Intergalactica

5

Intergalactica

    The first week wasn’t too bad. Su’s dad was so busy having flaming rows with the Council of the Federated Worlds, collectively or individually, that he barely had time to notice her. Though he did make the time to check how soon Vt R’aam Thirty-Two could enrol at Space Fleet Academy—or his version of it, he told off a being, one of the many that the Whtyllian Embassy had sent over, to do it for him. Sit the Entrance Exam as soon as he liked, start with the Month 8 intake, was the Word. The IG year had 10 months and they were in Month 6 now, that wasn’t too long to wait. And given the IG year was based on Intergalactica’s own annual cycle, they could tick off the days, weeks and months with complete accuracy: ten IG days to the IG week, five IG weeks to an IG month. Gee, Intergalactica revolved round its sun in precisely 500 IG days, did it? That was a need-to-know!

    Even although they’d been heading home to Whtyll Lady Gw’dl-i’in and Lord B’nji hung around for a bit—funny, that. Could it possibly have had something to do with the amount of sucking-up to Leader Lord Vt R’aam’s party that was going on at the Intergalactica Astoria plus and the number of invitations from all the embassies that were rolling in by the lifter-load? Similarly Vttrfeamiyyia and Pozzgwllnaabniia, since Leader Lord Vt R’aam had so graciously urged them to stay on, didn’t immediately rush off home to Friyria. They did rush off, but only as far as Friyria Boulevard. And not permanently, only long enough to let the Friyrian Embassy know exactly where they were staying, and with whom.

    And gee, no, not all planets of the Federation had whole boulevards in the grid layout of Intergalactica Central named after them. Only the very rich ones. And only the very, very rich ones owned ten whole blocks along a boulevard fifteen blocks back from Block 1. And the word was, it would of been even closer only the Embassy had required ten actual blocks. Quite a few New Z’therabad-sized blocks could have been fitted into one Intergalactica Central city block, perhaps needless to state.

    The three lorpoids were in ecstasy, of course, making sim-calls to all their acquaintances at Su’s dad’s expense, skiting about where they were and with whom. Many of said acquaintances refused flatly to believe them at first—up until the interviews with “the PBTT survivors” were broadcast on IG News and Intergalactica Central News, which was about when the sim-calls started flooding in…

    Rather fortunately B’ttrwullguffnia was as unimpressed with the whole bit as Su was, so the two of them got out of it and did some sightseeing. Su’s dad noticed this to the extent of ordering Vt R’aam Thirty-Two to go with them to keep an eye on them. Even more fortunately BrTl and Trff had been to Intergalactica before and so could give some excellent advice about which spots were worth seeing and which tourist traps to avoid like the plague…

    “NO!” shouted Su angrily, her cheeks bright puce. “I want to go on the Underground!”

    “But it’s boring,” repeated BrTl. “It’s just a bubble-train that flies in a tunnel. No different from a megazillion bubble-trains in all the boring transit stations of the two galaxies,” he added thoughtfully.

    “Stop going on about the plasmo-blasted third moon of Pkqwrd, BrTl!” shouted Su dangerously.

    BrTl stopped. Silence reigned in the palatial breakfast room—they needed a separate room to eat one meal of the day in?—of the Intergalactica Astoria’s penthouse suite.

    “I’d like to go on it, too,” admitted B’ttrwullguffnia. “Hardly any worlds have got underground bubble-trains!”

    “Exactly,” agreed Su, glaring at the xathpyroid.

    BrTl swallowed a sigh—if he really sighed these small defiant mammalian beings that were glaring at him would be blown right across the— Uh, better not think about how much good it’d do them, actually.

    No, agreed Trff mildly.

    Shut up! You-it said the vacuum-frozen Underground was boring, too!

    No, it didn’t, it merely said it was just a bubble-train, it returned calmly.

    BrTl took a deep—uh, not that deep a breath.

    “Um, doesn’t it have xathpyroid-size corners, BrTl, is that it?” asked B’ttrwullguffnia, relaxing the defiance.

    “Eh? It’s a bubble-train, of course it has xathpyroid-size corners, what are you on about?”

    B’ttrwullguffnia recommenced his defiant glaring.

    “Perhaps Commander BrTl and Chief Engineer Slp-Og V. Trff might like to stay behind this morning,” suggested Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, bowing slightly.

    “Stop bowing, clone, this is a free ship,” said BrTl tiredly. “Ow!” he gasped as his erstwhile ship-companion’s mind-prod connected. “What? Oh. Uh, we’re all acting like free beings here, whether or not all of us have been unclo— Ow! Stop that, Trff!”

    She-it doesn’t want you-it to refer to his-its uncloning, hasn't that sunk in yet? Or would your-its state of mind have something to do with the amount of nymbo cheese pie you-it ingested for your-its breakfast? it enquired sweetly.

    “Yeah, BrTl; you’re off the nymbo cheese for the foreseeable future, and that goes for chewing-taffy, too, in quintupled 5-D triangles,” noted Su grimly. “And don’t argue, or I'll tell Mum what you’re up to in my next text-blob. Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s right, if you don't wanna come, stay behind! And you, Trff,” she added evilly.

    What had it done? wondered BrTl limply as it blenched. Well, emanated it—same difference.

    Supported your-its stance on the ordinariness of underground bubble-trains! it sent jauntily.

    Was that a fake blench? Look, stop it, Trff; what with glaring turquoise gilled ones, and Su always wanting to see the most boring plasmo-blasted tourist traps, I’m not up to interpreting your flaming Vvlvanian-cursed blenches!

    “It doesn’t mind coming, Su,” it said mildly.

    “Good,” said Su, giving BrTl an evil look and getting out the blob again. Gee, she didn’t manage to get it to tell her how to get to the plasmo-blasted tourist trap.

    “Look,” said BrTl heavily, “anything that lorpoid company produces is absolutely bound to be a load of mok shi—”

    “Rhoofer shit!” she snapped.

    Well, exactly.

    “Er—no, Commander, the young mistress was correcting your terminology,” murmured Vt R’aam Thirty-Two. And I’m afraid she will bring the Loogher, there’s no way of stopping her.

    BrTl looked sideways at a small green spherical fluffy being.

    Er—no. Don't tempt me! sent the clone, twinkling at him.

    Well, he wasn't an entirely bad being, for a clone. “Gimme that.” BrTl shot out a long pseudopod and— Oops, that did it: the plasmo-blasted Loogher had gone into a fit of the whistling hiccups. When Trff and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had simultaneously shut the being up—there was definitely good in that cloned mammalian humanoid being, never mind if his original had been a Whtyllian—he was able to note: “One holds the blob up and says or sends, doesn't matter which: ‘Tell me where I am and how to get to the nearest stop on the Intergalactica Central Underground,’ and it flashes up—uh, well, it thinks I’m Su, apparently,”—the clone choked, one couldn't altogether blame the being—“but the map’s accurate enough.” He held it out to Su.

    “Ooh, yes! It’s saying: ‘You are here, Su. Take a public bubble-train here, and get off here, where you will see the Underground’s, uh, Swl—uh, Slwl—well, something terminus!” she ended, sticking out her chin.

    “Slwynchizziya Square terminus,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two mildly.

    “Really? I've heard of her/m!” gasped B’ttrwullguffnia in astonishment.

    “Was s/he a Friyrian, then?” asked Su.

    “Yeah, it's a Friyrian name,” he said, looking down the long turquoise nose at her.

    Su was looking at the text-blob again. “Um, it doesn’t say here what s/he was famous for.”

    “Having enough igs to pay for having a square named after her/m, that or having descendants with enough igs, and come on: if we’re going we might as well go,” said BrTl heavily.

    “No, wait! Phyoowella has to have her new coat and hat on!”

    Great steaming— They waited. Then Vt R’aam Thirty-Two realised that in the excitement of getting the plasmo-blasted Loogher into its new clothes—they were pale blue, a couple of shades lighter than its fur, so why bother—Su had neglected to dress herself in something warm enough for the relatively mild winter that Intergalactica’s Meteo usually provided in Months 5, 6 and 7 for Intergalactica Central, so they waited again. Oops: B’ttrwullguffnia’s parent had remembered s/he had an offspring, so B’ttrwullguffnia was ordered to get into his new coat, too, and no arguments.

    Then they went.

    True, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two did point out politely that one could call a public bubble to come to one’s penthouse— No. The lorpoid’s blob said one caught the public bubble-train here, see? So they went all the way down in a lift-blob to the ground floor and out onto the palatial boulevard that the Astoria was on—well, one of them, it occupied a whole block and was thus not only on Federation Circle as to its outer side but an even choicer boulevard as to its inner, if any being cared. Block 47, if any being cared. Just round the corner from the GIANT J’rd’s Main Store, and all those sentient beings present with the exception of BrTl himself, Trff and the clone had already demonstrated they cared about that, uh-huh. In fact it was where she’d bought the plasmo-blasted Loogher’s new gear. No, well, he and Trff cared slightly about the Basement Food Hall, in particular its Liquor Department, and in more particular its GIANT fermented laa, nnru juice and qwlot sub-sections, but apart from that—

    Funnily enough the nearest bubble-train stop was in J’rd’s Plaza. J’rd’s Plaza was right on Federation Circle and took up a considerable slice of Blocks 51 and 52 and, facing them, Blocks 84 and 85; and J’rd’s itself took up the rest of these four blocks, plus, to either side of them, Blocks 50, 53, 83 and 86, not to say a megazillion floors both above and below the same, including the area underneath the plaza itself and in short it was the hugest, most mega-humungous department store in the Known Universe.

