingo-cloth, Cadet: she’s a Pilot,” said BrTl heavily. “Lieutenant Gavverdetter, Pattsee. Patsee’s the given name: cognate name first, like us!” he noted pleasedly. “This is Cadet Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, though you can see that, of course, and this is Chief Engineer Slp-Og V. Trff; and it won’t mind if you don’t salute it,” he added, rolling a cautious eye in the direction of the door.

    Not here yet. “Good to meet you, Lieutenant Gavverdetter, Pattsee,” Trff agreed.

    The Lieutenant, not an old being in mammalian humanoid terms, was, at least one being present did not fail to note, very disconcerted at being ordered not to salute Trff. Given that it was in uniform. She got up uncertainly. “Um, yes, good to meet you, Chief Engineer.”

    “Call it Trff,” it replied.

    “Trff,” said Pattsee weakly, her eyes bolting from her head as what was on one of the uniform tentacle-bands registered. “Is—is that a Federation Medal on your tentacle-band?”

    “No, it’s a Third Galaxy Extraordinary Heroism Medal,” it replied literally. “Oh! It sees! In some respects it could be said to resemble a Federation Medal, yes. Depending on what the visual organs are conveying to the mind.”

    “That’s right,” said BrTl quickly, rolling a cautious eye in the direction of the door.

    “But, um, is it Regulation?” the poor being croaked.

    “Definitely, Lieutenant,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two quickly. “Otherwise the Chief Engineer wouldn’t be wearing it on its uniform.”

    “I see,” she said weakly. “Thanks, Cadet.”

    “Service Etiquette, mandatory for First-Years,” BrTl reminded her helpfully.

    “Um, yeah,” she said weakly.

    “The being slept through most of that,” explained Trff.

    “Then you’re one with the great majority, Pattsee,” said BrTl kindly, rolling a cautious eye in the direction of the door.

    “Um, thanks!” she said with a feeble laugh. “Um, who are you expecting, BrTl?”

    “No being,” explained Trff helpfully.

    “Er—no,” he admitted. “Not expecting, no. They’re coming, though. Um, look, I’d better apologize in advance, Pattsee. In fact, if you want to slope off now—”

    Too late, BrTl!—Too late, Commander!

    They were right, because in they came. There was a concerted sort of—not a wave of horror, exactly, because after all most of those present in the Officers’ Mess were Pilots and if they’d been keeping mentally alert, they’d have been more or less aware of it. Though, true, some had not been keeping mentally alert or anything like it. More like a wave of modified horror.

    “I won’t ask why in Federation the being’s in uniform,” said BrTl in a savage undertone to the ex-clone.

    “That sort of being. One of the traits he has in common with Y-K-W,” murmured Vt R’aam Thirty-Two with a twinkle in his blue mammalian eye.

    BrTl just about had time to blink at the realization than the being was now normal enough to call You-Know-Who Y-K-W before they came up to them, and both Pattsee and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two came rigidly to attention and saluted. Well, became rigid with horror as well. BrTl didn’t salute: after all, he wasn’t in Space Fleet any more. Added to which the being was plasmo-blasted-well retired!

   “Hullo, Su,” he said glumly.

    Su was a sort of nasty glowing pink shade. It often went with embarrassment in light-skinned mammalian humanoids, BrTl was used to it now. “Hullo!” she gasped. “Uncle J’f thought he’d like to pay his respects and come to the Br-cognate’s funeral!”

    “At ease,” said J’f in lofty tones, looking down his straight mammalian humanoid nose that disconcertingly was the same shape as Jhl’s, if rather larger.

    Like culture-pod cognates, Trff reminded BrTl glumly. The third cognate.

    The third— That one dated back to round about the time Jhl had taken BrTl and Trff to her Dad’s farm for Galaxy Day! In other words, ten megazill— Oh, forget it. He was the third of Jhl’s male-tended cognates, yes.

    At one stage Pattsee had thought she might come with him to New Qrbgg: she was due for leave and having brought the Br-cognate’s body all the way back from the Intergalactic Relay Station she sort of had an interest, but funnily enough the suggestion wasn’t renewed and she went off to grab a lift on a transport that would drop her off only halfway across the two galaxies from her home world. As the plasmo-blasted third cognate, who had behaved with perfect propriety in her presence—if you could except the Vice-Admiral’s uniform, yeah—was now sending Su a mind-message of “Ugh: ugly, isn’t she?” BrTl emanated being-about-to-accidentally-step-on-a-third-cognate’s-foot.

