4
Rescued
Hullo, Su! it sent jauntily.
Su gave a scream and her hand clenched convulsively on the block of mato-meat she was chopping. It shot into the air, hit the galley wall and fell onto the bench with a soft “thwuck!”
“Is—is that you, Trff?” she croaked, aloud.
Phyoowella burst into a series of excited chattering noises.
“Shut up, Phyoowella!” she shouted.
Yes, it’s it! it sent jauntily.
Um, hi. Where was it? They were still a megazillion IG glps from anywhere, in the blackness of deep space.
No, you-it isn't.
We ARE! replied Su crossly, beginning to wonder if she was only imagining the whole bit—according to B’ttrwullguffnia, percentage-wise some more of them were going to lose it besides the unfortunate young First Officer before the ship made it to the Intergalactic Relay Station.
The it-being was sending her the plasmo-blasted co-ordinates, she couldn’t possibly be imagining that! TRFF! WHERE—ARE—YOU?
No need to shout! On the Intergalactic Relay Station, of course.
Of course. Yeah, right—of course it was.
Don’t do that water-from-the-eyes thing, Su, it sent anxiously.
“I’b dot,” said Su soggily, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. Are you—have you come to rescue us, Trff?
There was a perceptible IG microsecond’s pause, and she had time to think frantically that she must be imagining it all—and then Trff replied: Not just it. It came in a ship with several other beings. BrTl’s here, too. And the Adm—senior cognate.—What, BrTl?—Oh, yes, father.—What?—Oh, yes: it means Leader Vt R’aam.
Su gasped. “Dad’s there? Trff, can I speak to him?” she cried, aloud.
No.
There was another of those microsecond-long pauses.
It isn’t communicating through a comm-blob, it explained.
Ooh! Trff, are you semi-sensing me, like that time you had to with Mum when she was on a world that was in pre-Fed? asked Su excitedly.
No. Oh, sorry, Su, BrTl says to tell you-it that to your-its mind the process is very like that. You-it can’t speak to BrTl, either. But it could say “Hullo” for you-it.
Y— Um, yeah. And tell him I’m very glad you’re both there. And Dad, of course!
He-it doesn’t want to know— Oh. It gets it! BrTl and Leader Vt R’aam both say “Hullo,” and “How is you-it?”
Good! Phyoowella’s good, too! And guess what, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s the Captain, now! Um, does you-it know all that already?
It’s reading it…it replied, with horrible emanations of vagueness. Movva soup?
Um, that’s not, um, not relevant! sent Su quickly.
It is relevant to Belraynians and other beings that like— Not relevant, no.—It doesn’t need to ask her-it that!—Sorry, Su, BrTl and Leader Vt R’aam keep trying to distract it with unnecessary instructions. And questions.
Yeah, um, you did tell Dad I’m fine, did you?
Yes. And Phyoowella and the clone, it added kindly.
Yeah, um, Trff, does you-it need to speak to Vt R’aam Thirty-Two? asked Su anxiously.
No, it replied in surprise.
She swallowed hard. He is the Captain, now.
Oh, yes, and he-it’s driving the ship very… nicely, is how you-it would think of it. No, Su, he-it doesn’t need it to help him-it steer. Or set the course, he-it’s done that.
And—and are we heading for the Intergalactic Relay Station? asked Su, licking her lips nervously.
Yes.
Su’s legs went all funny and she sank down onto the galley floor. Immediately Phyoowella went into a terrific tizz, squeaking and grunting and— Oops, no, she wasn’t.
Thanks, Trff, sent Su shakily.
Any time! it replied jauntily.
A tear rolled down Su’s round cheek. That was just so like it! Trff, she sent painfully, why is you-it communicating with me and—and not with any of the others that have got good mind-powers? Like, why not with Vt R’aam—
The galley door burst open.
“What’s HAPPENING?” shouted the ship’s new Captain furiously. “Are you communicating with the it-being?”
Thirty-Tw— Uh, yeah. “I mean, yes, I think so. Um, can’t you hear it?” replied Su fearfully.
“No, all I'm picking up is your version of what it's trying to send,” he said angrily, the chiselled nostrils flaring. “Tell it to communicate with me.”
“Um, acksherly I was just— Um, yes, sir.” Trff, why aren’t you communicating with Vt R’aam Thirty-Two instead of me?
There was one of those horrid little pauses again and Su gulped. Then it replied: Because it’s communicating with you-it, Su.
“Oh, rhoofer shit!” she gulped. “Um, sorry, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, it’s being, um, very Trffish,” she faltered.
“And?” he said tightly.
“Well, uh, didn’t you— Whuh-what did you pick up?”
“I picked up you thinking that it replied ‘Because it’s communicating with you-it, Su,’” he said grimly.
“Mm,” agreed Su glumly. “Well, wouldn’t you call that very Trffish?”
“Look, give it the ship’s frequency!” he said angrily, whistling it.
“Um, I’ll ask— Yeah, it picked that up. Or maybe it meant it knew it anyway.” Su looked up at him miserably.
Suddenly Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two sank down onto the galley floor next to her. “Oh, rhoofer shit,” he said limply, running a hand through his thick black hair. “What is it, Su? The sprtzz-fibre sensing stuff it did that time your mother was stuck under a x’nb web?”
“I thought it was under a World Shield?”
“That, too. On a world in pre-Fed.”
“Right. I asked it that before and it reckoned it isn't. Only then it said that BrTl said— Hang on.”
BrTl says to tell you-it that it can't send a signal strong enough to blob onto the ship’s frequency, but that’s a load of BrTllian mok shit.
Su swallowed.
“I think I got that verbatim,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two weakly. “Well, where in Federation is the plasmo-blasted being?”
“Eh? Oh, didn’t ya get that? It’s on the Intergalactic Relay Station. Only not just it,” she said quickly as his jaw dropped: “it came in a ship with Dad and BrTl!”
“Whuh-when?”
“Uh, dunno.” Trff, how long have you— “Gee. Zero point zero one three five IG days: they musta just got there,” she croaked.
“So—uh—“ His golden-tan skin paled out to a sickly greenish grey shade. “Su-Su, ask it this. What sort of ship did they travel in?”
“A PBTT, it says. Hang on— Goddit. –Did ya get that?” He just looked at her blankly so she explained: “Dad made it take over as Ship’s Engineer, he was furious with the Tri-Galaxy PBTT Line, and with Whtyll WS Inc. and the Federal Government of the Federated Worlds of the Two Galaxies as well, and first he said he was gonna sell all his shares and send them bust, and then he said he was gonna buy them out. Um, maybe I’ve got that wrong,” she said humbly, as he was still looking blank.
