Hotel Andromeda

by Edited by Jack L. Chalker

  “All right,” Jacobs said, sniffing at the flower. As he did, his mind filled with the details of what he needed to know. “Seems to pass the smell test. The Rhuum bids are low, but that’s why traders get together and haggle. Okay, no problem so far. Now, what have we got on the clients?”

  Trudy picked another flower—a hyacinth this time. “First of all, here’s what the neural net has on the Rhuum,” she said. “It’s a condensation of a survey report done about fifty years back.”

  “A little history, and that’s it,” Jacobs said, sniffing again. “Pretty damned condensed, if you ask me.”

  “There’s not much in the extended survey report, either,” Trudy said. She picked a perfect tomato from a nearby vine and handed it to Jacobs.

  “This is out of season, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “I needed an analogue you might be able to handle, 0 ye of common tastes. Anyway, the report is largely technical; you probably won’t want to eat all of it.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Jacobs bit into the tomato, and juice dribbled down his chin. Suddenly, his eyes bulged. “Ugh muff mughh,” he said.

  “Problem?” Trudy asked sweetly.

  “Gluph fwu.” Working hard, Jacobs chewed slowly and then more slowly still before giving up. It was like chewing lead. Turning aside politely, he spit into a convenient bush.

  “Warned you,” Trudy said. “I didn’t get much further into it than that myself.”

  “We’ll hire an expert to come up with a summary,” Jacobs said. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it. There’s considerably more material on the Bloxx, though.” Trudy handed Jacobs a big bowl of salad makings and a pair of wooden forks. “Here. You toss, I’ll serve.”

  “I wish you’d find another metaphor,” Jacobs said. “I hate salad.” He began to mix the contents of the bowl. Trudy suddenly looked distant.

  Jacobs knew that look. “What is it?” he asked.

  “You’re going to hate this, too,” Trudy replied. “The Bloxx fixed that busted driver of his. He’ll be here in about an hour.”

  “Oh,” Jacobs said. “We’d better get out of here; I still have to shave. Damn, I hate being pushed on things like this.”

  Jacobs and Trudy waited in the reception bay for the arrival of the Bloxx craft. It dropped out of hyperspace on schedule and achieved rendezvous without incident. Being relatively small, the ship made its own way into the parking bay as disappointed robot tugs scuttled out of the way. Robot valets, their headlights blinking on and off in a pattern of welcome, quickly came into position, bumping into each other in their programmed eagerness.

  “I love watching this,” Trudy said. “The ‘bots are so cute.”

  “Umph. My tie knotted okay?”

  “For the twelfth time, yes—Oops—green light. That was fast.”

  The airlock to the parking bay slid open, and there stood a tall, muscled man with the reddest hair Jacobs and Trudy had ever seen.

  “Sir Kethrommon?” Jacobs asked, as if mere could be any doubt. “Do you speak trader talk?”

  “That I am and that I do,” he said, nodding. “You the contacts Bannister was talking about?”

  “Yes, m’lord, we are. I’m Jonathan Lee Jacobs, and this is my partner Trudy Burke. As you’ve surmised, we represent Bannister Investments—”

  “Bunch of crooks, them. Hope you’re not the same. If you’re Terrans, then let’s all speak Anglish; I know it pretty good. Hi, Trudy.”

  “Hello, m’lord ambassador. Pleased to meet you.”

  “M’lord?” Jacobs asked. “Is there really no one else in your party?”

  “Nobody else, pal. I’m it.”

  “Uh, you are? I mean to say, m’lord, that the Rhuum have sent a lead negotiator and twenty-three assistants.”

  “Yep,” he rumbled. “So what? Don’t need others to deal with people from Rhuum or anywhere else. Been doing this kind of thing all my damn life. I captain my own craft and chart my own course; King Bolo understands that. Helps that he’s my uncle, natch.”

  “But, m’lord, did I misunderstand? We were informed that your people have never before held talks with the Rhuum.”

  “That’s right. So? We have stuff they want. They’ll do a deal without too much trouble. King Bolo understands that, too. Hey, Trudy Burke, you tied down?”

  “Excuse me, m’lord?”

  “You committed to some guy?”

  Jacobs cleared his throat. “Sir, Miss Burke is also my wife.”

  “That the same as mated, pal? I don’t know Terran ways much.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is. Miss Burke is my wife.”

