The Bzzree's & The Lirriot's Tales

12 

The Bzzree’s & The Lirriot’s Tales 

 

    The Nblyterian had downed a revivifying shot of qwlot, early though it still was, and explained to Dohra that she’d given up her room rather than pay for another day’s hire and checked her baggage, not that she had much to check, and Forty-Four had begun to hint delicately that perhaps Commander ZrMl might know some interesting stories, when Dohra sat up very straight and gasped: “Look! It’s Craaa! What’s he doing down here, this air’s too heavy for him!”

    Sure enough, a thin feathered figure wearing a battered FW pack was dragging itself step by painful step towards their corner of the Level Pink ISLA bar.

    “Looking for mannanna flowers?” drawled Didg, as the Bzzree paused, looking up at the giant and not wholly decorative mannanna plant.

    “Does that plant look sort of the wrong shade of pink to any other beings?” asked BrTl.

    “Effect of the hangover, swiller!” replied Didg with a laugh.

    “No, Didg!” cried several other beings.

    “It clashes horribly,” elaborated Dohra, getting up and looking uncertainly at the Bzzree.

    Hideously, confirmed One and Two. “Not a good match,” they said aloud.

    “It’s hideous!” squeaked their Flppu happily. “And when it flowers, it’s even hideouser, because the flowers are orange!”

    “Some beings might admire that effect,” said its paired masters quickly. “Not to be anything-ist.”—“Not to be anything-ist.”

    For once S-Fl’Chuyilleea didn’t echo them: it said to Dohra: “They taste good, but you wouldn’t admire it, would you, Madam Dohra?”

    “No, I certainly wouldn’t, S-Fl’Chuyilleea! –I don’t think he is looking for flowers. Excuse me.” She went over to the Bzzree.

    They weren’t quite close enough for all beings to catch their spoken words but it didn't matter, because Dohra broadcast them to the entire room. “Hullo, Craaa!” she beamed.

    “Great Madam Dohra! I thought I might find you here!” he wheezed, bowing.

    “Of course. But what are you doing here? Isn’t this air too heavy for you? And there’s too much gravity, isn’t there?”

    –Too much gravity? echoed ZrMl.

    That way madness lies, Zr-cognate, warned BrTl laconically.

    Goddit, he conceded.

    The Bzzree was explaining: “I came to see you, Great Madam Dohra.” He drew a wheezy breath. “It’s my day off; I thought you might like to come up to Level Blue again, and maybe tell us a story.”

    Dohra gulped.

    “There’s a Lirriot Queen and her consort that’d really like to hear one.”

    –Great steaming piles of mok droppings, groaned BrTl. She still hasn’t given up trying to sell her those pups!

    I don’t think I'll ask why the pink being didn't want to buy one, noted his fellow xathpyroid.

    You needn’t ask me, certainly: I don’t want to end up on Mullgon’ya! –Don’t bother, thanks, Trff, he-it doesn’t really want to know.

    It can see that! But it could tell you-it, Commander.

    Er, no, thanks, Chief Engineer, replied ZrMl weakly.

    Dohra was trying to avoid the story-telling bit. “Well, um, I’d really love to come up again, of course, Craaa. Only, um, we got sent away again, ’member?”

    “Yes, but that being’s off duty!” he replied with a wheezy cackle.

    “Oh, good! Maybe we could all come up, then; and maybe have lunch?”

    “That’d be lovely!” he croaked. “The Joddum noodles are really fresh today!”

    “Um, yes. Well, them or something else,” she said weakly. “Now, you’d better take my arm. Don’t worry, I’ll go very slowly.”

    The gaunt feathered figure leant on her round mammalian arm, and they proceeded very slowly to where the others were sitting.

    What is it that Bzzrees eat, again? sent ZrMl idly to his fellow xathpyroid.

    Well, quite! Just don’t mention anything even vaguely approaching the notion in front of her. She even started feeling sorry for the Joddum noodles when we were up there.

    ZrMl spluttered into the remains of his third basin of Oononian spring water as the two came up to them.

    “This is Craaa!” beamed Dohra. “He’s a Bzzree. Personal name Craaa, nest name Crr-Craaa, flight name Bzz-Craaa, is that right, Craaa?”

    “You remember!” he croaked, gasping for breath.

    You’ve only got to look at the way that great beak opens and shuts—

    Yeah. Drop it, ZrMl, sighed BrTl.

