Uncloned

9

Uncloned

    The Admiral—he was very much the Admiral, given he was on Booj’lly—had directed a very nasty mind-message BrTl’s way, so BrTl was in plasmo-blasted Number Ones. So, of course, was the Admiral—hardly able to walk for the IG megatons of sparf, right. Trff’s physique wasn’t suited to uniform but its FW pack had Chief Engineer’s insignia on it, too plasmo-blasted right. And the Admiral was making it wear it-being Number Ones: more of the said insignia on appendage-bands in dark navy round a couple of tentacles—well, really!

    No, it’s good, BrTl: see, it means it’s got somewhere to wear its medal!

    Gulp. Sure enough, the medal was pinned to one of the appendage-bands. Uh—thought you-it weren’t gonna get that until we were back home and Jhl could watch the ceremony? he ventured cautiously.

    That’ll be the official presentation. The Admiral said it could wear it right away.

    Yeah, goddit, he agreed, not asking whether it was Regulation to wear a Third Galaxy Extraordinary Heroism Medal with it-being Space Fleet Number Ones.

    Yes, the Regs make exceptions for all insignia above planetary level. Of course, when the Regs were drawn up no Space Service being actually expected there to be any medal at that level except in the two galaxies. Hah, hah, hah!

    BrTl had to swallow. Yeah, hah, hah, hah. Good old Trff, he replied weakly. Uh—did Y-K-W let on to you-it why he wants us to come to the clone’s uncloning hearing?

    No, but it’s because he-it wants to come the Admiral and impress the beings at the hearing.

    On second thoughts BrTl didn’t ask it what being it had got that “come the Admiral” off. “Goddit,” he said glumly. “Is Su gonna come with us?”

    “Yes. But she-it has to behave her-itself and wear what the Admiral tells her-it to wear.”

    That went without saying, didn’t it? BrTl goggled at it.

    “She-it’s very fed-up with Whtyllian-type lady-being garments, BrTl.”

    “Oh! Goddit! Did the Admiral let on where this hearing’s gonna be?”

    “Back on Intergalactica,” it said glumly.

    “Oh, mok shit. Poor old Trff. Has it been really awful?” he asked kindly.

    Trff waved an antenna vaguely. Then it said: “It gets it. Pretty much, in your-its terms, yes, BrTl. The being—it doesn’t mean can’t, because he-it can—the being is refusing to recognise the point that although the we-it could alter the perceptions of the entire Space Fleet Command,”—BrTl wasn't entirely surprised, nevertheless he gulped—“that wouldn’t be enough, because all of the senior officers know the Fleet Lords don’t want to pay megabucks for a chain of Intergalactic Relay Stations all the way to the Third Galaxy. Not just the Space Fleet senior officers, but almost all of the senior officers of the Service. And of course what they know, many of the junior officers and all of the NCOs know. And of course what the NCOs know, many of the Ordinary Spacers know. And militia-beings, in the case of the IG Militia Corps.”

    “Yuh—uh, yeah. Oh, great steaming piles of mok droppings! You mean the we-it’d virtually have to alter the perceptions of every being in Space Service, including the Corps?” he croaked.

    “Yes. Also those of many of their bond-partners, in the case of the beings who have—”

    “Yeah,” said BrTl numbly. “I geddit. It’d be plasmo-blasted silly even to try.”

    “Yes,” it said gratefully. “It would.”

    “Uh—and he’s refusing to recog— Oh, Federation! Poor old Trff!”

    “Yes. It’s not saying,” it whistled mournfully, “that it’d rather be suspended by its tail, figuratively speaking, over a Vvlvanian magma pit, but it’s getting on that way.”

    “I should think so!” he agreed feelingly. “Maybe Su can talk some sense into him?”

    “No,” said Trff definitely. “She-it’ll grasp how silly it is, no problem, but that doesn't mean he-it’ll take her opinion on board. He-it might listen to Jhl,” it added dubiously. “But the we-it doesn’t think he-it’s got to that stage, yet.”

    “Uh—no. Stage?” he ventured cautiously.

    “Yes. This won’t seem logical to a xathpyroid, BrTl,” it warned, “but when a humanoid refuses to recognise something that it knows is true, it can reach the stage of admitting it, but only after a—a certain period. A period that varies,” it offered without hope.

    “You’re right, it doesn’t seem logical!” he said with feeling.

    “No,” it agreed glumly.

    BrTl eyed it cautiously. “Any indications of how long this variable period might be in this specific instance?”

    “No,” it said glumly.

    Ouch. “Poor old Trff,” he said, sending emanations of a kindly pat.

    Thanks. It’d like to hold your-its pseudopod with its tentacle; it sent sadly.

    Triple ouch! In fact, ouch in quintupled 5-D triangles! Quickly BrTl shot out a pseudopod and let it hold it. Too flaming-Vvlvanian-cursed bad if tentacle-and-pseudopod-holding while in Number Ones wasn’t Regulation!

    “Come here,” said the Admiral, frowning.

    Meekly Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two fronted up to him.

    Frowning, the Admiral tugged at the collar of his cadet’s uniform. “These uniforms are a plasmo-blasted bad fit,” he muttered. “It wasn’t like this in my day!” He stepped back, scowling. “Take the Vvlvanian-cursed jacket off and give it to the hotel’s recycler,” he ordered. “It can hardly make it worse!”

    Meekly Vt R’aam Thirty-Two fed his jacket to the Intergalactica Astoria’s recycler.

    Even BrTl could see that the result was a much better fit. Though hopefully that wouldn’t mean the Admiral’d decide— It did. Glumly he chucked the jacket of his Number Ones into the thing. Gee, Trff’s appendage-bands were spared the treatment.

    Then Su had to be inspected.

    “What is that?” he said acidly.

    Even BrTl knew that one. “It’s a hat, sir, many beings wear—” He stopped.

    “Aunty M’mri’in bought it for me,” said Su, sticking out her rounded chin.

    Even BrTl knew that was the wrong thing to say.

    “WHAT?” he shouted. “The woman has the taste of a used Service Issue boot! Take it off this instant!”

    Scowling, Su removed the offending hat. “The one R’shn bought me to go with this coat was even worse,” she said defiantly.

    “What other hats have you brought with you?” her father demanded grimly.

    Su had brought a blue one and a pink one. Even BrTl was pretty sure that was wrong.