    “He likes green, Uncle J’f!” said Su aloud, glaring.

    “Er—yes, of course. I do beg your pardon, Commander BrTl,” he said nicely. “Didn’t mean that to be overheard.”

    BrTl had belatedly realised that the reason he’d been able to pick up a Vice-Admiral was that Trff had kindly acted as a sort of relay station. However, instead of admitting it he bared his crunchers at the being. J’f gasped and recoiled.

    “Don’t dare to pretend that was a smile, BrTl,” said Su mildly.

    “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, cheering up fractionally. “Where’s the Loogher?”

    An agonised expression came over Su’s face. “On board Uncle J’f’s new Moodra Supernova. He’s planted up a cabin with some grass for her.”

    “Created a mini-ecosystem,” corrected J’f, looking down his nose with a smirk. “It’s a specialty of the Supernova model.”

    BrTl took a deep breath and managed to let that one go. “Right. Good show. Well, our transfer to New Qrbgg leaves in about five IG hours—yes, zero hour, Trff, couldn’t get us on anything leaving at a reasonable time—so—”

    Before the word “lunch” could pass his lips the plasmo-blasted third cognate had airily dismissed all that: he was gonna take them all the way in the Moodra Supernova and his s-beings were seeing that the coffin was transferred and blah, blah, blah.

    Possibly BrTl could have insisted but the plasmo-blasted being was a Vice-Admiral, if retired, and the dead Br-cognate had been a Space Fleet officer, and they were standing in the middle (almost literally: standard layout) of Space Fleet HQ Whtyll and—a minor consideration, true—Su was broadcasting that the Loogher was blissfully happy grazing in its grassy cabin.

    It’ll call him-it the plasmo-blasted third cognate too, BrTl, decided Trff kindly as they trudged off to where, gee, the Admiral had a Service tran-pod complete with an IG Militia corporal as driver waiting to transport them to the Moodra Supernova.

    Yeah. –Will you-it? –Good, replied BrTl glumly.

    The plasmo-blasted third cognate doesn’t understand about xathpyroid funeral services, it added helpfully.

    BrTl hadn’t been able to read that, but ya know what? He wasn’t surprised. Not at all surprised.

    The trip went well. Super-well, given that the instant BrTl set foot in his super-luxurious, maxi-galaxy cabin the plasmo-blasted vehicle asked him if he’d like some nice grass to graze on!

    “WHAT? NO!” he shouted terribly. “What am I, a plasmo-blasted semi-sentient being?”

    There was an appreciable pause and then the plasmo-blasted Moodra Supernova returned: A xathpyroid. Available: New Qrbggian grass with view of plain and sky; Kaydermew grass with view of plain, mountains and sk—

    “QUIET!” he roared terribly.

    Into the ringing silence Su’s voice said from just outside his door: “What’s the matter, BrTl?”

    Come in! he replied crossly. “I can see you realize what’s happened,” he said, glaring, as she came in.

    “Yes. It wasn’t meant as an insult. My room asked me if I wanted pink Carnuvese sand to sunbathe on,” she explained.

    “You’re not a Carnuvese!”

    “No, but I think Uncle J’f’s got it cultured up to offer that to humanoids.”

    After quite some time he managed to reply: “You’d better put that in your next text-blob to Jhl, she’ll appreciate it.”

    “Mm,” agreed Su glumly.

    “Why in the two galaxies did you agree to— Forget it,” he sighed.

    “Um, he was jealous ’cos Aunty Lle’onee’ya had me,” said Su in a small voice.

    “You don’t even like him, Su,” said BrTl heavily.

    “Not really, no, though he is making an effort,” said Su, still in the small voice.

    After a moment BrTl shot out a pseudopod.

    “Ta,” said Su gratefully, holding it.

    Silence fell. After a bit he could feel her wondering whether to tell him the food was good.

    “Yes, food’s always appropriate, even if a Br-cognate has been killed in the performance of his duty on a plasmo-blasted PBTT, Su,” he said kindly.

    “Oh, good,” replied Su, squeezing his pseudopod. “You can just ask the room—I mean cabin.”

    “Uh—recycler?” he groped, peering round for it.

