“Huh, so much for all that I tried to do for you. You’d make a lousy businessman in the Galaxy, friend Sam. Well, I’ll tell the Ligonian that the deal’s off and hope that it won’t get angry and arc on me—it really hurts, you know. The burns from those sparks really hurt!”
While Sam tried to puzzle out that remark, Brill continued. “I still think that we ought to wait for our original buyer and see what she has to offer. It’s either that or trust that I can come up with something else. Meanwhile I’d advise you to keep Pops from finding out that the money is missing until we consummate the deal.”
Sam wondered briefly if he could book passage on some outbound ship—preferably to some place where they had never heard of humans or Crumptonians. Someplace where he could breathe free and escape the consequences of Brill’s stupidity. Oh, why had he ever trusted the young Crumptonian?
“See if you can find somebody to buy this stuff right now!” Sam screamed. “We need to get that money back!”
The moving company representative was quite distressed, insisting against the undeniable absence of boxes surrounding Sam, that, according to their computers, the porters had not picked up the shipment due to an unfortunate demise of the company’s transport vehicle and the lack of other methods of conveyance.
Several rancorous minutes ensued, during which Sam had expressed his disbelief, demanded his boxes back, and insisted that; “I don’t give a damn what your stupid computer says. My boxes are somewhere in your bloody warehouse and you’d better find them or I’ll have the galactics sue you for every cent you have!” As he slammed the phone down he wondered what had possessed him to do business with such a bunch of idiots. Computers!
A few hours later Brill flew into the room at flank speed, zipped around the desk, and leaped to the arm of Sam’s chair, where she balanced on three legs while flailing for balance with the others.
“Friend Sam,” Brill announced breathlessly. “The Ligonian has departed, gone away without a trace or word. I can’t imagine what made it leave when it almost had our collection in its fields.”
“Perhaps it caught a sudden case of the smarts,” Sam suggested, “and decided to skip with its purse intact.”
Whatever Brill was about to say was drowned out by a bellow from the inner office.
“Shammm!” screamed Mardnnn. “Come here!”
Sam straightened his shoulders and marched into the office. Obviously Mardnnn had found him out. Well, he would face the music. He would take whatever punishment Mardnnn decided. At least he still had his dignity.
“Try this,” Mardnnn instructed, whisking a small black hat with an ear protruding from either side and a thin elastic string dangling below from one of the boxes with the mouse logo, and extending it to Sam. He had another already perched on the top of his“head.”The Kittchikoostrans had asked for some samples of local knick-knacks, something out of the ordinary that said, “I’ve been to Earth!” Mardnnn figured that, based on the fact that every alien who’d gone to Disney World, which was also every alien who’d come to Earth, had gone away with one of these little black hats, he’d order a gross of them for the forthcoming tour.
Reluctantly Sam put on the Mickey Mouse hat and modeled it for his boss, realizing that even dignity was easily lost. On the bright side, there was no indication that Mardnnn had noticed the missing funds.
Sam jumped when the telephone rang. For the better part of an hour he had been expecting Mardnnn to discover his theft and consign him to a life of imprisonment and poverty. Every instant that passed was an agony of anticipation, waiting for the law to come through the door to arrest him for his stupidity.
“I just found that the Ligonian left with a magazine collection,” Brill screamed before Sam could even get the receiver completely to his ear. “I knew the market was hot! But that means that someone else has discovered the potential of these collections and is competing with us. That means that we’ll have to move quick to get to my original buyer before someone else does!”
Sam couldn’t believe his ears. “The Ligonian bought another collection of crappy magazines?”
“That’s just what I said. Isn’t this exciting, friend Sam, to be on the cutting edge of a booming market?”
The cutting edge was too appropriate a metaphor for what Sam was feeling at the moment. “Isn’t there someone else who wants in on this hot market? We need to recover the funds quickly!” he croaked. “Mardnnn’s auditor is sure to discover what I’ve done at any minute.”
“Not to worry, friend Sam. Something will turn up. Then we can pay it all back with the odd change when we make our fortune. Trust me, I have a feeling for these things. This is a hot market we are in. Hot!”
Sam reflected that people frequently get burned rather badly around hot things. “I don’t feel very well. I forgot to mention that we’re in more trouble than before. It seems that the warehouse has lost the science fiction collection.”
Brill shot back, “Hmm, that is a problem, but stop worrying, friend Sam. Everything is going to work out all right. As soon as the buyer gets here and sees the Bitter Homes collection we’ll be in the money.” With those final words Brill severed the connection.
Sam stared at the instrument in his hand and wondered how many times he’d have to jump out of his second-floor window to make it equivalent to jumping once out of a twenty-story building.
The gray-skinned Pequodista hesitated at the doorway. It was dressed in layer upon layer of fabrics. Cascades of chintz flowed from the creature’s shoulders, ribbons of brocade reached to the floor, and swags of silk swept the floor. Surprisingly the colors and folds of the fabric gave an air of ideal composure.
“Hmmmmm, hmmh?” the Peq hummed softly. Sam was fascinated by the way the finger-like tendrils that grew from the Peq’s head thrummed the rose-colored bladders on each side of the alien’s neck to make the humming noise.
“Hummhmmm!” the Pequodista hummed sharply while fixing Sam with a penetrating stare, much like a snake appraising its dinner.
“Can I help you?” he said as politely as he could.
The alien cocked its head to one side, removed a box from the folds of fabric at its waist, hit it hard with its fist, shook it, and looked expectedly at Sam as it repeated; “Hummmmmmmm?”
“I asked if there was anything that I can do for you?” Sam repeated.
“HmmmmH! Uhmmmh mmmh mm,” the Peq mumbled, thumping the box again and again and shaking it un-mercifully. Tiny sounds of broken glass and loose connectors came with each strike.
Sam was about to give up on the entire pointless conversation when a tiny speaker on the box buzzed: “I am here to speak of money.”
Sam had never seen an alien using a translator before. All of Mardnnn’s clients had either mastered the “primitive and simple” human languages or chose to babble with whatever communications method they normally used, snorting disgust at Sam’s lack of understanding the while.
That translator would be a wonderful gadget for his work, he imagined. Why Mardnnn hadn’t gotten him one was something he would have to go into later. Then Sam realized what the Pequodista had said and linked it to Mardnnn’s earlier remarks. The implications of this alien arriving at this particular time struck him like a bolt of lightning: This must be the auditor Mardnnn had mentioned!
Sam’s heart rate shot up until he was certain that its beating must be visible through his clothing. Think, think! he implored his sluggish brain. Right now he had to concentrate on how to get the auditor out of the way until Brill’s buyer arrived.