    Bubble-trains were coming and going like anything all over the plaza, also free lifters to other J’rd’s outlets, free this, that and the others, whirly ones, twirly ones  with flashing lumo-blobs all over them, gently floating ones—was that an Oteepeevee? No, only looked like it, plus and had about the same blob-power: its purpose was to waft one over to whichever floor of whichever J’rd’s block one might desire, zat so? And BrTl and Trff should have come with them to J’rd’s yesterday! Fortunately a bubble-train swooped down to their stop before they had to actually lie, so they got on it and went.

    The inhabitants of Intergalactica Central were of course used to all sorts, shapes and sizes of sentient beings, so there were no panics as BrTl found an empty corner, and no being actually stared at the Loogher, though two Pizers in the seats behind Su might have been discerned by those with mind-powers to be having an argument over whether the being was sentient within the Meaning. “No” being the eventual decision.

    “This is it!” squeaked Su as they got off in Slwynchizziya Square. “Ooh, look!” Before BrTl could send Trff an urgent mind-message she was consulting the plasmo-blasted blob again!

    “Oh, yeah, that’s who s/he was,” conceded B’ttrwullguffnia, staring up at the giant statue. “Ya wonder why they bothered, really.”

    Ya sure did, and there was some good in that irritating small turquoise being, after all!

    It doesn’t mind if she-it tells us bits out of that lorpoid’s blob, Trff was sending mildly.

    Then perhaps it wouldn’t mind telling her when the plasmo-blasted lorpoid’s wrong? replied BrTl sourly.

    The day before yesterday you-it said that if it started that we’d be stuck on the vacuum-frozen FW dump until Vvlvania froze over. But don’t worry, it’ll tell her-it if the lorpoid’s mistakes could put her-it in danger.

    Yeah, yeah… BrTl stared glumly round the square. Exactly as he’d thought. A large paved square surrounded by tallish buildings containing offices, slots, hotels—there were a lot of hotels on Intergalactica and these ones, needless to state, were nothing like as up-market as the flaming Vvlvanian-cursed Astoria—and at ground level, the occasional Whizzo Burgers outlet, toe-cropping joint, epidermis-depilating joint, shake shop, or— Ooh, was that—

    Not a fluorogas shake shop, BrTl, this isn't in the h-breather sector, Trff sent.

    Vvlvanian curses, nor it was. Oh, well a Whizzo—

    She-it won’t let you-it, so soon after breakfast.

    This was true. Oh, well. “There’s the entrance to the Underground, Su,” he said helpfully.

    “Ooh, yes! Just like the blob said!”

    More or less, yeah. Ah-hah!

    No moogletubes, Commander, the clone warned as they approached the sign which read: “Slwynchizziya Square Interchange. This way to Intergalactica Central Underground, and Moogletubes.” I’m sorry, I know you’d keep her safe, but she isn’t the same sort of being as her mother, at all.

    Huh? Small, not to be anything-ist, female mammalian humanoids, what was the being on about?

    She’d be scared, the clone replied, just as Trff was explaining: She-it’d be scared, BrTl: remember how frightened Dohra was the first time you took her-it down a moogletube?

    What? What a load of mok droppings! Anyway, it hadn’t even been there at the time, it had been out in space tinkering with the ship’s blobs!

    “What is it?” asked Su, as the former ship-companions had come to a dead halt, emanating annoyance with each other. Especially BrTl, his tail was twitching.

    “Hey, moogletubes!” discovered the percipient B’ttrwullguffnia. “Is that it, do ya want to use one instead of the Underground, BrTl? We won’t stop you. Hey, wish I was a xathpyroid!” he said longingly. “Ow!” he gasped as the clone’s mind-prod connected. Glaring horribly, he produced his audio-blob from his pocket and put it in his ear.

    “What tubes?” asked Su uncertainly. “What are they?”

    “Just a xathpyroid thing. Uh—and Thwurbullerian,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two on a weak note as two of the giant beings surged slowly past their group, broadcasting: Moogletubes! Oh, good!

    “But what are they, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two?” she persisted.

    “Um, well, large tubes that are an alternative mode of transport for, uh, beings with the physiology to support the intense pressure inside them. They, uh, well, I’ve never seen one, either, but I think they slide down them.”

    “Start by sliding, yeah,” BrTl admitted. “Then the tube takes over and propels you.”

    “Is it like a boo-long tube?” she asked. “We had one of those at a fair in New Z’therabad, once.”

    “Yes,” said BrTl quickly before Trff could say it wasn't.

    “Yes,” it agreed. “Very like that scary boo-long tube, Su. Only much squashier, they squash the breath right out of a being, and a being goes much faster in them.”

    “Ugh!” she shuddered. “Then you’re welcome to them, BrTl!”

    “Thanks,” he said dazedly. Then if it wasn’t her, who were those emanations coming from? Well, the young Friyrian, that was clear. Uh—the clone? BrTl goggled at him.

    Yes, please! he sent, the slanted blue eyes twinkling madly so that he reminded BrTl forcibly of— Ugh, help! Admiral Vt R’aam about to plunge recklessly into something dangerous and virtually impossible to the point of suicidal; in fact, to take a specific instance, Admiral Vt R’aam not all that long before Trff had had to do that mind-restoring stuff to him.

    Surely it isn’t that dangerous, Commander, if you took a pink being down the tubes on the third moon of Pkqwrd!

    Uh—no, conceded BrTl limply. Okay. But let’s make it some time when Su’s well out of the way, shall we?

    Of course! We don’t want floods of that water-from-the-eyes stuff!

    He was right, there, in quintupled 5-D triangles. BrTl followed the others slowly down to the Underground, feeling quite dazed, still. The clone? Wanting to do something as adventurous as whoosh down the moogletubes? Not to say, come to think if it, IG-illegal for his species. Well, well, well. Maybe grqwaries might fly, after all!

    The underground bubble-train was, of course, just an ordinary public bubble-train that flew along a series of underground tunnels. More than half of the beings on it seemed to be tourists like themselves, which possibly explained why the Intergalactica Central authorities kept the thing going. Not that the price of a token wasn’t very modest indeed, very modest. A friendly Eeiiay that was giving its wings a rest told them helpfully that they wouldn’t have had to pay for Phyoowella if they’d had the being in a bracelet but on the whole, BrTl was quite glad of this piece of intel. Just contemplating the thought made him feel all warm and happy, y’know? Fortunately it hadn’t penetrated the being’s mush that they were rushing along in an underground tunnel at about a hundred IG glps an IG hour—gee, a hundred and seven point three five, was it, Trff?—so they were spared the ear-piercing whistling and hiccupping.

    “That was fun!” beamed Su as they emerged, blinking, into daylight at Athlor Kadry Plaza.

    “Not bad!” agreed B’ttrwullguffnia, grinning. “Can’t see what you’ve got against it, xathpyroid!”

    “I haven’t got anything against it, I just can’t see why it’s supposed to be more exciting than taking the same sort of bubble-train down a tunnel of the same circumference in a spaceport or— Great splintered shards of quog!”

    Steaming Vvlvanian magma pits! agreed Trff.

    “Help!” gasped Su, more simply.

    It was a giant, mega-humungous, simply ENORMOUS statue of Y-K-W!

    “Um, ’tisn’t, acksherly,” admitted Su in a shaky voice, after quite some time. “It’s Athlor Kadry. Um, we are related to the main branch of the Kadry family. Um, I suppose he does look quite like Dad.”

    Quite like. Yeah.

    The clone stood silently in front of Stone Figure 42 in the Thwurbullerian Gallery. The visit to the Intergalactic Art Museum was all my Lord’s idea. The xathpyroid had refused point-blank to come, but possibly this was just as well, because my Lord had decided he would take them himself. Both Trff and B’ttrwullguffnia had managed to be elsewhere today. My Lord and the young mistress were back in one of the two-dimensional galleries, looking at the Whtyllian light-pictures. Or rather, my Lord was looking and Su, alas, was starting to sulk. Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s master had suggested he might like to try the three-dimensional galleries, perhaps start with the Thwurbullerian Gallery, mm? So here he was.

    After quite some time he became aware of a silent presence at his elbow. There were no emanations, but he could see a dark navy sleeve out of the corner of his eye. Cautiously he turned his head a fraction. A handsome middle-aged Whtyllian man in the uniform of a Space Fleet commodore.

    “New Whtyllian?” the man murmured, turning his head and smiling a little.

    “Yes, sir,” said Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two weakly.

    The slanted grey-blue eyes—about the same shade as Su’s, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two saw with a little shock—danced. “I see! That explains it; I think I know all the members of the Nr M’snn family in the two galaxies.”

    “Yuh— Uh— No, sir! I mean, I’m only a clone!” he gasped.

    “I can see that,” said the Commodore mildly.

    Could he, or was it a lie? Vt R’aam Thirty-Two frankly didn't dare to look. He’d played mind-games with my Lord, but he was aware that Leader Vt R’aam had let him see only as much as he wanted him to.

    “You may look, clone, but I’m afraid you won’t read anything,” said the stranger politely.

    “Yuh-yessir!” he gasped, now thoroughly off-balance: it was very clear the man was reading him like a text-blob, and he hadn’t felt a thing. Whereas back home he always knew if some being was reading him, even Madam, who was very, very good.

    “Go on,” said the Whtyllian mildly.

    Numbly Vt R’aam Thirty-Two looked. Help. There was nothing—nothing. You couldn’t even tell he had a mind-shield up! You’d have sworn there was no being standing next to you at all.

    The man’s mouth twitched very slightly, but he said nothing, just returned his gaze to the giant stone figure.

    The clone looked numbly back at the statue.

    “Some claim,” said the man in a detached voice—Vt R’aam Thirty-Two tried to conceal his jump—“that Thwurbullerian art is shapeless—lacking in definition. What do you think?”

    “Uh—nuh-no, sir!” he gasped. “I wouldn’t say that!”

    “Nor would I,” he murmured. “I can see—forgive me, but you are broadcasting, you know—that you’re wondering if those faint tan veins that go up and over the hump are an accidental effect of the marble, or due to the sculptor’s art.”

