“I guess so,” said Do-Wop. “Wonder why oP Beeks is going there? It sure ain’t the place I’d pick for a vacation.”
“Yeah, you’d go straight back to Lorelei and blow everything in the slots,” said Sushi. “But you’re right- Rot’n‘art isn’t exactly the scenic high point of the galaxy. Some interesting old buildings there, if I remember my history.”
“If they haven’t all fell down,” said Do-Wop. “Our school books had pictures of Old Earth, and you wouldn’t believe it. Some of the places-I’m talking ‘bout joints where kings and vice presidents and other hot shits lived- were all busted up. You’d think they’d keep ’em in better shape.”
“Yeah, we had those same pictures in our books,” said Sushi. “They had a few too many wars and other kinds of trouble. But I’ve never heard of any wars on Rot’n‘art, so maybe it’s in better shape than Old Earth. I guess we’re going to find out.”
“Hope they got good beer there, anyhow,” said Do-Wop. “Hey, that reminds me-we can’t get on the ship for another hour and a half. Let’s go get somethin‘ to drink first.”
“Good a plan as any,” said Sushi, tiredly. The two legionnaires picked up their duffel bags and headed down the spaceport corridor toward the shops next to the waiting area.
They’d gone just a few steps when Sushi grabbed Do-Wop by the arm and pulled him through a side door into a candy shop. “Quick,” he whispered. “Do you see who I see?”
“Where?” said Do-Wop, sticking his head out the door and looking in both directions. “I don’t see no…”
“Shhh!” said Sushi, urgently. “Down by the vending machines-no, the other way, stupid!”
“Who you callin‘ stupid, stupid?” said Do-Wop. He looked in the direction his partner had indicated. “Geez- it’s Beeker! Yo, Bee… Mpfhh!” He sputtered as Sushi put a hand over his mouth.
“Quiet! If he sees us, he’ll know he’s being followed, and then who knows what he’ll do?” whispered Sushi. “We might lose him for good!”
“Escutse me, gentlebeinks, ah you lookink f’som can-n’y?” came a squeaky voice from behind the counter. The two legionnaires turned as one, to see a small grey-furred creature peering at them with enormous sad eyes.
“Uh, yeah, that’s what we’re lookin‘ for, candy,” said Do-Wop. “Y’got any Green Woofers?”
“Ahh, Greem Wooferts, Aldebaran Cann’y Com’any, ver‘ gootd, yes,” said the little creature. It went over to one of the display cases and reached in the back. “You wan’ larch or chumbo sidze bocts?”
While the shopcreature waited on Do-Wop, Sushi stepped over to the doorway and cautiously peered down the corridor again. “I think he’s gone,” he said.
“Hang on, Soosh, I’m gettin‘ some Green Woofers,” said Do-Wop. He turned back to the shopcreature, and said, “Better make it the jumbo box, I dunno if they’ll have ’em on the ship.”
“Chumbo, yes, ver‘ gootd,” said the creature, digging out the candy from the display case. “Anatink elts?”
Sushi stuck his head out the doorway again, then abruptly pulled it back and scurried over to Do-Wop. “Damn, I spoke too soon! Here comes Nightingale!”
“Well, she probably isn’t coming in here,” said Do-Wop, not showing much concern. “Maybe she’s not the candy type, y’know? These skinny broads can be weird…”
“Even if she doesn’t come inside, she might spot us, and then‘;’-. ie totally zickled,” said Sushi, suddenly aware that his Legion-issue black jumpsuit stood out like a sore thumb in this spaceport. He turned to the little grey creature. “Is there anyplace we can hide for a few minutes? Someone’s coming that we want to surprise…”
“Oh, you gon‘ buy cann’y f it?” The shopcreature did something with its face that looked like a wink, then pointed to the counter along the back of the store. “You hite ovah derh!”
The two legionnaires scooted behind the counter and crouched down, hoping they’d been quick enough to avoid Nightingale’s attention. They suddenly became aware of the sound of footsteps entering the shop; a small human’s, to judge from the tempo and apparent weight. Sushi held his breath, hoping that, just this once, Do-Wop would be able to keep his mouth shut.
“Hey’o, missy, you need some cann’y?” said the shopcreature.
“Yes, have you any white chocolate?” The customer’s voice was muffled, although it was plainly a human female speaking. Sushi scrunched down lower.
“Ridte disweh,” said the little grey sophont, heading directly for the counter where the legionnaires hid. The woman’s footsteps followed the shopcreature.
“I want only the finest quality,” said the woman. “Nothing commercially processed.” Sushi still wasn’t sure whether this was Nightingale or not; he had only heard the Omega Mob’s medic speak a few times, really close. He wished now that he’d made it a point to listen to her…
“Dadt wudbe da Viceroy spetyal ectspo’t,” said the shopcreature, coming behind the counter where Sushi and Do-Wop cowered. It pulled open a drawer. Sushi held his breath as he heard the shopcreature say, “Disiz ahr ver-abes‘.”
The woman gasped. “Who is that behind the counter?” she cried. That was the last straw for Sushi and Do-Wop; they bolted from the store, nearly knocking down the shopcreature and his new customer, a petite blonde in an electric blue chiton.
The last thing either of them heard was the shopcreature calling, “Zir! Zir! Yuhaf vergo’in da Wooferts!”
Journal #804-
Rot’n‘art is the indisputable “galactic center”-just ask its natives (if you can find any). This despite the planet’s location well out on the fringe of the Alliance, which in itself is located a considerable distance from the rather dangerous central regions of our galaxy. As to what Rot ’n ‘art is the center of, the best indication might be found in its nearly universal-and richly deserved-reputation for decadence, corruption, and utter paralysis of every agency.
Unique among the planets of the Alliance, Rot’n‘art has been entirely enclosed and roofed over. Seen from space, the planet is an irregular spheroid of metal and synthetics, which extend as much as a mile above the actual surface. It is not at all clear why someone-several generations of someones, to be precise-thought this particular form of development to be worth the effort. I suspect it was the Interplanetary Shippers Guild, who are greatly enriched by Rot’n’art’s need to import the vast majority of its foodstuffs, which despite its diminished population the planet can no longer grow for itself.
Rot’n‘art’s claim on the title of “galactic center” unquestionably holds true if the subject is service robots. Not that robots are at all rare on other worlds-far from it. But on many worlds, they are found only in positions unsuited to human workers: undersea mining, for example, or nuclear reactor maintenance. Because of the positions they are in, the visitor (whose interest in undersea mines or the innards of nuclear reactors is usually nil) rarely sees them.
Not so on Rot ‘n ’art. There, even more than on Cut ‘N’ Shoot, robots fill the majority of public contact positions. Stop in a restaurant for lunch? A robot takes one’s order, brings the food, and collects the payment. For all I know, another is back in the kitchen preparing one’s sandwich. Travel to some tourist destination? One robot vends the tickets, another collects them, a third operates the vehicle, and still another directs one to the best places to view the attractions. Robots so dominate the landscape that a first-time visitor is likely to wonder where the people of Rot’n‘art have fled.
Phule stepped off the liner to discover an empty, ill-lit corridor, which might have been swept some time in the last month, but not very carefully. There was a row of vending machines on the wall facing him. About half of them appeared to have been vandalized. The door hissed shut behind him, and he was alone. He stopped and looked around, confused; this didn’t look anything at all like the entrance to one of the major hubs of the galaxy…