Mullgon'ya

10

Mullgon’ya

    “Listen,” said Jhl, laying down a text-blob.

    Athlor reddened. Clearly he hadn’t managed to penetrate her shield—in fact had she even noticed he was trying? “What?” he said grumpily.

    “I was just thinking that some being ought to pop over to Mullgon’ya and see how that poor young First Officer from Su’s PBTT is getting on.”

    “What? Oh! Oh, great splintered shards of quog, you’re right, Mum! Help, hasn’t Dad— No,” he gulped, quailing. “I suppose he’s been too busy.”

    “Too busy sucking up to assorted Fleet Lords, yeah. It hasn’t dawned yet that they don’t give a cptt-rvvr’s fart about this side of the Known Universe. It would’ve been different if there’d been huge deposits of valuable minerals here, or gigantic civilisations they could’ve, take your pick, conquered and grabbed the benefits of, or made treaties with and grabbed the benefits of—but three worlds suitable for agriculture and not much else, and two moonfuls of pwld? They’ve got more than enough pwld for their own uses over there, they don’t need ours. We’re a curiosity to them, and that’s about it.”

    Athlor thought so, too. He bit his lip.

    “Give him time, it will eventually dawn that they're ready enough with the diplo mok shit—he is still a Vt R’aam and a Full Admiral—but he isn’t gonna get a thing out of them.”

    He swallowed. “No. So, um, what’ll he do?”

    “Your guess is as good as mine. Buy out the Tri-Galaxy PBTT Line? Tell them where to put it and shake the dust of the Federation for good? Chuck the whole of his fortune away on building the Intergalactic Relay Stations himself?” She shrugged.

    Athlor could see very clearly that she’d prefer it if Dad shook the intergalactic dust of the Federation for good. He swallowed again.

    “The rich worlds like Whtyll and Friyria have far too much influence in the Federation,” said Jhl grimly.

    “Um, yeah, I know, Mum.”

    “Look, we’ve got a chance here to create something relatively simple and good!” she said forcefully.

    “Ye-ah. Um, well, yes, but what resources have we got, realistically? I mean, we’re even dependent on the Federation for blobs, aren’t we?”

    “Sentient life is possible without blobs,” said Jhl drily. “Only for those who don’t mind hard work, though.” Vt R’aam Forty-Nine! A text-blob, on the double!

    Clone Vt R’aam Forty-Nine panted up with a tray of text-blobs.

    Athlor eyed it in some foreboding. “Are you gonna write to him now?”

    “Why not? Oh! I’m not gonna tell him the Third Galaxy doesn’t need the Federation’s blobs, asteroid-brain! No, that can dawn in its own good time. I’m just gonna remind him that he ought to visit that poor young First Officer on Mullgon’ya.”

    “Thought you said you’d been here before?” said Su, as BrTl looked round in a puzzled way at the view of urbanscape and the ranks of public bubbles for hire, rows of bubble-trains, and even lifters for hire just outside the main doors of the main spaceport of the o-breather sector of Mullgon’ya.

    Given the being was confined to his quarters, BrTl had been temporarily relieved of clone, uh, ex-clone guard-duty on Booj’lly and deputed to accompany Su to visit young First Officer H’msm in his nursing-home while Su’s dad was absorbed in delicate negotiations on Intergalactica. On the whole this was probably just as well: Leader Lord Shank’yar Vt R’aam’s was not a temperament capable of experiencing much sympathy for beings who had collapsed under the weight of their responsibilities.

    “Um, yeah,” he said, looking round in a puzzled way. “Think so. Or not, come to think of it. One or two of those times might have been in hyper-hop. I certainly don't remember all this public transport. In fact I’m almost sure I remember galloping—in the h-breather, I’m almost sure.”

    Dubiously Su consulted a blob. “Morpo says it hasn’t got any atmosphere of its own, it’s all done by its Meteorologist.”

    BrTl had long since given up trying to convince her that the so-called “Morpo” wasn’t an individual lorpoid, it was a giant company. “He would. Did you look up the Encyclopaedia like I told you?”

    She glared. “Yes! And it never even said as much as what Morpo does!”

    “Did you ask it if the planet had any un-Meteo-ed areas?” he said mildly.

    “NO! Because it said it had a Meteorologist installed!” she shouted.

    “No need to shout. You needed to ask it. Well, if this is the FW dump I’m thinking of, it’s got stretches—vast stretches, actually—of un-Meteo-ed plain, ideal for gallop— Oh,” he said, looking down at the small scowling humanoid figure before him. “Forget I spoke. You’d need an FW pack to get even—uh, to breathe at all.”