    Dohra was assuring the feathered one that of course she remembered and introducing him to everyone, even the Flppu and the mutant, no, well, especially the Flppu and the mutant, and explaining that there was too much air and gravity down here for Craaa—BrTl charitably ignored ZrMl’s mind-shout of NO!, since it was clearly involuntary—and would they all like to come up to Level Blue and perhaps have a drink and some lunch? There was an ISLA bar just like this one, only blue!

    “And without a plasmo-blasted mannanna palm,” agreed ZrMl incautiously.

    “I like the flowers,” said Craaa on a wistful note.

    “Yes, they are tasty, aren’t they?” agreed Dohra. “I’ve got a lovely recipe for them: you add some—” Various beings stopped listening, though BrTl brightened momentarily at the word “sugar”. And after the Feeny-Argyllians had been assured by the more scientifically aware that there was no helium up there and warned by Dohra that the fluorogas shakes were “awfully hiccupy”, they all went. Just to try it out.

    “Not that one,” said Trff as Forty-Four looked at a large public lift-blob.

    “We’ve got a friendly one,” explained Dohra happily. “It’s waiting for us, isn’t it, Trff? This way, everybody!”

    With some emanating of stunned disbelief they all trooped after Dohra and the Bzzree—perforce slowly—to the handy lift-blob with the sign that read: “Public lift-blob. Entry: 15 igs. (IG. Reg. Approved. ISLA standard.) Choose your level before entering. Entry onto this blob constitutes a waiver of your personal/group rights under the Intergalactic Personal/Group Being Physical Safety Rights Act. Available levels: OUT OF ORDER.”

    The Feeny-Argyllians had recoiled.

    “Don’t worry,” said Dohra placidly, helping the Bzzree on. “It’s not true,” she said, following him on and turning and smiling at them.

    “Well done, Chief Engineer,” acknowledged ZrMl, getting on.

    And with that everyone got on and the lift-blob closed protectively round them and rose smoothly. Level Blue, it announced. H-breather. Sim-lounges, bar, ISLA Nestling-Nest—charges apply—fine selection of boutiques. Access to Tourist Halls by Tourist Pass only.

    “Thank you, Lift-blob!” beamed Dohra, getting off onto Level Blue.

    Thank you, Dohra. Have a nice day.

    “See?” she beamed. “It knows me!”

    At this ZrMl’s emanations, particularly in the direction of Trff, became more or less untranslatable, so BrTl kindly pretended he hadn’t picked them up.

    “Too bouncy!” shouted Budg, following Didg off.

    “Space garbage, you’ve been on bouncier worlds than this,” he said, not trying to explain. “This is the place where they got Joddum noodles.”

    “Joddum noodles!” he cried, licking the fangs. “Yay!”

    The Feeny-Argyllians, patting anxiously at their FW packs, were following cautiously. “It is rather bouncy!” they tootled.

    “Bouncy!” gasped the Flppu, bouncing off. ZrMl caught the trailing end of its yellow lead automatically as it flew up and aw—Not away. A simple reflex action, he admitted as the being’s masters reclaimed it with grateful thanks. 

 

    Yeah, you wanna watch them, Zr-cognate, agreed BrTl. He took a sustaining breath of h-breather. BURP! “Oh, Federation. Pardon,” he said glumly.

    BURP! “Pardon me. It’s the changeover to h-breather on top of all that spring water,” admitted ZrMl.

    “And on top of all that nnru juice mixed with anything ya care to name, not forgetting the fluorogas,” noted blndreL, looking around her with tolerant interest. “Hey, it’s blue, isn’t it?”

    “That’s just what I said!” cried Dohra eagerly. “And if you come over here a bit”—they all followed her meekly—“you can see the sunshine coming in! Look, up there! Wouldn’t it be great to be able to go up to that bar?”

    “Easy!” crowed the Bzzree. Forthwith he soared effortlessly up in a great sweeping arc, and swooped down towards the mezzanine bar.

    “Ooh, isn’t he wonderful?” cried Dohra.

    “Well, avian,” allowed ZrMl.

    Zr-cognate, she won’t like—

    “More than that, Commander ZrMl!” she was crying reproachfully.

    Just agree with her, sent BrTl heavily.

    Numbly the Commander croaked: “Uh—yeah, Dohra, wonderful. –Avians are,” he added on an inspired note.

    This went down very well and Dohra able to assure the Bzzree as he landed neatly that they all thought he was wonderful!

    The Flppu thinks he was looking for food and the mutant thinks he is food, BrTl admitted as they headed for the blue ISLA bar—slowly, those that hadn’t been on Level Blue before had to look with interest at all those boutiques that were just like the ones back on Level Pink.