    “No, it’s more up-market than that,” replied Su glumly.

    “Er—okay. Um, what were those sausages the DorAvenian recommended, that time we were stuck on the third moon of Pkqwrd?”

    “Um, that wasn’t me, BrTl,” said Su feebly.

    “Nor it was—sorry. Thinking of Dohra. –She was much pinker than you,” he added quickly.

    “Mm. You have told me about that meat… Kog!” said Su, beaming at him.

    “Right. Thanks. I’ll have a haunch of roast grpplybeast, and two dozen grilled kog meat sausages,” he ordered experimentally.

    Immediately these were produced, so he ordered, given this was a super-duper, maxi-galaxy, play-person’s vehicle, a barrel of Moomdragorian ale, just to see if it could. Forthwith receiving the message: Moomdragorian ale available only in h-breather atmospheres. Do you wish to change the atmosphere?

    “What?” said Su uneasily to the emanations.

    “Nothing. Make that a barrel of Rwthwarian ale. –Ah!”

    “All right?” she said, smiling.

    BrTl nodded with his mouth full. Yes, good, thanks, Su. –Stay. Have some.

    “I can’t, thanks, BrTl: I’ve got to eat with him in the plasmo-blasted dining salon,” said Su sadly, going.

    BrTl shook his head round his mouthful of kog meat sausages.

    “Number Ones aren’t necessary, Admiral Smt Wong,” said former C.P.O. BrDv kindly. “It won’t be a military funeral.”

    It won’t be a military funeral! they all sent.

    J’f’s pale yellowish mammalian humanoid facial skin had turned a nasty shade of mottled puce. “What? Rubbish, C.P.O.!” he spluttered. “Died gallantly in the performance of his duty—naturally full military honours!”

    “He’s brought a military band, BrDv,” said BrTl helpfully.

    He’s brought a military band! they all sent.

    “A band’s always nice: you could have that,” said the former C.P.O. kindly to the Admiral. “But it won’t be a military funeral, you know.”

    It won’t be a military funeral! they all sent.

    It took a while: he was an obstinate being, even for a humanoid, not to be anything-ist. But eventually he got the point. They were on New Qrbgg and it wasn’t going to be a military funeral.

    “Very well, C.P.O.: it’s your show,” he said stiffly.

    It didn’t even need the mind-prods from Trff and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two for Su to gasp quickly: “Not really, BrDv! It’s just a figure of speech!”

    “Oh, yes, BrSu: a figure of speech,” she said vaguely.

    He doesn’t understand about xathpyroid funerals, BrDv, she sent feebly.

    I can see that, agreed the large being kindly. Help, was it only in Su’s imagination or was it the exact same tone she’d just used to Uncle J’f?

    Almost exact, confirmed Trff.

    Yes! agreed Vt R’aam Thirty-Two.

    Help. Su looked limply at her uncle. “Well, um, shall we go back to the hotel for a—a rest, Uncle J’f?”

    “A rest? But I was under the impression— When is the ceremony due to start, then?”

    An agonised expression came over Su’s face, so Vt R’aam Thirty-Two said quickly: “I don’t think it’s a ceremony as we would understand the word, sir.”

    “What?” he spluttered. “Rubbish! Weren’t you listening, that evening on Old Rthfrdia, when BrTl told us about his stint Lost Cause guiding on Mooghanurdrangyea?”

    “Yes, I was, sir, buh—”

    “Then you’ll have heard him describe the funeral he held for the Lost Causer who died! Told us himself he said a few words over him in his Slaetho-Xathpyrian dialect!”

    “Y— Uh—I think that was over both the Lost Causer and the dead enemy, sir.”

    It was a worthy opponent, agreed BrTl glumly. Worthy of better than that load of FW Lost Causers, actually.

    Yes, of course, agreed the ex-clone sympathetically. “Sir,” he said to J’f, “I think my point, with all respect, was that a few words don’t constitute a ceremony.”

    J’f gave him a baffled glare.

    They were all sending kindly: A few words don’t constitute a ceremony, so Su said hurriedly: “Anyway, it’s not for a while, is it, BrTl?”

    “What?” he replied vaguely. “Oh—no. I’ll let you kn— Uh, I’ll come and get you,” he said limply to the plasmo-blasted third cognate, not bringing himself to call him “sir”.

    “Very well, Commander BrTl; if you’re sure?” he said grimly.