  “Oh,” he said, shrugging. “Too damn bad. Would have liked to try you, Trudy Burke.”

  “I’m flattered beyond the telling, m’lord,” Trudy said dryly. “Well, shall we settle Sir Kethrommon in his suite now, Mr. Jacobs? Perhaps you would like some dinner, m’lord?”

  “Screw dinner.” Kethrommon said, “There any women for hire at this damn hotel? Bigger ones than Trudy Burke here, I mean. Not so fragile looking.” Kethrommon grinned. “Been a long trip for me, heh.”

  “I’ll have the hotel’s concierge contact you to arrange things,” Trudy said, her expression carefully bland. “I’m sure they’ll have someone well worth your time. You might also try the neural net.”

  “Heh,” Kethrommon said. “Maybe I will, both. You don’t like, eh, Trudy Burke?”

  “It’s none of my concern, m’lord. Really.”

  “But you don’t like. Know what, Trudy Burke? You got spunk. I love spunk!”

  The opening rounds of talks between the trade representatives of the Kingdom of Bloxx and the Rhuum Industrial Organization got under way the following morning with as much appropriate pomp and ceremony as Jacobs and Burke could quickly arrange with Hotel Andromeda’s hospitality staff.

  After the courtesy robots withdrew, Jacobs and Trudy took seats at opposite ends of the long, large mahogany conference table traditionally used in such negotiations, while Sir Kethrommon sat directly across from Chaylaifa. The table was bare of everything but writing implements and note paper; in keeping with Rhuum ways, there was not even water. The size of the table seemed excessive for so few people, but Jacobs was betting that an old hand like Chaylaifa would appreciate the implied status it gave him, and he was right; Chaylaifa broke into an undiplomatic grin when he first saw it The twenty-three members of the Rhuum negotiating staff sat in a gallery well be-hind their chief; their only job was to lend their presence to these proceedings. Chaylaifa’s wife and daughter sat with them in the front row.

  The first five minutes of the meeting were spent in ex-changing formal pleasantries. Chaylaifa was, predictably, good at it with the skill of long experience. Kethrommon, not so predictably, quickly proved himself capable of delivering a rough yet effective and endearing presentation capable of charming even his most formal listener.

  Jacobs accessed the net. You there, Trudy?

  She answered immediately. Sure I am, hon. Hey, is this guy good, or what? Not only does he seem undamaged after last night’s antics—and I’ve seen the bill!—but he’s got the gift of gab like you wouldn’t believe.

  Jacobs winked at her. You just gotta love this big lug, don’tcha? Maybe old King Bozo knew what he was doing. This is going to be okay, after all. A quick deal, nice and clean, and—

  That was exactly when Kethrommon bolted from his seat and attempted to leap across the table at Chaylaifa, his ceremonial dagger unsheathed. “You piss-sprayed son of a whore!” Kethrommon cried in a white heat. “I’ll kill you’”

  Chaylaifa could move surprisingly quickly for such a big being; he kicked back his chair and drew his very unceremonial blaster. Fortunately, the conference room’s defensive systems had clicked on instantly, and both antagonists had been safely caught in a tanglefield. The tanglefield could do nothing to silence Kethrommon, however, and he continued to shout threats. Jacobs saw that Chaylaifa’s wife and child were shrieking but, sin
ce neither they nor anyone else in the gallery was offering any aggressive behavior, the tanglefield was ignoring them.

  The tanglefield was also ignoring the two facilitators, who were frozen only by their own shock. Trudy’s eyes were bulging. “We must have missed something. What the hell was it?”

  “I don’t know, Trude. Let me access the transcript… oh, no!”

  A Security squad arrived a moment later. Several of its members escorted Kethrommon to his suite, and Trudy accompanied them. Others took Chaylaifa back to his rooms and Jacobs went with him.

  “Ambassador Chaylaifa,” Jacobs carefully began when they were at last alone, “didn’t you realize that your… pleasant question… represented the worst kind of insult to Sir Kethrommon?”

  “It was not intended as such,” Chaylaifa said. He was genuinely puzzled. “I have frequently asked it of humanoids, but I have never gotten such a response.”

  Jacobs licked his lips. “Mr. Ambassador, some humanoids resent the implication that their mothers were impregnated with them by males who are not their acknowledged fathers.”