    Right. I gotta admit I’m plasmo-blasted glad I’m with a xathpyroid squadron, Br-cognate. How do you stand it?

    The pink being isn’t a ship-companion, he replied quickly. Jhl’s much more like a xathpyroid.

    She’d need to be, ZrMl acknowledged limply.

    The blue ISLA bar was of course in all respects, except that it was blue and didn’t feature a hideous mannanna palm, just like the pink ISLA bar. Nevertheless Forty-Four and the Feeny-Argyllians expressed verbal pleasure, and they all sat down and— Some of those present had forgotten up until this very IG microsecond the saga of Dohra and the spring water in the sealed bubble.

    Poor Craaa was quite overcome as his guests were presented with sealed bubbles of this, that and could-be-anything.

    “It’s ISLA regs,” BrTl explained kindly. “The stuff in them’ll be what they ordered: don’t worry.”

    “Maybe we should have gone to a shake shop,” said ZrMl.

    And burp, burp to the power of forty-two to you, too! returned BrTl pointedly. “No, this is good.” Just in time he wrenched the straw of a xathpyroid-size bubble of ale out of the mutant’s paw. “Oy, Didg, swiller: these here ISLA bubbles don’t let ya stop drinking until it’s all gone, because they’re afraid the Rwthwarian ale’s gonna explode in the h-breather. Can he drink that much without breathing—or put it like this, without expiring?”

    “No. I thought I overrode his order, actually,” he admitted.

    “Oh, really?” replied BrTl, looking hard at a small green fluffy ship-companion.

    “It’s sorry, Didg, it got a bit… mixed-up,” it admitted glumly. “Last time she-it called Jhl was going on about free will and pink—ow!” it gasped as a BrTllian pseudopod retreated from a tentacle tip. “About free will. She-it did say all sentient beings within the Meaning.”

    “Just think of him as not a sentient being, Trff,” said Didg heavily. He looked somewhat helplessly from the growling Budg to the immense sealed bubble of ale.

    “I could manage it, Didg,” said ZrMl helpfully.

    “Uh—not and live, probably, ZrMl,” he admitted weakly. “Not on his form up to now.”

    Trff pointed an antenna at the bubble of Rwthwarian ale. 

 

    “Well?” said BrTl as it didn’t say anything.

    “Interesting. What? Oh—fixed.”

    “Well, fix everyone else’s, especially the pluh—the Flppu’s. We don’t want—” We don't want beings expiring and spoiling Dohra's pleasure in this plasmo-blasted blue ISLA bar.

    Fixed! it sent jauntily.

    “Fixed your own?” asked BrTl casually.

    Its antenna was seen to droop.

    Oh, Federation! Sorry Trff, didn’t mean to get at—

    Hah, hah! Gotcha!

    “If a certain being could stop taking advantage of a xathpyroid with a monumental hangover and—” BURP! “Vvlvanian curses! The after-effects of too much fluorogas, I for one would be plasmo-blasted grateful!”

    “Who was taking advantage of you, BrTl?” asked Dohra anxiously.

    “Uh—Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that. No, Trff got in a good one, then,” he admitted generously.

    “It was only pretending,” she said calmly. “It doesn’t really droop its antenna when it’s sad.”

    How true. In any other state the BrTllian brain would have recognised that immediately. And, just by the by, was it ever really anything that could be characterised as sad? Perhaps fortunately the Flppu at this point contributed: “I droop my antenna when I'm sad!” and several beings were able to tell it firmly that it didn’t have an antenna.

    BrTl then shut his eyes. Here they come.

    ZrMl watched with sardonic interest as an overdressed Lirriot Queen accompanied by the usual mangy and depressed-looking consort came in and Dohra leapt to her two feet, greeting the plasmo-blasted being with immense courtesy and delight. Tinker-tanker, was it?

    Worse, replied BrTl with his eyes shut. “Huh? Oh!” he said, opening them quickly. “Yes, of course I remember her, Dohra. How are you, Lirriot Queen?”

    She was very well, considering that she hadn't had a moment’s rest—etcetera, etcetera. New pups, was that it? Oh, new pups plus and hordes of young suckers from the Academy heading home for F-Day, and hordes of young spacers from innumerable stations all round the two galaxies heading home for F-Day—yeah, yeah… After a while he realised that the mangy consort had sat down meekly beside him—in his shadow, as it were. “Uh—would you prefer a Lirriot-size chair, Lirriot Consort?” he said politely.

    “No, this is good, thanks,” he said meekly.