    Why wouldn’t he be sure?

    That’s humanoids, not to be anything-ist! sent Trff on a jaunty note.

    Exactly. “I am sure. –Come on, Trff, there’s some Br-cognates down this way that have got in a barrel of fermented laa specially for you-it.”

    “It knows. It means, that’s very kind!” Trff amended quickly “Oh, doesn’t it have to? No, silly it, it’s on New Qrbgg now!”

    J’f gave a baffled glare as the two of them headed off across the lawn without a backwards glance.

    “Just grass, Admiral,” said former C.P.O. BrDv kindly.

    As they were all sending kindly: Just grass, Admiral, it was with the greatest difficulty that J’f refrained from grinding his humanoid teeth and replied nicely: “Yes, of course. Well, we’ll see you later, C.P.O. BrDv. Come along, Su.” And retreated in reasonably good order.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two looked after him drily, and waited until the Admiral’s two aides had blinked, come to, and scrambled off in his wake. With luck Admiral Ambassador Smt Wong wouldn’t have picked up the fact that a quite a few of the more immature cognates were broadcasting: What is there to grind your crunchers over in that? It is only grass.

    “We thought BrSu might like to come in our lifter,” said C.P.O. BrDv kindly to the Admiral. “But just as you like, sir, of course. But there won’t be any precedence, it’s not a military funeral, you know.”

    Ouch! Quickly Su said: “It’s ’cos I’ve spent some time with the cognates, Uncle J’f. Like—like calling me ‘BrSu’. It doesn’t mean that I’m, um—” Help! She couldn’t think how to put it nicely!

    “That she’s taking precedence, in any way,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two smoothly.

    Honestly! You didn’t know whether to glare at the being or—or give him a medal! ’Cos if it was a lot better than saying “that she’s more important than you”, that didn’t mean he hadn’t deliberately repeated the word “precedence” that BrDv had picked up from Uncle J’f’s mind!

    “I quite see that, thank you, Cadet,” said J’f grimly. “By all means go with C.P.O. BrDv and the senior cognates, Su.”

    “Um, ta, Uncle J’f,” replied Su with an apologetic, agonised smile. “Um, the thing is, BrDv, Uncle J’f is kind of a senior cognate to me.”

    “Yes, BrTl said,” she agreed vaguely. “Um—BrJf, then?”

    Alas, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, in spite of his years of service in my Lord’s house, gulped and clapped a hand over his mouth at this one.

    J’f’s mammalian facial skin was very puce but he made a gallant effort and said: “I would be most honoured to be BrJf, BrDv.”

    “Oh, good. Better come in our lifter, then. –You won’t be bringing that Loogher, will you, BrSu?”

    “No, we left her on Uncle J’f’s ship: he’s given her some lovely grass. You remember, BrDv: she eats that instead of meat,” she reminded her.

    “Right. It takes all sorts to make a Known Universe, doesn’t it? We’re off, then.”

    Limply J’f followed her out.

    The lifter flew over a great deal of monotonous plain. So much so that J’f gave up peering out for the cemetery and just sat back in his corner. Naturally the pilot had a proper seat, but apart from that there were no seats in the xathpyroids’ lifter, just corners. Not adjustable to one’s size—no. Several of those present had sent kindly: You’re on New Qrbgg now! as he made this discovery, so J’f was now grimly monitoring his shield.

    BrDv wasn’t piloting the thing, she was sitting next to Su. Apparently not sending anything—J’f wasn’t sure he would have picked her up, if she was, but his niece, who couldn’t shield worth an ig, certainly wasn’t replying.

    At long last the ex-C.P.O. said: “The band’s coming with BrGl and BrFv and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, Admiral.”

    “Er—yes.” With them and a number of the senior cognates. Those in this lifter were not all senior cognates, in fact quite half of them were young ones, and so why there had been all the fuss about inviting “BrSu” to join them—! And it wasn’t as if they were culture-pod cognates of the deceased, because they weren’t!

    “No, most of them are with BrTl and Trff and the barrels,” said BrDv calmly.

    Exactly. And he might as well not maintain his shield at all! J’f relapsed into baffled silence.

    They flew on. The view of the plain was unchanged…

    “Does that look nice, do you think, BrSu?” said the large being.

    Su peered out of the port at the unchanged view of flat green plain. “Yes, very nice, BrDv.”