    Yep: the Admiral in person was stuffing the offending purple hat—it was pretty silly, yes, but few hats in the Known Universe weren’t—down the recycler. After some heavy breathing and some loud shouting of “NO! What is WRONG with this so-called hotel?” and that sort of thing, and several re-stuffings down the recycler, it managed to produce something that got the nod.

    Su put it on with a resigned shrug.

    “NOT LIKE THAT!” he shouted. “Come here!” Crossly he rearranged it on her curls. Right: looked no better and no worse than it had before. Just a purple hat sitting on Su’s black curls.

    “There. And don’t dare to readjust it,” warned the Admiral. “Why didn't you bring the hat R’shn chose for you?”

    “Dad,” said Su with heavy patience, “she’s got one just like that thing, in fact she's got a cupboardful of them. Can we go? Or do ya wanna inspect our Service Issue boots?”

    That was the wrong thing to say, because he immediately inspected them all. Not Trff, obviously: boots weren’t suited to the physique. But every other being. Not just BrTl’s humble self, Su and the clone, by no means. The Admiral had now acquired two, count ’em, two sparf-covered Space Fleet first lieutenants as aides (exactly how he’d wangled that BrTl didn't know but his guess would’ve been he’d just walked into the Starburst Building—Space Fleet Command Headquarters, and Block 5—and demanded them), a civilian private secretary being who was an actual Friyrian, BrTl had had no idea that Friyrians lowered themselves to carry out such menial tasks as Private Secretary to Full Admiral, a stout male lorpoid whose function was apparently secretary to the private secretary (carried a lot of text-blobs—right), a youngish Ma’manker who seemed to be the lorpoid’s aide (carried piles more text-blobs, recorder-blobs, any garment any being of higher rank felt like discarding—that sort of thing), and four—did any being besides him, BrTl, feel this was over the top?—four large IG Militia beings with the obligatory probes on their hips and the legend “SP” prominently displayed on their appendage-bands. “Service Police,” if any being needed to ask. Personal bodyguards—right. And how had the Admiral got them? Gee, BrTl’s guess woulda been he’d just walked into the IG Militia Corps Headquarters Building and demanded them. Block 13, but any being that thought that might be a relatively lowly address could think again; the block numbers in Intergalactica Central were concentric, see, and Block 13 was right next to Block 2. Which was entirely occupied by the first of the Space Service Towers, gee, fancy that.

    They seemed to be ready at last, so they all got into a giant luxurious lifter that was hovering less than a BrTllian finger-width above the roof of the Astoria, what a waste of blob-power, you-it said it, Trff, and went.

    All the way to Block 90, which formed the south-eastern corner of Boulevard Five, which was the next boulevard out from Federation Circle!

    “We could of walked!” gasped Su. Well, quite. In ten IG minutes or less, even at her pace.

    “Rubbish,” said her father coldly. “Get out, please.”

    Everyone got out and Su assured Vt R’aam Thirty-Two for about the megazillionth time that he didn’t need to be nervous.

    “No, of course not, Young Mistress,” said the clone wanly, trying to smile.

    “You won’t feel a thing,” said Shank’yar Vt R’aam on a grim note. “Moshawyzzllia!”

    The Friyrian private secretary came smartly to attention. “Yes, sir?”

    “You’ve got our IG-certified copy of that Nblyterian engineer’s recorder-blob, I trust?”

    “Yes, indeed, Admiral.”

    “Good. Well, don't let it out of your possession for anything, and I do mean any reason whatsoever,” he said tightly.

    “What if it’s an Interplanetary Emergency?” asked Su with interest.

    “Don’t be frivolous, please,” replied her father coldly. “And remember: no emanations. Of anything!” he snapped.

    “No,” agreed Su humbly. “I’ll do my best, Dad.”

    It was only at this point that it belatedly dawned on BrTl that the Admiral was actually nervous! Great splintered shards of quog! Maybe there was some good in the being after all!

    As they went into the building, with due regard for precedence, BrTl hung back a bit and got rather near to the clone—given the width of the corridors in the office building on Block 90 it was relatively easy to exclude other beings from their immediate vicinity—and sent: It won’t be anything like as bad as the Academy Entrance Board, don’t worry!

    Thank you, Commander, replied the poor being wanly. But I don’t think you’ve ever been uncloned, have you?

    BrTl might have pretended to be amused—well, cheer the poor being up a bit—but at this moment he received a mind-blast from the Admiral, so, pushing past a secretary or five thousand, not to mention those Vvlvanian-cursed SPs, he came up to Trff’s side, just behind the Admiral and Su. Huh? What was Su doing up here with the top sparf?

    Younger cognates count? it sent in a puzzled way.

    Right, that made two of them that were totally baffled by the whole do.

    Galloping grqwary gizzards, the room was full of vacuum-frozen Full Surgeons!

    Commander BrTl! Stop panicking! That’s an ORDER!

    Ulp. BrTl did his best to stop panicking.

    There was some sort of, um, if it had been IG Militia BrTl would have said it was a Regimental Sar’t-Major—he could feel the SPs thinking it was just like one. It got them all lined up in the right places. Ugh, the clone had to go into a… Cage? No-o…

    Penalty box? suggested Trff, emanating bewilderment.

    Eh? Oh! Talking of clones. Is you-it thinking of that time on the third moon of Pkqwrd when those sports-clones told their plasmo-blasted sports story?

    Yes.

    Right. Um, well, I think penalty boxes are confined to goperball and, uh, maybe some other sports. Though it does look a bit like one, yeah.

    Commander! NO mind-messages, thank you!

    Glumly BrTl stopped exchanging mind-messages with Trff.

    Jhl and Athlor were reading the latest delivery of pwlded mail after dinner. Jhl blobbed off from the text-blob from BrTl. “Is that Su’s text-blob you’ve got there?”

    “Mm.”

    “What does she say?”

    “Very little. What does BrTl say?”

    “Not much. Well, he seems to have realised that Shank’yar may be a sentient being after all, I suppose that’s a plus. Um, well, all he says about the actual uncloning hearing, really, is that there wasn’t much to see. There was a board of three beings.”

    “Mm. Su didn’t manage to identify one of them. She says the others were a Ma’manker Full Surgeon—thought you claimed Ma’mankers on the whole had too much common sense to go into that profession?—and a lorpoid civil servant.”