He blinked. “What? Uh—no. No, I'm plasmo-blasted sure he’ll’ve said that! Well, that sounds—sounds verisimilitudinous,” he ended limply.
“Eh?”
“Likely,” he said with a shaky smile. “Likely, Su.”
“Ya can’t of thought we’d been in stasis that long!” she gasped, picking up his thought.
“Uh—I wondered. I can see you didn’t, and most of the others didn’t, but Lady Gw’dl-i’in did. She’s a highly intelligent being.”
“Yeah, if plasmo-blasted Whtyll wasn’t so rigid about lady-beings not being allowed to go into Space Fleet I reckon she could of had a real good career. Hang on! Um, sorry, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, Trff’s sending me lots of maths, only I can’t— Are you getting it?”
“Garbage, I’m afraid,” he said, his lips twitching.
Su nodded hard, sending STOP, Trff!
It stopped. The clone would be able to grasp why it can communicate with you-it if you-it could just repeat the maths to him-it, Su.
No, I’d get it all wrong, replied Su glumly.
There was a pause, and for a sickening instant she thought the connection had broken; and then it sent: BrTl says to tell him-it “looped space, Blerrinbrig’s factor, looped vRaa waves and the sg-Jwkli effect”, but he-it’s getting mixed up with the hyper-hop phenomenon.—Yes, she-it does, BrTl! Well, the clone does.—Ignore that, Su, BrTl’s very edgy, he-it can’t believe that you-it’s safe, it’s his-its xathpyroid paranoia again.
“It says,” repeated Su slowly and carefully, “BrTl says to tell you ‘looped space, Blerrinbrig’s factor, looped vee-hurrah waves and the shwickly effect;’ does that make any sense?”
His mouth twitched in spite of himself. “Looped space, Blerrinbrig’s factor, looped vRaa waves and the sg-Jwkli effect’ makes rather more sense, let’s say. But I thought that the sg-Jwkli effect was only relevant to hyper-hop?”
“It’s saying not only, but you-it’s right in this instance.”
“Mm. Uh—Su,” he said, trying not to wince, “ask it how far we are from the Intergalactic Relay Station, please.”
“More maths,” reported Su, making a face. “Oh—hang on, I think BrTl must be yelling at it, I’m not picking him up, but I’m getting huffy emanations from it, like it does when he— Help!” she gasped, eyes round in horror. “Thirty IG years at our present rate of travel! That can’t be right, surely?”
“I think so,” he said tightly. “I knew we were plasmo-blasted well off-course, but— What’s it sending now?” he demanded sharply.
“I dunno!” said Su in despair. “It started off in words only I didn’t understand them and now it’s all maths! Trff! STOP!”
Vt R’aam Thirty-Two watched anxiously as she went very pale. She seemed to be picking up something about the pwld, but the it-being must be mentioning concepts that she didn’t underst— “Great splintered shards of quog,” he croaked.
“Um, yeah, did ya get that? It says it can use their pwld, like on the PBTT they come on, to make our blobs go faster, only you gotta trust it.”
“Whuh-what does your father say?” he croaked.
“I can ask it,” replied Su cautiously, “but ya know Mum reckons it hasn’t got no moral sense at all. I mean, it’ll tell me a lie without blinking its shades if it thinks it’s for my own good.”
He knew that; but he knew, too, that Trff was very literal-minded; and if the xathpyroid, who did have a moral sense, but was even keener on letting Su believe things for her own good, wasn’t actually picking Su up and prompting it, but only getting as much as the it-being was passing on— “Mm. Ask it.”
She swallowed, and reported: “It says that Dad says the decision is yours, you’re the Captain, but to ask yourself, do ya want to spend the next thirty IG years in space?”
He frowned over it. Su watched him anxiously. Finally he said in his usual even tones: “I’d like to know how you feel, Su.”
“Well, Trff’s pretty good with the pwld muck, and it isn’t likely to drop dead, supposing that is what happened to Captain bershandraG. I’d rather take the risk than be stuck out here until I’m old. I mean, IG years are longer than New Whtyllian years, eh? I haven’t got mixed up again, have I?”
“No, that’s right. You’d be about sixty in New Whtyllian years by the time we reached the Relay Station under hyperdrive.”
“Yeah. If it was up to me, I’d say, let it give it a go. Um, dunno if it meant use the pwld like in a PBTT or only like in Dad’s old ships, acksherly,” she added cautiously.
“No. Ask it.”
“Like in a PBTT,” reported Su grimly. “There was garbage about ‘no essential difference’ in there, too, but I’d ignore that, if I was you: that’s the usual sort of space garbage it comes out with when a being asks it a sensible question about engineering muck.”
“Yes.”
“Um, so whaddaya think?”
“If it was only me, I’d say ‘yes’ without hesitation, but there are other beings involved.”
“Do ya reckon we oughta vote on it?”
His mouth firmed. “No. That would be even more disastrous than voting about starting the drive. Look, we’d better be clear about our position, here, Su. Best case, Trff pulls us in to the Relay Station safe and sound in a matter of IG hours. Case two, pflooey.” He shrugged slightly, but his slanted blue eyes were watchful.
“Yeah,” said Su simply.
“Yes,” he agreed in considerable relief. “Then, it fails and we end up no further on, with the prospect of trundling in towards the Relay Station under hyperdrive. I think I should point out that there is always the possibility that someone will be able to reach us and take us under tow. Pwld culturing may improve to the point where there’s virtually no risk in doing so.”
“Yeah, or they might find something even better than pwld,” agreed Su. “I'd rather not wait to find out.”
“Quite. Uh—then there’s the possibility that we survive and the ship’s unharmed, but we end up even further out in deep space—”
“Yeah, I get that,” said Su mildly.
“Mm.” He rubbed his pointed Whtyllian chin slowly. “Look, if we don't take a chance with the it-being, I'm sure your father will make every conceivable effort to send a ship to rescue— No?”
“No,” said Su on a grim note. “I think that this is it, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two. The conceivable effort. I don’t think he woulda got on a PBTT or made Trff get on one if there was any other way of finding us and hauling us back. Like, if any old ship could of pinpointed us from the Relay Station Trff wouldn’t of needed to do whatever it’s doing with its wriggly waves and stuff.”
“You’re right, by Federation. –Right,” he said, getting up. “No further discussion needed, in that case. Tell Trff I’ll do it, and ask it where it wants me and what it wants me to do.” He held out his hand and helped her up. Su gave him an agonised look. Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had read what she’d received from the it-being. His eyes twinkled. “You could point out to it,” he said very mildly, “that although I agree that here is good, I’d rather be on the bridge. But I can’t use the captain’s stasis couch because— Thanks.”