    “Dad called me up specially to say I wouldn’t need an FW pack and to wear something pretty,” said Su heavily.

    “Yeah. It’s not alive, is it?” he asked cautiously.

    “Eh? Oh,” she said glumly, plucking at the ring of fur at tit-level. “No, ladyship-beings only wear real wtmyrians as evening cloaks, BrTl, or, forget it, eh?”

    “Yes, I will,” he said gratefully. “Um, has that Loogher been on a Meteo-ed dump before?” he added cautiously.

    “Um… Intergalactica, I suppose,” said Su dubiously.

    “Oh, yeah, I was forgetting. Good, then its lungs won't collapse or anything without an FW pack. Has it got lungs?” he added, looking for evidence of gills.

    “Yes! Three!” said Su indignantly, her grasp tightening on her Loogher’s paw. “Ooh, sorry, Phyoowella!” she gasped as poor Phyoowella gave a wail.

    “Yeah. Right. Next question. Igs.”

    “I have got lots of igs, Cousin Raj stuffed my purse full of them, I wasn’t sure whether I oughta keep them but R’shn said to hang onto them. But Dad pwlded this over to me, he said I hadda use it instead,” she said, casually holding it up.

    BrTl took it in a hand that trembled in spite of himself. A gold-plated VIP credit disc, he hadn't seen one of those since— Ooh! Suddenly his legs felt quite funny.

    “What’s the matter?” gasped Su.

    “Nothing. Last time I actually saw one of these was that time I was stuck on the third moon of Pkqwrd, the being had given one to Jhl—when she finally made it,” he added in a sour aside. “Um, it was good for the viewing areas and the up-market bars—stuff like that. What’s this one good for?”

    “My guess’d be anything,” said Su on a very dry note indeed. “But he said to hire a lifter. I asked him what about a hotel but he just gave that plasmo-blasted wave of his and said to mention his name at the Twymumb Astoria.”

    “How much?”

    Su consulted her blob again. “That is right. It’s in Galadni, the chief city of the o-breather sector—that’s it, over there. Um, hang on… Twymumb was a being: there’s a nursing-home named after it, too. –The Full Surgeons must have cured it, so it gave them a nursing-home and a lovely hotel as a thank-you!” she beamed.

    Something like that. That or they didn’t cure it and its cognates, affines, relatives or simply IG-legal heirs gave them a nursing-home and a lovely hotel as a thank-you—yeah.

    “Stop it!” said Su with a giggle, picking up his involuntary broadcast. “Well, shall we grab a lifter and go?”

    “Straight to the nursing-home?”

    “Sure, why not?”

    Why not, indeed! Producing a happy noise on two notes down his noses, and slapping a mind-lock on the being in response to the Loogher’s reaction to this, BrTl headed for the rows of parked lifters.

    Straps ON!

    Su had herself and her Loogher already strapped in.

    ZOOM! WHOOSH!

    “Ooh, you're right, vast stretches of plain!” she discovered. “Ooh, doesn't it look dry, it’s like a desert!”

    “Eh? Yeah. –Blerrinbrig’s, there’s a lock on this lifter, I can’t go into hyperdrive!”

    “Good,” said Su simply. “And kindly don’t give us a demonstration of how superior a qualified Pilot’s mind-powers are to those of the mere Full College of Full Surgeons when it comes to blob-locks.”

    “Locks on blobs. No, all right,” he conceded heavily. “I won’t. It’s not far, anyway, according to this lifter.”

    “It wouldn’t be, it’s an o-breather nursing-home.”

    BrTl was about to correct this giant misconception about the layout of Mullgon’ya but thought better of it. She was gonna see soon enough.

    … “What’s that?”

    “Oh, just a view of a tiny part of the actual nursing-home area,” he said airily.

    It stretched as far as the eye could see, completely filling the horizon: they were so high up that they could actually see the curve of the world.

    “Help!” she gasped. “It’s huge!”

    Yes, well. “Not small, no. Though Mullgon’ya isn’t extra-large as planets go. I dare say that lorpoid didn't bother, but the Encyclopaedia must’ve mentioned how many beings there are on the FW dump.”

    “Um, something about not permanent,” groped Su.