    “Um, yes, sir,” he croaked.

    The man turned his head and smiled at him. “Both. That’s rather the point,” he murmured.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two licked his lips nervously. “I see,” he said limply. “I—I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

    “You wouldn’t have. This is the product of IG millennia of civilisation—and I don’t think there's any of that in Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s Third Galaxy?” The voice was light and unemphatic, but the grey-blue eyes were mocking.

    “Um, no,” he said limply.

    “Quite. Enjoy it while you can. I dare say I’ll see you at the Academy,” he murmured.

    What? Vt R’aam Thirty-Two stared at him.

    “Do give my best to Shank’yar, won’t you? Commodore Tn Vstschl’nn-Mrrflau,” he said with a friendly nod, strolling away without haste.

    Numbly Vt R’aam Thirty-Two looked back at the magnificent chunk of smooth, pale greyish-fawn marble. It was quite some time, however, before the soothing effect which he had remarked in it earlier managed to make any impression on him.

    “Oh, yes! Athlor Tn Vstschl’nn-Mrrflau, that is. Didn’t know he was on planet,” said Shank’yar Vt R’aam cheerfully as the clone dutifully reported the encounter. “One of the Shlip-Shlop-Shlaps, but quite a decent fellow!” He gave a cheerful laugh.

    “Eh?” said Su: this was a new one on her.

    “I beg your pardon, my Lord?” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two weakly: it was a new one on him, too.

    “Oh! Comes from the south!” said Shank’yar with another cheerful laugh. “Most of the southern continents of Whtyll are Shlip-Shlop-Shlap territory!” They were still looking at him blankly so he elaborated: “All the families from those parts tend to have names like his: Shlip-Shlop-Shlap, see?”

    “Athlor?” croaked Su.

    “What? No, you asteroid-brain! The surname! Tn Vstschl’nn-Mrrflau! What’s another one? Well—the Nr M’snns are closely related, of course!”’ he said, grinning at the clone. “Um, let me think… Well, those people that took Vt R’aam Thirty-Four: the Nr Schmm’lgrffns.”

    “Names with ‘sh’ in them, Dad?” croaked Su. “Isn't that very anything-ist?”

    “Something like that,” he said indifferently.

    “My Lord,” ventured Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, “the Commodore said he expected to see me at the Academy?”

    “Mm? Oh, yes: would. –Used to have a piece by this artist,” he said, pointing to one of the light-paintings. “Like it? My mother hated mine, she wouldn't have it in any of the rooms she used, so although I suppose it should have hung in the old place, I took it off to the nirvana garden on Playfair Two. Now, he was a Nr M’snn!” he said with a laugh. “Terrible fuss when he told the family he was taking up art as a profession—well, considered all right to dabble, see?”

    “I see, my Lord,” said the clone limply, as Su was merely scowling and thinking about her feet.

    “Raj Tay Nr M’snn,” said Shank’yar with satisfaction. “Jhl could never see anything in it, of course. Wonder if it's still there? Might take it back with me. It’d look pretty in the sitting-room, don’t you think?”

    “Yes, my Lord,” he said limply.

    “What was that you were saying?” said his master in a vague voice, his attention back on the light-painting. “–Su, for Federation’s sake stop those emanations about your plasmo-blasted feet, or I’ll stop them for you!”

    “I—the Academy, my Lord!” he gulped.

    “Mm? Oh, yes. –Wish they’d sell it to me,” he said hungrily, staring at it. “No, well, he will see you there, of course, you’ll breeze through the Entrance Exam, stop worrying about it!”

    “Yuh-yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord. Buh-but why?”

    “Mm? Oh!” He laughed, and turned away from the picture. “Come on, Su-Su, we’ll get some food into you, shall we? Think of some cuisine you’d like to try. Give me your arm, please, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two.” He took the clone’s arm and to his surprise leaned quite heavily on it, though he hadn’t seemed tired at all. “I suppose you couldn’t read him at all, eh? No, well, he’s the Principal there.”

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s jaw dropped.

    “Rank of commodore. Not many of those, but the Principal’s always selected from the full captains, given the rank of commodore. If they like what he does there he’ll get a step up to rear admiral.”

    “And if they don’t he’ll moulder away in some dreary duty on the Outer Rim,” said Su in a nasty voice. “We geddit. Is this gonna be lunch or a plasmo-blasted dainty morning tea?”

    “Lunch,” said her father mildly.

    “Thank the Federation!”

    “I thought,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two cautiously as the Museum’s blobs helpfully told them the way to the lift-blobs and thence the restaurants, “that the Museum would provide a seat when needed, Young Mistress.”

    Shank’yar’s mouth twitched. “Not to those standing in front of the light-paintings in the viewing position, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, unless aged or infirm!”

    The clone looked enquiring.

    “They are meant to be viewed,” he said, the shoulders shaking, “from a standing position. See?”

    “I do see, my Lord, yes!” he said with a laugh.

    “Pair of mok-lovers,” said Su in the Federation vernacular through her teeth.

    “Never mind, my pet, your time of trial is over.”

    “Ya mean we don't have to look at more this afternoon?” she gasped.

    “No,” said Shank’yar heavily: “no.”

    “It’s all very old-fashioned,” she ventured.

    He sighed. “I dare say. Think of something you’d like to eat.”

    Su thought. “Mum says Joddum noodles are good.”

    “Su, they’re an h-breather thing, we’d have to be wearing FW packs,” he said tiredly.

    “Um, something Thwurbullerian?” she ventured, as two well-sized ones were seen to surge onto a lift-blob. That took care of that lift-blob and it whooshed away.

    “Not a lunch of mwopplell, Young Mistress, you’d be on a sugar high for the next IG week,” said the clone quickly, feeling my Lord start to simmer.

    “Oh. Well, okay. I just sort of remembered the food was good, that time we went to New Jishowulla when I was little. Um, dunno. Um, you don’t like Nblyterian food, do you, Dad? No, right. Um, well, I dunno, you choose.”

    He chose Gall’ay’an. True, Gall’ay’a was an o-breather world, and none of the fruits, vegetables and herbs which featured in its cuisine would disagree with the humanoid metabolism, but Vt R’aam Thirty-Two sincerely doubted that the young mistress had the palate to appreciate its delicate balance of fresh and cooked, sweet and sour, and its intricate sauces.

    And so it proved. “Nice?” said my Lord, smiling over his starter of rwash pear cold “soup”. It was more like what Madam would have called a fruit salad. large pieces of raw rwash pear, small pieces of a red fruit which my Lord had been unable to identify but which the menu had helpfully explained was jisher cactus fruit, and excruciatingly thin slivers of Wurratonoonian desert lemonberry peel, sitting in an amazingly complex mixture of flavours, simmered together and then freshened with—well, the menu told them what but the clone had only recognised the drops of lemonberry juice.

    “Yummy!” said Su cheerfully. “It's a bit like star pear, isn't it?”

    This went down very well. The clone relaxed, and finished his starter hungrily.

    The main course was curry with salad. Su stared limply at what was put before her.

    “Eat it up, my pet!”

    “The main cooked ingredient is Nblyterian quoshy, that’s the deep red pieces cut into star shapes, with some Phang-Phang lady-fingers,” ventured the clone somewhat limply.

    “These bits are raw, Dad,” croaked Su.

    “Reetli fruit, mn-mn slices, and a few peeled grapes and blrtlberries. Those tiny cubes are ban-ban-ban, you know those. Eat it up, my pet.”

    “Yeah, um, is all this salad stuff it’s sitting on, um, decoration, or are ya meant to eat it, too?”

    “Isn't it pretty? Eat it too, of course.”

    “Y—um, are those flowers?” she croaked.

    “Mm, petals.” Shank’yar selected a mouthful carefully, chewed, and sighed. “Delicious!”

    Dubiously Su began to eat funny mucked-up cooked veggies with fruit mixed into them and three different sauces in fancy little puddles and real weird flower salad.

    “Like it?” beamed her father as they laid down their cutlery on their empty plates—almost empty in Su’s case, she hadn’t been able to face the tiny puce and white petals: you thought they were just nothing and then you got a taste of something sweet and then zing! a nasty little bite of something bitter, so quick you almost thought you'd imagined it.

    “Yeah, um, it was real unusual,” she croaked.

    “Wasn’t it a delicate poem? Those sauces were wonderfully subtle! Don’t think we need to insult our palates with anything after that, do we? Just some spring water for us all, please,” he said to the bowing waiter. “Now you’ll be able to write your mother that you’ve tasted real Gall’ay’an cuisine, not that mucked-up imitation we had at the frightful F-Day junket we went to that time!” he said with a laugh.

    “Yuh—um, what?”

    “That time she wore that delightful dress with the lace daisies—didn’t she tell you about that not long before you left? Btcx. What an FW dump,” he said, wrinkling the straight Whtyllian nose.

    “Oh, right,” said Su numbly, looking over at the next table. Those beings were having pudding! Well, um, very small mounds, no, more like bumps, of different pale-coloured stuff sitting in little pools of different-coloured muck and scattered with tiny petals and slivers and dots of this and that—

    “Eh? No, you’re right, Dad, I sure don’t want pudding!”

    BrTl sniggered slightly.

    “Stop that,” warned Su dangerously.

    “Eh? Oh—no, wasn’t sniggering at you, Su, I was just reading what that lorpoid’s blob says about the FW dump where your senior cognate made you buy that garment. –See?” he said to Trff, not bothering to hold the blob out to it because there was no need to. “It implies that meankoids and humanoids can be female-tended, which wasn’t the case when I did Basic Bio!” He sniggered again.

    “Yes. And no. And yes,” it replied.

    “Eh?” said Su weakly in spite of herself.

    Happily Trff explained: “It implies that, or on the other appendage it can equally be read as not implying that. And that was the case when he-it did B—”

    “Goddit,” she said limply. “Um, well, whaddaya think?”