  Chaylaifa blinked. “But such things happen all the time, don’t they? Especially in noble houses? I’ve read many histories of humanoid cultures.”

  “It’s true that such things do happen. But it is usually—not always, but usually—rude to suggest to an individual that he himself represents one of those cases. Some cultures put great store in being certain of whom one’s parents are and, more-over, having everyone else be certain of it, too. I hope you can understand that Sir Kethrommon would greatly resent your questioning his parentage.”

  “But I wasn’t doubting his parentage, Mr. Jacobs,” Chaylaifa said. “I was simply asking who impregnated his mother.”

  “Now, m’lord,” Trudy said soothingly, “you must know that the ambassador didn’t mean to offend you.”

  They were sitting across from each other at a coffee table in the Bloxx’s sitting room. Kethrommon had grown calmer and was more in control of himself, but he was still hot with anger. “Indeed, woman?” he spat. “Then I would hate to be the victim of slurs he uttered with malicious intent.”

  “He is an alien, m’lord. He is not like you. He simply doesn’t understand.”

  Kethrommon nodded tightly. “I understand that. Barbarian, he is.”

  Trudy’s lips grew narrow. “If you like. He is certainly different. Not better, not worse—just different.”

  “I know ‘different,’ Trudy Burke,” Kethrommon said. “I’ve stood in the dirt of a hundred worlds. I’ve eaten that which has tried to eat me; I’ve even eaten with that which has tried to eat me.”

  “So you know how deeply the differences between beings can run,” said Trudy.

  Kethrommon shook his head. “There is always decency, and decency never changes. Never. Let me tell you something. I lost my father, he at my side against outsystem pirates terrorizing our good neighbors of the fourth planet in our system. He was blown apart by a fragmentation projectile. I had to wash him off me that night, after the battle.”

  Kethrommon’s teeth clenched. “I could overlook a slur upon myself, given a lack of intent, but I will not—cannot—countenance even an unintended insult against the memory of my father. My people desperately need the trade the Rhuum Organization can provide, but I am no longer the one to get it for them.”

  Trudy blinked. “So what will you do?”

  “There is only one way the Rhuum can answer for his insult—his death, by my hand.”

  “I hope there is another way, m’lord.”

  Suddenly Kethrommon sagged, the fight gone out of him. “In Justice, I cannot take his life from him; I do indeed realize he meant no harm by what he said. Trudy Burke, I am not unable to see that my killing the Rhuum would be a terrible crime under these circumstances; I am not stupid. I will, however, leave Hotel Andromeda in the morning. As you are still acting as facilitator for these talks, please have my ship made ready for departure at that time.” He carefully did not look at her.

  Trudy took a deep breath, somehow sensing that this was a dangerous moment and that whatever she might say to him, angry as he was and hurt as he was, could be dreadfully important—“I will do exactly as you ask,” she finally said, and she saw Kethrommon relax. Just a touch.

  “Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “Any other answer would not have done… and I did not want to kill myself in front of you, Trudy Burke.” Trudy saw the dagger hidden in his hand for the first time as he placed it on the table, the point facing him. “I must not kill myself until I stand in front of the king. That is the only way I may properly apologize to my patron god for my failure.”

  Trudy needed pills to get to sleep that night, and that was why the persistent beeping of the phone did not disturb her. Jacobs had to shake her awake.

  “Trudy, there’s a problem,” he said in the darkness. “A big one.”

  “Whazzit?” his wife mumbled.

  “That was Security. Chaylaifa is dead. Better start getting dressed; I’ll dial a wake-up for you.”

  Several minutes later Jacobs and Trudy caught a lift to the VIP section. The door to Chaylaifa’s suite was ajar; they entered. Several Security people were in the foyer, standing near their chief of detail. There was a briefing going on. The chief was hard to make out, surrounded as he was by the others; he was only a meter and a fraction tall, like most adults of his race. He was, generally speaking, a lizard.

  “Ah,” he said, noticing Trudy and Jacobs. His mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile. “The partners of Jacobs and Burke, no? I am Lieutenant Hrock-Leff of Hotel Security. These are several of my associates.”

  “Hello, Lieutenant, everyone,” Jacobs said. “What happened here?”

  “I do not know quite yet,” Hrock-Leff said. “The ambassador is dead. Do you care to see?”