    “That’d be right, there’s megazillions of lorpoids in the IG CivS. BrTl says the third one was a Norton. They're a bit like humanoids—come from Urrgaynia II.” Jhl scratched her head. “Maybe that was the closest they could manage to a humanoid, for the hearing. It was a Federal judge, Athlor, didn’t Su reali— Mok shit. She’s worse than I thought.”

    “No, Dad seems to have ordered them all not to read, send, emanate, or, as far as I can make out, breathe,” he said drily.

    “Typical. Well, that’s what it was. Uh—far’s I recall, they do have sexual reproduction, but they have three genders: M, F and N.” She shrugged. “Seems to have been an N. Dare say it got the picture, nevertheless. According to BrTl the board viewed the declaration from the Nblyterian engineer—he calls it a declaration but I think it was technically an application to unclone—and then grilled poor old Vt R’aam Thirty-Two to make sure it was what he really wanted. Su got that?”

    “Ye-es… She doesn’t call it grilling. All she says is—hang on, here it is.”

    The funny-looking one said was he sure he wanted to be uncloned, and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two said: “Yes, please, respected Judge,”—dunno why he was calling it a judge, he hadn’t done anything wrong—and then it sort of asked him again in different words only he kept on saying he did want to be, and then it said: “Now, about having your reproductive urge revived. Are you sure that’s what you want?” So he said he was, he went very red, personally I can’t see why, given it was what he wanted, and then the Ma’manker said: “Why do you want that, clone?”

    And he said: “I’d like to be humanoid-normal, respected Full Surgeon.” Yeah, well, if that's what he calls it!

    So then the three of them kind of muttered together and then the funny-looking one said: “Congratulations, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, your clone status is hereby rescinded. The Hearing Clerk will accept the usual megarafts of super-igs.” Or words to that effect. And it and the lorpoid went out, we all had to stand up, you can tell Dad from me that that mind-prod stuff of his is VERY ANNOYING. Only the Full Surgeon stayed, it was gonna oversee the bizzo. Only there wasn’t nothing to see, they made Vt R’aam Thirty-Two sit on a chair and them other Full Surgeons came and stood round. Me and BrTl stood up to get a good look, to Blerrinbrig’s with Regs, but there was nothing to see, not even no blobs nor nothing, they just all stood round him for a bit and then the Ma’manker one said: “That’s it. Your sub-group had better take you home and put you to bed. You’ll have fits of extreme fatigue over the next IG week or so, but that’s to be expected. Any Full Surgeon will be able to help you.” And they all went out.

    “That’s pretty much what BrTl says,” agreed Jhl. “Gimme that, would you?” She frowned over it.

    “What?” said Athlor.

    “Blob onto this: ‘he said: “I’d like to be humanoid-normal, respected Full Surgeon.” Yeah, well, if that's what he calls it!’ Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

    “Su is odd,” said her brother with a grin. ”Uh—well, I dunno, Mum. Um… well, yes; I mean, the poor being’s saying he wants to be normal, what else would you call it?”

    “Exactly.” Jhl looked at the recorder-blob His Gracious Admiral-ness had sent. “I’m gonna have to break down and watch that thing,” she groaned.

    “If you want any more intel, I’d say so,” agreed Athlor, skimming BrTl’s text-blob. “BrTl seems to have taken Vt R’aam Thirty-Two out for a drink that evening, was that wise?”

    “No, but when was he ever that?”

    “No, but it’s a bit odd, Mum: Dad seems to have told him to!”

    “Give me that!” Jhl read that bit over to herself. “Up to something,” she decided grimly.

    “Yeah. Well, ya wanna blob onto that thing?”

    “No, but I'll do it.”

    Shank’yar’s recorder-blob flashed up. His Gracious Admiral-ness was leaning back at his ease on a flop couch, very much not in uniform. Zpandria-cloth, at a guess, but Jhl personally didn't give a cptt-rvvr’s fart. Though she did recognise that while some beings in the Known Universe probably wouldn't want their offspring to see them in nothing but a transparent robe, he wasn’t one of them.

    “What’s he got in his mouth?” croaked Athlor, ignoring the golden expanses of Leader Lord Vt R’aam.

    “Uh—forget. Well, I have seen them before. It’s a way of smoking unpleasant chemical substances, Athlor.”

    “No, it isn’t, Mum, he’s blowing bubbles down that tube!”

    “No, smoking. They call them water-pipes. Don’t ask me, they’re Whtyllian, and no being was allowed to bring one on the Expedition.”

    Athlor looked fearfully at his father and said: “It’s not klupf, is it?”

    “Nope, can’t be smoked. And although snuhl can be smoked, I personally happen to know that it makes him up-chuck. Zuff weed’d be my guess. Some plant-based thing, comes from, uh, DorAven, think it is. Some worlds have zuff weed smoking parlours, that’s right! Not DorAven, however,” she ended drily.

    “Mm. Um, is that a humanoid world?” he croaked.

    “Yeah, sure. Well, var. Fanged. —Didn’t you get up a fanged one?”

    “Yes, but I didn't interrogate her about where her ancestors came from, Mum. Well, if it's a humanoid world presumably it won’t kill him.”

    Jhl muttered something under her breath but Athlor, looking at his father lying back at his ease on a pale mauve flop couch under gauzy mauve and gold zpandria-cloth—By the Federation, had he chosen the thing on purpose to tone with the room’s décor? He wouldn’t have thought even Dad could go that far!—couldn’t find it in his heart to condemn her for it.

    Shank’yar was observed to remove the mouthpiece of the long pipe from his mouth. He was observed to blow a perfect blue smoke-ring. He smiled right into their eyes—or it certainly felt like it. “Zuff weed,” he murmured. “I learned to smoke it on Arcunia—well, very little else to do there, it was a frightful posting, but fortunately Mother was able to get me out of it pretty soon.”

    “See?” said Jhl sourly.

    “Yeah,” agreed Athlor sourly.

    “Darling,” said his father, smiling right into their eyes, “you’re going to disapprove dreadfully, but I couldn’t let the poor fellow go through it alone.”

    Athlor didn't dare to look at poor Mum.

    “I've sent him out with BrTl to get some hard liquor down him—I’m quite sure BrTl will be able to manage that all right,” he murmured, with a mocking look, “and when he brings him back we’ll have a little humanoid-normal fun.” He waved a hand. “One needs a first-class Pleasure Girl the first few times—no use expecting a fellow to run before he can crawl, mm?”