He-it doesn't need to use a stasis couch for such a short trip. Nor do the other beings. Oh, it sees, Su. But nothing will go wrong, your-its ship’s blobs are sure that the Captain died and the Ship’s Engineer couldn’t control, it uses the word loosely, the bond with the pwld, it uses the expression loosely.
Trff, sent Su limply, is you-it in touch with our ship’s blobs?
Of course, it replied in astonishment.
Vt R’aam Thirty-Two at this point sagged against the galley’s xrillion bulkhead and passed his hand through his thick, dark hair once again. “Strangle the being,” he muttered.
“Dad’s always saying that!” admitted Su with a muffled giggle. “Um, well, maybe we better pretend that you're gonna do some fast hyperdriving and make sure everyone’s strapped in?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling feebly at her.
“I think it just wants you to relax and trust it, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two. And, um, like it said, keep in touch with the blobs.”
“Mm. I’ll do my best.”
Suddenly Su gave him a brilliant smile. “It’s sure you will! And so I am. Thank the Federation you came!”
With a part of his mind, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two entirely agreed with her. With another part of it, of course, he was wishing fervently he was anywhere else in the Known Universe. He tried to dredge up a reassuring smile in reply, but failed utterly.
Everyone was strapped in—B’ttrwullguffnia with the expectable grumbles—and nothing was happening…
Trff, asked Su fearfully, is you-it still there?
Yes. It needs to concentrate now, Su, the Ju’ukrterian replied.
Gulping, Su stopped sending and tried to make her mind a perfect blank.
Nothing happened…
Suddenly Su’s stomach dropped right through her feet, her stasis couch seemed to turn right over on itself and tip her out to the extent of her straps—and then everything was sort of floating…
“What’s happened?” gasped Well’ndii.
“The artificial grav’s off, curse the vacuum-frozen fellow! He might have warned us!” said Lord B’nji crossly.
“I feel sick!” gasped Tinadjiy.
“Try swallowing hard, my dear, and do this mind-exercise,” advised Lady Gw’dl-i’in faintly.
“I feel sick, too!” wailed Well’ndii. “Hold my hand, Poppo: I’m all upside-down!”
“We’re in space, logically you can't be upside-down!” snapped B’ttrwullguffnia.
“I am! Help, it’s all whirly!” she wailed.
Suddenly it was, indeed. Very whirly. It went on for some considerable time and everyone, even the stoic Lady Gw’dl-i’in and the grimly silent Vttrfeamiyyia, was very sick indeed. It didn’t exactly help that the stasis couches’ way of dealing with this problem seemed to be to snap closed like a dendrion nut in order to clean the mess up. In fact Well’ndii, Tinadjiy and the turquoise Flppu all had hysterics inside theirs.
At long, long last the whirling stopped, the couches re-opened, and everyone discovered they were upside-down, though in case they hadn’t, B’ttrwullguffnia was snidely pointing it out— Ooops! No, they weren’t: right side up again, the full artificial grav came on with a discernible whine, the odd unbattened-down sim-receiver, extra chair, small occasional table, potted plant nurtured tenderly by Poppo and Pozzgwllnaabniia and proudly presented to the stasis lounge as a special favour came crashing down—
Su sat up groggily. At least the whirling seemed to have stopped. But as to where they might be—
You-it’s here!
HULLO, SU!
Ow! Hi, BrTl, no need to shout, replied Su shakily. Are we really here?
’Course! Good old Trff, eh?
He only doubted it for the duration of our trip and for every instant it was doing it, said a very familiar cool voice in her mind. How are you, my pet?
Hi, Dad, replied Su weakly. I’m good, ta. Just a bit queasy.
Mm. I don’t think Trff understands concepts like violent mammalian up-chucking, replied Shank’yar drily. Never mind, it did it. I’ll have a medal struck for it.
EH? Had he lost it? A Ju’ukrterian it-being didn't care about plasmo-blasted med—
Yes, it does, Su; this it-being would like a medal.
Oh, well, whatever blobs you up, returned Su weakly, trying not to wonder where it would wear it. Thanks awfully, Trff.
Don’t thank it, it couldn't have done it without you-it, Su.
EH? Had it lost it as well?
Something about its plasmo-blasted semi-sensing garbage! sent BrTl happily. Been doing some recipes, have you?
Uh—yeah. Su looked round her cautiously. Everybody looked a strange colour—the lorpoids were yellowish instead of their normal matte pale grey and the Friyrians were mauve-tinged instead of their normal turquoise. “Ooh!” she gasped, as the lounge’s pale blue walls were suddenly restored.
“What’s happening?” said Well’ndii limply. “Are the blobs better?”
“Um, yeah, something like that, I think,” agreed Su, getting out of her couch. “I'll just go and see if Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s all right.”
I am. Sick as a Whtyllian dog, though, he sent.
Yeah, me too. We all were. Typical Trff, eh? Are the pets okay?
Yes, in fact in better shape than those above Class 390! Stay there, I’ll come to you.
“Um, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s gonna come and speak to us,” said Su to the groggy company.
The Whtyllians had been exchanging mind-messages for some time. Now Lady Gw’dl-i’in, though still a nasty shade of yellowish-green, said: “I really don’t think he will have to, my dear; I think that's your respected father I’m picking up, isn’t it?”
“Um, are you, Ladyship?” said Su limply. “Yeah. Well, he is a Whtyllian.”
She inclined her head graciously. “Quite.”
“Whaddaya mean?” demanded B’ttrwullguffnia crossly. “How in Federation can ya pick up her father: isn't he the Leader of vacuum-frozen New Whtyll?”
“Ooh, help, have we gone back there?” gasped Poppo.
“Not in that space of time, Poppo! Really!” snapped Tinadjiy.
“Er—no, not unless there’s some sort of new— Is that it?” said Pozzgwllnaabniia sharply. “Has this ship been the subject of some plasmo-blasted experiment in instantaneous being transportation? Because if so, I can assure you that my lawyers—”
“What?” cried Poppo angrily. “I never heard of such a thing? Experimenting on us? We might have died!”
All of a sudden everybody seemed to be looking accusingly at Su!
“No—” she began weakly.
“No,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two’s usual cool tones from the doorway. “The reverse, if anything. You do all have most of the facts. You know that the hyperblobs’ bond with the pwld failed, and we came out of collapsed space and, those of us who were lucky, out of stasis. I wasn’t sure until very recently how far out of our intended trajectory we actually were but I can now tell you that we were thirty IG years by hyperdrive from the Relay Station.”
“What?” said Lady Gw’dl-i’in faintly.
He bowed slightly. “Yes, my Lady. I think such a possibility had occurred to you?”
“You said,” cried Lord B’nji angrily, “that we’d make it easily by hyperdrive!”