    “Whatever blobs you up.”

    He-it likes you-it because you-it’s male-tended, sent Trff helpfully.

    Likes me? Beings of that size were usually extremely wary of him.

    Yeah, agreed ZrMl. Not to be anything-ist.

    He-it’s scared of female beings, it sent placidly.

    The two long xathpyroid necks swivelled, and they both goggled at it. OF Dohra?

    “What about me?” said Dohra uneasily.

    Those who had been exchanging mind-messages oblivious to the conversation of other, politer or at least less hungover and/or more socially conscientious beings jumped.

    “Uh—nothing,” said BrTl lamely.

    “Nothing at all!” added ZrMl quickly.

    “I heard something.”

    Yeah. Now hear this, sent BrTl as the Lirriot Consort shrank into his side—Distinctive was probably the word that best described the being’s smell. Distinctive.—This male Lirriot is scared of you because he thinks all females are like You-Know-Who.—Dohra gulped.—And we were emanating incredulity.

    I see. Um, thank you, she sent limply.

    You’d better tell a story, she's not gonna let you off, you know.

    Dohra sent something cross that wasn’t expressed in words and took a revivifying draught of Refreshing Gorbachian Plum Juice through her fixed bubble-straw. 

 

    The Lirriot Queen was urging her, archly but gratingly, to tell a delightful humanoid story.

    “Actually I was hoping that Craaa might tell us a Bzzree story,” she replied.

    “That would be lovely!” agreed Forty-Four. “I've never heard a Bzzree story before!” Emanations of Thwurbullerian eagerness surrounded them.

    If any being was in any doubt of it, I'd say that just about proves Jhl’s theory, noted BrTl.

    It’d like to hear a Bzzree story, too, wouldn’t you-it?

    No, I’d just like this hangover to go aw—No, don’t, Trff! I know you could fix it so as she’d never see it, but somehow or other the truth would leak out.

    Like those internal fluids that somehow crept into—or leaked out of—that story of yours, swiller, agreed Didg.

    At this point Dohra sent very angrily: JUST STOP, you males and it! And certain beings realised weakly that that brightening up or whatever it was Trff had done to her had most certainly made a difference. So they all sat up nicely and drank their drinks like good little males, or like a good little it, and listened meekly as the Bzzree, with much hemming, hawing, preliminary cawing and pleased but embarrassed preening, embarked on his story. 

Waken, all you avians gay,

On the mountain dawns the day,

Caw, caw, caw!

All the jolly Squadron’s here

With Hawtree, beak and claw to fear,

Caw, caw, caw!

Nests are in their Flights a-gath’ring,

Hawtrees wheeling, Bzzrees cawing,

Merrily, merrily mingle they,

Waken, all you avians gay! 

Waken, all you avians gay,

The mist has left the mountains grey,

Caw, caw, caw!

Nestlings in the dawn are chirping,

Dew-drops on the grasses twinkling,

Caw, caw, caw!

And forward scouts have busy been

To track the praer in thickets green;

Now we fly to hunt our prey,

Waken, all you avians gay! 

Waken, all you avians gay!

To the high woods make our way,

Caw, caw, caw!

We can show you where it lies,

Fast of foot and tall of size,

Caw, caw, caw!

We can show the marks it made,

Where on the trunk its long horns fray’d;

The Flight will see it brought to bay,

Waken, all you avians gay! 

Waken, all you avians gay!

We shall feast on praer this day!

Caw, caw, caw!

What care we if youth and glee

Run a course as well as we,

Caw, caw, caw.

Time, stern hunter, we defy!

For the Hawtree still can fly,

And Bzzrees rise into the sky,

Swirling, swooping, up on high!

Caw, caw, caw! 

    There was a stunned silence as the Bzzree finished. Then the company broke into rapturous applause.

    “Thank you,” he said, shaking his head so that the neck-feathers fluffed out. “It’s nothing, really. All Bzzrees and Hawtrees know that story, we sing it to our nestlings from the time they’re out of the egg.”

    “I thought it was really great, Craaa,” said blndreL with a deep sigh. “As good as our Nblyterian stories.”

    The Bzzree preened. “Oh, thank you, Madam blndreL!”

    “It was wonderful, Craaa!” sighed Dohra. “And the pictures of your world were just so beautiful!”

    What about the picture of that horned praer with the internal fluids leaking from it? asked ZrMl, bemused.

    I don't think she picked that up, replied BrTl.

    How could she miss it? Wasn’t it the point of the whole story?

    Yes, Trff agreed calmly.