    It looks very nice, the chorus was agreeing.

    “I think it looks very nice. Let’s land,” said BrDv.

    The xathpyroid pilot agreed. –Just incidentally, this pilot was a full captain, so there seemed no reason whatsoever for denying the deceased full military honours, in fact most of the Known Universe would have said full military honours would seem indicated!

    “They do things different, Uncle J’f,” said Su kindly.

    “Yes,” he replied shortly.

    Everybody was out of the lifters, the coffin had been brought out… J’f stared around in bewilderment. Well, possibly xathpyroids didn’t go in for memorial plaques or standing stones or statuettes of the deceased or any of the many and varied burial markers that most of the rest of the Known Universe used to honour the resting place of their dead. He’d been on one planet where they planted a tree over the grave, but here there were no trees in sight, just the grassy plain, rolling on and on and on to the horizon.

    It looks very nice, they assured him kindly.

    After a moment he became aware that BrTl had come up to stand with their little group. We don’t plant trees, we just let the grass grow, he sent kindly.

    J’f was almost sure that in this instance the being was genuine—though there were plenty of times when he wasn’t, curse his vacuum-frozen eyes.

    “Dad used to say that,” remembered BrTl on a pleased note.

    Jumping ten IG fluh where he stood, J’f gasped: “Our dad? Mine and Jhl’s? Yes, he did!” He swallowed. “I’m sorry, BrTl,” he said in a lowered voice: “Is it perhaps not the done thing to speak during your funeral services?”

    “No, you can talk,” he replied, sounding impossibly vague.—Again, J’f was ninety percent sure he was genuine, though that didn’t make the vagueness any the less irritating.—“You might take his paw, Su,” he added, still sounding vague.

    Quickly Su seized her reddening uncle’s hand. “It’s all right, that’s just what he thinks of humanoid’s hands as!” she hissed. “We feel warm to them, you see!”

    Admiral Smt Wong might have been observed to gnaw his humanoid lip a bit—that was, if any being had been interested enough to notice him. However, he continued to hold his niece’s hand.

    The assembled xathpyroids—though assembled was not exactly the word, they appeared to be just standing around—were exchanging mild remarks or vague mind-messages, or just staring into space or, in several cases, eating the odd small plant. After this had gone on for some time one of the younger ones came up to BrTl and said: “The barrels are ready.”

    “Oh, good.”

    J’f expected something to happen after this, but nothing did: they all still just exchanged mild remarks or vague mind-messages, or stared into space or ate one or two small plants. After quite some time he said very cautiously to his niece: “Is this usual?”

    “Um, not sure what you mean, there, Uncle J’f.”

    “Is this usual for xathpyroid funerals?” he hissed.

    “Um, sort of. Um, it’s not like a Bluellian funeral,” she added kindly.

    For Federation’s— It was years and years since he’d shaken the dust of vacuum-frozen Bluellia!

    “Or Whtyllian ones,” added Su in a small voice.

    “Possibly because they’re both humanoid societies,” he returned acidly.

    “Yes, that’s right,” she replied in tones of unalloyed relief. “You got it.”

    Got what? J’f stared round him in a baffled way.

    Sir, nothing will happen, warned Vt R’aam Thirty-Two.

    J’f went very red. Thank you for that, Cadet Vt R’aam Thirty-Two.

    The cadet did not reply, though possibly the respectful silence he was emanating could have been taken as verging on insubordination by the sensitive, and nothing at all went on happening.

    Yes, the band would be nice.

    J’f jumped ten IG fluh where he stood.

    “Sorry, Admiral. The band would be nice: we could have it now if you like,” said the ex-C.P.O. kindly.

    Since they were all agreeing: We could have the band now if you like, J’f ordered the band to play. In a very weak voice indeed.

    The band played The Federation Funeral March, followed by The Two Galaxies Funeral March, followed by The Hero’s Last Lament, followed by The Pipes and Whistles of Old Booj’lly.

    “That was very nice!” C.P.O. BrDv assured him happily, clapping.

    As they were all clapping, sending happily: That was very nice! J’f smiled feebly and clapped, too. Though he certainly hadn’t ordered that last: who in Federation—?