Calmly Vt R’aam Thirty-Two replied: “I don't think I said anything of the sort. I may have allowed your Lordship to believe it—yes. However, the question is academic. We are about to dock at the Relay Station. What you’ve just experienced was a form of collapsed space without the benefit of a preliminary period of stasis.”
“It makes you very giddy,” said Well’ndii weakly.
“It certainly does, and I can only apologise for it, madam,” he said, bowing. “It was the Ju’ukrterian it-being itself who rescued us, and I don't think—ah—lorpoid or mammalian concepts such as giddiness seem terribly relevant to it.”
“No, ’cos it had to concentrate on the matter in appendage!” said Su loudly and crossly.
“Yes, of course. Now, I have to get back to the bridge, but perhaps everyone would like to pack? There’s another ship waiting for us.”
“Pack? I wanna see!” cried B’ttrwullguffnia aggrievedly.
The clone bowed slightly. “As you must be aware, Young Master, the stasis lounge has no ports. However, the ports in your cabins are no longer shaded—”
There was a concerted rush for the door and he stood aside politely.
Su took a very deep breath.
“It’s sentient-being nature, my dear Little Mistress,” said the clone lightly.
“What, base ingratitude? Sentient-being nature and a half!” replied Su bitterly. “I’ll pack our things, shall I?”
“There’s no hurry. And if your respected father’s on form, you won’t be allowed to take most of those garments the rest of the way to the two galaxies, anyway. Um, would you like to come on the bridge?”
“And watch you dock? Ooh, can I?” cried Su, her eyes shining.
“By all means, Young Mistress,” said the clone politely, bowing her out.
BrTl’s bet would have been floods of water-from-the-eyes, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. Though to take the proceedings in sequence, what actually happened as the ship’s hatch opened in Space Dock Five of Intergalactic Relay Station 70,754 was that a shabby figure in steward’s uniform and a crumpled Whtyllian clone in a very used version of Leader Vt R’aam’s servants’ white tunic and baggy white Whtyllian pants stepped out and assisted two greenish-yellowish mammalian humanoids—ugh, Whtyllians—out first, then three mauveish-turquoise Friyrians, all looking down their long Friyrian noses, then two short, skinny female lorpoids and one short, stout male lorpoid, all looking important, if yellowish, and finally Su appeared. Looking about as untidy and creased as she usually did at home, and holding, great splintered shards of quog, that plasmo-blasted blue Loogher’s paw! To hear Trff tell it, two-thirds of the ship’s complement had bought it when the pwld went pflooey: wouldn’t you have thought— Evidently not.
So first she hurled herself at Leader Vt R’aam, crying “Dad! I thought I’d never see you again!” and sucked his cheek a bit while he did the same to her; and then she hurled herself at him, BrTl, crying: “BrTl! It’s so good to see you!” and as he’d incautiously bent his neck, threw her arms round it and sucked a bit of neck-hair—he had sort of remembered that some mammalian humanoids did that, only Jhl’s cognates usually didn't; and then Trff bobbed up, it had been doing some last-minute blob-tinkering or something, and she cried: “Trff!” and bent down and took its tentacle—at this point the water was starting to come out of the eyes—and then sucked a bit of its fluff, and cried: “You were wonderful! Thank you so much for rescuing us!” and then the water came out of the eyes good and proper. Floods of it. Possibly they’d been having a high liquid diet on that vacuum-frozen apology for a PBTT?
It went on for some time and she used up all of Leader Vt R’aam’s tastefully monogrammed senso-tissues, all of Trff’s pink ones—where, precisely, it had got them from, better not to ask—and most of his special green ones that he’d brought along as emergency ones in case Trff’s claims weren’t all total space garbage and they did actually manage to rescue her, alive, rather than having to have thirty-odd funeral ceremonies. Incidentally, did anyone know anything about the Nblyterian rites? Because he, BrTl, certainly didn't, and after all, the being had been a full captain, if it had gone and dropped dead in the middle of its tour of duty, carelessly taking a perfectly decent Br-cognate with it and missing taking their Su with it by a vacuum-frozen Loogher’s whisker, so to speak.
I’m sending a DSRV for them. They can all be towed over to the two galaxies and the Nblyterian’s cognates can give her any Vvlvanian-cursed rites they fancy, sent Leader Vt R’aam sourly at this point. And you can then take the Br-cognate back to New Qrbgg, if you like, and just be thankful there was only one xathpyroid on board!
Glumly BrTl came to attention, too late to stop the pseudopod that automatically shot out of his neck and saluted—Ro’aan-Furi’yo’s reaction, no being need blame him, it was involuntary—and replied: Yessir! Thank you, sir. Hoping, though without much conviction, that the Whtyllian hadn’t also picked up his thought that a Deep Space Rescue Vehicle would take forever, they were notorious for it, never mind their much-vaunted PBTT capabilities.
Shank’yar Vt R’aam sat back at his ease in his luxurious VIP cabin, sipping a glass of Whtyllian zhr’ee, smiling a little, and admitted: “Of course, your mother wanted to come, too, but I put my foot down.”
“She could of piloted the PBTT as good as you!” replied her daughter aggressively.
The Admiral had simply pulled rank. Well, in addition to sending a megazillion very nasty text-blobs to everything in Space Fleet of the rank of Fleet Admiral and above, and all the directors of the Tri-Galaxy PBTT Line. It had probably helped, as BrTl had already told Su, that Captain Plmmr-Schnbrnn was a Whtyllian. “Better,” he replied smoothly. “But I wasn’t about to run the risk of losing her as well as you, Su-Su.”
“Logically—” began Su.
“It had nothing to do with logic, my darling. Did you ask the hygiene cabinet to do something about your hair?”
“Yes!”
“Well, go back in there and ask it to do something more,” he murmured.
Su took a deep breath, but disappeared into the mega-luxurious hygiene cabinet.
Shank’yar just sipped his zhr’ee placidly.
When she reappeared the black curls were in something that with a certain stretch of the imagination could have been considered a hairdo, so he conceded: “Slightly better. Though possibly a good finishing school on New Rthfr—”
“No!” cried Su angrily. “I'm nearly twenty-one now, Dad! And ya can’t make me!”
“One of those statements is certainly true. What do you want for your birthday, my pet?”
“I— Nothing for me,” said Su on a wary note.
“Mm?”
“‘I want you to—to unclone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two. Um, make him into a—a free being,” she said on an uncertain note. “Admiral GrRv says it’s possible!” she added eagerly.
“Er—it must be, if GrRv thinks so,” he murmured, raising his eyebrows slightly.
“So will you?” asked Su tightly.
He rubbed his pointed chin slowly. Finally he said: “Why?”
“Because he really deserves it, Dad! He took over and piloted the ship when the First Officer lost it, and he was great! They all started calling him sir, and everybody did what he said, even the Whtyllians and Friyrians! And he’s got the potential, his original was a Nr M’snn, he could be anything!”