    “Yes. Well, discounting a few hundred thousand s-beings serving in the hotels—everything’s owned by the Full Surgeons here, including the hotels and the beings in them, do I need to explain?—excluding them and several mill. Vvlvanian-cursed Full Surgeons and ditto in training, the rest are patients, they gotta put them somewhere. Well, that’s discounting the couple of mill. or so in their disgusting experimental sections, I use the phrase,” said BrTl through his crunchers, “advisedly, and I speak aloud ADVISEDLY!”

    Su gulped. “Yeah. I think they’ll of heard ya.”

    “Good, let them choke on it. Was there a code?”

    “Eh?”

    “Was there a— Oops!” he said cheerfully as the lifter took a sudden swerve in the direction of down. “Musta been, here we go! Dare say with a bit of luck it’ll take us right to the door, we won’t even have to go through the Y-K-W.”

    “I don’t think,” he admitted feebly as they stood before the gate at the exit from the extensive parking area.

    “Well, open it,” said Su mildly. “I can’t open it, I've got Phyoowella and this present.”

    “What? You must’ve encountered a gate before this! –Oh, right: that pass from Y-K-W got us on-world here. And scrub Bluellia and Booj’lly, we were with the senior cognate in his sparf-laden Number Ones. What about when you went to Whtyll? –The first time.”

    “Um, a very nice man just came up to Dad and said would we like to come this way—”

    “Forget it, forget it, forget it,” he groaned. “Let me introduce you to an IG gate, Su. This here one belongs to the Full College, fancy that, but other beings have been known to encounter not dissimilar ones”—he gave it a look of loathing—“belonging to IG C&E, and placed strategically at the point where one’s just about to set toe, or whatever one uses, not to be anything-ist, on-world.”

    “Oh,” she said blankly. “Oh! Intergalactic Customs and Excise: I geddit.”

    Repressing a shudder, he replied: “Quite. I’ll go first, shall I? Spacers’ etiquette.”

    He went up to the gate and stood there for a moment. Then he said loudly: “All RIGHT, I’ve been in The Third Galaxy since Athlor Kadry was a pup, but this here is still a Space Fleet ID!” And suddenly the gate said—no, sent—no, said—no, possibly it was both: My apologies, Commander BrTl. Welcome to the nursing-homes of Mullgon’ya. Please enter. First Officer H’msm is in the humanoid section, Lord R’jt Vt R’aam of Whtyll Memorial Nursing-Home, Wing 42B. A servo-mech will escort you. Have a nice day. And BrTl went through it, Su couldn’t quite see how, but now he was certainly on the other side of it, looking at her glumly.

    Squaring her shoulders, she went up to the gate. “Am I close enough?” she said to BrTl.

    “Yeah,” he confirmed glumly. “Anywhere on the planet’d probably be— But yeah.”

    “Hullo, Gate,” said Su cautiously. “I’m Su Vt R’aam, I’m from the Third Galaxy. This is Phyoowella—sorry, she’s a Loogher, and that’s what we call her, but her real name is Choo-Roow-Koo, that’s a Loogher name.”

    One moment, please, it replied nicely, and BrTl shook in his Space Issue boots.

    Welcome to the nursing-homes of Mullgon’ya, Lady Su and Loogher Choo-Roow-Koo, known as Phyoowella. Please enter. First Officer H’msm is in the humanoid section, Lord R’jt Vt R’aam of Whtyll Memorial Nursing-Home, Wing 42B. A servo-mech will escort you. Have a nice day.

    BrTl watched limply as they came through, Su replying politely: “Thank you, Gate,” and the Loogher giving a sort of chirrup. It hadn’t asked what she had in that fancy package, or tried to claim that fancy ring on her humanoid paw was contraband, or anything!

    “This? Isn’t it pretty? Cousin R’shn gave it to me,” said Su with a smile.

    BrTl blinked at it. Too late, he realised he shouldn’t have, but surprisingly enough the gate didn't immediately zap him where he stood. It wasn’t a Willunian sapphire, it just looked like one. Blue Faindorgean glass, one of the rarest commodities in the K.U.

    “It’s only glass,” she said happily.

    Great splintered shards of— Yeah. “Right, well, take my pseudopod and don’t let go of that Loogher’s paw for anything, unless you want to lose her permanently: I’d strongly doubt the Full Surgeons have ever seen a Loogher before, and never mind who your senior cognate is, he doesn’t wield any influence here.”

    The innocent Su looked around at the view of palest blue sky scattered with tiny puffs of white cloud, pleasantly green grass dotted with unnecessary tiny coloured flowers, and low—horribly low—humanoid-type structures, and smiled. “You’re being silly, BrTl! Nothing’s gonna happen to Phyoowella in a lovely nursing-home, that’s your xathpyroid paranoia speaking! It looks really peaceful!”