    The former ship-companions were silent.

    “Gee, is it that bad?”

    Her-its thoughts are completely ambivalent! What's it supposed to say, BrTl?

    Uh… remember that time on the ship when D’ffni decided she wanted to do repro stuff with the asteroid-brain? THE asteroid-brain, I mean: the one she’s bond-partnered to.

    Oh, him-it. Yes, what about that ti— Ah-hah! The fine garment do!

    Exactly. Truth as generally perceived in the Known Universe doesn’t enter into it.

    Of course not! “That’s a lovely ladyship-type garment, Su,” it produced carefully.

    “Yes, it looks great, Su,” agreed BrTl quickly.

    “Do you really think so?” she said in relief, plucking at its sides.

    “Yes, really!” they chorused.

    Su looked unconvinced, but smiled gratefully.

    That afternoon the senior cognate dragged her off to a dainty afternoon tea at Guess Which embassy. BrTl went along to the clone’s room.

    Come in, Commander.

    BrTl came in cautiously. The Intergalactica Astoria was spacious, very spacious, but nevertheless this room was built more to humanoid scale than xathpyroid.

    “You can stand up straight, Commander,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two with a smile.

    Cautiously BrTl straightened his creaking neck. Oh, yeah, so he could, phew! “I’ve come to thank you for reinforcing me when I was doing my plasmo-blasted best not to laugh at that garment the senior cognate made Su buy.”

    “Oh, that! Think nothing of it! Good practice for the Entrance Exam,” he admitted, making a face.

    “That’s true, but thanks all the same. And stop worrying, you’ve got five megazillion times the mind-powers I had when I sat it!”

    “Really?” he said, going very red under the golden-brown: how curious, Leader Vt R’aam only did that when he was extremely—ex-treme-ly—angry. “Thank you, Commander.”

    “Look, give the swot away and come out: it’s a lovely o-breather day, well, vacuum-frozen cold, but at least the Meteo’s allowing the sun to shine, not sending down that awful frozen messy stuff it did the other day.”

    “Snow, Commander BrTl,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two seriously.

    “Yeah? Thank the Federation New Whtyll doesn’t get that! Um—thought it was the stuff that lay around in heaps and piles and—what are those other ones? Jhl had a special word... Oh, yeah! Drifts! Drifts,” he repeated, looking at him mildly.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two received a vivid mind-picture. He jumped. “Is—is that Madam’s home planet? It’s as bad as Athlor’s Planet!”

    “Or BrTl’s Planet,” agreed BrTl modestly, “except that mine’s a nice shade of green. Yeah, ’tis, eh? Cold as the vacuum-frozen plains of Gwrrtt. We went there for Galaxy Day one IG year.”

    “I see. Yes, that is snow. After it comes down in those messy flakes for a considerable period of time, it does lie around like that, if the temperature remains low.”

    “Low! –Uh, sorry, didn’t meant to shudder,” he said, as something fell off one of the pieces of humanoid-type furniture the clone’s room was stuffed with—why did humanoids find it necessary to do that? Not Jhl, of course, though these days she seemed to be surrounded by small, frangible objects, too. Y-K-W’s, probably.

    “Some of the objects in the house were chosen by the mistress,” said the clone, smiling at him. “It is a humanoid tendency, sir.” He got up, emanating hopefulness. “Well, if you’d like to go out—”

    “Mm? Yes, ’course we can go down the moogletubes!” said BrTl cheerfully.

    “Really? Thank you so much, sir!”

    “Any time, and stop ‘sirring’ me,” said BrTl mildly. “Better put on a, uh, not uniform cloak, is it? Right: one of those,” he said as the clone put it on.

    “Will you be warm enough, Commander?” he asked, looking up at him anxiously.

    Slowly BrTl closed one round, luminous eye. The clone looked up at him doubtfully. “It may not be diplo manners,” he said, undoing the collar of his Durocloth coverall, “but on the other appendage, better safe than sorry. See?”

    Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two nodded, grinning: underneath the Durocloth coverall, Commander BrTl was wearing his Space Issue, Expedition-level FW pack!

    “Yeah,” said BrTl with considerable satisfaction. “Come on. –No need to take a plasmo-blasted bubble-train, I can lope as far as Slw-whatsit Square Interchange, easy, if you’d like to get up?” he offered as the lift-blob whisked them ground-wards.

    Once again, Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two went very red. He really didn’t think that my Lord would care for a servant of his to be seen riding on a Space Fleet commander, even if the commander was Rtd., and wasn’t in uniform.

    “Once we’re well away from the plasmo-blasted hotel,” explained BrTl mildly.

    “Oh! Well, uh—if you’re sure, Commander?”

    BrTl made a happy nose on two notes down both his noses. “’Course! Haven’t had a good lope since Athlor Kadry was a pup. And the streets’ll be clear—no ground-cars in Intergalactica Central, have you noticed? The place is far too up-market.”

    So they went down a block, crossed Federation Circle at the junction of its East and South sides, BrTl remarking by the by that it wasn’t a circle at all, it was a quadrilateral, went down another block and nipped into a side-street between blocks, where BrTl assisted the clone onto his back. Then he loped.

    For the first ten IG minutes Vt R’aam Thirty-Two felt rather embarrassed—not because of what my Lord would have said at the sight of any clone of his riding on a full commander, but because no other beings were loping down and across the wide side streets and spacious boulevards. Then he didn’t any more, because a friendly presence sent: Slw-whatsit Square terminus, Br-cognate? Moogletubes? And Commander BrTl replied happily: Right, Gr-cognate! Moogletubes! And another large, two-nosed, round-eyed, hairy brown xathpyroid face appeared level with Commander BrTl’s shoulder—neck—neck—neck—face. And they loped on happily together down and across the wide side streets and spacious boulevards of Intergalactica Central…

    Hi, Mum, it’s me again, sorry I haven’t sent you a text-blob for a while, but I’m sure that whacking great recorder-blob Dad sent you of the flaming Vvlvanian-cursed up-market ball at the Whtyllian Embassy (if he calls it THE embassy once more I’ll go stark, raving mad and have to be committed to Mullgon’ya for life) will of got you quite up to date!

    That thing I was wearing was meant and as you could probably see it wasn’t nearly as rude as what all the older ladies and ninety-nine percent of the débutantes were wearing, so in short, blame Dad, not me! Like, this year, beg ya pardon, this SEASON, evidently the diplo fashions change every time the Meteo changes Intergalactica’s weather (well, potty, yeah, but what diplo stuff isn’t?), as I say, this season this is what ya wear:

    One. Start with a strip of stuff about as wide as the middle joint of your middle finger if humanoid, or of the pinkie if Friyrian, this has gotta run from the crotch to the point of the collar-bone if humanoid, or to just above the neck-gills if Friyrian.

    Two, encircle the neck (at the base) with another strip of the same stuff, half the width.

    Two (a), ONLY if F, encircle the neck with ditto right up under the chin. (Kind of a mock gill-collar effect, goddit? The older and more trad. generations of F.s are said to LOATHE it, but far as I could see, most of them were wearing it.)

    Three, fasten Strip 1 to Strip 2 (and 2 (a) if F).

    Goddit? This is the essential structure of the plasmo-blasted things.

    Four, grab any piece of real see-through, like I mean REAL see-through stuff, zpandria-cloth comes to mind, don’t fret if ya never heard of it, it’s some diplo-type muck, and get your blob to gather it finely onto both sides of Strip 1, encircling the bod as tight as is possible within the Physical Laws of the Known Universe. Trff says while still allowing the epidermis to breathe; speaking personally I wouldn’t say that was a consideration at all.

    Five, lightly cover the crotch with anything ya please.

    And that’s it.

    No, well, as you possibly saw from that plasmo-blasted recorder-blob—if ya didn’t biff it in the recycler right away—the crotch coverings ranged from little gold-spangled heart-shaped bizzos that only just covered the bizzo, through epidermis-tight clingo-tights that started only just above the pubes, to full-length floating skirts designed to entangle the dance-partner’s hind appendages to a quantifiable degree.

    Dad wouldn’t let me wear see-through zpandria-cloth over the tits, the front of mine hadda be fully lined in mn-mn silk, but the assembled diplo multitudes were allowed to see the natural Su Vt R’aam back only just veiled by a piece of pale blue stuff that costs more per square IG fluh than most sentient beings in the Known Universe earn per IG month. Help, Trff says per IG year, isn’t that awful? Oh, it’s taking into account beings that don’t believe in work or earning. Nevertheless.

    I TOLD you Dad was being dreadful, and he is! Chucking igs away with both appendages. And did I tell you he wanted to BUY something off of the Intergalactic Art Museum? Yeah. Even I know ya can’t do that: the Museum belongs to the beings of the Federation!

    And you were right about the feet: when I got back to the hotel (both times) I hadda go into the hygiene cabinet for about half a light-year before they even started to feel like feet again! What maniacs overdue for Mullgon’ya design these plasmo-blasted diplo shoes, for Federation’s sake?

    Jhl at this point sighed, lowered the blob, and gazed blankly across the spreading green lawns to the orchard wall, where the Gr’mmeayan star jasmine was once again coming into bud.

    “Very exciting, Great Mistress! Beings dancing and beautiful garments!” squeaked the blue Flppu.

    “It sounds very grand, madam!” agreed First Cook Kadry with her jolly laugh. “But who did she dance with, does she say?”

    Any nice boys? they were all emanating eagerly. Well, except little Fl’Jfaffl: it had gone to sleep on Jhl’s knee. Under the luxuriant puce fluff it was a little bag of fragile bones, oh, dear. What was the betting Su was gonna get back from the Federation to find it had departed New Whtyll for good an’ all?