“Well, he could be many things,” said his master temperately. “He’s a bit old to start Full Surgeon training, for example.”
“Um, yeah. Um, he hasn’t got a Third School degree,” said Su uncertainly, remembering what Trff had said.
“Exactly. He’s far too old to go to Space Fleet Academy, too,” he murmured.
“Only in humanoid years,” replied Su crossly. “BrTl was loads older than him in IG years when he was a cadet!”
“The logic of that statement escapes me,” said her father flatly.
Su glared impotently.
“My point was, that becoming a Space Cadet at his age may be a very uncomfortable experience: there would be no other beings at the Academy to whom he could relate, at all.”
She stared at him, frowning. Given there’d for sure be no other beings that had been clones, either… Eventually she admitted: “Yeah, I see whatcha mean, they’d all be dopy young asteroid-brai— Ya can’t have been that silly, Dad!”
“Yes, I was. I got sent down for a whole term.”
“Right, and if ya hadn’t of been a Lord of Whtyll they’d of canned ya!” retorted his daughter swiftly. “Lifting the Principal’s lifter?”
“It was a dare,” said Shank’yar Vt R’aam with a sudden grin that made him look for an IG microsecond very much younger than Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two and, in fact, rather younger than Su herself. “Never mind that: most males are very silly at that age. Certainly male humanoids. But as I say, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two is long since past that stage.”
“Yeah, um, he never was silly.”
“Not that silly, but then, he wasn’t a spoilt young lordship, was he? But for a clone, he was pretty silly,” said his master calmly. “You won’t remember, my pet: you’d have been about six: he and Vt R’aam Thirty-Three and Thirty-Four were sixteen. We were on planet, of course—living in our old house. They stowed away on a cargo ship bound for one of the moons of Athlor’s Planet to collect pwld.”
Su was gaping at him in horror.
“Mm. And as they hadn't taken nearly enough food with them, and as Vt R’aam Thirty-Two himself was responsible for culturing up their atmo-blobs, they would never have survived the first week in space, except that that ship happened to be your mother’s old ship, and reported their presence to the Captain when he asked it to take off.”
Su swallowed. “What happened to them?” she croaked.
“I gave them each a cursed good beating—oh, I enjoyed it,” he said sardonically as she gulped at the mind-picture—“and then sent them down to your Cousin G’gg’s place—he was just getting started on his horticultural experiments at that stage—where at my request he put them in charge of the looghoid muck spreaders.”
“Phyoow, pooh!” croaked Su.
“Quite.”
“Um, so what happened to Vt R’aam Thirty-Three and Thirty-Four after that?”
“If it’s relevant,” he said, raising the eyebrows slightly, “Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Three stayed on with G’gg: he’s in charge of the greenhouses now, I believe—that’s right, he's the being you know as Clone Smt Wong Fourteen—and I let Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Four go to Raj Nr Schmm’lgrffn—or rather to Lady Myr-Lah Nr Schmm’lgrffn, his bond-partner: they were with one of the delegations from the Federation that were out round about then—and for Federation’s sake don't ask me what he’s doing now!”
Su’s cheeks were rather pink. “Um, no. I see, she was that sort of ladyship.”
“Quite. Myr-Lah was my mother’s name,” he said with a sigh. “Great steaming piles of mok droppings… Well, never mind all that. What do you envisage a freed Clone Vt R’aam Thirty-Two doing?”
“I—I dunno!” she gasped. “Whatever he’d like to, Dad!”
“Mm… Well, I agree: the being did plasmo-blasted well, he deserves some reward. But bear this in mind, Su-Su: he’s never had to express a preference in his life. I doubt very much that he’ll have any idea what he’d like to do. Don’t give me that look; just think about it.”
Su thought about it. “I see,” she said at last in a small voice. “Um, only wouldn’t it be better than being a clone, Dad?”
For a vigorous young male brought up in freedom—not to say privilege—and with all his wits about him: yes, certainly. But for a thirty-year-old clone? Shank’yar swallowed a sigh: she was far too young to seize his point. So he didn’t bother to make it, merely said: “Well, if you’re sure it’s what you want, Su-Su, trot him in.”
“Um, Admiral GrRv said it’ll be expensive,” she warned, her cheeks going red.
“Megarafts of super-igs, was it? Well, I’ve got those,” he said indifferently. “Go on: get him in here.”
Nodding, Su sent: Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, please could you come— And the door opened smoothly to reveal the bowing clone in a fresh set of white servant’s livery.
“Come along in, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two,” said Shank’yar on a brisk note. “I think you’d better sit; this may take some time.”
Bowing, the clone sank silently to the usual cross-legged position on the VIP cabin’s genuine wtmyrian carpet.
Su and her father were seated on flop couches; she glared as he didn't tell Vt R’aam Thirty-Two to sit on one, too; then her gaze sharpened. “Hey—” she breathed.
“Yes. The it-being,” said Shank’yar on a weary note, “has already noticed the extraordinary fact that wtmyrian colonies survive collapsed space as well as we do. Do you want to do this, or not?”
“Yes.” She looked at him expectantly.
“Very well.” Shank’yar had seldom been at a loss for words in the course of a long and not wholly misspent life, but just for a moment he was Vvlvanian-cursed if he knew what to say. Well, he could have put it either so as Su would take it on board and accept it, or so as the clone would, but—
“You’ve done very well, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two. As a reward, I’m arranging to have your clone status rescinded, and I’m sending you to Space Fleet Academy. You’ll find the other cadets puerile and much of the work will be far too easy for you, but I’ll have a word with the Principal and we’ll arrange to get you through in as short a time as possible. Do the three years in one, if you're up to it.” Su was gaping at him; he ignored her and, though he could see that Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had taken it all in, said firmly: “Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord,” said the clone dazedly.
“But Dad—”
“Once you’ve qualified, it’ll be up to you whether you take up some other career entirely. But you need a decent qualification,” he said firmly.
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord,” said Vt R’aam Thirty-Two, getting up shakily and bowing very low.
“But what if he wants to be a Full Surgeon or something?” cried Su.
“Do you?” said Shank’yar drily to his former butler.
“With respect, no, my Lord. That career, if I may say so, does not appeal at all.”
“Exactly. –Su, you’ve seen for yourself he’s got the capacity to qualify as a Pilot! Just leave it. I’m coming with you to the Federation: I might as well arrange it while I’m there. Oh—get the it-being in here, would you, Vt R’aam Thirty-Two? It can send a message to that Nblyterian engineer who cloned you: I think she settled on New Nblyteria.”
“Of course, my Lord,” said the clone, bowing smoothly and exiting.
Su looked limply at her father.