    Athlor winced, and closed his eyes.

    “Off!” said Jhl briskly. “He seems to have sent Su and the secretaries and assorted hangers-on to bed. You can go, too, if you can’t take it,” she said kindly.

    Athlor’s jaw sagged. “Mum,” he croaked, “I think the rest of this blob’s gonna be about Vt R’aam Thirty-Two having his first Pleasure Girl.”

    “Sure. What else?” said Jhl mildly.

    “I don’t think you understand, Mum! I think Dad’s intending to join in!”

    “Yeah,” agreed Jhl. His face of horror registered. “We’ve been bond-partnered since the day he declared the Fleet under Expedition Regs, asteroid-brain,” she said kindly. “He got Ship 1’s Thwurbullerian captain to do the ceremony, I’m not sure to this day it knew what it was all about. Back on Whtyll he used to have a hareem, you know. Uh—did that come over? A collection of Pleasure Girls and assorted beings below the rank of bond-partner, the technical word is concubines, just for him. To say nothing of what he used to have in the nirvana garden on Playfair Two. That was the first half of his adult life,” she said with a little smile. “The second half of it he’s only had me; I think I can contemplate the prospect of the odd Pleasure Girl or fifteen when he’s on the other side of the Known Universe from me.”

    “Yuh—uh—but do you wanna watch it?” he gulped.

    “Dunno. Might learn something. But like I say, there’s no need for you to stay.”

    Athlor had an uneasy feeling there’d better be some being around to pick up the pieces, just in case she wasn’t as cool about this as she seemed to be. “No, uh—I'll stay,” he croaked.

    Jhl shrugged. On!

    Shank’yar puffed smoke—after a while Athlor was sure he could smell it, it was revolting—and some s-beings came in with trays of drinks and nibbles. The trays were all mauve, purple, silver and gold to tone with the room’s décor, and the long-stemmed glasses were made of some very pale mauve substance that Athlor had never seen.

    “I have seen it,” said his mother idly, “but I’m not sure what it’s called. Amethyst? Some sort of semi-precious stone—not rare, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

    Worried about? He’d never heard of it! He stared at the sim-image, frowning.

    Soon the room was filled with unpleasant tinkly music with a backing of that grating throb that only a Whtyllian mobboo could produce. Athlor winced.

    Music down, ordered Jhl.

    He sighed. “Thanks, Mum.”

    Shank’yar continued to smoke. Occasionally he sipped from one of the pale mauve glasses. Occasionally he waved a hand in time with the horrible music, and smiled. Once he ate a very small thing off one of the laden platters but otherwise he ignored them.

    “He doesn’t seem to be eating,” noted Athlor.

    “No, he’s always been quite an abstemious being,” she murmured. “Ah! Here we go!”

    The door had opened and an s-being in Whtyllian clothing, maroon trimmed with gold, was bowing two very pretty girls in. Of course the Third Galaxy didn’t have Pleasure Girls, there was no need to, but Athlor didn't need any prompting to realise that was what they were. His eyes bulged.

    “So that’s what Pleasure Girls are wearing this IG year!” said his mother with a pleased laugh.

    “Yuh—uh, yeah,” he croaked. They were both tall, very curvaceous and very obviously mammalian humanoid. One was dark brown-skinned with scarlet-tinted fingernails and toenails that matched her short, brushed up scarlet hair. Her lips weren’t painted scarlet to match, but a dark maroon. Her eyebrows and lashes were black, and the eyes themselves were very dark, but the brows were delicately outlined with some tiny, twinkling stones.

    “Tasteful,” approved Jhl.

    “Mum! Honestly!” The scarlet-headed girl was wearing what the experts would probably class as clingo-tights—a fine gold mesh, scarcely veiling the skin—and, round the area of the pubic hair, which was very evidently scarlet to match her head, a whirling ring of small coloured blobs. Gold, black, and white streaked with scarlet.

    “Look, just like the rings of Wm’s Planet!” said Athlor’s terrible mother pleasedly. “Like the Whtyllian fashions Su saw!”

    “I doubt it,” he said coldly.

    “What? No, well, same effect. I do like those gold nipples, wonder how it’s done?”

    “Mum!”

    “She’s very like your dark-skinned one—Gl’nndy’s mum—isn’t she? The pink one’s pretty, too.”

    Athlor swallowed. “She is not pink.”

    “The salient points  are!” said Jhl with a cheerful laugh. “You can have that done at Sh-Rn’s Quog cave, I know that for a fact, even if it is forty-odd IG years since I was in the two galaxies. On the shlaa-ish side of pink, see? Her skin’s got more of a pink tint to it than mine ever had. The pale blue clingo-tights suit her, don’t you think?”

    And the very pale blue stones twinkling from over the eyebrows, presumably? The girls had a mass of seemingly unruly pale gold curls and wide blue eyes—the same shade as the blue mesh clingo-tights, yes—and she was one of the prettiest things he’d ever seen. It was pretty plasmo-blasted evident his father thought so, too.

    Athlor got up abruptly. “I’m sorry, Mum: I really can’t take this.”

    “Mm? But don’t you want to see how Vt R’aam Thirty-Two gets on?”

    “NO!” he shouted.

    The sitting-room rang with silence.

    “Okay, then, dear,” said his mother mildly. “Think I’ll watch it, I’d like to see how it turns out.”

    “Mum, this is not a sim-show!” he shouted.

    Off! “Never thought it was. Just pour me a drink before you go up, dear, would you?”

    Resignedly Athlor poured his impossible mother a shot of neat qwlot and staggered upstairs to bed. Trying unsuccessfully to banish entirely from his mind the picture of Father tweaking one of that blonde girl’s pink nipples.

    On! sent Jhl happily. She watched with interest. Gee, neither of the girls was much of a dancer, but Shank’yar didn’t seem to mind. In fact he seemed to find the dark one’s efforts to dance a Whtyllian something-or-other amusing. The blonde one with the slightly larger boobs, though all were large, knew a sort of version of the pr’ll—so Pleasure Girls still learned that as part of their training? She wasn’t very good at it, in fact Shank’yar burst out laughing, but this didn’t stop him getting a monster hard-on. Jhl looked at it wistfully, she could’ve done something about that.

