“Good question,” Gemmy said. “Why not, indeed?” His right foreleg pawed the blue-and-green turf. That was a bad habit of his when he was lost in thought—rough on the carpeting. He realized she was watching his foreleg with great interest and paused in mid-stroke. “Because,” he said, “he talked to me the way you talk to me.”
“How so?”
“Interested. Aware of our differences, but without being patronizing. Without being…” He paused and sought a way to phrase it without being patronizing himself. “People of other species often speak to me as if I were a child or, worse, a dimwit. You don’t. Neither did the Terran with the nose.”
“So… not the sort you think likely to wish to disrupt relations between species. I do see your reasoning, Gemmy. My job is to be paranoid, though. My paranoia suggests that perhaps your Terran was acting a part.”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure I’d be able to tell the difference.”
Chief Antonini threw back her head and croaked. “Don’t let it get to you. Some Terran actors are good enough to fool me, and I’ve had a lot of practice sorting.”
“It’s not that.” Gemmy said. “It’s just that he seemed a nice guy and I’d hate for him not to be.”
“So would I, Gemmy. So would I—Ah!”
The security robot had returned, toy rabbit in clasp. To Gemmy’s surprise, the robot handed the rabbit to him. He, in turn, handed the toy to Chief Antonini. She’d opened her case to lay an assortment of instruments on the table. As she picked up the rabbit, she said, “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to take it apart. Not unless I have to and certainly not without your permission.”
She inspected the rabbit carefully, turning it first one way, then another. Milly screamed for Gemmy and he hustled to carry drinks to two tables’ worth of first-timers who’d just come in. Easy tables—the nice thing about Hepetellists was that they drank from a communal bowl. One bowl per table and he hurried back to see what Chief Antonini had learned.
Her mouth ends had turned down. She upended the rabbit and pointed. “Bad news, Gemmy. See this? The rabbit measures distance. Now why should someone have—quite deliberately, from the looks of it—rejiggered an everyday toy to measure the width and length of the reception hall?”
“Oh, my,” said Gemmy, horrified at himself. “And I showed him the staff route to the reception hall, too!”
She looked him in the eye. “Don’t panic. There may be a perfectly rational explanation—or even a harmless irrational one. Perhaps the nephew is young enough to be learning the idea of distance, for example....”
Glumly, Gemmy said, “That sounds unlikely. Has anybody made any threats against the Mopellings? I’d’ve thought they were too new for anybody to hate them enough.”
She laid the rabbit aside and put away her instruments. Then she folded her hands on the table and said, “I won’t speak for your people but, as for my people… sadly the simple fact of ‘new’—like ‘different’—is frequently enough to spark death threats.” Again she looked him right in the eye. “When I said ‘Don’t panic,’ I meant it. This”—she patted the rabbit—”has to be investigated, precisely because there have been threats against the Mopelling delegation.”
Gemmy knew his fringe had turned dead black. “The Terran didn’t sign the check to his room,” he said.
Surprisingly, she showed her teeth and took a deep breath. “Of course he didn’t. That would be too easy’” She waited a moment, then she said quietly, “Gemmy, I want you to go get yourself a drink—your choice of relaxant, on me—then come back here and sit until you feel better. Then we’ll talk some more.”
Gemmy, limping ever so slightly in his right hind foot, did as she suggested. When he returned to the table. Chief Antonini said, “The limp, Gemmy, forgive me for asking…”
“I do it when I’m disturbed. The limp’s not a species-wide indicator, though. Just me.”
“I’m very sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll make this as easy as I can. You tell me when you’re ready to talk some more. I’ve only one question, really, and it’s quite straightforward.”
Gemmy drank. Slowly, he felt his fringes return to something approaching their normal hue. “I guess you’d better ask and get it over with, then.”
“Would you recognize the fellow again, do you think?”
Because the answer was now of such importance, he gave the question careful consideration. “Yes,” he said. “I’m quite sure I could. In fact, I thought I recognized him from the first.”
“Very interesting. Recognized him from what?”
