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Lounge at Splendel's.
"It looks bad," said Frank.
"Bad," Podvex agreed.
Mister Moogi glowered at the pair of them and refreshed the squeeze teas. He
had not said a word since the scent-sac incident, but the play of color bands
over his cheek flaps told its own tale of irritation, indignation, and
occasional speech-
less rage.
Now, as the colors shaded up into the deeper purple hues, he finally broke
silence. "Bad is not the word!" he sputtered. "Ru-
ination does not begin to describe it. I don't blame you, Podvex.
For once. I have come to expect a certain level of idiocy from you, and you
have yet to disappoint me. But you, sir!" He turned on Frank. "We never
expected much from Tenans as far as the finer points of galactic society go,
but at least we thought they'd know how to behave themselves in a hoteir
"Wha-wha-what ?" Frank's stammered bewilderment made no impression on Mister
Moogi.
"The wedding will not take place. That much is clear. Your people will lose a
great deal of face for having backed a worst-selling line of goods. Your own
career will of course be over. The female who so cunningly maneuvered you into
this predicament will avoid all blame and make your existence a misery and a
shame with her gloating now. You would have done better to have devoured her
after sex, like any civilized sentient."
"Don't I know it," Frank muttered.
"So much for you. As for Podvex, he will always bear the stigma of an
unfulfilled and unfulfillable contract. He will be" Mister Moogi shuddered "my
apprentice forever."
"I wouldn't mind it that much. Mister Moog " A single
icy glance from his employer shut Podvex's mouth for him.
"Forever might not last as long as you expect, Podvex.
Word of the wedding's failure will pass into legend, and leg-
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196 Esther M. Friesner end will be sure to explain just why the wedding
failed.
Names will be named. Your foolish haste to sign a contract whose terms you did
not fully understand will become im-
mortal. So will the name of the shop lack-wit enough to have creatures like
you on staff."
"You did tell me that any publicity is good publicity. Mister
Moogisir." Bravely Podvex tried to salvage some crumb of hope from the ashes.
"I lied."
"Oh." The crumb crumbled.
'To say nothing of what's going to happen to Osprey,"
Frank remarked, thinking aloud. "No wedding, no peace.
Boom. Bum. Armageddon. Ouch."
"Osprey?" Mister Moogi bristled. "What is Osprey?"
"Just a whole world of short-tempered sentients that's go-
ing to be turned into toast, that's all."
"And what is that to me?" Mister Moogi demanded.
"Probably nothing," Frank allowed. "I just thought that toast goes well with a
little of the milk of human kindness."
Mister Moogi's vents made terse, snuffling sounds, the equivalent of a human's
disdainful sniff. "Milk is for mam-
mals" he said, wearing contempt like a fine cloak. "We are speaking of the
fate of Splendel's." Using every free foreclaw on his body, he gestured toward
the panoramic windows of the GIorioski Lounge. Through these glassy portals
and via the networks of viewscreens above them it was possible to see every
comer of the gift shop.
It was a striking spectacle, one that never failed to impress
Podvex. Almost against his will, he found himself drawn fas-
cinated to the windows and the viewscreens, his eyes sweep-
ing the vast abundance of the gift shop's wares. His heart beat a little
faster and a tear rose to his eyes. "Everything from soup to numps." he
murmured.
"What was that?" Mister Moogi snapped.
"He said, 'Everything from soup to nuts,' " Frank supplied.
"He did not. He said ^numps.^ I heard him. Podvex, how dare you!"
"How dare I what?" The little Dangvim held up his paws in abject helplessness.
"Don't pretend you don't know. I never saw such an ap-
prentice for getting out of work. Hmph! Probably use the ex-
IT'S A GIFT 197
cuse that this Osprey-thing-world's about to blow itself up.
Welt, it won't hatch any clutches with me!" Mister Moogi's foreclaws jutted
out in an attitude of impatient expectation.
"Podvex, I am waiting. Isn't there something you should be doing?"
"Uhhhh, ritual suicide?"
"Business before pleasure," Mister Moogi said sternly.
"Oh, my fur and follicles!" Podvex slapped his own fore-
head. "The numps'."
"Ana the yumas, and the sevreens, and the weimaraners, and the " Mister Moogi
was left to enumerate to an empty lounge. Podvex had streaked out, followed at
a respectable gallop by the Terran.
"So that's a nump," said Frank, peering into the sonocage at a
square-shouldered, baggy-eyed creature that looked like a cross between a
throw pillow and a hamster.
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