    The two girls were eager but weren’t permitted to do anything, much, he must be saving it up. After a bit he looked at his chrono-blob and gave his lordly permission for the girls to join him in smoking the zuff weed. They got very, very giggly on it—all three of them. After a bit Shank’yar had the dark one come and kneel on his flop couch with her back turned. Jhl knew that manoeuvre of his. She bit her lip. The dark girl was at the moving-back-and-forward and moaning stage and the blonde one was round the back of the couch with His Admiral-ness’s head cradled between those round tits—the Pleasure Girl Course did teach you how to make the nipples stand out like a Seeker about to take off, it was said to flatter the customers, but Jhl didn’t think this girl was having to practise what she’d learned—when the door opened and BrTl lurched in with Vt R’aam Thirty-Two on his back, giggling.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two giggling? The uncloning had worked, all right!

    “I’ve brought him back, sir,” said BrTl in self-congratulatory tones.

    “Well done, Commander. At ease,” said Shank’yar, throwing a casual salute.

    Overlooking the fact that the Admiral was very much out of uniform, BrTl saluted back. Sort of. With two pseudopods at once. Vt R’aam Thirty-Two went into a terrific fit of the giggles.

    “How much did you let him drink?” asked Shank’yar in a friendly way.

    “Exack’ what’ you ord’, shir,” replied BrTl.

    “Good. And how much did you let yourself drink, Commander?”

    “Sev’—parm me. Sev’ral basins nnru juice. Sir!” This time three pseudopods saluted, help.

    “Jolly good,” murmured the Admiral. “Just put Vt R’aam Thirty-Two down and pop off to your stall, there’s a good fellow.”

    “Thought we were gonna have a drinking par’y?” replied BrTl, lifting him down.

    “Not tonight. Another sort of party. Mammalian repro stuff,” said the Admiral kindly.

    “Ugh. In that cashe, shir, why don't I get off to my stall?”

    “Good idea. Goodnight.”

    “Goo’ni’, shir,” said BrTl, swaying out.

    “All present and correct, I trust, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two?” said the Admiral kindly, not remarking on the fact that the ex-clone seemed to have lost his uniform jacket.

    “All present and correct, sir!” replied Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, coming to attention—very much to attention, he'd now registered the Pleasure Girls—and saluting.

    “Don’t salute, we’re not in uniform.”

    “Oh. No,” he agreed, looking down at himself. He gave a loud snigger.

    “They do that,” agreed the Admiral mildly.

    “Yes, sir!”

    Shank’yar looked straight in front of him rather than at the ex-clone and said genially: “At this point, those of you who are still watching will have perceived that the being has absorbed just the right amount of qwlot.”

    “We hope,” noted Jhl.

    “Now, come along, old fellow, wee drop of spring water and some little nibbles, eh? Oh—ah—these are Pleasure Girl Mezzat”—the dark girl giggled and simpered—“and Pleasure Girl Kittle.”—The blonde girl giggled and simpered, shaking the tits a bit.

    Jhl had to swallow. Kittle was a Panpacifican name, and Panpacifica was a closed world! Well, if any being in the Federation could get hold of a Panpacifican Pleasure Girl outside Panpacifica, Shank’yar Vt R’aam would be that being, that was true. Though it was also possible that it wasn’t her real na—

    “She is from Panpacifica, yes,” he said to his audience.

    Right.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had accepted a glass of—There was only spring water in those mauve things? For Federation’s sake!—and was hungrily eating nibbles, looking hungrily as he did so at the two girls. He watched with interest as the Admiral set the example by taking a puff of the water-pipe, giving one of the girls a puff, and then feeding her some little nibbles.

    “Come along, dear boy!” he said robustly.

    Licking his lips nervously, the ex-clone came to sit on an adjacent flop couch, and fed the dark girl some nibbles. The water thing had several pipes attached to it; after a while she took a few puffs off her own bat. Initiative? They’d definitely be Playfair Two Pleasure Girls, then. Encouraged by Shank’yar, she gave the ex-clone a puff or two. He giggled like anything. Then she put his hand on one of the gold-tipped tits.

    “Ooh!” he gasped.

    “Yes,” agreed Shank’yar, grinning and placing one of the blonde girl’s hands on his own extremely interested member. “Good, huh? Why don't you let Pleasure Girl Mezzat take those silly uniform pants off you, dear boy? She’s quite nicely warmed up, by the way.”

    Jhl just betted she was, that finger of his knew more than a thing or two, specially when he used the thumb as well, which judging by the squeaking noises that had been preceding from Pleasure Girl Mezzat as BrTl and the ex-clone had come in, he certainly had been.

    Obligingly Pleasure Girl Mezzat helped Vt R’aam Thirty-Two off with his uniform pants.

    Jhl had of course known him since he was a baby: nevertheless she had to admit that was quite impressive.

    “Very Whtyllian,” said her bond-partner on a complacent note. Honestly! Typical male remark, you’d think they’d invented the things!

    “Um, yes!” gasped the ex-clone as Pleasure Girl Mezzat rubbed it a bit.

    “Slow down, dear, we don’t want him taking off like a Seeker before he’s had some fun,” ordered the Admiral.

    “Beg to report!” gasped the ex-clone. “This is fun!—Ooh!—Sir.”

    “Yes, ’tis, eh?" he murmured, putting his hand on top of Pleasure Girl Kittle’s and moving it slowly up and down… Jhl had to swallow. “No, but before we get down to serious business—music!—Pleasure Girl Mezzat’s going to dance for us. Come along, dear, show us the pr’ll!”

    Jhl didn't know about showing them the pr’ll, but the girl certainly showed them everything else. Never mind those gold mesh clingo-tights. Whew! Athletic, she was. The two men seemed to appreciate it. Specially the standing over them bits, in fact at one point Vt R’aam Thirty-Two actually lay on the floor in order to get—possibly not a better view, no. A different view? Uh—no, that girl was really athletic. A view from a slightly different angle? Something like that. Jhl’s bond-partner didn’t go that far but he certainly encouraged Pleasure Girl Mezzat to stand over him shaking it, make that shaking them—no, make that shaking the lot—while he lay back on the flop couch.