“I don’t know. He said he’d never been to the hotel before—but, of course, he might have been lying.”
“He might well have been,” she acknowledged. “He might have been here to case the joint.” She peered into her own drink. “No, he’d have had no need to see the reception room this time if that were so.”
“Would you like me to search the hotel for him? I can get off duty for something that important. You’d only have to tell Ferrus.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll assign someone to the bar. If this fellow comes back, you’ll point him out to my man and my man will handle him from there.”
“Handle him?”
She raised her right hand. “Nothing violent, I promise you—not unless he starts it.”
Terrans always said that, in Gemmy’s experience, but he also felt Chief Antonini was not the sort—then again, he’d felt the other Terran.... It was all too much for him.
“Why here?”
“Because he knows about the staff entrance to the reception room. My staff will keep a close eye on the guest entrances. You keep your close eye on that staff entrance.”
Gemmy downed his drink in a single motion. He had the horrible feeling he’d spend the next two days black-fringed from morning till night.
Middleditch, March, and Maclsaac, the Terrans assigned to watch the bar and the staff entrance leading from it, were not as quiet as Chief Antonini. In fact, the three of them were a lot like any slightly joyous bunch of tourists. Gemmy supposed they were acting; they did not drink nearly as much as they ordered. Fearing for the health of the turf if they disposed of any more of their drinks that way, he asked them if they’d like him to choose them a drink this time. Middleditch (who seemed to be in charge if anybody was) said, “Yes! That’s a good idea!” When the others agreed, Gemmy decided that Chief Antonini had given him a good report.
He brought them a round of Dubs’s special concoction—Devilish Dogs. Colorful enough from a Terran point of view to look fiendish but utterly non-intoxicant. Middleditch sipped his cautiously, then showed all his teeth at Gemmy and said, “Just the thing!”
For a while, the bar got so busy that Gemmy didn’t have to think about anything other than getting the next drink ordered and the next drink poured and the next drink delivered. And then he found himself face-to-face once more with the Terran with the familiar smeller. He heard himself say, “Jing jang, without the leaves? Or would you like something different today?” His voice sounded almost normal, to his astonishment.
The Terran showed all his teeth at once. “Hey!” he said. “That’s some memory you’ve got! Yes, that’d be just fine.” He glanced around the bar. “Take your time. I see you’re a lot busier than you were the last time. The reception committee must be here, I guess.”
What would be the normal response to that, Gemmy wondered. Should I say yes? He caught himself glancing in Middleditch’s direction and stopped. “Yes,” he said. “Hang on. I’ll be right with you.”
He went to Dubs for the jing jang and had an inspiration. “Another round of Devilish Dogs, too.”
He delivered the Devilish Dogs first. As he set them on the table, he said to Middleditch, “The jing jang is for the fellow you wanted pointed out.”
“Well done,” said Middleditch. “Okay, boys! A toast to our host!” They all raised their glasses to Gemmy and drank them down.
Feeling terribly cons
picuous, Gemmy crossed the bar to the suspicious Terran’s table. “One jing jang, no leaves,” he said.
The Terran didn’t show his teeth. “Have you hurt yourself,” he said. “Should you be working this hard with an injured leg? I realize that leaves you three, but still…”
He’d been limping again. “I’m okay,” he said, feeling like a total fool. If a Terran could be this nice and be an assassin, there simply wasn’t any hope left in this or any other world. “It’ll all be over soon.”
“Oh, you mean the reception. I suppose so. Tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Gemmy nodded, then realized he’d given the man information yet again. He’d have kicked himself but this Terran would have noticed. “There’s a quieter bar on level twelve. Well, quieter for the moment. You might prefer that.”
“Thanks for the tip.” The Terran leaned back in his chair. “This one’s more convenient. Besides, I like the service here.”
He meant that as a compliment, but Gemmy was no longer sure of anything. “Thanks,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then he excused himself and got back to work.