    “Uh—no,” she said, coming to with a jump. “I mean, yes, she does say, First Cook.” She read out the rest of it, editing out those bits that referred scathingly to the recorder-blob (yet) that D’ffni had sent Su enquiring if she was meeting any nice young men.

    “Oh,” said First Cook Kadry sadly at the conclusion of it.

    “What did you expect she’d meet, First Cook, given her father’s only taking her to plasmo-blasted Whtyllian and Friyrian balls?” said Jhl grimly.

    “And dainty afternoon teas!” squeaked Fl’Oo-Ooueroii.

    “Uh—yeah. Them.”

    “No, well, of course the diplomatic sort of gentleman doesn’t appeal—but you’d think there’d be some—well, someone’s nice young sons!” offered the Whtyllian chef.

    “Maybe she’ll meet a nice boy back home on Bluellia, Mistress,” suggested Clone Vt R’aam Forty-Nine kindly.

    Jhl winced. Stay-at-home clod-hoppers was what she was gonna meet on Bluellia, because any that did have the nous to get off the vacuum-frozen flat world, make that FW dump, would have got off, geddit? “Mm,” she agreed without conviction.

    “A nice cup of Bluellian zi is what you need, madam!” decided the plump chef, heaving herself out of her cane chair.—Well, for Federation’s sake, the being was as old as Jhl was, she’d been one of the original Expedition members, Ordinary Spacer before doing the Cooks’ Course to alleviate the boredom of the voyage— And in any case, it was Jhl’s house, too, and He could get choked!

    “Yes; thanks, First Cook, a cup of zi would hit the spot,” she admitted.

    “But what about Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s text-blob?” squeaked a young servant-being that, if she wasn’t aware of his mind-powers, or lack thereof, Jhl would have had attending Second School in New Z’therabad right now. He was an Azabanese from AmmnammyPol, and as they weren’t in general very adventurous beings there were very few of them in the Third Galaxy; but he’d been brought out here in a bracelet by a plasmo-blasted visiting diplomat— Yeah. Jhl would’ve sent him home again with Su, but he’d wanted to stay, he was happy here. And frankly, didn’t have the brains to envisage what life back on his home planet might be like for a free being with a considerable number of Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s igs in his pocket. True, he was Azabanese var. Alba, which meant that his skin was very pale, in his case white mottled with grey, that their yellow sun would do no good at all, but Trff and Mrsha between them had produced a special chemo-blob to take care of that. Very possibly infringing some plasmo-blasted Oononian patent rights in doing so, because although at one point Jhl’s maddening bond-partner had been very, very keen on marketing the thing all over the two galaxies, suddenly he hadn't been.

    “Uh—well, do you want to hear it, Kennu?” He could hear: the ears were internal, though to get certain of the clones to grasp that—!

    They all wanted to hear it. Right, well, in that case they’d wait for the zi so as First Cook and her helpers could hear it, too. He started off “Respected Mistress”, but that was about what she’d expected. However, she skipped it for the benefit of her audience.

    I write to report on my Space Fleet Academy Entrance Exam, as you requested. First, however, let me assure you that the young mistress and the master are both extremely well and eating sensibly. It is winter here, as perhaps you are aware, and between us we ensure that the young mistress always wears a heavy warm outer garment and a hat when she goes outdoors. Fortunately the winters here are nothing like as severe as those of Bluellia, though we did have a scattering of snow a couple of IG days back. Commander BrTl has revealed to me that he is wearing his FW pack under his coveralls, so there is very little chance of his contracting that chest infection to which you warned me xathpyroids are prone. However, please be reassured that I am monitoring him. Chief Engineer Slp-Og V. Trff is of course wearing its FW pack, as we are in an o-breather sector of Intergalactica, and tells me that the nest the hotel has provided for it is extremely comfortable.

    “It would,” muttered Jhl, frowning. “Uh—what? Oh, sorry, was I— Sorry. I think they are all okay. Um, well, the next bit’s about the exam: are you sure you wanna—?” They were all sure. Well, they couldn’t say they hadn’t asked for it.

    Now to the exam. Thank you so much for warning me that the setting would be very formal; it helped to be forearmed. It was held in Exploration House, the headquarters building of Space Fleet Exploration Corps, which as no doubt you know is Building 2, Block 20, and faces onto Moondust Avenue and thus the eastern side of the Starburst Building. I had expected it to be in the latter itself, which of course is Space Fleet Command Headquarters, but my Lord very kindly explained that it was much more likely there would be rooms free in Exploration House. As it happened the room was at the back of the building, so I could just as easily have entered by way of Interplanetary Boulevard East, going straight up from the Astoria’s western entrance, had I but known. However, it afforded me a most interesting walk around the most central area of Intergalactica Central, and I felt truly privileged to have the opportunity of seeing all the wonderful and historic architecture.

    As you had warned me, my documentation was scrutinised on entering, and then again before I was allowed into the waiting-room, and there was, indeed, a considerable wait before I was called. There were only two other candidates in the waiting-room, however: a handsome young Nblyterian in her/s female stage who was exhibiting considerable defiance, I think to cover her nervousness, though I did not care to pry, and a young Whtyllian lordship who of course did not notice either of us. He was called first. As I later discovered, candidates are shown out by another door, so we did not see him again. The Nblyterian was chewing and after a while she offered me some of her gum, but although it was very kind, I did not feel it appropriate at such a time, and so refused. I am afraid she did not take the refusal well, but as there was nowhere to dispose of it, I felt I could not have accepted. It was really quite awkward, though of course my nerves were exaggerating the seriousness of the situation.

    “Exaggerating?” groaned Jhl at this point. “They were monitoring you for every IG microsecond you were in the building! But Federation knows whether they’d’ve expected you to accept or refuse. Federation, the poor Nblyterian! What did she—?”

    The Nblyterian was called next and was about to go in still chewing! Madam, I swear that I felt as if my heart was going to stop! So I said very quickly: “Madam, please let me dispose of that gum for you.”

    She looked very surprised and replied aggressively: “You talkin’ to me, clone?”

    Oh, dear. But I said that yes, I was, and that that gum did pose a certain awkwardness, and might I dispose of it for her? I could feel her trying to read whether I was genuine, so I let her: I had already sensed there was no malice in the being. “Go on, then,” she said, handing it to me. I hope I didn’t wince. As I say, there was nowhere to dispose of it, so I put it in my pocket. Then of course I was faced with the dilemma of whether to exit in order to wash my hands.

    “Right, or go into your interview with Nblyterian spit on them,” groaned Jhl. “Did it matter? Have a sense of proportion, you vacuum-frozen clone!”

    “Oh, madam! Poor young Vt R’aam Thirty-Two!” cried First Cook Kadry with her rich chuckle.

    “Poor little clone!” agreed Fl’Oo-Ooueroii immediately.

    “He isn’t little,” said Jhl with a sigh, “or young, First Cook, though I agree, nineteen and silly with it, is the impression.”

    “Seventeen, I thought, madam,” said First Cook Kadry with a twinkle in her blue Whtyllian eye.

    Jhl went into a spluttering fit. “Er—yeah. Never mind me,” she said weakly. “He wasn’t doing so bad in my opinion, for a clone—only don’t take my opinion as indicating anything at all about the judgement of an Entrance Board!” she added hurriedly.

    They were, of course. Swallowing a sigh, she got on with it:

    The wait seemed endless, though thanks to the splendid chrono-blob my Lord had graciously given me for the occasion, I could see that in fact it was only an IG hour. Though as the Nblyterian had only had to wait half an IG hour after the Whtyllian lordship had gone in, I couldn’t help but wonder, had they been grilling the poor being? And if a bright young Nblyterian with considerable mind-powers and a very great deal of potential had to be grilled for that long, how long would they spend on an ageing clone? I do beg your pardon, Mistress, I had no intention of maundering on like that. Please forgive me.

    As I say, my turn came and I was called into the interview room by a burly Meanker IG Militia being with the rank of Regimental Sergeant-Major. What a splendid uniform that is, especially on a being of her build.

    The Entrance Board consisted of six beings, rather than the four you suggested, madam. In order of rank, the first was a Frilled Maudur bearing the rank of commodore—the second commodore I had seen, so I was really quite privileged, as my Lord tells me the rank isn’t very common. I was most interested to see a Maudur, as I had not seen one of that race before. You would scarcely recall the occasion, madam, but you and Commander BrTl once honoured me with a description of the Maudurs, and so I was able to tell that this one (I think a ”he”, though I confess I was not quite sure), though not smooth and shiny in appearance and thus certainly not in the category whom it would be correct to address as “Old Maudur”, yet was not entirely wrinkled as the “Young Maudurs” are, but rather showing smooth, shiny patches in the area of the neck and wrists, where the skin, beginning to peel back, was almost as fringed and frilled as the true frills at the elbows and head. I made a mental note that it would scarcely have been correct to use the term of address “Young Maudur” any more. The Commodore’s skin was a deep tan in shade but I am afraid I could not recall whether or not you and Commander BrTl had indicated that that might relate to variety or sub-variety.

    “Or what,” groaned Jhl. “Vacuum-frozen clone! Call it ‘Commodore’ or ‘sir’, the species and gender, if any, are irrel— What?” she said, realising there were emanations of bewilderment all around her. “Oh!” Resignedly she gave them a mind-picture of a Young Maudur and then an Old Maudur. First Cook gasped, but then rallied to say of course, there’d been some on the Expedition ships!

    “Yeah. Well, I never met one that was about to peel before, either, but I guess a being of the rank of commodore could well be in that category, and, dare I repeat it? It’s irrelevant.”

    “A commodore’s very high up, isn’t it?” noted Clone Vt R’aam Seventy-Two.

    “Yes!” snapped Jhl. “And shut up, or you can do Summer School this year and get those maths marks up to scratch!”

    Gulping, Leader Lord Vt R’aam’s boot-boy subsided.