    After some time the blonde Pleasure Girl Kittle, who had been giggling a lot and wriggling a bit, wiggled out from behind the flop couch and joined in. It certainly wasn’t the pr’ll, but what that girl could do with her stomach muscles—well, stomach muscles covered by a certain layer of subcutaneous fat, Jhl didn't kid herself that either of the two men was thinking the girl ought to lose some weight—was unbelievable. Unbelievable. Really, if you considered the thing objectively, it was almost worth the trip to the two galaxies to see that alone. Almost.

    Eventually Shank’yar got up and went down on one knee in front of her—he’d have killed any other sort of being that suggested he bend the knee to it, of course—and buried his face in the interesting belly.

    That left Pleasure Girl Mezzat for Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, didn’t it? He was highly interested, well, had been all along, of course, but didn’t know what to do with it—or with anything, but gee, what else were Pleasure Girls for but to show innocent young lads what it was all for? Something like that.

    By the time he was lying back limply on the Intergalactica Astoria’s mauve, purple and silver wtmyrian carpet, Jhl concluded he’d got the picture. Given just how limp he was. Jhl’s bond-partner had actually given the blonde girl a come—well, she knew he was a generous lover, but that was pretty good going, given it was the girl’s profession—and then, after quite some considerable more fooling around, had let her sit on top of him while he lay back very comfortably on the flop couch and let her give him one.

    Jhl was about to blob off at the stage when they were all groggily refreshing themselves or in Shank’yar’s case getting the water-pipe going again plus and drinking spring water and actually eating one small nibble, when suddenly he said, smiling right into her eyes: “If you’re still watching, darling, sorry. But not bad for an old one, mm? I think the boy’s got the point. I’ll leave him to it—need my beauty sleep. Oy! Vt R’aam Thirty-Two! Don’t drink too much, alcohol’s guaranteed to turn the prick to jelly.”—Jhl winced slightly, even though she knew he wasn’t into mincing words. But great galloping herds of grpplybeasts, had the poor being even heard the word before?—“Apart from that, what good advice can I give you? –It’s all right, he’s stuffed full of medi-blobs and in any case the girls are clean, had a Full Surgeon check them out,” he added to the bemused Jhl. “Ah—nothing, really. Let them show you, mm? Know every trick in the blob, not that they’ll try to teach you all those tonight. –Just remember, dears, it’s all new to him. Help yourselves to food and drink—just call an s-being if there’s anything else you’d like.” And with an elegant wave of the hand, he was gone.

    Jhl gaped as the door closed behind him.

    Suddenly it opened again. “Forgot,” said her bond-partner cheerfully. “Leave them to it, shall we? He’s in good hands! Off!” And the thing blobbed off.

    “Yeah,” said Jhl very limply indeed. “I think he would have been in good hands even without you actually having to be there, Shan. Oh, well.” She heaved herself to her feet, yawning.

    She’d got halfway up the stairs when it dawned. Oh—mok shit! That blob was sitting on one of Shan’s plasmo-blasted low “occasional” tables—so named because you occasionally fell over the plasmo-blasted things, as far as she could see—and the entire household of course was vitally interested in news of Su and Vt R’aam Thirty-Two—

    Sighing, she dragged herself back down to the sitting-room and attempted to put a mind-lock on the blob. Huh? Oh, for Federation’s— He’d already put a lock on it, her eyes only, kind of thing. Well, not literally her eyes only, or Athlor wouldn’t have seen any images, but it wouldn’t blob on for any other being. Tact, oodles of tact.

    Yawning horribly, Jhl went off to her bond-partner-less, Pleasure Being-less bed. Somehow or other a joogher or two seemed to have installed themselves on the end of it. Oh, well, we were all sentient beings, weren’t we? Uh—semi-sentient in the case of some, but it amounted to the same thing. They could stay there.

    The ex-clone seemed pretty normal to BrTl, except that he kept falling asleep at odd times, but after all the plasmo-blasted Full Surgeon had warned them, hadn’t it? Trff maintained that he-it wasn’t normal yet but this was only to be expected. When put under interrogation by Su and BrTl, it couldn’t explain what it meant. Su’s dad was very pleased, so the uncloning must have been okay. The Admiral had several important meetings coming up but nevertheless insisted on taking Vt R’aam Thirty-Two back to Booj’lly. He had wanted to send Su straight back to Whtyll but she’d won that round.

    “I’ll give her,” he said to BrTl, pulling some strange humanoid-type garments onto his hands—not Space Issue impermi-gloves, BrTl knew those—“three local days, okay? Then it should be quite clear why I recommended not coming back here.”

    “Yes, sir,” he agreed foggily.

    “Gloves, Commander,” he said drily. “These are of fine nyr-leather. They keep the humanoid hands warm. Uh—listen, I won’t be able to come dashing back, you know. If there should be floods of tears, or even hysterics—do you know—oh, good, you do know that word—you’d better contact her cousin R’shn, or—uh—well, you’ll cope! Lots of senso-tissues and when the noise dies down, a nice warm cup of zi. Oh—they may not have that here, it’s Bluellian. Feverfew tea, something of the sort.”

    “Oh, yes, feverfew tea, those beings on the third moon of Pkqwrd were always drinking— Um, yessir!”

    The Admiral swallowed a sigh. “Thanks, Commander, you've been a tower of strength.”

    BrTl blinked. “Thank you, sir. Uh—think nothing of it. Known Su since before you and Jhl made her culture-pod. Um, so to speak.”

    “Yes!” he said with a sudden laugh. “Thanks, BrTl! She in her room?”

    “Yes, but I don’t think there are any hysterics yet,” he said cautiously.

    “No, but I’m picking up a good deal of sulking! I’ll just look in and say goodbye.” And with that he was gone.

    BrTl wasn't absolutely sure why Su was sulking, though it had something to do with the way Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had chatted to the female humanoids who’d shown them into their VIP seats on the ship that had brought them here, and served them food and drink during the flight. Personally BrTl couldn't see what had been wrong with either humanoid, they had been pleasant-mannered beings of a very low intelligence and excellent IG manners—the one that had fed them had addressed him as “Br-cognate,” and Trff as “Great It-Being”. But there must have been something wrong with them, because Su had started to emanate annoyance round about then and had progressed from that to sulking.

    Vt R’aam Thirty-Two was now safely back at the Academy and as a weekend was coming up, when traditionally friends and cognates were allowed to go up and see the cadets, BrTl and Su went.

    “Room 342’s along here,” remembered BrTl. “Sounds like someone’s having a party!” he added cheerfully.