When at last he could bring himself to look in that direction again, he saw that Middleditch and March now sat one on either side of the Terran with the familiar smeller. The suspicious Terran laid both hands, palms down, on the tabletop; he was not showing his teeth. Feeling horribly guilty, this time for the suspicious Terran, Gemmy looked away again. Maclsaac, who remained at the other table, where he could watch the staff entrance, flagged Gemmy for another Devilish Dog. Gemmy hurried the drink over to him, hoping to learn something, but the man said nothing and Gemmy couldn’t bring himself to ask.
It’ll all be over soon, Gemmy thought, and realized to his dismay that was just what he’d told the suspicious Terran. He limped on to the next table to take another round of orders.
For a moment, everybody seemed well taken care of. Gemmy sat back on his haunches just to rest his aching heel—and found himself face-to-face with Chief Antonini. He came to his feet as if he’d sat on a cactus.
“Thank you, Gemmy,” said Chief Antonini. “You’ve been very helpful.” She showed her teeth.
That seemed so out of place in the circumstances that Gemmy wondered if he’d gotten Terrans all wrong all along the line. He could feel his fringes turning black again.
Chief Antonini looked at him carefully; she hid her teeth.
“Gemmy, I think you’d better come along with me and talk to the fellow for yourself. Please.”
So it wasn’t an order, it was a request. And Gemmy said, “Of course,” and followed her. His limp was now even more pronounced.
Antonini took that into account and moved slowly. “I thought you’d be interested in learning the result of your observations,” she said. “Don’t go black-fringed on me, Gemmy. As it turns out, we picked up the two Terrans who sent the threatening notes. Neither one of them was your friend from the bar.”
“Then why…?”
But they had already reached the table, and she left his question unanswered. Gemmy reluctantly stood beside her, unable to look the suspicious Terran in the eye.
The Terran with the familiar smeller leaned back, showed all his teeth at once, and said, “Chief Antonini, as I live and breathe! My favorite nemesis! If the Furies are all as good looking as you, my dear, then send them off in my pursuit, by all means!”
March began to croak with pleasure, but Middleditch shot him a swift look and March stifled his croak so quickly he almost choked on it.
“Gemmy,” said the chief, “I’d like to introduce you to Wily Topkind, the bane of my existence.” But Gemmy saw that she was showing just as many teeth as Willy Topkind was.
“We’ve met,” said Willy Topkind. “Good to see you again, Gemmy. Sit down and take the weight off that sore leg of yours.”
Gemmy didn’t need asking twice. He sat, still bewildered by the Terrans’ behavior.
Willy Topkind went on, “You know I add spice to your life, my dear. Why don’t you admit it? For my part, I’m quite willing to admit that you’ve got me fair and square. I suppose I’ll sit out this reception in my hotel room”—he glanced at Middleditch and March—”probably with these rather grim fellows for company.”
“You surely will,” Chief Antonini said. “And likely the Terran delegation will file charges. But for now all I ask of you is that you tell Gemmy precisely what you’ve been up to. Between the two of us, we’ve just about ruined his outlook on life.”
Willy Topkind made a face that Gemmy recognized—the same face he’d made when he’d asked about Gemmy’s leg. “We’re the cause of his injury? How…?”
“He thought you were a nice guy, Willy. Then I came along and made him think you were a suspicious guy.” Chief Antonini turned to Gemmy. “Willy is suspicious—but remember I said there might be an irrational but harmless explanation?” She held out her hand to Willy. “Meet the irrational but harmless explanation.”
“Most of us call him Willy the Weasel,” Middleditch said, as if that should mean something to Gemmy. It didn’t.
Topkind croaked. “Gemmy, a weasel is a small Terran animal renowned for getting into tight places.”
“It’s not complimentary,” Chief Antonini said firmly, but Willy the Weasel showed a lot of teeth and said, “Oh, I like it!”
“Getting into tight places?” Gemmy said, faintly. “I really don’t understand.”
“Willy has a hobby. You know what that is? Okay, Willy’s hobby is getting his picture taken with famous people of all species.”
Willy Topkind showed his teeth again. “Getting face time is the proper term—among those of us who do it.”
“Getting face time,” Chief Antonini said. “I assume you’ve got your brag disc with you, Willy? Why don’t you show it to Gemmy? I’m not sure that will explain your behavior, but it would be a start.”