    “I did, sir,” explained the ex-clone, coming up to his side. “Xathpyroids usually enjoy that tune. Though of course those who are Space Service or ex-Service are also familiar with the other three tunes. –Four, sir,” he added respectfully. “BrTl, BrDv, your lifter’s pilot, and Sub-Lieutenant BrVl, there.”

    Admiral Smt Wong looked very limply indeed at a very youthful sub-lieutenant who promptly saluted him. “Four? –At ease, Lieutenant!”

    “Yes. Well, er, as with most planets, those who are in the Service are mostly away on their duties, sir.”

    “What about the deceased’s cognate group?” he snapped.

    “Um, everybody here is a Br-cognate, Admiral,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two on an uneasy note.

    “You know what I mean!” he snapped.

    “His culture-pod cognates? Most of them are here. BrZv, who piloted your lifter, and, um, one, two, three… Fifteen others, sir,” he said respectfully.

    There was a short silence and then J’f said: “Did you read that?”

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two cleared his throat. “I can read it, yes, sir, but I didn’t need to, they all told me.”

    “I see. Since you can read that much, Cadet, perhaps you would care to favour me with an explanation of what happens next?” he said in an icy undervoice.

    “Er… It isn’t a formal ceremony, sir,” said the ex-clone feebly.

    “Stop telling me that!” he hissed.

    The mind-echoes of It isn’t a formal ceremony died away, and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two swallowed hard.

    At one point BrDv had wandered away. Now she wandered back and said kindly: “We could bury him now, if you like, sir.”

    “Or have a barrel of ale,” added BrTl.

    “That, too,” she agreed mildly.

    “Well—uh—just as you like, C.P.O.,” said J’f very weakly indeed. “It is your show.”

    “Yes, figure of speech, BrSu,” said the large being kindly. “No, there’s no need to help unless you’d like to: xathpyroids are good diggers.”

    “She’d like to. The ex-clone’ll help, too,” said BrTl.

    “Wilco,” agreed BrDv mildly. “Come on, then.”

    And, to a mind-deafening chorus of They’re bringing the shovels! they and a large number of the other xathpyroids wandered off onto the plain in an unfocussed manner and, several youngish xathpyroids having fetched some shovels from one of the lifters, began to dig. Not all in the same place, by any means, but after a moment’s dazed staring it dawned on J’f Smt Wong that the intention was that the holes would join up. Well, after all, xathpyroids were large beings…

    It then became apparent why the barrels were present: after a period of digging the xathpyroids began to wander over to them and refresh themselves. Some of them bothering with the tankards, bowls and basins that were provided, yes.

    This went on for quite some time. The holes had all joined up, and the diggers were now only visible when they stood upright. J’f’s niece and the ex-clone returned to his side, looking very grimy and grinning all over their faces.

    “Thirsty work!” said the fellow with a laugh.

    “Cadet, is that appropriate?” replied J’f on a distinctly weak note.

    “Uncle J’f, BrTl and BrDv both just said it,” said Su. “Here.” She handed him a small bowl of ale. “That is appropriate, and stop worrying,” she said mildly.

    “I am not worrying, and kindly do not take that tone with me!” he snapped.

    Su took a deep breath. “Uncle J’f, xathpyroids don’t mind if you do the wrong thing.”

    “So much so that in fact the Slaetho-Xathpyrian dialects have no expression for ‘the wrong thing’,” murmured Vt R’aam Thirty-Two.

    “Really?” he said acidly. “I can assure you that Space Fleet Regulations do, however!”

    Su had gone very red. “Don’t be mean, Uncle J’f! He’s only trying to help you understand!”

    “Yes, sir,” agreed Vt R’aam Thirty-Two. “Su and I have always seen a lot of the xathpyroids, back home on New Whtyll. They have no words for ‘appropriate’ or ‘inappropriate’, either.”

    J’f took a deep breath. “That would follow, yes. I suppose I see.” He looked at his bowl of ale, sighed, and drank it off.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two looked at him with some sympathy. “I’ve found that while one can grasp it intellectually, it’s almost impossible for humanoids to relate to affectively.”

    “Mm.” He stared at the crowd of xathpyroids coming and going round the barrels, frowning. “Is the ale part of it, then?” he said at last.

    “No. You haven’t got it,” replied his niece glumly.

    “Hush, Su,” said the ex-clone with a smile in his voice. “Let me put it this way, sir: when ale is present, ale is most certainly part of it!”