    The next member of the Board was a captain, actually a Seeker captain, a male mammalian humanoid from DorAven, possibly you are acquainted with the variety, madam? Human var. Fanged. Rather an impressive being in appearance.

    The third was a commander in the Intelligence Corps, a Pizer. I don’t think I’ve heard you mention the race, madam, so I will just explain briefly that she was a tall, slim mammalian, about twice my height, with an elongated neck and pointed ears placed on top of the head. Bipedal; really quite like us. The skin was a light tan with large, irregular brown patches: I did wonder involuntarily if it might be a skin disease or the unfortunate effect of the wrong type of sun, and she sent “No. Natural”. Quite embarrassing, really.

    The fourth, fifth and sixth members of the Board were all of the same rank, so I shall describe them as they were seated. The fourth was a Ma’manker, very like the ones we have at home: the same puce skin and three yellow eyes—tripedal, of course. It was wearing the uniform of a flight-leader in a fighter squadron; very exciting, I had never seen an active member of a fighter squadron before. I think I am right in saying the rank is equivalent to that of lieutenant-commander in other units? 2½ bars on the shoulder flaps.

    The fifth Board member was a Whtyllian lieutenant-commander with both Pilot’s wings and a Gunnery flash up—quite unusual, I think? Next to him in the corner at that end of the table at which they were seated was a xathpyroid lieutenant-commander in the Exploration Corps: quite young, but with a very strong shield up, so that it was impossible to tell whether the being was male-tended or female-tended without prying.

    “Yikes,” said Jhl involuntarily at this point.

    “Oh, dear, is it that bad, madam?” gasped First Cook Kadry.

    “Yuh— Uh, well, my interview was at the town hall in Bluell City with only four beings on the Board, and the highest rank was lieutenant-commander—and that was quite bad enough! But six ranking officers—not to say serving officers? To be quite honest, this sounds more like a cuh—“ She broke off hurriedly.

    “Like a cuh?” echoed the cook faintly.

    “Well, you were on his Lordship’s plasmo-blasted Seeker for a while, First Cook,” croaked Jhl.

    First Cook Kadry nodded numbly.

    “Ooh, like a court martial?” gasped the boot-boy.

    “No!” snapped Jhl untruthfully. “And I thought I told you to shut up?”

    Clone Vt R’aam Seventy-Two shut up, but he was broadcasting to his fellows: “Tole ja.”

    The Commodore invited me to sit down and just as I did so the DorAvenian Captain said in a very impatient voice, so much so that it was rather more like a growl, to be quite honest: “So is this one the clone?” And the Whtyllian Lieutenant-Commander replied in a very bored voice: “Yes.”

    The Captain looked at a blob in front of him and sniffed. After a moment I realised it was a copy of my text-blob written examination, which was all maths and navigation. I really hadn't thought I’d done that badly, so my heart sank. Then he growled grudgingly: “Well, your maths aren’t bad, clone, and if ya can navigate yaself out of trouble in a plasmo-blasted Merchant Service PBTT ya can prolly learn to fly any plasmo-blasted thing, but whaddaya wanna be a cadet for?” (I beg your pardon, madam, this is one of my Lord’s new text-blobs, and I’m afraid he did speak like that.)

    So I said: “I think Space Fleet would be an interesting and fulfilling career, sir, and since my master has generously offered me the chance, I think I should take it.”

    The Maudur Commodore responded in what I can only describe as a horribly cool voice: “What exactly do you mean, your master has offered you the chance?” And the xathpyroid Lieutenant-Commander made the same noise in the noses that Commander BrTl does when he’s disgusted with a being. Frankly, madam, it was terrible! But I spoke up as best I could and explained that of course I merely meant that my Lord was having my clone status rescinded and was encouraging me to apply.

    To my horror the DorAvenian said to the rest of the Board members: “Tole ja. No gumption. Them clones are all the same.”

    I thought it was all over and was expecting to be dismissed, but the Pizer from the Intelligence Corps said: “You did tell us, Captain np Fnn’rt do’ DorAven, though I’m not sure I grasped precisely what the term ‘gumption’ means; or possibly my translator’s at fault.”

    To which the Captain replied: “Very funny, Sq. Jannersen”—and something incomprehensible. After a stunned moment I realised the being was overriding everybody’s translators and, presumably, speaking Pizer to the Commander!

    Commander Sq. Jannersen grinned—they are really not unlike us, madam—and admitted: “You’ve got me there, sir! No, well, perhaps we should give the Academy the chance to see if it can teach him some gumption, given the number of beings in the Known Universe who can actually pilot a PBTT.”

    He shrugged, but didn’t argue, to my relief. Madam, I honestly don’t know what I had expected of the Entrance Board, but it certainly wasn’t this!

    Then suddenly the Commodore said: “Well, Candidate, perhaps you should show us what you can do. Start by telling us what sex our xathpyroid comrade is.”

    I felt myself go very red, madam, and was forced to say, “Sir, I think you must know that I don’t know.”

    “The being’s honest, at any rate,” noted the Ma’manker Flight-Leader.

    “Yeah, but he hasn’t really tried,” said the xathpyroid; it had a very mild manner of speaking, very like Commander BrTl, if I may say so, but of course the same type of xathpyroid voice.

    “No,” the Commodore agreed. “We suggest you try, Candidate.”

    I certainly hadn't expected anything like this, madam; I mean, one of their own group? But I said: “Certainly, sir, if you say so; but I feel I must apologise in advance to the Lieutenant-Commander for the intrusion.”

    The Whtyllian at this said: “What intrusion?”—still sounding very bored.

    So I looked. Well, after all, I had been ordered to do so. The Lieutenant-Commander was a female. A Pr-cognate, PrTv by name, so I reported this.

    “What?” the Commodore said. “Did you drop your shield, PrTv?”

    “No, sir,” she said, looking at me doubtfully.

    “Feel anything?” asked the Captain.

    “No, sir," she repeated.

    “Possibly,” said the Whtyllian Lieutenant-Commander in a very, very cold drawl, “this whole thing has been fixed by the so-delightful Shank’yar Vt R’aam. I won’t ask which of you beings he’s got at; but I do assure you it wasn’t me.”

    (My apologies, madam: sad to report, that is what was said.)

    “You’ve made that very clear, thank you, Nr M’snn,” said the Commodore, “and I really think the subject need not be brought up again.”

    As you can imagine, madam, at this point I was ready to sink through the floor. No wonder the Whtyllian gentleman was not in the best of humours! Imagine being placed in such a situation, vis-à-vis one’s relative’s clone!

    “Eh?” said the cook blankly.

    “It’s a figure of speech, even Vt R’aam Thirty-Two can’t sink through a floor,” noted the boot-boy helpfully.

    “Nuh— Shut up, Vt R’aam Seventy-Two! –I beg your pardon, madam, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

    “Gee, that’s okay, First Cook. I feel fairly stunned myself.” Jhl picked up the blankness from the rest of them. “Well, uh, vis-à-vis is just a fancy way of saying, um,”—she looked at the assembled eager, innocent faces—“uh, saying ‘opposite to’, or—or ‘across the table from’. He means it was an embarrassing situation for the Whtyllian. Well, uh…” Mok shit, why had she ever started this speech? “Um, in the Federation, um, clones and, um, the families of their originals don’t um, don’t mix. All that much,” she ended feebly.

    They were still blank, except for young Clone Vt R’aam Seventy-Two, who had started to scowl—bright boy, that. Would go far if given the chance—and if made to concentrate on his maths—and guess who was gonna see that both of these things did happen?

    “Come on,” she said quickly, “let’s see what happens next.”

    “Perhaps we could agree the being may have some mind powers,” said the Ma’manker Flight-Leader. “Personally I’d like to hear how he used them to fly that PBTT.”

    “Yeah, so would I,” agreed the DorAvenian Captain.

    I felt forced to point out at this junction: “Sirs, I fear you may be labouring under a misapprehension. I merely got the PBTT’s hyperdrive going: it was Chief Engineer Slp-Og V. Trff of Zll who pwlded us into collapsed space after the accident.”

    “We know all that, clone,” said the Captain impatiently. “Go on, tell us what it was like.”

    I didn’t really know where to start: I couldn’t tell where they were going with this. The Pizer Commander must have realised this, because after a moment she said, though not in a very encouraging voice, I’m afraid: “Start by telling us what it felt like to control the blobs.”

    I was quite at a loss and quavered: “Fuh-felt like, sir?”

    The Commodore leaned forward. “Felt like, Candidate: do we have to repeat everything for you?”

    “No, sir!” I gasped. “It—it felt like driving a big ship with a very strong hyperdrive, sir!”

    They exchanged glances, oh, dear, I could tell that was the wrong answer but I couldn't see what they wanted! Then the Pizer said drily: “No imagination, as well as no gumption?”

    My heart sank right into my boots.

    However, the xathpyroid said kindly: “That or no powers of description. Listen, Candidate, we’ll get at it another way. Who taught you to fly, and what did the being teach you in?”

    I was very thankful to be able to respond to that: “My respected mistress taught me to fly, sir, in a lifter belonging to my master.”

    “If this being is Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s bond-partner—” began Lieutenant-Commander Nr M’snn.

    “Captain Smt Wong, you asteroid-brain,” said the DorAvenian Captain, and the Whtyllian, and I regret to admit I was very glad to see it, shut up like the proverbial dendrion nut.

    “So this lifter had hyperdrive capacity?” pursued the xathpyroid. I replied it did, as my Lord’s lifters all do, and she said: “Okay, now hear this.” (For a moment, madam, I felt as if I was listening to Commander BrTl himself.) “When you get into the lifter and sit in the pilot’s seat and take control of the blobs, what does it—no, scrub that. What would you compare the feeling to?”