    It was only mid-morning. “Yes,” agreed Su on a wary note.

    They set off down the hall. Then some being broadcast Wait! Su! Commander BrTl! Wait! and Cadet Ju Mullan caught up with them, panting down the meankoid tubes, the external feathery gills on top of his head waving wildly.

    “Ooo-yoo-oo!” he gasped. “Thought I’d never catch up with you!”

    “Hullo, Ju Mullan,” said BrTl mildly. “Like to join us? Thought we’d take Vt R’aam Thirty-Two out for lunch.”

    “No—I mean, yes, I’d love to—only I don’t think he’s— What I mean is, he’s, um, got guests!” the young Meanker gasped.

    “Yeah? That’s good, didn’t think he knew any beings in the two galaxies,” he said mildly. “Just come here, Cadet.” Since it was the weekend, Cadet Ju Mullan was in Service greige coveralls with the red Cadet bars on the shoulder flaps. One bar on each flap in his case, since he was a First-Year. With finicky movements of a couple of pseudopods, BrTl straightened these bars for him. “Crooked shoulder bars have been known to earn a cadet demerit points before this,” he noted mildly.

    “Yeah! Hoo-hoo! Thanks, Commander!” replied the cadet. “Hey, what was the most you ever got in a week?”

    “Um… seventy-two, was it?” he said vaguely. Cadet Ju Mullan made a gulping noise. “Oh, no, that’s right: a hundred and seventy-two,” BrTl remembered.

    Cadet Ju Mullan choked down a tube. “Help!” he gasped. “A hundred and seventy-two? What did you do?”

    “You don’t wanna know,” said Su severely.

    “Yes, I do!” he said with the Meanker grin. “Go on, Commander BrTl!”

    “Uh—well, don’t know that you’d get it, unless you’re a being that enjoys swimming in water?”

    Ju Mullan looked at him blankly. “Um, swimming in water? There is a great big water pool: I thought it was for practising crash-landings in the sea?”

    “Not only that.”

    “Lots of my family can swim,” said Su, getting interested in spite of herself. “Like, they sort of throw themselves in and, um, well, move their arms and feet, it’s kind of like running, only in the water.”

    Cadet Ju Mullan’s hand went to his feathery external gills. “Like on water-worlds? Um, don’t beings that do that have to have gills?”

    “No, you hold your breath if your nose is underwater. Um, like, you don’t breathe. Most of the time you kind of hold your face up out of the water. Um, I think some beings do it as a sport,” finished Su limply.

    “Oh! I’ve seen that on the Services! Mum sometimes watches that, it’s really pretty! I see, that’s what that big water pool is for!”

    “Yes,” agreed BrTl, “and it’s supposed to be filled with water, you see.”

    “Sure!” he agreed.

    “Water’s very… liquid,” finished BrTl weakly.

    “Um, yeah?”

    BrTl cleared his throat very cautiously: he had once blown a smaller being all the way down one of these long Academy halls: pure accident, nevertheless he’d got five demerit points for conduct unbecoming. “Whllubbly gell isn't.”

    “Yeah. Mum sometimes has a bath in that when she's staying at an expensive hotel. She reckons it’s great. Um… viscous!” produced the Meanker brilliantly. “That’s what I’d say it is!”

    “Yeah. Well, our Principal was a being that liked to rush down to the water pool first thing in the morning—well before reveille—and leap into the pool and swim up and down it madly.”

    “Madly’s a good word for it,” agreed the Meanker. “Ooh! You don’t mean—”

    “Yeah, we filled the pool with whllubbly gell,” said BrTl mournfully. “Took us all night, too.”

     The Meanker collapsed in a terrific fit of hoo-hoo-hoos.

    Su smiled weakly—the noise in the corridor had risen considerably and she was almost sure it was coming from Room 342.

    “I wish I’d seen it!” gasped Ju Mullan.

    “Yeah, that bit was good,” admitted BrTl.

    “No wonder you got a hundred and seventy-two demerit points,” he said in awe.

    “Yeah. Well, hundred and fifty each, the rest were just usual ones.”

    Ju Mullan nodded, looking up at him in awe.

    “Well, come on!” said BrTl cheerfully.

    “Uh—yeah. Hey, Commander BrTl,” he said eagerly as they set off down the hall, “did you ever get a Merit Star?”

    Su bit her lip, but BrTl just looked down his two noses at him and said severely: “Certainly.”

    “How many?” pursued Ju Mullan, uncrushed.

    “One,” admitted BrTl. “Astrophysics. It was a mistake.”

    Ju Mullan collapsed in more hoo-hoo-hoos.

    “A mistake?” cried Su crossly—the more so as it was now pretty clear that that racket was coming from Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s room.—“How could it be a mistake? You earned it!”

    “Yeah, but beings that get too many Merit Stars get appointed Wing-Cos and Group Leaders and stuff—not really, they’re just pretend commissions—and are expected to behave responsibly.”

    “Yeah!” choked the Meanker ecstatically.

    Su frowned. “So you ought,” she said crossly. “What else are you at the Academy for?”

    “A good time?” suggested BrTl mildly as they came up to the open door of Room 342.

    “Apparently,” she said grimly.

    “I wouldn’t go in!” gulped Ju Mullan.

    Su looked with distaste at the tangle of bodies occupying Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s room. Some of them were very clearly comatose, but she might have been able to overlook them. “I don’t want to go in!”

    BrTl looked in. You couldn’t see the bed, and this was because it had collapsed under the weight of a pair of passed-out Belraynian twins. There were definitely several bottles of qwlot in there—that was twenty demerits points all at one go. And that chemo-blob that that Nblyterian in her/s female stage was sniffing wasn’t a chemo-blob as such, it was… snuhl. Sixty demerit points, withdrawal of all privileges for an IG month, and two local hours square-bashing every morning for an IG month—before reveille. Well, better than klupf, true: they simply sacked you for that. The Nblyterian wasn’t in coveralls, she wasn’t in traditional Nblyterian female dress, either, she was in what at a guess BrTl would have said were non-Regulation Nblyterian underpants and she was plastered, yes, that was the only word for it, plastered, to Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s chest on a hideous pink flop couch that hadn't been in the room when they’d brought him back from his hearing. The ex-clone wore a very silly humanoid smirk on his face and a pair of, uh, well, non-Regulation short pants? BrTl had seen Su’s male cognates wearing similar ones—sometimes, now he came to think of it, when they went swimming. Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s were bright red with a pattern of Space Fleet fighters, well out of formation, on them, but that didn't mean they were Space Fleet anything.