“Don’t argue: the being isn’t capable of making a choice, and in any case, my mind is made up. It’ll give him a start: it’s the equivalent of a Third School degree anywhere within the Federation. And once he’s done it it’ll be up to him to decide where he wants to go with it: he’ll be a free being.”
“Um, yeah,” she said numbly. “Okay. Um, thanks,” she added lamely.
“You asked for it,” said Shank’yar very drily indeed.
“Yes!” she snapped, sticking out her chin. “And he’ll make a go of it, you’ll see!”
Possibly he would. Shank’yar refrained from entering into discussion on the point. Once Trff had come in, been asked to get a message to the Nblyterian engineer who had cloned Vt R’aam Thirty-Two and had exited without asking any questions at all—granted it could be very, very irritating, there were times when it was a cursed peaceful being to have around—he said on a resigned note to the silent Su: “Stop brooding. Anything he needs in the way of clothes and pocket-money will be provided, okay?”
“Mm! Thanks, Dad!” she gasped, going very pink and smiling shakily.
Shank’yar passed his hand over his forehead. “I was not proposing dumping him at the Academy and then forgetting his existence. In the first place, I’m as aware as you are of what we owe him. And in the second place,” he added very drily indeed, “your mother would never allow it.”
“That’s true!” she beamed, cheering up immensely. Federation! Had she really thought— Oh, forget it.
“What?” he said, twitching slightly.
“I said,” replied Su, still beaming, “can I send a message to Mum?”
“Uh—well, the it-being did mutter something about there being very little, er, leeway, I think was the unlikely expression, in this Vvlvanian-cursed Relay Station’s blobs. –One of the things I shall do when we reach Intergalactica,” he noted grimly, “is see that a reliable series of Relay Stations is set in place between us and the Federation. And if they don’t agree to it,” he added through his pearly teeth, “I shall think seriously about seceding from the plasmo-blasted Federated Worlds for good!”
“I would,” said his daughter cheerfully. “We don't need them! Um, so ya reckon the blobs won't wear a message to Mum?”
“Uh— Oh! Sorry, my pet: maundering on. I think they might relay it very, very slowly, since it clearly can’t be classed as urgent. They’re aware I’ve already sent her an urgent message telling her you’re all right, you see. And though Trff probably could persuade them otherwise,” he added drily, reading her half-formed thought, “I'd rather conserve its energies for other matters, like finishing the journey. Why not put your message in a text-blob, mm? Then it can be pwlded to her the moment we reach Intergalactica.”
“Yeah, okay. –So we are heading for Intergalactica and not Whtyll?”
“We most certainly are,” said Leader Lord Vt R’aam through his pearly teeth.
Gulping, Su acknowledged: “Right.” And went out to con a really good text-blob out of Trff.
With Su, BrTl, Trff and her infuriating, high-handed, lordly Whtyllian bond-partner off at the far side of the Known Universe, there was no-one really compatible, Jhl had discovered with a little shock, with whom she could discuss the text-blob from Su; so she had fallen back on her three elder daughters. Asking them over for afternoon tea—shades of Mum and the plasmo-blasted aunties!
It wasn’t that they weren’t intelligent beings: they were all bright and well qualified.
D’ffni, her eldest daughter and second child, was a highly qualified marine biologist. Certainly there hadn't been all that much need for such when she had first taken up the profession, on the ship coming out here—providing a continuous supply of fresh Whtyllian blue carp for the Admiral’s table was about the level—but since they landed she’d been in her element: streams, lakes, and oceans abounded on New Whtyll.
Mrsha, the second daughter and fourth of Jhl’s and Shank’yar’s children, was an engineer: her own choice; Federation knew Jhl would never have allowed a child of hers to be forced into dealing with blobs for the duration of its professional life. She was currently one of the sweating crew culturing blobs in Trff’s plasmo-blasted hangar, and actually seemed to enjoy it. Well, whatever blobbed you up.
H’lln, their third daughter and fifth child, was an excellent pilot and should have gone back to the Federation to get a proper qualification, but had thrown all her energies into politics and was now Parliamentary Representative for Sector 14. Okay, whatever blobbed you up, but— Oh, well.
Of course they agreed that Vt R’aam Thirty-Two had done very well and H’lln, at least, agreed that he fully deserved to be a free being. Jhl waited but, sure enough, nothing was said about the subject of clones’ rights in general. D’ffni, very much his daughter, never mind the mucking about with fish DNA, looked blank, but said obligingly it was very generous of Dad and she was sure the being wouldn’t let him down. Mrsha looked dubious but then announced that of course, there’d be nothing stopping him from going on to do the Ship’s Engineer’s course after he’d done his basic qualification. Jhl didn't even sigh: engineers were all like that, never mind whose genes they had.
“So they must be on Intergalactica now, Mum?” D’ffni added kindly.
Clearly they must: the plasmo-blasted text-blob had been instantaneously pwlded from there— Oh, forget it. Ya hadda be kind to your old mum, ’specially when she’d asked you over to afternoon tea, see, because your old mum could not possibly be a REASONING SENTIENT BE— Jhl took a deep breath.
“Yeah,” she said temperately.
“So does Su say anything about Intergalactica?” asked H’lln kindly.
“Nothing about the Federal Parliament, no,” replied Jhl nastily.
“I didn't mean that, Mum,” she said with a kind smile.
“Did she pwld the blob off right away?” clarified H’lln kindly.
Jhl took another deep breath but managed to tell the plasmo-blasted thing to flash up that bit so as they could read it for themselves.
We came out of stasis smooth as mn-mn silk, well, had to of, eh, cos otherwise I wouldn’t be here to tell ya this! Well, like BrTl says, shows Trff can do it when it tries. Then it was only a few hours in hyperdrive, not sure if that was the IG-legal time or not, before we came out of it real near Intergalactica itself. There was a great view, all these planets circling and stuff, just like those mind-pictures BrTl used to do for us at Second School. Intergalactica looked real weird, though: it’s all kind of different coloured, um, think the word’s segments, or is it sectors? BrTl says if you can remember what real Wofer oranges are like, it’s like them. Are they really all different coloured pieces?
He says it’s the different atmospheres, like, they got a couple of big o-breather sectors and a big h-breather sector and all different ones. Even the clouds were different colours and so were the lakes, not just blue like ours. BrTl says of course they would be.
I thought we’d just land at a spaceport like the ships do back home, but nope, we docked at Intergalactica’s Orbiting Transit Station Number 3, Dad was real peeved they didn’t let us use Number 1 but see, it’s only for official F vehicles and like that, and gee, who cares? (Number 2, in case any being was interested, is only for official ambassadors to the F Council or some such space garbage.) Anyway, Number 3 was super-galaxious enough, like to the point of SICKENING. I take back anything I ever said about you maybe being wrong about how up themselves the lordship-beings of the FW Federation are, Mum. It was mega-humungous inside, the ceiling was so high it looked misty, and it had megazillions of pillars and stuff, all decorated in shades of gold and silver, Trff said platinum as well, and BrTl said something about that time he was stuck on the third moon of Pkqwrd, not sure which time he meant.