    “Yeah, and don’t they pay megazillions of super-igs every IG microsecond for that Meteo of theirs to keep it like— Oh, forget it. It is peaceful, yeah, if you like pale blue, and some claim it does actually aid the humanoid psyche to recover from whatever it’s got. This’ll be our servo-mech,” he said as it slid up to them. It was an A-type, of course: nothing was too good for the Full College of Full Surgeons.

    First Officer H’msm wasn’t in a small humanoid bed in a small humanoid room like BrTl had expected him to be: he was lying on a long chair on a verandah; actually the building was rather like Jhl’s house back on New Whtyll—that or the whole thing was being mind-suggested by the plasmo-blasted Full Coll—

    Stop it, BrTl, that paranoia’s getting the better of you! sent Su gaily. “Hullo, Lieutenant H’msm!” she cried. “How are you? You look much better!”

    “Luh-Lady Su!” the poor being croaked, struggling to sit up straight. Well, he was producing coherent speech, that was a plus. BrTl approached cautiously.

    Su was assuring him that of course they hadn’t forgotten about him, and how was he feeling, and this was for him, and she hoped his family had been able to get over to visit him, all in the one breath kind of thing, not letting the poor being get a word in edgeways—probably just as well, he was completely stunned. And given he was a C’T’rean, he was emanating real loud and clear that his cognates hadn't been able to get over to see him—hang on, did they have families, or was it yoggrs— Oh, no, standard Human var. Official, right.

    “Oh! I’m so sorry!” said Su with a laugh, having dumped the parcel on the poor being’s legs. “Of course, you haven’t met BrTl!”

    “N— I don't think so,” croaked Lieutenant H’msm.

    “Commander BrTl, Space Fleet, Retired. He's a Br-cognate,” explained Su redundantly.

    “Oh,” said the young lieutenant weakly. “Yes, a Br-cognate: I’m so terribly sorry about your cognate, Commander.”

    “Thanks. But that’s the risk you take, isn’t it?” replied BrTl simply. He peered at him. Well, he was pink, that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Oh, yes, much brighter and livelier inside! “You are looking better.”

    “Yuh—um, I’m feeling much better, thanks. Buh-but I don't think we’ve met before?” he stuttered.

    “I’ve met you," admitted BrTl. “You were out of it at the time.”

    “BrTl was on the ship that rescued us; that met us at the Intergalactic Relay Station,” explained Su sunnily.

    “Of course!” he gulped, bolt upright on his lounger. “Thank you so much, Commander! I can’t express—”

    “Don't thank me, I was just along for the ride,” said BrTl on a vague note. “Think Su might like it if you opened that parcel, now.”

    “Whuh-what? Oh,” he said limply. “Yes, of course.” Limply he opened it.

    “I've been on Whtyll,” explained Su as he just stared at the contents.

    “Um, have you? Yes, of course,” he said feebly.

    “Personally,” began BrTl, “I wouldn't touch them with—”

    “A Space Issue impermi-glove: we know,” said Su placidly. “What they are, see, they’re fruits preserved in a sugar substance. The brown stuff on the outside is called y’m, and it’s certainly yummy!”

    “They are suited to your metabolism,” admitted BrTl. “Hang on, have you ever tasted spiny ban-ban-ban?”

    “Um, no, sir,” said the young man in a bewildered voice.

    “Right, well, avoid that one,” said BrTl, pointing with a pseudopod to an ovoid brown one, “because that’s what it’s got inside it.”

    “Yes, sir,” he said on a helpless note.

    “Go on, try one!” urged Su.

    Limply he took one. Su watched with a smile as his eyes opened very wide and he smiled round it. “Yummy, see?”

    “Absolutely!” he beamed. “Please, have one, Lady Su?”

    “No, they’re for you,” said Su firmly. “And I’ve been on Whtyll for yonks, I’ve been stuffed with goodies like a grqwary ready for Galaxy Day! And between you and me and BrTl, it’s quite all right to call me Su, because Dad’s not here. But he sends his best wishes and his apologies for not being able to come in person.”

    “Yuh-yes. Thank you,” he stuttered.

    Then an awkward silence fell. The young man took another y’m-coated fruit from the box and then looked as if he wished he hadn’t, though it was clear the sweetmeat itself wasn’t at fault.

    “Um, so your yoggr members—no, Blerrinbrig’s, I mean family—your family members couldn’t come?” ventured BrTl.