    Of course it is quite a unique feeling, but having lived on the estates for so long and assisted in many of the practical tasks, I did have an comparison in mind, but it certainly wasn't one that would fall within these officers’ experience. But not admitting to it at this juncture would have been extremely foolish: of course they must all have been reading me, though I couldn’t feel very much. So I admitted: “Sir, the only experience I can compare it to is that of netting grqwaries on my Lord’s home farm.”

    The DorAvenian Captain had been fiddling absently with his text-blob but at this he dropped it and said loudly: “Eh?”

    “Let the being speak, np Fnn’rt do’ DorAven,” said the Commodore.

    He shrugged, but nodded at me to continue, so I said: “I don’t know how it's done in the Two Galaxies, but at home we use an adaptation of a mini-web. I’m speaking of half-fledged grqwaries, of course: they can be very active and, really, quite scatty, is the only word, at that age. The aim is to capture their attention and get them to face the same way, at which point they will fall into line behind their natural leader. Uh—grqwary flocks, however large or small, all have a leader, I don’t know if you—”

    The lower ranking officers were all sending: “Not a need-to-know!” though I didn't get anything from the Commodore.

    “No,” I said lamely. “Well, they do. One throws the net, er, physically, and with the mind reaches out to spread it so as to cover the entire group as they scatter—they sense it coming, you see. Then one pulls it in physically—its blob-power isn’t very strong—whilst at the same time reaching out mentally to each grqwary”—the xathpyroid made a choking noise—“um, to suggest to it, er, well, ‘Form line.’”

    I had to swallow hard, I didn't think that had gone over at all well, and I was afraid they’d think I was being flippant.

    “Flippant!” said Jhl, rumpling her short, straight locks. “The being couldn’t be flippant if he tried for a light-yuh— Uh sorry, everyone. No, well, I'd say that was a plasmo-blasted good comparison, actually; though I may be prejudiced by being a grqwary herder since Athlor Kadry was a kid.”

    “Throwing the net is like that,” contributed Clone Vt R’aam Seventeen stolidly—he was an older being, who’d been Head Grqwary Herder for the home farm for some years. “But I dunno what driving a lifter’s like.”

    “Very like that!” said Jhl with a smile.

    “These fancy officers, though,” said First Cook Kadry slowly, “would they know grqwaries at all, madam?”

    Everybody was looking at her anxiously.

    “I don't think that’s entirely the point, First Cook. Vt R’aam Thirty-Two would be sending them a picture, of course—”

    “He sends good pictures!” contributed the Cook’s grandson unexpectedly—why wasn’t that kid in school?

    Earache, madam! they all sent.

    Oh, right. “You keep that chemo-blob in your ear, Athlor Kadry,” (yeah, well, the name wasn’t patented, for Federation’s sake!) “and tell your Gran if it starts to hurt again. Uh—where was I? Oh, yeah: I think, don’t quote me, but I think what they're trying to get at is what sort of a pilot he really is: what sort of feel the has for the blobs, you see.”

    They didn’t see, but they all nodded respectfully, so Jhl didn't express the rest of it, which was that they were undoubtedly testing both his imagination and his powers of description, as well as a whole range of other things like, would he speak up when he was unsure of an instruction, could he formulate an answer that was both concise and to the point—Oh, well. They’d all been through it in their time and the ways of Entrance Boards were entirely mysterious: there’d been beings in her class at the Academy who’d failed all these tests but been admitted all the same, and beings who couldn’t add two and two but been admitted all the same… Some of them had passed out brilliantly, others had failed the first year and gone home, and others had given up after less than a term…

    “Ri-ight,” said the xathpyroid slowly. “What sort of shape do you see in your head—no, don’t interrupt me, please, Commander, I need to get this clear—what sort of shape do you see in your head when you pull the net in?”

    At this point I'm afraid I got carried away, because she did understand, after all! So I said eagerly: “That's just it, sir, it’s the same shape as I see when I gather up all the hyperblobs and take control of them! We call it tear-shaped at home, but that’s a humanoid image.”

    “Yeah,” grunted the DorAvenian Captain. “Me, too. Oy, Nr M’snn! Don’t sit there sulking, if ya wanna see your next promotion go through! Do you see that shape?”

    The Whtyllian had gone very red. One could not but feel sorry for the being, having a full captain—and a Seeker captain, too!—reprove him in front of all of us. “I suppose so,” he said in a sour voice. “Something of the sort.”

    “We’d call it pear-shaped,” said the Pizer Commander, “but perhaps you don’t have pears on New Whtyll. In what direction is the more pointed end facing?”

    “Towards me, sir!” I replied without having to think about it.

    “Hm,” she said.

    “When you take control of the hyperblobs,” said the Ma’manker Flight-Leader—I’m afraid I jumped, I thought the being had lost interest—“is that harder or easier than taking control of the grqwaries?”

    “I’m sorry, sir: do you mean in a lifter or on the PBTT?”

    “Let’s take the lifter first,” it said.

    Oh, dear, I was afraid it meant that. “Actually it’s much easier, sir,” I admitted glumly: I was sure they’d think I was boasting. Nobody said anything or emanated anything and I couldn’t read their body language at all, so I added miserably: “Half-fledged grqwaries are very obstinate birds.”

    “Scatty, yes, you said,” agreed the Commodore and I jumped ten IG fluh where I sat, as the saying goes.

    “Okay," said the Flight-Leader, “now take the PBTT. Don’t just tell us whether it was easier or harder, use the same image—you do understand ‘image’—oh, yes, good; and describe the experience.”

    I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll have to ask for clarification. Taking control of the PBTT’s blobs was a very long process. Do you want me to describe all of it?”

    This time they did exchange glances, though I didn’t get any emanations, and then the Ma’manker said: “No, just the actual getting them to hyperdrive bit.”

    “Yes, sir. It was very much harder than rounding up the young grqwaries. Um, by this time I’d, um, got to know the blobs. So I had to, um, reach out to all of them at once: that was like throwing the net. It—it was harder because while the grqwaries just scatter in the one plane, the hyperblobs are—are in a three-dimensional configuration in the drive. Um, I mean that was one reason why it was harder. They tried to resist me, of course, but blobs do, so that wasn’t really a factor. But of course  there were a great number of them: I had to make sure I’d captured them all, whereas with the grqwaries I might leave a few strays for later, but, um, I couldn't risk a false start with passengers aboard, it would have jolted them too much. And—and terrified them. –I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t really think of that at the precise time, it was at the back of my mind. Um, so having thrown the net and gained the blobs’ attention, I, um, urged them, um, prodded them, I suppose, out of drive mode and into hyperdrive mode, still making sure the net was holding them all. Actually, that’s the hardest bit, keeping all of them netted while you simultaneously urge them.”

    I felt I’d said much too much, I know verbosity is one of my faults, my Lord has often reminded me of it, and I’m quite sure they all felt so, too, because none of them reacted at all.

    After quite some time the Captain asked: “How many blobs did this PBTT have?”

    I told him, and he said: “Isn’t that rather a lot?” So I explained about having had to add all the extra blob-power we could to the drive, and about Lord B’nji having been so very helpful.—I was talking too much again, I could hear myself doing it, but I couldn’t stop! I was frantically reminding myself of your good advice on that topic, madam, but somehow that didn’t seem to stop me. Anyway, I ran down at last and looked at them miserably, wishing they’d just dismiss me and get it over with.

    “Okay,” said Captain np Fnn'rt do' DorAven, “tell us what it was like when the it-being took over and you went into collapsed space.”

    My Lord had warned me they might be interested in that, so at least I had something to say, so I said it, and the Captain said immediately: “How much of that was Admiral Vt R’aam and how much was you, clone?”

    All I could say was: “My Lord was so good as to take me over that very point in case the Board might want to know, sir. But I don’t think he put the words in my mouth.”

    “He wouldn't need to,” noted the Pizer. “He’d only need to implant them in your mind.”

    “What do you think, Commander?” asked the Commodore.

    “I can’t see anything, sir.” She shrugged, and added: “If that counts for anything.”

    “Why didn’t you insist on the passengers being in stasis, clone?” asked Lieutenant-Commander Nr M’snn coldly.

    “Because I didn't realise that collapsed space would make them sick, sir,” I said miserably. “And the it-being had told me it wasn’t necessary.”

    “And?” said the Captain, obviously reading me.

    “Well, actually, sir, I was very glad it didn’t want them to go into stasis, because I was afraid that if it didn’t manage to, um, achieve the bond with the pwld, they might all die in stasis. Like the other passengers did when our Captain died, you see.”

    The DorAvenian rubbed his chin. “Ah. Ya reckon it was the stasis that killed them, not just coming out of collapsed space real sudden?”

    “I don’t know, sir. But I’d say the evidence tends to support such a theory.”

    “Yeah, so would I," he said thoughtfully. “Right, if everyone’s had enough of plasmo-blasted grqwaries, can we look at some of these written answers?”

    “Of course, Captain,” said the Commodore smoothly. “Please go ahead.”

    So they grilled me for a while, but I was expecting that. I couldn’t see exactly why they asked me why I’d arrived at some of the answers, to me it was self-evident, but I answered as best I could.

    Finally the Ma’manker Flight-Leader said: “You’re not bad, Candidate. But why did you answer ‘I wouldn’t’ to the last question? Both the other candidates we saw this morning wrote three IG fluh of calculations in answer to that.”

    Madam, it was an Academy brain-teaser: “If your ship was in Sector 84507 of Galaxy I and thus coming under the influence of Star KP457J and the secondary influence of Star KP492P, how would you get it into orbit round Planet N of Star Y?” The actual planet varying with the choice of Star Y, but the trap is always the same. So I said: “Sir, I had seen a version of the question before. Added to which, the putative destination was a planet of Bluellia’s star, and my respected mistress is a Bluellian.”

    “And?” it said.

    “Sir, the question said ‘Planet 7.’ Bluellia’s star has only 6 planets.”