    “That’s right, acksherly,” admitted Su.

    “So it’s a completely ad hoc society!” he concluded crossly.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s slanted blue eyes twinkled. “Pretty much, yes. As much as a society can be!”

    J’f smiled reluctantly. “Right. Er—and that story of BrTl’s?”

    “Mm? Oh! No, it wasn’t apocryphal. They will probably say a few words once the cognate is buried: it is customary—as much as anything is,” he murmured, sounding horribly like J’f’s brother-in-IG-law.

    “Look: those younger cognates are bringing the coffin over,” said Su. “Come on!”

     So they were. Since his two fellow humanoids were hurrying over to the hole, J’f followed.

    “There you are!” BrTl greeted them. “Come on, don’t just stand there!”

    “Should we?” said J’f faintly, as, the coffin having been lowered into the hole with a certain amount of loud instruction and counter-instruction from the young xathpyroids apparently in charge of it, most of those present started shovelling dirt over it. With the feet as well as the shovel, in most instances.

    “Of course!” Vt R’aam Thirty-Two assured him cheerfully, shoving dirt in with his bare hands.

    “The hole won’t fill itself in!” BrTl added cheerfully, shovelling with two feet as well as his shovel.

    Su had fallen to her knees to push dirt into the hole. Dubiously her uncle sank down beside her. Many cultures, after all, used the kneeling posture as a mark of respect.

    It isn’t, to them. But they won’t mind if you-it does it for that reason.

    “Was that Trff?” said J’f’s niece kindly to his gasp and jump.

    “Yes. Where is it?” he asked feebly.

    “Guarding that barrel of fermented laa with its life!” Su peered over her shoulder. “You can’t see it, the barrels are blocking it, but it’s there. What did it say?”

    “Nothing,” he said, biting his lip. “Er—is there a spare shovel?”

    “Nope. You better just use your hands.” Su paused. “Um, they won’t mind if you don’t wanna, Uncle J’f.”

    “I do want to! And don’t say wanna!” he snapped, falling to and shoving dirt into the rapidly filling grave with his bare hands.

    The grave was filled in and several of the younger xathpyroids had into the bargain stamped down the dirt. Some of the attendees had sat down—several of them actually on the grave—and many were exchanging mild remarks or vague mind-messages, or just staring into space or, in one or two cases, eating the odd small plant. No-one appeared to give any signal, certainly no-one called anything out, and J’f would have sworn no-one sent any sort of mind-message, either, but gradually the chatter died away. He looked expectantly at BrDv. She just emanated mildness. He looked at the deceased’s culture-pod cognate, Captain BrZv. She also emanated mildness. J’f looked round a trifle wildly. Was it fifteen more that the vacuum-frozen ex-clone had said were here? Oh! Er—yes—Hullo—Yes—I see— he acknowledged as fifteen xathpyroids agreed mildly: Yes, we’re here.—Yes, we’re here.—Etcetera.

    Still no-one stepped forward or got up or—or anything! He looked desperately at BrTl.

    “Somebody might say a few words, yes,” he said, aloud.

    J’f jumped, but nodded.

    “You can, if you like, Admiral,” said BrDv kindly.

    Turning puce, he gasped: “No, really! I mean, thank you, C.P.O. BrDv, it’s an honour, but I haven’t prepared anything!”

    “That doesn’t matter,” said Su.

    “BrSu’s right, it doesn’t have to be anything prepared,” agreed Captain BrZv.

    J’f gulped; the being was, after all, the deceased’s culture-pod cognate. He could always say the sort of thing he would have aboard his ship, when he had his own command, but—but what if it wasn’t appropriate, here?

    No such word, sir! Vt R’aam Thirty-Two reminded him.

    Shakily J’f rose to his feet. Help. At home on Bluellia you said “Dear brothers and sisters”, even if those present weren’t siblings, and aboard you used the prescribed format: “Ship companions, we are gathered here today to pay our respects to [insert appellation of deceased in correct form for the being’s/group being’s race/nationality/naming or numbering conventions, followed by rank]” but, um…

    That sounds nice! they were all assuring him kindly.

    Swallowing, he began: “Br-cognates, we are gathered here today to pay our respects…” He didn’t have to remember the name of the deceased, everybody prompted him, or his rank, everybody prompted him, and in fact the it-being helpfully prompted him with the rest of the prescribed wording as laid down in Space Fleet Regulations: Etiquette. As did Captain BrZv, though that was probably involuntary: she would have had to memorize it, as all ship captains did.

