Along with the effluvia thrown from the fumarole were globs of dreadful black goo that smelled pretty rank, but somewhat familiar, although he couldn’t place it. Of course, considering the number of rotten smells he’d encountered since arriving, it was no surprise that he should be confused over one or another. The expelled gobs would roll downhill, gathering soil to their sticky surfaces until, by the time they reached the bottom they became appreciable-sized boulders.
Eager Scrofulosans scurried about immediately after each eruption, using baskets on long poles to catch as many of the globs as they could before they hit the ground. Wait a minute; hadn’t Chlorine said they were priests? Suddenly, a connection clicked and he recalled why the smell was familiar. These globs smelled like the oily residue the Mephitisites collected in their pool. What was even more important was that it was also the aromatic component of that hideous gift—these globs must be the stuff to which their priests added the other junk. The gift wasn’t just art—it was religious art, Sam realized. And their art was literally a gift from God.
And he knew how to use that gift.
Phluttt-two, the new Speaker for the Mephitisites, had just inhaled to begin the traditional opening complaint when Sam interrupted. “I think the time to come to an agreement is at hand,” he declared.
Both sets of the aliens drew back, as Sam violated the protocols that had been established. Offal prepared to join the sputtering Phluttt-two in protest when Sam pulled a bundle out of his kit and placed it on the table.
“One of the first principles of negotiation is to know what you want, and what you are willing to give in return. Now, it has occurred to me that both of you are wanting, but neither is willing to give. Both of you are unwilling to bend because there is something here that you value highly. Isn’t that true?” There were reluctant sniffs of grudging agreement from both sides as Sam continued.
“What if I were to show something that was of great value to one of you, something that you would be willing to pay any price to possess? Would you then agree to a settlement?”
“Preposterous,” Offal wafted. “These creatures have nothing that would make us abandon our homes, our city, our planet!”
“Ridiculous,” belched Phluttt-two. “There is nothing that these creatures could offer that would make us—Where did you get THAT!” All of the Mephitisites gathered around the package that Sam had unwrapped as Phluttt-two was venting.
In the center of the table was a fresh sculpture that Sam had brought from the factory near the God Hole, reeking in all of its odoriferous glory, adding its own peculiar stench to the room. “I would say that a steady supply of these might make leaving the planet to the Scrofulosans mighty tempting, wouldn’t it?”
WHOOOOOSH, WHOOOOSH, WHOOOSH!! “Naturally it would depend upon the quantities—oh my, but this is exquisite—and the quality of any—oh lord, this is so GOOD—and the price that might be asked.” Phluttt sputtered in a slobbery finish.
“I would say that delivery of a dozen or so of these every week would be a fair price, wouldn’t you say?”
“A dozen a week! Oh my, uh, could you make that two dozen—and one immediately. As a matter of fact, we’ll take this one with us.” Some of the Mephitisites were already hustling toward the door with the lump of black glop. “Sorry that we can’t stay. We have a rather sudden dinner appointment. Good-bye!” Phluttt exclaimed as it raced to catch up with the crowd.
The Scrofulosans stood stock still, amazed at this sudden turn of events. Offal was nearly knocked scentless at the swift agreement. “Done!” Offal squirted at the Speakers’ retreating back and turned to Sam.
“God works in mysterious ways. Who could have expected that such vile creatures shared our religion? Yes, deaf-beast from Earth, now that you have revealed their true natures we will provide whatever it takes. It makes me proud to think that the Mephitisites will leave to spread God’s message far and wide. Two dozen, no, we will deliver three dozen each week.”
“Better give them the two dozen for the rights and demand Glax credits for anything else,” Sam advised, pleased at their enthusiasm to work within the agreement he had defined.
“Sell our religious artifacts!” Chlorine reeked sulfurously. “That is a violation of—how much do you think we could get?”
“I’d say you’d better charge at least fifty Glax credits apiece, not a Glizzatina less! I’ll give you odds that they’ll pay, too.”
“Fifty?” Offal momentarily lost her control at the prospect of sudden wealth and spurted the scent of violets. Sam realized that the Scrofulosan must have really been overcome to have emitted such a sweet fragrance. “Fifty credits would be enough to buy a small starship, with change left over for a freighter,” Offal wafted in shock. “We can afford to settle other planets! We can spread our God to the far reaches of the Galaxy!”
Sam could hardly wait.
Judging from their reactions the next day, both sides obviously felt that they had screwed the other royally—it was the best type of agreement. The surviving and badly tattered Mephitisites, including the new Speaker, who staggered to the meeting the next morning, were overjoyed to verify that they would receive a steady supply of Scrofulosan religious artifacts once they had their population off of the planet.
The Scrofulosans were happy that they would finally have their planet to themselves. The monetary arrangements Sam arranged were nice, too.
Chlorine visited Sam just before he left for the ship that awaited him in orbit overhead. Ahbbbb had booked him on a Dimannian luxury liner. “It has the very finest of accommodations,” she’d hummed during their last ansible call. After the last few weeks on Scrofulous Five anything that was dry and lacked distinct aromas would be a welcome change as far as Sam was concerned. Luxurious accommodations would be a bonus that he felt he richly deserved.
The Scrofulosan presented him a small package. “It is a special reward for all you have done for us, deaf-beast. It is our way of showing how much we appreciate your fine job of achieving accord between us and bringing those alien Mephitisites to God.” The gift was obviously another of the damned sculptures.
“I shall treasure it always,” he said. He hadn’t the heart to tell Chlorine the truth about the Mephitisites’ use of the objects. As the new Speaker, Phluttt-two so succinctly belched, just before departing eagerly for his final gourmet dinner; Whoosh-phlatt-blah-blah-whoosh, blah-blaat! which had translated as “A superbly delicious condiment—especially when lightly frowlzed!”
Sslovva had not been around for several days and Sam began to fear the worst. He had to admit that he had grown to like the little fellow and hated the idea that the tiny Rix could have made a fatal error in the pursuit of love. As he waited to board the ship he occasionally saw one of the Rix hopping along a passageway, but was never close enough to determine whether it was Sslowa or not.
So he was doubly surprised to see the tiny Rix just as he started to squeeze himself through the narrow, diamond-shaped Dimannian airlock. “Where have you been?” Sam asked by way of greeting. “I was getting worried about you. Didn’t think I’d see you before I left.”
CLICK! “I wouldn’t have let you get away without thanking you for your sage advice, Earth-Sam. As a result of my decision I feel wonderful. It was the most moving experience of my life. Oh, I cannot believe how unfulfilled I was before this happened, how limited were my horizons, how—”
“OK, OK, so you got laid and it felt great. How did the little lady, Sslinno, come out?” Sam could only guess what the poor thing had gone through—something appropriate to the nightmares of the New Victorians, he imagined.