    “Underpants,” said Su in a very sour voice. “Some that Mum sent him. She got some just like them for Athlor for his last birthday but he said he wasn’t gonna wear them unless and until Vvlvania froze over.”

    “Yes. Is that tube supposed to be sticking out of—”

    “NO!” she shouted, very red in the face. “He’s disgusting, and he’s drunk!”

    “Yes, and he hasn’t depilated his face-hair, either,” discovered BrTl. “Are those two cadets on the floor fighting?”

    “No!” she snapped.

    “Uh—oh. That’d be mammalian humanoid repro stuff, would it?”

    “Not humanoid, one of them’s a Friyrian,” said Su tightly, “and they’re disgusting!”

    “Yeah, um, what about the three crammed into that big chair?” –They were a male Meanker, a female humanoid, and a male Pizer. Wedged between his long, pointed, upstanding ears the Pizer was wearing a Fleet Lord’s ceremonial hat, but that only meant that that shop down in the village was still doing a roaring trade. The Meanker had a mess jacket on. That was about it.

    “Never MIND!” shouted Su.

    BrTl looked doubtfully at the thin being perched on top of Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s wardrobe. It was an Eeiiay, so there wasn't much fear of its falling off, it could fly down safely again—unless of course it became comatose. “I think that Eeiiay’s on fire.”

    Smoke was certainly trickling from its beak.

    “No,” said Ju Mullan, “it’s smoking something, I mean he: he’s a he. I mean, it’s some sort of, um, drug, I suppose,” he admitted glumly. “Their set does that.”

    “Set?” ventured BrTl.

    “Um, well, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two seems to have made a lot of new friends all of a sudden,” he said glumly. “Um, I mean they’ve sort of taken him up.” He gave the green-crested Nblyterian plastered against Vt R’aam Thirty-Two a sour look. “It was Cadet harderardarB uw jineL, mainly. She’s the ringleader.”

    “Mm,” he said, wincing as the music suddenly got louder. “What is that racket?’

    “Dunno,” said Ju Mullan glumly. “Nblyterian pop, or something. She likes it. They’re all Second-Years,” he added sourly.

    “Got it,” conceded BrTl.

    “YES! And can we GO?” shouted Su furiously, as Vt R’aam Thirty-Two registered their presence at last, gave an explosive giggle, waved, and then saluted them.

    “Might as well, he’s not gonna feel like lunch,” concluded BrTl, turning away.

    “Lunch? If you ask me, he’s gonna be gated until Vvlvania freezes over!” said Ju Mullan with feeling as they began to walk slowly back down the hall.

    “Yep,” agreed BrTl cheerfully. “Well, Whizzo Burgers? Uh—don’t feel like a burger?” he said as Su scowled.

    “I don’t want any lunch, thanks,” she said tightly.

    “Um, Lieutenant Dorabblkanurwyallo’ says we gotta make allowances for him. He's just been uncloned,” said Ju Mullan uneasily.

    Su snorted.

    “Yeah, sure. –A lorpoid lieutenant?” asked BrTl with interest.

    “He only teaches social science mok shit,” explained the cadet.

    “Eh? Don’t think I ever did any of that.”

    “You must of, Commander. First-Year mok shit: everyone has to take it. Um, Sentient Being Social Behaviour Patterns 101? Sentient Being Etiquette 101?” he offered. BrTl emanated blankness. “Oh. Well, it’s mok shit. He does the Service Etiquette course, too.”

    “That’s definitely mok shit,” BrTl agreed.

    They reached the lift-blobs. “Um, well, maybe I better say goodbye,” said Ju Mullan awkwardly.

    “Don’t you want a burger?” replied BrTl.

    “Um, yeah, only—” He looked at Su.

    “If she doesn’t feel like lunch, we’ll drop her off back at the hotel,” explained BrTl.

    “Okay! But lunch’d make you feel better, Su,” he said kindly.

    “I’m perfectly all right, I’m just not HUNGRY!” she shouted.

    “I've found a new burger place that’s got a really good hot sauce with little extra bits of fried salted meat in it,” BrTl told the Meanker cheerfully.

    “Ooh, good!” said Ju Mullan happily.

    And they got onto the lift blob, ignoring the emanations of cross sulking coming from Su.

    “I want to go back to Whtyll,” she said tightly, when he returned to the hotel after lunch.

    “Never thought I’d hear those words proceeding from your humanoid mouth!” replied BrTl cheerfully.

    “Stop it, BrTl, you’re not funny!” she snapped. “Are you gonna take me to the spaceport, or not?”

    “Not. I’d better call R’shn.”

    He did. She was out, but M’mri’in took the sim-call. She supposed, smiling tolerantly, that poor Vt R’aam Thirty-Two was being silly. All boys went through that stage, she assured them kindly.

    “He’s not a boy!” shouted Su furiously. “He’s supposed to be grown up!”

    “You have to make allowances, Su, dear. Well, now, I think the best thing might be if that lovely S-Tm pops over in the big lifter and collects you.”

    “Aunty M’mri’in,” said Su tightly, “I don’t need to be collected.”

    “Of course you do, dear! I’m sure Raj would say so! And it’s so nice, because you see, I’m not sure how he does it, but he brings you straight home: you don't have to hang round in the horrid spaceport at all!”

    BrTl’s bet would have been he did it because of that mega- no, plasma-humungous pay-off the Raj being would’ve made to both Whtyll Customs and, gulp, IG Customs & Excise, but he said nothing.

    M’mri’in was happily arranging it all. Su just stood there in scowling silence.

    “The being has no idea of time,” said BrTl as she blobbed off, beaming, with the promise of more shopping expeditions and some lovely dances Su could go to, “but by my calculations the s-being and his lifter’ll be hovering right outside the hotel just after breakfast tomorrow. Wanna do something in the meantime? Could call up Vt R’aam Thirty-Two: see if he can get leave for din—”

    “NO!” she shouted. “He’s disgusting and I don't wanna set eyes on him!” And, bursting into a storm of sobs, she ran out of the room.

    “—dinner,” he said sadly. “Well, bother. The Admiral was right, after all. Those are humanoid hysterics, all right.”

Next chapter:

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