    That was very nice! they all assured him kindly.

    It was also very brief but as he hadn’t known the Br-cognate and hadn’t prepared anything he couldn’t think of anything to add. Smiling a pale humanoid smile, J’f sank back down onto the muddy grass.

    BrTl then got up. So he had been intending to say something! Had they let him, J’f, go first out of courtesy to a visitor or—or respect for the rank, or… He waited, but they didn’t send any messages. He looked politely and expectantly at BrTl.

    Ouch! It was all in Slaetho-Xathpyrian! Did the being have the power to override his translator, then? But he’d paid mega-igs for it, it was a super-duper, maxi-galaxy one, the very latest model! And BrTl was only a commander, in fact if it hadn’t been for Shank’yar’s influence he’d never have risen beyond first lieutenant, and up to this instant J’f had been very sure that his mind powers were no more than mediocre. Well, yes, he was a Pilot, but cursed mediocre for a Pilot!

    At this moment the awful thought occurred, maybe it was the it-being who was overriding his translator, and J’f did his best to shut down his mind functions completely.

    “That was very nice!” said his niece happily.

    “Oh, he’s finished,” he said limply.

    “Yes: it was very nice,” repeated Su.

    J’f directed a bitter glare at her. “That is not funny, Su Vt R’aam, and whatever the customs may or may not be here, your family expects better of you!”

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two leant forward. “She speaks some Slaetho-Xathpyrian, sir.”

    “Yes. It was only easy words,” said Su.

    “Yes,” agreed BrTl, emanating mildness. “Sorry, Third Cognate: not sure who was overriding your translator, there. Go on, Su, you can say a few words.”

    “Shall I? Okay.” Su got up and said: “Thank you all very much for letting us come. I’d just like to say that the Br-cognate was a lovely cognate and I’m very sorry the horrid old PBTT had to go wrong and kill him. Everybody on board liked him. I know he’s dead, really, but see, I never had a chance to say goodbye when he was alive, so I’d just like to say it now. Goodbye, Navigator BrSl.”

    And she sat down to a kindly chorus of: That was very nice! He is dead, really, but thank you all the same, BrSu!

    And that appeared to be that. Certainly most of them drifted back over to the barrels of ale, so…

    Tears of laughter oozed down Jhl’s cheeks and she was incapable of speech.

    “Thought that text-blob was from Vt R’aam Thirty-Two?” said Athlor uncertainly.

    She nodded speechlessly, shaking.

    “Put his foot in it, has he?” he said tolerantly.

    Jhl shook her head speechlessly.

    “Don’t say he’s made a joke?” said Athlor tolerantly, looking down his straight Whtyllian nose.

    Weakly his mother mopped her eyes. “Intergalactic blob-head,” she said feebly.

    “Well, y— Me?” he cried indignantly.

    “Got it in fourteen. He’s been uncloned, when’s it gonna sink in?”

    “Uncloned and got a sense of humour,” he sneered.

    “He always did have, but his training and his clone status— Look, read it!”

    Athlor didn’t take the blob. “What’s it about?”

    Jhl groped for senso-tissues. She blew her nose hard. “The Br-cognate’s funeral. The navigator from the vacuum-frozen PBTT.”

    He gaped at her. “What’s funny about that?”

    “In the first place it was on New Qrbgg, in the second place your Uncle J’f was there, and in the third place— Look, don’t read it!” she snapped.

    Athlor looked at her uncertainly. “I remember when old BrRl died, we all went to that. I suppose it wasn’t unexpected, but… I thought it was sad. It certainly wasn’t funny.”

    Jhl sighed. “You’re right on both counts, and the fact that this one was screamingly funny doesn’t mean that it wasn’t also sad, on a completely different level, or that Vt R’aam Thirty-Two isn’t capable of grasping as much.”

    “All right, Mum, it’s a pity he isn’t your son instead of ME!” he shouted, slamming out.

    Jhl got up, rushed over to the door, wrenched it open and shouted: “At least he did some work around the place!”

    SLAM! Intergalactic blob-head! If only plasmo-blasted Shan would come back!

Next chapter:

https://theadmirableclone-sf.blogspot.com/2023/11/sentient-within-meaning.html