We didn’t just walk over to the IG C&E area, by no means. First these beings scurry up and bow, bow, bow, not sure what they were, plus and a load of servo-mechs, like more than we got on the whole planet back home, they were for carrying the luggage, like how much luggage are ya supposed to be allowed on a PBTT?
Then when the bowing was over this hovering thingo floated up. BrTl said definitely not just a porto-blob or like that, the only thing like it he’d ever seen was on that platinum dump that time. But this one must be a newer model, he’d never seen anything like it. It was mega-luxurious. Like, we got on and we sort of didn’t have to sit down because it kind of made seats under us and then there was this lovely scent and pretty music, and we just floated away, high as anything, we could see layers and layers of bubble-trains and tran-blob trains going to and fro underneath us. But it didn’t feel swoopy or like that.
And so we floated dreamily over to what BrTl reckons mighta been IG Customs & Excise if Dad wasn’t claiming diplo immunity or something for all of us. Anyway, I never saw a single IG C&E official like what you reckon they always have when ya get off a ship, and no being asked me if I was carrying anything that hadda be declared or like that.
Jhl at this point took a very deep breath. Her daughters looked at her uneasily.
“Don’t mind me,” she said grimly. “This is your father’s idea of introducing a young being to life in the two galaxies, apparently. –Yes, get on with it!” she shouted as the text-blob flickered uncertainly.
Lady Gw’dl-i’in and Lord B’nji were acting like it was all normal, well, probably was to them, yeah, and Vttrfeamiyyia and Pozzgwllnaabniia took it in their stride, except he couldn't stop smirking and she was looking down her nose at all other beings in sight. B’ttrwullguffnia had got Trff to culture up his audio-blob for him and he just listened to it, ignoring the whole bit, and good on him! Poppo and Tinadjiy and Well’ndii were terrifically impressed, unfortunately. They’d been fawning pretty bad on Dad anyway, but ya shoulda seen the fawning that went on now! Never knew a being as fat as Poppo could actually bow deeply from a sitting position, but he managed it, you betcha Space Issue boots.
Anyway, I thought the floating thingo would stop and let us out, but gee, no, we just floated up and up, and I didn’t see a door or a hatch or anything but gee, suddenly we weren’t in the Orbiting Transit Station any more but up in space above Intergalactica and Well’ndii let out a whistle like you never heard. Well, I must admit it gave me a start, too. So then Dad explained that we’d come through the force field and we were going straight to our hotel. Pozzgwllnaabniia tried to say that they hadn’t booked hotel rooms, they’d thought we’d be landing on Whtyll, but Dad just gave that vacuum-frozen limp wave of his, and said not to worry about that, we were all booked in at the Intergalactic Astoria. And certain poor beings gulped and shut up like dendrion nuts. Honestly! I really wish you were here, Mum, because it’s obvious no being’s gonna be able to stop him and he's gonna be totally dreadful.
So the planet got nearer, it was very beautiful coming in to land like that, with all the different-coloured sectors, and eventually BrTl got brave enough to ask if the thing we were in was some kind of lifter. So Dad put on his weary voice and said: “No, Commander, not a lifter. I believe they call it an Oteepeevee, but I dare say Chief Engineer Slp-Og V. Trff can explain it better than I can.”
I tell ya! Trff was sending to poor old BrTl but I couldn't tell what, so I said, real loud: “If that stands for something, Trff, please could you tell me, too, because maybe a certain Whtyllian present in this here Otee-whatever has forgotten, but I never been to the plasmo-blasted Federation before in my life!”
So then Trff started to give me all this garbage about blobs and force fields and maths and muck, but Lord B’nji said real quick that originally it had been OTPV, like, “orbit to planet vehicle,” only now it's a trademark, Oteepeevee. And then Tinadjiy got real brave and admitted it was very luxurious and they’d never been in one before. Right, goddit, VIPs for the use of. Thought so. So B’ttrwullguffnia took his audio-blob out of his ear for a split IG microsecond and said that they’d never been in one, either. Good on him.
As we came in we could see that almost all of the planet was covered with dwellings, like with small parks between them, and quite a lot of trees, but basically just square IG glp after square IG glp of dwellings. All suburbs, Poppo was real pleased to explain it to me. It looked real pretty, I have to admit, but great splintered shards of quog, no proper countryside? I could tell BrTl was trying not to shudder: his tail had gone sort of stiff and motionless, you know the way it does. After a bit he flapped at his neck-hair and sent: “All these suburbs always make me feel I can’t breathe,” and I hadda agree with him there, yep, in quintupled 5-D triangles!
So then Poppo said, look, there was the conurbation; Intergalactica Central itself, and gee! Words cannot describe it! It’s mega-mega-humungous! Dad said the buildings weren't very high, Intergalactica’s got strict Home World regs. about that, but they looked high enough to me! We flew right over it, quite low, kind of circling, and in the middle there’s a giant square of grass (not green like at home but turquoise, but Poppo explained they change it every so often so as not to be anything-ist), and that’s the very middle of Block 1, the exact centre of the city. The buildings round the edges of it are shiny white, and absolutely huge, I reckon the block is about as big as the whole of New Z’therabad! And those are the houses of parliament, I could see why Trff told me they weren’t really houses. More like GIANT palaces. The lorpoids were thrilled, they’d been to the park in the middle of Block 1 and done a guided tour of the buildings but they’d never flown that near to the central block before.
And then we just floated down towards a tall, shiny, white building, and just when I was thinking we were gonna be spitted on one of its prongs, whaddaya know, the Otee-whatsaname’s hatch slid open and we were at the hotel, with gee, a whole train of bowing beings and a real wtmyrian, I kid you not, real wtmyrian carpet spread out for us to totter the five IG fluh or so to our penthouse—that means right on the top of the plasmo-blasted building. Penthouse suite. Goddit? Thoughtcha might of, yeah.
It took a while for the air to clear, as you can imagine, but of course there were proper Guest Rooms with the proper atmo-blobs for Trff and BrTl—poor BrTl was real taken aback, he is o/h-breather, of course, so he didn't expect the hotel would bother, since it was an o-breather sector of Intergalactica, but he was real pleased to get a proper stall, the accommodation on those plasmo-blasted PBTTs is pretty cramped for a xathpyroid, so he went into it pretty soon. And Trff was real tired, it went straight off to its nest the IG microsecond Dad started making these formal speeches of goodbye and/or dismissal, not even doing its saluting thing. Pity, I’d of liked to see Dad trying to keep his cool in front of the Whtyllian lordship and ladyship and the Friyrians.