    Trff, began its ship-companion cautiously, I know you-it was doing what you-it thought was for the best, but when Jhl mentioned a few stray concepts like free will—

    Not it. Forty-Four, it replied quickly.

    Yes, I'm afraid I did, Forty-Four admitted. Well, why spoil her simple pleasure? And I really don’t think she would have found it improved the story, Commander ZrMl.

    Caw, caw, caw! What? Oh—uh, no. Dare say you’re right. Hummable, isn’t it? 

 

    Yes. Most hunting ballads are. The Thwurbullerian waggled its frontal lobes approvingly at the Bzzree and said: “I wonder, Craaa, could you tell me how old that story is?”

    “Oh, very old, Respected Forty-Four, very old,” he said politely.

    “And so hunting is an old tradition on your world?” it pursued. “You’ve all done it for years, I mean.”

    “Yes. Well, I’ve never hunted anything bigger than a pocket-rat, myself, but rich beings like some of the Hawtrees often spend their holidays hunting huypers or praer on the home world. And those o-breather ones with the horns that are rather like praer on on-breather worlds.”

    “‘Nyr,” agreed BrTl. “Yes. I’ve guided a few Lost Cause groups with Hawtrees in them. Your average nyr wouldn't stand a chance with a flight of them after it.”

    “These days?” said Dohra limply. “Avians still actually hunt?”

    “Um, yeah,” replied BrTl blankly. “Rich humanoids do, too.”

    “Well, yes, like those awful bond-partners in your story,” she admitted.

    BrTl was about to say they weren’t humanoids but thought better of it. “Yes. Very like them. I think hunting’s pretty much a rich play-being’s pastime in most parts of the two galaxies, these days.” Shut—up, he sent clearly as ZrMl blinked and began to formulate several objections, all well illustrated.

    “Yes, that’s right, Dohra,” said Forty-Four. “And the mention of ‘Time, stern hunter,’ Craaa: could you perhaps explain that?”

    “Oh, well, he’s a hunter, you see, but not an avian: some sort of an off-worlder, my mother said. We defy him! Caw, caw!” he said, the neck-feathers bristling. “He won’t get any of the praer, we make jolly sure of that!” He gave a loud cackle.

    Trff began: It thought that that phrase referred to the commonly perceived space-time contin— 

 

    BrTl was agreeing with it, just as Dohra said: “I thought it meant time, like, well, time passing. I know a C’T’rean story—well, it’s in rhyme, too, rather like yours, Craaa, so at home we’d probably call it a poem, but it’s a story as well—and it says something rather like that.”

    “C’T’rean stories must be different, Madam Dohra, because our story goes ‘Time, stern hunter, we defy!’ My mother always said that ‘defy’ means ‘not let another being eat your food.’ My fellow-nestlings and me were out picnicking once and a bad spiny wobbree tried to take some of our picnic, but we defied it! Well, there wasn’t hardly enough for us, even: we were all big eaters, in our half-fledged days!” he cackled.

    “I see. Yes, you would defy it, then.”

    “Of course. Any mother would defy any being that tried to take her lirrilops’ food!” approved the Lirriot Queen. “Though we’re vegetarians ourselves.”

    “Yes, indeed, my Queen!” agreed the thin, sad consort quickly.

    “Which is just as well: I can’t see our males managing to hunt down anything, let alone a being as fast as a praer,” she noted pointedly.

    Quickly BrTl suggested: “Why don’t you tell us some more of your story, Dohra?”

    “Oh, well,” she said, blushing, “I thought perhaps the Lirriot Queen might care to tell us a story. I mean, you’ve heard me.”

    “We haven’t, Dohra! We’d be very gratified to hear you!” grated the Lirriot Queen. “A real Storyteller on the third moon of Pkqwrd! It isn’t often we’re so honoured!”—Never, sent the mangy little consort unexpectedly, and BrTl jumped ten IG fluh where he sat.—“But if you insist, of course I’ll tell a story.”—Try stopping her, sent the consort sourly.—Goddit, agreed BrTl.

    So, fresh drinks having been brought at the generous Forty-Four’s expense, or, put it another way, the being was making plasmo-blasted sure it got another story for its collection, and the Flppu, which had become rather quiet, having been assured that of course Bzzrees didn't hunt Flppus, in fact there weren’t any Flppus on the home world, all beings settled back comfortably and the Lirriot Queen, smirking pleasedly, began her story. 