    At this Lieutenant-Commander PrTv broke down in xathpyroid sniggers, gasping: “Who was that Br-cognate that taught you that one?”

    “Commander BrTl, sir. He showed us that brain-teaser at Second School.”

    “Second School? That’s a Third-Year Academy student trap!” cried the Ma’manker Flight-Leader.

    “Is it, sir? All I can say is, we had it in our final year of Second School. Um, well, towards the end of the year when we’d sat our exams and, um, I suppose they were desperate for something for us to do, really.”

    “Give him a real one, if you’re that interested, Flight,” said the Whtyllian, sounding bored again.

    “Do I need to? According to the report, that plasmo-blasted PBTT was thrown right  off course, and he found the Relay Station and got it headed straight for it!”

    “I beg your pardon, Flight-Leader, but it was the ship’s First Officer, not me, who located the Relay Station,” I felt constrained to point out.

    “See, Flight?” said the Pizer Commander, giving it a mocking look.

    “I do see, sir, though if I may say so,” the Ma’manker replied firmly, “I don’t think you do.”

    “She’s not a Pilot,” noted the DorAvenian Captain. “Come on, clone, who set the course for the Relay Station?”

    “I did, sir.”

   “There you are,” he said.

    “Captain,” I protested, going very red, “I did not locate the Relay Station.”

    “We heard ya, clone,” he said, though quite mildly. “Anyone got any more questions? Like to ask him how to milk a grqwary? –No? I’d say we’re done, sir,” he said to the Commodore.

    “Just one more question,” said the Maudur. “You’ve been on Intergalactica for a little while, I think, Candidate? What aspect of your stay so far did you enjoy the most?”

    Respected Mistress, please do not blame Commander BrTl for this. I’m afraid I talked him into it. There seemed little point in lying about it, so I said: “There were two things, sir. I really don't think I can choose between them. I enjoyed them equally, but in different ways. The first was seeing Stone Figure 42 in the Thwurbullerian Gallery of the Intergalactic Art Museum.”

    “What?” cried the Whtyllian. “Shank’yar Vt R’aam told you to say that!”

    “With respect, sir, he didn't. He did suggest I look at that gallery, yes.”

    “And the second thing?’ asked the Commodore in a neutral voice.

    “The second thing was using the moogletubes at Slwynchizziya Square, sir.”

    “Fun, was it?” asked the xathpyroid with a certain relish.

    “Tremendous fun, sir, yes.”

    “It was that Br-cognate again, but don't ask him, the being’ll feel obliged to lie,” she said to the table at large. “No, well, I think that answers one of the points you raised earlier, Captain np Fnn’rt do’ DorAven?”

    “More or less, yeah. Oy, clone! Ya did know it’s IG-illeg— Yes, ya did.”

    “Well, that’s all, then. Thank you, Candidate,” said the Commodore.

    I got up unsteadily, and bowed. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

    “Hey, clone!” cried the Seeker Captain as I was turning for the door.

    “Yes, sir?” I said, turning back.

    “Catch!” he cried, throwing something.

    I caught it automatically and then realised it was the text-blob.

    “Well, you’ve got some reflexes,” he said. “I suppose that answers another question. I'll have it back, thanks, those answer are confidential.”

    I couldn’t utter, madam, I felt so drained. I just gave it back and since nobody said anything more, bowed and went out through the door the Meanker IG Militia being was holding open for me.

    As soon it closed behind me I could hear them burst into speech—it wasn’t sound-proof at all, which I now realised the door to the waiting-room must have been. I could make out the words “plasmo-blasted clone”, and another being was shouting something about the PBTT, while another was saying something about maths and navigation (I’m not sure, but I think it was the Ma’manker); and it was definitely the xathpyroid shouting: “Liking the moogletubes isn’t INITIATIVE!” Oh, dear, and I’d foolishly thought she quite liked me!

    There was another IG Militia being seated at a desk in this room, also a Meanker, and he said kindly: “Like a drink of water?” Which I accepted very, very gratefully.

    He waited until I'd drunk it and then said: “You seem to of got them stirred up.”

    “Yes. Is that good or bad, sir?” I asked fearfully.

    “Dunno. And don’t call me ‘sir’, I’m a sergeant!”

    “Um, yes; I’m sorry, Sergeant.”

    “That’s okay, non-Service beings are all the same. Though I’ll admit you was in there longer than that other Whtyllian.”

    Was this good or bad? “The—the lordship who went in before the Nblyterian?” I gasped. “How long did they keep him?”

    He shrugged. ”Fifteen IG minutes—twenny, tops. Go out that door, turn to ya right—know ya right, do ya? Good,” he said sardonically, “and you’ll see the back door: that’ll let you onto Interplanetary Boulevard.”

    “Thank you Sergeant,” I said weakly, and staggered out. And there on the steps of the building was Commander BrTl!

    “There you are,” he said mildly.

    “Commander!” I gasped. “How long have you been here?”

    “Not long,” he said in a vague voice, so I knew he must have been waiting for me for some time. “They ask you how you knew that Academy brain-teaser?” I nodded mutely, and he said: “Thought so. Well, wanna get up?”

    Madam, it was very kind of him, but I couldn’t! Not right on Interplanetary Boulevard, with my Lord’s hotel just down the street! I don’t know what I stuttered out, but he seemed to accept it, and instead supported me with a kindly pseudopod as we headed down the boulevard. After a while he said: “Had a Pizer, did you? Funny ears—not to be anything-ist. Any being ask you what games you played?”

    “Games? No, Commander.”

    “Hm. Had a mammalian being of some sort at my interview—not a Pizer, though, and I don’t think it was a humanoid, though looking back, could’ve been a gilled one. Anyway, it asked me what games I played. Not cards, it didn’t mean: active games.”

    I looked up at him limply. Adult xathpyroids, as of course you would know, madam, don’t play games!

    “Right,” he said drily. “Told it I hadn’t played any plasmo-blasted games since my neck-hair started to grow and I stopped skipping stones in the dust, and if it didn’t like the answer it could blow it and the Academy out its plasmo-blasted ear—if it had one.”

    I could only gape at him.

    “Dunno what its reaction was, couldn't read it at all and the faces it was making didn’t mean a thing to me!” he said cheerfully. “‘Didn’t spoil my chances, though, did it?”

    “Nuh-no.” After a while I thought I’d seized his point, and described the way the Captain had thrown the text-blob at me.

    “Mad,” he said definitely. “DorAvenians are, not to be anything-ist. Ever tell you about that one I met on the third moon of Pkqwrd that time?”

    “Yuh— Um, you did, Commander, but my point is that the Captain was testing my reflexes: I think that possibly your games question might have been with the same intention.”

    “Mad,” he concluded with satisfaction.

    Madam, on thinking it over I had to agree with him. Everything they asked me could surely have been asked much more efficiently and reliably in different ways. A simple medical examination would have tested my reflexes accurately. However, at least it was over, and my Lord was good enough to ask me about it and assure me that no being could have done better. But I’m afraid he was only being kind.

    “Kind!” snorted Jhl. “The word’s not in his— Er, never mind. Well, that’s Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s report on his Entrance Exam. Well, he’s appended the written questions, but I’ll spare you. Any being care to offer a verdict?”

    “Now, now, madam, don’t you fret,” responded First Cook Kadry. “He’ll be all right, you’ll see!” She got up, casually grabbing her grandson with a meaty hand just as he was about to be utterly elsewhere with a like-minded young xathp— What was he doing here? And nobody dare to send “earache!”

    “OY! Immature cognate! Just a plasmo-blasted blasted IG MINUTE!” bellowed Jhl, immobilising him where he stood. He balanced precariously on four legs for an instant and then fell over, to the accompaniment of roars of laughter from the assembled multitude.

    “BrPl,” ascertained Jhl grimly. “How did you get here?”

    Came in a lifter, very funny. “WHOSE?”

    Uh, wriggle, lie… Finally he admitted it was Admiral GrRv’s lifter—Jhl cringed all over—but the Admiral hadn’t been driving it today—she relaxed slightly—GrDv had. Bad enough: she was a former Chief Engineer. And where was— In town, Trff had asked her to look in and check that everything was okay with the blobs. Right. Next question: HOW DID BRPL GET HERE FROM NEW Z’THERABAD?

    BrPl had loped. Uh—right. Well, it wasn’t that far, in xathpyroid terms, but in humanoid terms he was ten, the same age as young Athlor Kadry. “Go in the house,” said Jhl tiredly. “Vt R’aam Twenty-Two will look after your feet.”

    Vt R’aam Twenty-Two was a middle-aged lorpoid clone. The immature cognate eyed him doubtfully. “Does he know about xathpyroid fee—”

    “YES!” shouted Jhl terribly. “Get in the house this instant! And this story is OVER, you’ve heard it, MOVE!”

    Gee, they were all moving, even though in this instance she’d only meant the errant BrPl.

    “Hang on, Vt R’aam Forty-Nine. You’d better put in a sim-call to, uh—” Federation. “Better make it Admiral GrRv,” she ended weakly.

    “Yes, madam. Um, what if the Admiral, is, um…”

    “Grazing out beyond the last black hole. Well, I’ll speak to any responsible senior cognate, Gr- or Br-.”

    “Yes, madam, thank you, madam.” He vanished. Silence reigned on the side verandah. Even the Flppus had disappeared.

    Jhl sighed. She looked in a lacklustre way at the clone’s text-blob. Great steaming… Well—no worse than many, many others, and better than some.

    … Do it with a medical examination? The being was due for Mullgon’ya! Was there any hope the Board hadn't read that thought and put a tick against that “limited” they’d already tentatively marked against his name? Uh—None at all. Oh, mok shit.

Next chapter:

https://theadmirableclone-sf.blogspot.com/2023/11/bluellia.html