“What are ’zines?” Sam asked hoping that this wasn’t another obscure alien term that he would have to twist his mind around.
Brill snorted some gold snot. “ ’Zines are cellulose-based sheets imprinted with deposits of colored dye depicting fanciful events—a primitive form of storytelling.”
“You want to buy old science fiction magazines!” Sam exclaimed in a flash of understanding.
“Not buy,” Brill protested with a dismissive wave of her tentacle, “invest. Yes, invest is definitely the better word. Trust me, friend Sam, the races of the Galaxy will eat these up—they love primitive alien literature. It’s a sure thing. We can sell them for whatever price we choose. Think of what the riches will bring to you, and me, of course.”
Sam had his doubts. “Well, I suppose you know better than I what the galactic market will bear. What do you need—a thousand?” That would just about tap out his funds, but if there was an assured profit it would be worth it.
Brill blushed purple and shifted her body nervously on her five elephantine legs. “Er, I’ll need a bit more than that, friend Sam. Actually, I need about, er, a million; give or take a hundred thousand or so. That’s in Earth dollars,” she added hastily.
Now it was Sam’s turn to blanch. “Urk,” he said smoothly. “I don’t have anywhere near that kind of money. I just barely squeeze by on the pittance your father pays me.” Actually, his salary was more than a pittance by quite a large measure, but Sam wasn’t about to let any of the Crumptonians know that.
Brill brightened to a brilliant sapphire. “Money’s not a problem, friend Sam, you can get all you need from Pops’s account. He’s got lots of cash on hand.” She glanced questioningly at Sam.
“Mardnnn would kill me if he found out that I’d used his funds for some private business. He only gave me access to the account for the Kittchikoostran arrangements. No, Brill, I just can’t do it.”
“Sam, this isn’t a gamble—it’s a sure thing! Listen, I heard that there’s a buyer arriving next week. She’s a real connoisseur of exotic literature and will absolutely eat this up!” Seeing the doubt on Sam’s face she continued. “Look, friend Sam, we use Pops’s money, get the magazines from this collector before he learns about the market potential and ups the price, then we sell the ’zines to this buyer and put the money we borrowed from Pops back into the old account before he returns from Erandi. Pops will never know the difference and we, friend Sam, will be rich!”
“Are you absolutely certain that this buyer will want them?” Sam asked, worry evident in his voice.
“Not a doubt. Stake my life on it. She’s got a reputation for seizing on new markets and making her backers wealthy. Sam, she’s the top gun in the cluster. Absolutely platinum-plated, gold-lined, top rate, super-guaranteed…
“All right, all right. I get the idea. Where is this collection? When can I take a look at it? Don’t want to buy a pig in a poke, y’know.”
Brill was hopping up and down on her five legs, waving her tentacle wildly in the air. “Friend Sam, keep to the point: This has nothing to do with domestic slaughter and marketing of edible parts—it’s zines we’re talking about, don’t you remember? But never mind; just let me take care of the details. I know what I’m doing. Just be sure that the money is going to be there when I need it. Now, we have to move quickly or somebody else will get the first foot on the platform!” With that the young Crumptonian flew out of the door and raced away to assure their future good fortune.
Sam hummed happily to himself. Now he could have a paid vacation while Brill produced a nice bit of change and still do everything Mardnnn wanted. Yes sir, things were definitely looking up.
Shortly after Brill had left, her older sister, Town, entered the office slowly, dragging her rear leg as if it had no muscle at all. Sam preferred Town to her hyperactive younger sister. Somehow her more sedate manner possessed a quiet charm that he found engaging.
“What is the problem with your leg?” Sam asked as Town settled down in front of his desk. “Did you injure yourself?”
Town laughed lightly. “Injury? Oh no, this is something more significant. You see, Sam, this is the first sign that the change is coming,” Town replied.
“The change?” Sam replied, wondering what she was talking about.
“Yes. I’m afraid that I am in the early stages of what you humans would call adolescence.”
Sam was quite puzzled by her remark. “I don’t understand what that has to do with your leg.”
Town let out a long sigh and waved her tentacle about as her eye moved up and down. “You are undoubtedly aware that we Crumptonians change from motile to sessile as we age. The stiffening of my leg is the first sign that I am in the process of that change. The deadening of my leg means that I have only a short while left before I have to put my foot on a permanent platform and take my place as an adult.”
“So then you’ll be able to vote?” Sam suggested nervously, not sure of what rights and privileges an adult Crumptonian enjoyed.
“Much more than that,” replied Town with an azure dribble of spit. “I’ll be allowed to breed,” she said shyly, “and that is why I need your help.”
Sam was unsure of how he could help her. Although he liked her well enough, the physical incompatibilities alone would—
“I need some of father’s money,” Town went on, ignoring Sam’s squirming discomfiture. “One must invest wisely to secure a decent future. Don’t you agree?”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh yes. Certainly! A secure future.” Mardnnn certainly wouldn’t begrudge Sam giving Town a little money for something so important, he imagined. “I can write you a check for that. I guess you’ll need a platform. What will that cost—a few hundred or so?” Town hesitated. “Oh, a decent platform is cheaper than that. I can pay for that out of my allowance,” she drooled and made a dismissive wave with her tentacle. “It’s the rest of the expenses that I need some help on.” She hesitated, turned a delicate shade of green, and then continued. “It’s just that I have, that is—I want… oh, it is so difficult speaking of these things to an alien!” She paused for another two beats and then said, in a rush, “Oh Sam, I am in love! She is the most wonderful little swimmer that you ever did—”
Sam wiggled uncomfortably. “Love?” he squeaked. “She?” he said feebly, feeling as if he had suddenly ventured into waters beyond his depth, and alien waters at that. Just what sort of sex life did these Crumptonians have, anyway?
“I knew we were meant for each other when I first laid eye on her. She has the most delicious shade of pale straw, her legs are as slender as a willow, and her tentacle is more delicate than a wisp of spider web.”Town stopped gushing. “Oh yes, I almost forgot; she’s just under a year old—the perfect age for me!”
Sam’s discomfort tuned into absolute panic. “Urk,” he gurgled intelligently, trying desperately to keep up his end of the conversation. “Did you say that, uh, she’s only a year old?” Had he understood Town correctly? Did she say that she was actually in love with an infant—a female infant at that? Most definitely he was in waters not only beyond his depth, but swarming with unknown reefs and submerged obstacles.
Town hunched down, braced herself on her back leg, and pulled her inert one over the others. “I can see that you are as old-fashioned as my father,” she said petulantly, her eye stalk drooping dejectedly. “You think I am still too young, don’t you?”