    There was once a semi-mature Lirriot male whose Lirriot Queen Mother had died early as the result of an unfortunate accident, leaving him unprotected except for the Queen Mother’s Consort and a few assorted s-beings and similar feeble and useless male beings around the Lirriot palace. I dare say he would have died, since he was certainly incapable of going out and finding food for himself, had it not been for a worthy Lirriot Queen who agreed to take his father-consort into her household as third bond-partner, graciously accepting the meagre offer of the palace and its grounds as dowry. So at least the semi-mature Lirriot male—let’s call him Broom-Head, his head looked as if he hadn't bothered to wash it since last time he cleaned out the palace fireplaces, not to say never combed it—had a secure roof over his head and fourteen decent meals a day.

    Broom-Head wasn’t much use, but nevertheless the worthy Queen set him to various tasks. He wasn’t entirely hopeless with the fireplaces so long as he had a reliable s-being to pull him out when he got stuck in the chimneys. This didn’t stop the pathetic male from feeling hopelessly sorry for himself and lamenting the fact that he wasn’t strong, big and beautiful like the Queen’s two eldest lirrilop females, now almost grown and nearly ready to find consorts of their own. The worthy Queen even graciously took him to a few select Lirriot parties, well washed and brushed, of course, in the hopes that some deluded young female might select him as her consort—but of course none did. 

    At around this point Dohra and blndreL both blinked and stared at her incredulously, broadcasting respectively: But this is “Ashy B’tty Finds Her Prince!” and: “How Poor Young blndreR Met Brave frteL?” It can’t be! and Forty-Four, very possibly involuntarily, broadcast: Ah-hah! The poor step-immature one and the wicked step-carer story! And even ZrMl sent dazedly: Doesn’t this remind you of “Young ZrTl and the Wicked Elderly Cognate?”

    Eh? Oh, well, possibly, agreed BrTl, but most of these beings’ stories have reminded me of something or other. Stick around a bit, you’ll see.

    After a moment ZrMl admitted: That hunting story of Craaa’s was really good, but it did sort of remind me of “The First Gr-Cognate’s Great Fluhgrunder Kill.”

    Sure. Just thank the Federation it wasn’t as long! 

    There came a day when the Queen and her two eldest females, let’s call them Princess Flowing-Tail and Princess Curled-Tail, were invited to a very grand party indeed at the palace of the Lirriot Dominant Queen of the entire district! Broom-Head drooped around the palace in a state of jealous misery because he wasn’t invited and didn’t have a wonderful flowing or curly grey-blue tail like his step-co-lirrilops, silly male that he was. He made such a nuisance of himself that the Queen sent him off to the kitchen to oversee the tidy-blobs, warning him to keep well out of the Gracious Chef’s way as he did it. 

    The Lirriot Queen smirked and nodded at Dohra, at this point, so Dohra, blushing, smiled and nodded politely at her, though simultaneously broadcasting : It definitely is “Ashy B’tty Finds Her Prince.” Let’s hope he gets a nice princess for his queen, not a bossy one. 

 

    At the same time blndreL, setting down her emptied bladder of Whtyllian zhr’ee and spring water with a sigh, was reflecting: Well, Poor Young blndreR was bad enough, but this Lirriot male’s at Blerrinbrig’s end of hopeless! Let’s hope he gets a Queen that can ginger him up a bit!

    Steaming piles of mok droppings, the being’s worse than Young ZrTl! sent ZrMl.

    Right. Strangle it? BrTl suggested.

    Strangle it, he agreed. 

    There was a Big Game on in the town that evening, and the gracious Lirriot Queen having given her permission for the s-beings to attend, soon there were only Broom-Head, an elderly s-being that had looked after him since his birthing day, and the tidy-blobs left in the kitchen.

    “I wish I could go to the party,” sighed Broom-Head.

    “Couldn’t you make these tidy-blobs make you a pretty suit, Consort?” asked the s-being.

    “No. And I’m not a consort yet, and at this rate I never will be, and anyway, I don’t want to be a consort, I want to be a Queen!” he wailed. 

    Understandable, acknowledged blndreL, as a servo-mech slid up with a second sealed bubble of zhr’ee and spring water for her.

    Trff—Oh, you have. Good for you-it, acknowledged BrTl, picking up a giant bubble of Moomdragorian ale. Restorative, he sent firmly as his ship-companion sent a few thoughts about what Jhl might say—and had said in the past on similar occasions.

    A gender change? wondered Forty-Four, the frontal lobes positively quivering. This is a new variation! Hurriedly it urged more of whatever the Lirriot Queen was having on the teller.