“I’d be pleased to show you, Gemmy.” From his shoulder pocket, he drew a jewel box and tapped the contents into the table slot. The tabletop came alive with tiny holographic figures. “Best view from this side, I think,” said Willy Topkind, gesturing for Gemmy to stand beside him. Chief Antonini motioned him into place and peered over his head, also watching the figures.
The ‘gram showed the arrival of President Hannes Thorvald on Ordoverwerit—all the usual bells and whistles had been trotted out for the Terran’s landfall. Gemmy, having seen this ‘gram a dozen times—it had been all over the newscasts for some two weeks—glanced questioningly at Willy Topkind.
“Watch to President Thorvald’s right,” Willy Topkind told him. “…and—there!”
Gemmy followed Willy Topkind’s point and saw… Willy Topkind!
“That’s you,” said Gemmy. “That’s why your smeller seems so familiar!”
Willy Topkind’s hand went to his nose, and Gemmy was momentarily horrified that he’d made yet another interspecies gaffe. Chief Antonini croaked happily, though—and a split second later, Willy Topkind was croaking even harder.
Despite having served drinks to numerous famous people of all species, Gemmy was impressed. “You actually know President Thorvald?”
“No,” said Chief Antonini. “He doesn’t. But he weaseled in and got his picture taken with Thorvald despite every precaution Thorvald’s security people took.”
Both Willy Topkinds showed great expanses of their teeth. The picture changed to another newsgram and the Willy Topkind beside Gemmy said proudly, “Here I am with Machon-Chumbly, leader of the Splagger Faction of the Emcharri.”
Sure enough, there was Willy Topkind, showing his teeth and waving to the camera. Beside him stood Machon-Chumbly.
Even Chief Antonini seemed impressed. “Lord,” she said. “You got past Peg Winter’s security?” She whistled.
Gemmy said to Willy Topkind, “And you don’t know Machon-Chumbly, either?”
Willy shook his head.
“Then how…?”
Willy glanced at Chief Ant
onini, then said, “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. But I won’t give away trade secrets while the chief is listening.”
Gemmy found himself clucking. That made sense—or at least it seemed consistent in the circumstances.
Chief Antonini looked at the time. “The Mopellings’ module has been docked. The reception starts in about twenty minutes, and I’ve still got work to do. Gemmy, if you’d like to stay here and watch the rest of Willy Topkind’s brag disc, you may. Perhaps that will keep Willy out of trouble. If that’s not sufficient”—she gave Willy Topkind a fierce look—”I’m sure Middleditch and March will be.”
Gemmy was about to say he’d like that very much when Chief Antonini held up a finger for quiet. “What now?” she said into her lapel. She listened again, then said with a sigh. “Send them up; I’ll wait.”
“Problems?” said Middleditch.
“So says Samuelson . . . Something to do with the Mopellings’ spatial sense.”
Willy Topkind looked at Gemmy. “Samuelson is the expert on Mopelling behavior—as much as there is one yet. If she says there’s a problem, there’s a problem. The Mopellings are an odd species even by our”—his pointing finger indicated both himself and Gemmy—”standards. They’re territorial in the extreme.”
“What would you know about it, Willy?” said Chief Antonini in an exasperated tone.
“Oh,” said Willy. “I’ve read all her papers on the Mopellings. I do very careful research.” To Gemmy, he added, “I have to: I wouldn’t want to cause an interstellar incident by smiling at the wrong species.”
Consistent again, Gemmy saw.
Willy Topkind went on, “If a Mopelling were sitting at a table in the bar, for instance, it’d be fine that you served it... as long as you always took the same route to its table. Vary the route, though—say you stopped at another table on the way to its—and the Mopelling would have to renegotiate its position to accommodate.”
He glanced at Chief Antonini. “I’ll bet Samuelson’s been driving the chief nuts. I’ll bet Samuelson’s going nuts herself—she’d have worked out where each and every member of the reception party must stand and how far each can range without disturbing the Mopellings.”
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