    “What, sir?” he said dazedly. “Oh: no, it’s much too far, and it’s a very expensive trip.”

    Su had gone very red. She gave BrTl an agonised look.

    Eh? Oh! Right. We’ve got that gold-plated VIP credit disc, let’s see what it’ll really do! “That's no problem. We’ll zip over and fetch them.”

    He stuttered and protested but it was very clear he did want to see his cognates, so that was settled.

    BrTl was getting up but perceived there was something else on the being’s mind. “Something else, was there? Uh—fetch your bond-partner over? No? Um, what are those ones Su’s always got lots of? Oh, yes! Boyfriends? Wanna see your—”

    Su had dissolved in gales of mammalian giggles.

    “Sorry, got the wrong end of the ban-ban-ban,” BrTl apologised to the being.

    “Yes, um, girlfriends, in my case, Commander. Um, no, there’s no-one special on C’T’rea. I don’t get back very often.”

    “Right. Well, we’d better check in at our hotel, but we can take off for C’T’rea straight after— No?”

    “Yuh—I mean, could you— My Full Surgeon has explained that my illness was caused by having the full weight of the responsibility for the PBTT, together with the shock of my Captain’s death and the physical effects of stasis and collapsed space, buh-but— What happened?” he said on a plaintive note. “How did you become involved, Commander?”

    “You mean they haven’t— By the three-tongued blurryankers of Trypthfymia! Typical!” he shouted.

    After five servo-mechs and three s-beings had been reassured that there was nothing wrong here and that Lieutenant H’msm was very glad to have visitors, and had politely reminded BrTl that this wasn’t a xathpyroid area of the nursing-homes, and had gone again, no doubt to make their reports in triplicate—one of the plasmo-blasted servo-mechs had grabbed the opportunity to poke Phyoowella with a probe, or something very much like it, under the assumption that no visual organs were directed its way at the time—BrTl conceded: “Didn’t mean to shout. But you have to admit that’s the Full College all over.”

    “I can’t believe they haven’t told you!” agreed Su in concern “That’s really terrible! Well, see, it was like this—”

    Together they told him the full story. Fullish, BrTl could see he wasn’t up to even what little his poor BrTllian brain had grasped of the Trffish bits. The ex-clone came out of it real good, and the Lieutenant declared his intention of pwlding him a text-blob of thanks, and of course one to Chief Engineer Slp-Og V. Trff! BrTl didn’t bother to say that the it-being didn’t need it: it’d be aware—providing it had bothered to look—that the being was grateful. And possibly—after the medal-striking thing anything seemed possible—the individual Trff would be pleased to receive his thanks.

    When the thanks and disclaimers and so forth had died down it was noticed that Phyoowella had taken a bite or fifty-three of the Full Surgeons’ carefully cultured, nay Meteo-ed o-breather lawn while they’d been talking. Hah, hah, hah.

    “That grass needed cutting, anyway,” said Su on a defiant note, sticking the chin out.

    “[Subjectless particle] good tastes!” contributed Phyoowella happily, licking her furry blue chops.

    The Lieutenant gasped, and shrank.

    “It's all right, Lieutenant, that was Loogher. –No translator,” he noted grimly to Su. “The phenomenon has been observed before, not a megazillion IG glps away from Planet 7 of Star FR23049G. Uh, where we are: Mullgon’ya, Su,” he said on a limp note. “And don’t try to verify it in the plasmo-blasted lorpoid’s blob!”

    “Oh, have you got a Morpo’s Guide, Su?” asked Lieutenant H’msm with interest. “My sisters swear by them. But the Commander’s right, they haven’t got much, um, solid fact.” Suddenly he yawned widely. “I’m sorry—”

    “You’re getting tired,” said Su, getting up. “We’d better go.”

    “Yeah, two of us could do with some lunch,” noted BrTl.

    The Lieutenant must have been feeling a lot brighter because he got this, and gave a muffled humanoid snigger.

    The expressions of gratitude and the farewells might have gone on for some time, but BrTl slapped a mind-lock on the Loogher, picked it up in a pseudopod and grabbed Su’s paw, pardon, hand, in another pseudopod, and they went.

    “The being was tired,” he said briefly as they reached the far side of the lawn.

    “Yes, poor being.”

    “Looking quite pink, though,” he ventured.

    Su smiled at him. “Yes, he is! I must say, I'd like to speak to his Full Surgeon, though.”

    Eh? He, BrTl, would do almost anything rather than speak to one of those beings!

    “To know how he really is and how soon they’ll let him go!”