He was fresh as a Bluellian daisy, needless to say, but I was pretty whacked, to tell you the truth, so once I’d made sure he wasn’t gonna stick Vt R’aam Thirty-Two in a servant’s room I had a bit of a lie-down. You’re right, VIP-type F hotels do turn out the light-blobs without benefit of anything, plus and turn them on again when ya wake up—slowly and tactfully, not just blinking on, natch! How does this grab ya, our rooms look right over the handful of intervening blocks to Block 1 itself. Yeah.
So when I’d been to the hygiene cabinet—even more sickeningly luxurious than Dad’s VIP one on the PBTT—this voice said in my head “Would you care to order from the Room Service menu, Lady Su?” And I jumped ten IG fluh, as you can imagine. Not only because of the Lady Su bit. So I was fluffing around but gee, this humungous great menu appeared, actually I can’t tell you whether it was in my mind or before my eyes, bit of both, I think, so to cut a long story short I ordered mn-mn juice and it wasn’t nearly as good as our fresh juice at home, so up theirs and the whole of the FW Federation! I could feel BrTl and Trff were still asleep so I got on with finishing off this text-blob to you. I’ll get Dad to have it pwlded off ASAP.
That is, if I can fight my way as far as his room over the mountains of real wtmyrian carpets and past the bowing ranks of s-beings, believe it, S-BEINGS IN SERVO-BRACELETS, that he’s got stationed all over the place.
I tell ya, Mum, he’s being DREADFUL. I’m gonna get off to Uncle Bhl and Aunty S’zaan on Bluellia soonest!
Heaps of love, from Su.
“Well, that was very interesting!” said D’ffni brightly. “Though I do think, if Su couldn’t make a little more effort with her grammar and spelling, Dad might at least have got her a decent text-blob.”
“He did. This is the latest model,” ascertained Mrsha. “They specialise in an exact representation of whatever a being puts into them. But I agree, her grammar and spelling are shocking: she might just as well have used a recorder-blob, and given us a glimpse of the hotel.”
“Don’t they cost more to pwld, though?” asked H’lln.
“Dad wouldn't mind that!” objected D’ffni.
“Su doesn’t like extravagance,” said Jhl grimly. “Possibly she gets it from me.”
“Of course, Mum,” said H’lln kindly, smiling at her. “Very proper. After all, Dad may have a considerable personal fortune, but New Whtyll isn’t a rich world, and we need to set a good example, don’t we?”
Oddly enough this unexceptionable speech induced in Jhl a strong desire to grind her teeth.
“Well, it’s lovely to hear from her,” said D’ffni quickly, “and I’m quite sure that some time on Whtyll with Cousin Raj and R’shn, and on Old Rthfrdia with Drouwh and his family, will help her with her grammar as well as her manners and dress. Mum, I thought we were going to have afternoon tea?” she added with a kind smile.
“Yes: wasn't real Bluellian zi mentioned at one point?” contributed H’lln with a jolly laugh.
“I’ll send for Vt R’aam Forty-Nine, shall I?” added Mrsha helpfully.
Jhl gave in. “Thank you, dear, do that.”
Mrsha hadn't needed her old mum’s permission, make that her gaga old mum’s permission, she already was.
“Fl’Oo-ooueroii,” said Jhl limply to the potty blue spherical one, when the frightful afternoon was over at last and her three elder daughters had hurried off to much more important things, “they may have brains, but they’ve got nothing approaching common sense, let alone the—the milk of human kindness!”
“Bluellian grqwaries’ milk, of course, Mistress!” squeaked the Flppu.
“Uh—yeah,” she said weakly.
“Shall we go onto the verandah?” it offered kindly. “You could sit in the big swing with your feet up.”
Oh, why not! Jhl tottered out onto the side verandah and collapsed into the big swing. “Fl’Oo-ooueroii,” she said weakly: “would you like to hear what Su says in her text-blob?”
“Ooh, yes, please, Mistress!” it squeaked.
“Right. Uh—look, we better trot Fl’Jfaffl out, too, it might, uh”—remember who Su was, yeah—“uh, like to hear it, too.”
“Of course!” twittered the blue one. “Poor little old Fl’Jfaffl!”
Er—yeah. Well, fair enough, the puce Flppu wasn’t nearly as old as the blue one, but then, at one point Jhl and BrTl had rescued it from a fate considerably worse than death: it had had a very hard life. Up to that point, mm. Whether it would recognise a mind-message was a moot point, so while Fl’Oo-ooueroii was helpfully sending for it Jhl sent a message to a clone to go and fetch it, and pretty soon he appeared leading it by the silver chain which was its proudest possession.
“Our Great Mistress is going to read us a story from Su,” the blue one explained.
Close enough. “Yeah. Sit down, Fl’Jfaffl, and I’ll begin,” said Jhl, not looking to see whether it had a hazy memory of who Su might be.
“Our Great Mistress is going to read us a story from Su!” echoed the little puce Flppu. “Lovely!”
“Yes, lovely! All present and correct, Mistress!” squeaked the blue one.
Er—yeah. Well, gee, at least they were sympathetic! Jhl sent On! And, since of course the Flppus couldn’t read, proceeded to read aloud. After a short while she realised that presences were hovering behind the long windows, watering plants at the foot of the verandah, polishing leaves of large potted plants on the veran— Oh, well. “Come on! Anybody who’d like to hear Su’s letter—”
Great steaming Vvlvanian magma pits! All the clones, help, here was First Cook Kadry, beaming and panting, the gardeners, assorted Looghers— Most of them were involuntarily broadcasting: Start at the beginning!
Feebly she uttered: “I’ll start again from the beginning, shall I?”
The chorus of agreement—vocal and mental—just about deafened her. Oh, well. At least they’d appreciate it!
A grin hovering on her face, Jhl adjusted the shades—uh, plasmo-blasted pieces of space junk!—adjusted the shades again, and began to read:
Hi Mum, I’m okay, I guess Dad told you that. But in case he might of overlooked one or two “inessential” points, here’s the real intel. The Captain of our PBTT died and the ship came out of collapsed space and then the First Officer lost it, he’s only young. So Vt R’aam Thirty-Two took over as Captain and got us moving and on course for the Intergalactic Relay Station under hyperdrive. He’s been really great and all the beings that survived were calling him “sir”. And I’ve made Dad promise to unclone him and he’s gonna send him to the Academy, and then he can be whatever he likes…
Next chapter:
https://theadmirableclone-sf.blogspot.com/2023/11/intergalactica.html
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