    She was having a nnru juice and fluorogas. Certain xathpyroid eyes watched resentfully as she raised the smoking, bubbling glass to the wide mouth in the smirking grey-blue face.

    If she burps, it’ll brighten up the story, sent BrTl on a hopeful note.

    Five’ll get ya ten she won’t: that sort of being never does! replied ZrMl sourly.

    Sure enough, with not a sign of a burp about her, the Lirriot Queen continued: 

    The s-being, for an s-being it was a being of considerable common sense, was just telling him he couldn’t be a Queen so he’d better stop day-dreaming about it, when there was a huge green FLASH! of lightning, and the kitchen door flew open, and there on the threshold stood the Magic Queen of Lirriotland, with her dooney-lolla in her hand! 

    WHAT? Mok—shit! sent BrTl.

    Yeah, agreed ZrMl. Noticed the pink being believes her?

    Uh—yeah. Well, she believed the plasmo-blasted guessing game wasn't rigged.

    She-it doesn't really believe her-it, contributed Trff dubiously.

    She does so far as dooney-lollas not being made up by the being— Look, just siphon up your laa, there’s a good old Trff!

    It is. It’s quite an exciting story, isn't it?

    Managing to roll their eyes only slightly, the two xathpyroids did their best to close their ears and concentrate on the restorative effects of Moomdragorian ale—pity it was only served in h-breather bars. 

    “So you want to go to the party, Broom-Head?” said the Magic Queen of Lirriotland.

    Broom-Head just sat there like a Gervaynian worm dropping, as the s-being prostrated itself on the floor before the Magic Queen of Lirriotland.

    “Broom-Head! Bow!” it hissed.

    Broom-Head staggered to his feet and gave a wobbly bow.

    Generously the Magic Queen of Lirriotland accepted this, though it wouldn’t have passed muster at a party in even the poorer palaces of the town, and held out the dooney-lolla. “I raise the dooney-lolla—”

    “No, wait, Honoured Magic Queen of Lirriotland!” gasped the s-being.

    Graciously the Magic Queen of Lirriotland waited as the s-being explained: “I think he wants to go as a Princess, oh Magic Queen of Lirriotland.”

    “Do you?” she said.

    “Oh, yes, please, Magic Queen of Lirriotland!” he gasped.

    “Very well, Broom-Head, but if I do this for you, the consequences will be on your own tail. Give me your Lirriot-legal affirmation of acceptance of this.”

    “Of course, Magic Queen of Lirriotland! I affirm acceptance of your conditions!”

    “I raise the dooney-lolla—”

    Broom-Head was just standing there like a Gervaynian worm dropping so the s-being, not daring to speak at this point, pinched his meagre mangy tail hard, and he bowed again.

    And the Magic Queen of Lirriotland raised the dooney-lolla and said the magic words and FLASH! There stood Broom-Head in a glorious zpandria-cloth gown, looped up with gold and silver blobs and with a sparkling princess’s coronet on his no-longer-broom head! 

    Assorted beings gasped with admiration at the picture of a Lirriot Queen that bore an amazing resemblance to the one in front of them standing there in zpandria-cloth, well, over something else, you couldn’t see her legs or body, with a sparkling thing on the head, and a glorious flowing, curled and shiny, nay gleaming, grey-blue tail.

    That is what I call a Queen, admitted the thin little consort.

    BrTl jumped slightly, he’d completely forgotten the being was there. Smell and all. Uh—yes—is it? Yes, it would be. The Lirriot Queen had refused to let the being share in the last round so with super-generosity he added: There’s a bit of Moomdragorian ale left in this bubble: would you like it, Lirriot Consort?

    Emanations of Would I ever! mixed with terrific gratitude mixed with downright terror surrounded him.

    Edge behind me a bit and let her get over the zpandria-cloth thing and get well into the story, then I’ll just push it gently towards you, sent BrTl kindly.

    The consort was edging. They fixed their eyes expectantly on the Lirriot Queen… 

    “Give me those tidy blobs,” said the Magic Queen of Lirriotland casually. Casually she threw them into the yard and waved the dooney-lolla at them and FLASH! They turned into a magnificent blue-grey lifter! “A Crmrokko Super Maxi!” cried the s-being. “Oh, wonderful, Princess Broom-Head! You’ll have the best lifter at the party!”

    The Magic Queen of Lirriotland raised the dooney-lolla in warning. “It won’t last. Be home before second dawn, Princess Broom-Head, or you’ll lose the lot. Including that tail.”

    “I promise, Magic Queen of Lirriotland! And a megazillion thanks!” gasped Broom-Head.