  “Eh? Uh, I guess I have to,” Jacobs said. Trudy?”

  She seemed shaken. “I’ll, uh, I’ll wait here, I suppose. Call me if you need me.”

  “Okay, Trude. Lieutenant? Lead on.”

  “This way, please, Mr. Jacobs.” The two entered the main bedroom of the suite.

  Chaylaifa’s body lay in the center of the bed. The blankets and sheets had been ripped by his claws and gathered around him, as if he had tried to provide himself with his own shroud even as he died. His eyes were open and glazed. There was an incredible amount of blood all over everything. Ritzcrackas and other tidbits were spilled here and there.

  “It looks like he was stabbed,” Jacobs said.

  “He was,” Hrock-Leff replied. “He was stabbed some forty times by someone with a small knife. From what I can see at least eight of the wounds were severe enough to be fatal, in that Chaylaifa’s circulation system was irreparably damaged by each. He lost a great deal of blood very quickly. We have an identification, by the way.”

  “An identification?” Jacobs asked, puzzled. “Of the body?”

  “No,” the lieutenant replied. “Of the perpetrator. The chosha Nasu has named Sir Kethrommon of Bloxx.”

  “Jesus. Why am I not surprised?”

  “I do not know. Let us go into the other bedroom, shall we?”

  There was a connecting door to another bedroom in the suite. Inside, two Security officers were sitting with Nasu and Fehlorah. The two females were dressed in bathrobes supplied by the hotel; Nasu’s barely fit her, while tiny Fehlorah seemed lost in hers. They were holding hands, and both seemed terribly upset.

  “I’m sorry, Madame Chaylaifa,” Jacobs began, searching for something appropriate to say. “Your husband’s death is a great loss to us all.”

  The Rhuum nodded her appreciation. “It is just Nasu now,” she said, “but I thank you, Mr. Jacobs. Fehlorah also appreciates your sympathy.”

  “Certainly. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes, there is. You can make sure that these police people here bring the murderer of Chaylaifa to justice.” She glared at Hrock-Leff. “I am not sure of their in
tent. They seem reluctant to take that devil spawn of Bloxx into custody.”

  Jacobs nodded. “I’ll do my best, Nasu. Fehlorah, will you be all right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jacobs,” the girl said. “I will be all right.”

  “Very good. Lieutenant, may we talk?”

  “Of course, Mr. Jacobs.” They left the bedroom through another door and went into the sitting room common to all three bedrooms in the suite.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Jacobs,” Hrock-Leff invited, closing the door behind him. He himself squatted on a footstool, perfectly comfortable. “Would you like me to order something for you, now that we are alone? Coffee, perhaps?”

  “No, nothing for me, thank you. Lieutenant? Have you arrested Kethrommon yet?”

  “No. We have no need to bother him. We will not be arresting Sir Kethrommon.”

  “Oh,” Jacobs said, frowning. “Diplomatic immunity, eh?”

  “Hmmm?” the lieutenant said, almost distractedly. “Oh, no. We will not be arresting the Bloxx, because he did not kill Ambassador Chaylaifa. He has not left his room all evening.”

  “Oh? How do you know?”

  “We do not spy, Mr. Jacobs, but you probably know that the medical section keeps a passive watch on VIPs at the hotel, should someone experience a health problem or suffer an accident. Looking at the records for tonight, we see that Kethrommon was in his room all evening. The records also let us fix the time of Ambassador Chaylaifa’s death. Only two persons were with him at that moment: Nasu and Fehlorah.”

  “So one of them did it?”

  “Almost certainly. If they did not—if the murderer was someone not being monitored by the medical section, say a hotel staff member or some such—then they were present at the time of the killing and saw who did it, and can identify the criminal. It was not one of Chaylaifa’s staff; all are VIPs and all are monitored, and we can account for the movements of every one of them. But that is neither here nor there. I suspect the former chosha did it, using a small knife as her weapon, in the vain hope that we would suspect Sir Kethrommon and his dagger. The only other suspect is Fehlorah, and she is too small to have done such damage. I have not yet confronted Nasu with an accusation, but I will in good time.” Hrock-Leff yawned. “Pardon me; I was awakened for this. As I was saying, I am in no hurry to confront Nasu. She is not going anywhere.”