    They’d let him go when and if they decided he was fully cured. And not before. Never mind if it took longer than his humanoid lifespan. BrTl was just gonna point this out when guess what? A servo-mech slid up, it looked plasmo-blasted like the one that had probed the Loogher, and announced: Please come this way, respected beings. Full Surgeon Heefer Quo would like to speak to you about Lieutenant H’msm’s case.

    “A Ma’manker Full Surgeon,” discerned BrTl, sagging visibly.

    “Eh?”

    “That's a Ma’manker name. Not Friyrian,” he croaked. “Those other times I was here— Never mind.”

    At the first sight of a tallish, thinnish, upright being with a single round head above the long, plain garment that the Full Surgeons usually wore on duty BrTl blenched, but then the three legs and arms registered and he sagged: Full Surgeon Heefer Quo was a Ma’manker, all right. Not that any Full Surgeon wouldn't be pretty Full Surgeon-ish: there was no reason for beings to let their guards down, not to mention their shields. Well, shield, singular: he was in no doubt it had hypered between Su's round mammalian ears in a split IG microsecond. And he was sure he hoped it was enjoying the space garbage about garments and Whtyllian recipes that was floating around in there! As for the Loogher, it was perfectly plain Full Surgeon Heefer Quo was probing her mush; it would’ve been hard for a being even halfway through a Pilot’s qualification to miss those emanations of bewilderment and disappointment, actually.

    This didn’t stop the being from lying in whatever Ma’mankers used for teeth and telling Su a load of space garbage about a couple of other Full Surgeons being so interested in Lieutenant H’msm’s case and wanting to sit in, if they didn’t mind? Full Surgeon Neffu Relli boShenniffann (an Azabanese, they weren’t adventurous beings but they could be extremely sharp, never mind that one Jhl had back home), and Full Surgeon Eight Hundred and One from Untranslatable Shade of Mauve Sector. Ouch! A Thwurbullerian Full Surgeon? Sure the beings were known for their placidity, but they were also known as one of the cleverest races in the Known Universe. BrTl would have wagered his tail, yes, his actual tail, that this one had no interest whatsoever in the very ordinary case of a very ordinary young lieutenant that had lost it under the weight of sudden responsibility and considerable trauma: merchant service or Space Fleet, that sort of thing happened every IG hour in the two galaxies. No, what this particular Full Surgeon was interested in, he reflected grimly, as the huge being surged in slowly, emanating mildness, was the plasmo-blasted never-before-seen-in-the-two-galaxies flaming Loogher. He didn’t put her down, even though Su was trying to tell him to.

    They blahed on for ages about the young Lieutenant but this was just cover. Anyway, BrTl had seen for himself that the being was on the mend but still far from cured. They estimated about another five IG months. Half an IG year, well, that wasn't too bad at all!

    “Good. What if the money runs out?” he asked baldly.

    Full Surgeon Heefer Quo and Full Surgeon Neffu Relli boShenniffann emanated offence at this tactless query, not to say at its implications, that he wasn’t bothering to shield, but the Thwurbullerian didn't. Smoothly it replied: “The Full College understands that the Tri-Galaxy PBTT Line’s accident insurance fully covers its personnel.”

    “Does it, just? For how much?”

    “Humanoid and Nblyterian personnel are covered for a maximum amount of three million igs.”

    The misguided Su began: “That sounds all ri—”

    “Shut up, Su. How much of that have you spent, Full Surgeon?”

    “Two million, nine hundred and two thousand, one hundred and three igs, as of the last IG hour,” it replied without a flicker of its frontal lobes.

    “What?” gasped Su.

    “Yes, well, no need to get agitated; that sounds about right,” he allowed.

    “But BrTl—!”

    “Yes. A Friyrian Full Surgeon,” he said, baring the crunchers briefly, “more or less explained it to me last time I was here. Well, not the figures, at least s/he didn’t think s/he was giving me the figures, but the thing is, everything here’s imported: they don't grow a thing, and the meat alone sets them back rafts of super-igs every IG microsecond.”

    “That is correct,” confirmed the Thwurbullerian, unmoved, as Su gaped.

    “Yes, but BrTl! Nearly three million igs already?”

    “Yes. It’s not the cost of the cure as such, you see, or their mega-humungous salaries—don't bother to speak or send, assorted beings, I’ve guided innumerable Lost Causes with Full Surgeons along on their IG-annual leave, and it’s approximately a full captain’s IG-annual pay for a single-being ticket—as I say, it’s not the cost of the cure as such, usually if a chemo-blob won’t do it they only have to  concentrate on the being, but each patient has to pay a share of what it costs to maintain their Meteo and everything it does—all the gardens, and so forth. Every patient pays a bit towards the upkeep of the whole planet. It is fair, in its way,” he ended mildly.

