“That’s the spirit,” said Jester, twirling a club. “I’ll get us a couple of partners, and tomorrow we’ll see how this little course stands up to some real golf. I just hope you won’t find it disappointing after some of the places you must have played…”
“Well, every course is a different challenge,” said Blitzkrieg. In point of fact, even the easiest courses were likely to be a challenge well beyond his golfing skills. He’d gerrymandered his average score into the eighties by a policy of taking as many tee shots as he needed to get a decent lie for his approach, bullying his opponents into conceding improbably long putts, and never counting any strokes after either his partner or their opponents sank a putt to win a given hole. When you had enough stars on the shoulders of your uniform, your opponents weren’t going to challenge you on the fine points of golf etiquette. And from the way Jester was talking, there was going to be no trouble at all playing his regular game here.
He teed up for his second drive and squinted down the fairway. This time he’d aim a little to the left and try to fade the ball right up to the opening of the green…
He gave the ball a mighty whack, and like a missile it took off down the fairway. And even before it reached the peak of its rise, it began its inevitable curve to the right.
Blitzkrieg sighed and pulled another ball out of his pocket. He’d get a decent lie to play if it took him all morning…
“Rot’n‘art,” said Do-Wop, looking up at the departures readout in the Tejas spaceport lounge. “At least this time it’s someplace I’ve heard of before.”
“Wow,” said Sushi. “I mean, I’m surprised you’ve heard of someplace outside your own home world.”
“You kiddin‘? I’ve heard of lots of places-been to a few of ’em, too. Lorelei, Zenobia, here…”
“OK, I get the point,” said Sushi. “I guess we need to get ourselves booked to Rot’n‘art…”
“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.