    “Exactly,” agreed the Thwurbullerian, waggling its frontal lobes at him in quite an approving fashion.

    BrTl ignored it and tightened his grip on the Loogher. He could sense they were all fascinated by the being.

    “Yuh—but—If he’s got another five months— It won’t last!” gasped Su. “What’ll happen to him?”

    “Experimental section,” admitted BrTl sourly.

    Su looked from him to the Full Surgeons in horror. None of them spoke or emanated.

    “If—if the money’s gonna run out,” she said in a trembling voice to the Ma’manker, “my father’ll pay for the rest of the cure.”

    “No,” said BrTl definitely.

    “BrTl, of course he will! Poor Lieutenant H’msm, he did his best! And it was terrifying when we came out of collapsed space like—”

    “No. Just shut up, Su. I know your senior cognate’d be more than willing—I have known him longer than you have, and I’ve known Jhl a plasmo-blasted sight longer than you have, too!” he reminded her irritably. “Just think a bit about what Jhl put in her last text-blob.”

    “Athlor’s gonna take up Lost Cause Guiding?” she faltered.

    “No! Asteroids of Hhum! Look, the senior cognate’d be here himself if he’d got anywhere with the vacuum-frozen Fleet Lords, wouldn’t he?”

    “Y— Oh!”

    “Exactly. Fifty to one he’s gonna have to buy out the vacuum-frozen PBTT line plus and mount those Intergalactic Relay Stations out of his personal fort—”

    “In that case,” said the Azabanese, real smooth, “I’m afraid we can’t possibly accept a guarantee from Leader Vt R’aam.” No, but it was pretty clear the being’d accept a blue Loogher!

    “No. Or the Bank of Whtyll,” agreed the Thwurbullerian: it was smooth as mn-mn silk.

    “Nuh— Uh, no,” croaked BrTl. Steaming Vvlvanian magma-pits, the being was gonna break the Bank of Whtyll? And it’d be all over the two galaxies before the plasmo-blasted Loogher could lick behind her disgusting ear, all the Full Surgeons were in touch all the time.

    “You flatter us,” said the Ma’manker with a smothered Ma’manker ho-hoo. “We hardly have the capabilities of the it-being.”

    BrTl ignored it. And those continual hints about swapping the Lieutenant for the Loogher. He got out his comm-blob. “Stop panicking,” he said to Su. “Dare say he won’t go broke, but the Full Surgeons have never been known to accept anything less than a dendrion-rock-solid guarantee. –Hullo, it’s me,” he said into the blob. “Yeah, ’course you did. Are they? Thought so. The Gr-cognates? Oh! Yeah, Admiral GrRv was pretty good when I left. Well, touch of hay fever. No, it’s dooler-grass over there, but same diff’. Listen, I’m on flaming Vvlvanian-cursed Mullgon— Yeah, ’course ya do. Will they? Thanks awfully, BrDv. ’Tis only a small mammalian humanoid, not to be anything-ist: yeah. No, joogher stew’s real good, you’d like it! See ya! BrTl out.” He blobbed off. “New Qrbgg’s guaranteeing Lieutenant H’msm’s costs, thanks, Full Surgeon,” he said mildly.

    “Eh?” gasped Su.

    “Well, I am a senior cognate, these days,” he said mildly. “And they don't eat much. He was a ship-companion of a Br-cognate, after all. And listen, no need to mention any of this to the being’s cognates, uh, yoggr—okay?”

    “Nuh, um, his family. Not if you don’t want me to, BrTl,” she said dazedly. “Are you sure?”

    “Well, yes; it’s gone through,” he admitted.

    “Yes,” confirmed Full Surgeon Neffu Relli boShenniffann, consulting a small blob. “The igs have transferred. Many thanks, Commander BrTl. You may collect the being in five IG months from today.” Otherwise, the price of his ticket home will be approximately that of a small Third Galaxy semi-sentient being, he added in a dreamy, carefully undirected manner.

    Completely ignoring this last, BrTl replied: “Right. –Hullo, it’s me again,” he said into the blob. “No, that’s fine. I’ll have to collect the being, though. In five IG months from today. No, you’ve got the wrong end of the ban-ban-ban, BrDv: Trff wouldn't forget, but it might forget to look. Right! –Yes, thanks. BrTl out. –They’ll remind me,” he said to Su.

    She stared at him in dismay.

    “Don’t look at me as if I’m due for—hah, hah—this dump. The whole of the Br-cognates aren’t gonna be grazing out beyond the last black hole!”

    “I’ll remind you,” said Su grimly. “What day is that gonna be?”

    Rolling his eyes only slightly, BrTl told her. “IG day,” he added laconically.

    “Y— What sort of days are they on here, then?”

    “IG, but that isn't the point, Su. Where are you gonna be? And given you can't even work out how old you are in IG years—”

    “Oh,” said Su, very crestfallen.

    “Well, what about one of your cognates? Not him,” he said as he got a sudden vivid picture of the Raj being smiling vaguely while he stuffed igs into her purse. “Goddit! S’zaan!” He outed with the comm-blob.

    “Hullo, S’zaan, it’s BrTl. Oh, were you? Sorry, it’s about lunchtime here. No, Su’s okay—we all are. It isn’t bad news at all. No, wouldn’t say it was good. I just need a responsible being to remember something for me. You’re right, there! That Raj being is almost completely out of it! No, see, it’s like this, I have to pick up a being from Mullgon’ya on a specified day. Right, you goddit! No, that’s okay, S’zaan, I’ll work that out for you: you just fetch your calendar-blob. –See, she’s got a blob she uses as a calendar—remember how she had that social in it?” he said happily to Su. “Okay, S’zaan, now by my calculations it’s—”

    Su watched numbly as he worked out exactly what day it was on Bluellia—even though he’d apparently woken Aunty S’zaan up in the middle of the night he seemed to have got it right—and exactly what day it would be when he’d need to collect Lieutenant H’msm, and into the bargain agreed with S’zaan exactly how many days’ warning that that day was coming up she’d better give herself. Though there was very little need to do that: she always checked a local week ahead anyway.

    “Now tell me she’s not reliable!” he concluded happily.

    “No, I won’t tell ya that,” she croaked.

    “Good, that’s settled.” He went over to the door of the Full Surgeon’s office. “I can see there’s a blob-lock on this door,” he said genially, “and in case any being was meditating ways and means of getting this here Loogher off us before they let us go”—he felt Su’s start of horror but ignored it—“let me say right now that I might not be capable of overriding a blob-lock being maintained by the Full College, but I am capable—physically capable,” he noted, baring the crunchers and ignoring the Loogher’s wail of terror, “of biting through the lock and the door—and any other part of this lamentable apology for a Meteo-ed o-breather building complex!”

    Gee, suddenly the door opened.

    “Actually,” said BrTl airily, stepping out while maintaining his very tight grip on Su and Phyoowella, “I quite miss that Friyrian Full Surgeon, at least s/he had a sense of humour! Come on, we’re going.”

    And they went. The gate let them straight into the vehicle park without a murmur and Straps ON! WHOOSH!

    … “Dunno about you,” he concluded as they flew silently over the unMeteo-ed stretches of the arid Mullgon’yan plain, “but I’m for a very, very large shot of qwlot!”

    “Yes,” said Su in a tiny voice. “They did want Phyoowella, didn’t they?”

    “In quintupled 5-D triangles! That plasmo-blasted Azabanese was trying to figure out exactly how to trade her off against an out-ticket for the Lieutenant!”

    “Mm. I thought I felt that, and then I thought I was only imagining…”

    “Now don't start that water-from-the-eyes, Su! Tell you what, we won’t bring her back here, we’ll zip over to— No, go the whole way down the moogletube, eh? Zip over to New Qrbgg, get the cognates to keep an eye on her while we zip on over to C’T’rea and collect the Lieutenant’s little sisters, whaddaya think?”

    “Yes, um, you’re mixing him up with that Meanker that’s got the room across from Vt R’aam Thirty-Two. His family, BrTl, not specifically little sisters.”

    “Right, of course! –That sound good?”

    Shakily Su allowed: “It sounds real good, and—and do you think maybe I could stay on New Qrbgg, too?”

    Firmly not allowing his mind to dwell for an instant on the picture of your average humanoid cognate when confronted with a sudden xathpyroid telling it it hadda come on over to another planet entirely to visit a sick cognate that was under the care of the Full College of Full Surgeons, BrTl replied happily: “’Course you could! The more the merrier!”

    “Thanks,” she said, sniffing but smiling bravely. “I’d love that. I never want to spend another IG microsecond in this awful place again!”

    That put it real well. Real well.

Next chapter:

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