    “Good luck. You’ll need it,” she said. “You may look female, but even my dooney-lolla can’t do much with a male as hopeless as you.” And with a FLASH! she disappeared into the night.

    “Where did she go?” said Broom-Head to the s-being.

    “Never mind that, Princess! Get into the lifter, I’ll drive you to the party!”

    And they got into the lifter and that competent and sensible s-being—it was a female, of course—drove them to the party. 

 

    What happened to the magic red shoes? wondered Dohra in disappointment. That’s the bit of ‘Ashy B’tty’ that I like best!

    Lifter. Well, in this day and age, that was to be expected, reflected Forty-Four.

    Thank you, Great BrTl ! Delicious! sent the consort.

    My pleasure.

    We've got a male version of this story that’s quite different, he confided.

    Oh, yeah? replied BrTl warily, hoping the being wasn’t gonna plasmo-blasted-well try and tell it—one was bad enough but two versions at the same time?

    We only tell it in the male ale-clubs, back home. They don't know we’ve got them!

    Yeah? Then I wouldn’t broadcast the fact, Consort.

    No, I won’t, he agreed on a smug note, settling back. Just remember: don't believe a word she says!

    Gee, had he been going to? BrTl allowed his eyelids gently to fall… 

    Jealous eyes fixed on the beautiful Lirriot Princess as she entered the party in her wonderful zpandria-cloth robe.

    “Who is that?” hissed Princess Curled-Tail angrily. “Look at her tail, it’s better than mine! Queen Mother, you said no female would have a tail as curly as mine!”

    “Who is that?” hissed Princess Flowing-Tail angrily. “Look at her tail, it’s better than mine! Queen Mother, you said no female would have a tail as flowing as mine!”

    The worthy Queen Mother looked angrily at the newcomer. Who was this impertinent upstart that nobody had ever laid eyes on before? Incredibly, the being she most reminded her of was that hopeless male of a Broom-Head!

    “It’s a false tail!” hissed Princess Flowing-Tail. “It’s held on with blobs!”

    “And it’s been curled at Sh-Rn’s Quog Cave!” added Princess Curled-Tail viciously.

    The Queen Mother half shut her eyes. No-o, it wasn’t a false tail… By the Great Lirriot Matriarch herself, it was Broom-Head! But there was no use trying to do anything about it now, it was clear to any Lirriot Queen with mind-powers that the Magic Queen of Lirriotland had had a dooney-lolla in that particular nymbo cheese pie! Right, Broom-Head: just wait until the magic wears off!

    All of the Princesses and their Queen Mothers watched angrily as the false Princess danced with all the most eligible consort-candidates in the room, then dancing and eating third-supper with the oldest lirrilop prince of the Lirriot Dominant Queen herself.

    “It is Broom-Head!” discovered Princess Flowing-Tail furiously as first dawn dawned and the false Princess ate fourth-supper with, believe it or not, the oldest lirrilop prince and the Dominant Queen: tantamount to a promise of bond-partnership!

    “Yes. She knows,” said the Queen Mother grimly. “Just wait.”

    They waited and watched as Princess Broom-Head protested that she had to go now and the Dominant Queen, smiling, pressed more nymbo cheese pie on her…

    Then suddenly all the palace chrono-blobs struck thirty-two and the second sun came up!

    The false Princess made a dash for the door—but too late! The beautiful flowing, curled tail fell off and shrivelled away to nothingness, the zpandria-cloth gown disappeared, so did the sparkling coronet, and there was dirty Broom-Head in his usual grimy coveralls!

    “An insult! An insult!” shouted everybody. “A male’s insulted our Dominant Queen! To the Big Drop with him!”

    Forthwith that hopeless Broom-Head was seized and dragged off to the Big Drop at the back of the palace garden.

    “Have you anything to say before sentence is passed?” asked the Dominant Queen graciously.

    “It wasn’t my fault!” he whined. “The Magic Queen of Lirriotland done it all!”

    “I think you mean ‘did it all’,” she replied coldly. “And who asked her to?”

    “No-one!” lied Broom-Head.

    “Liar!” shouted all the Queen Mothers.

    “Down the Big Drop with him!” screamed all the Princesses.

    “By unanimous decision of all the Queens and Princesses of the district, I sentence you to the Big Drop. Over with him!” she ordered.

    And the palace s-beings threw Broom-Head off the cliff top and down the Big Drop. So perish all male liars and pretenders. 

    It’s a load of mok shit, confided the mangy consort under cover of Forty-Four’s stunned emanations of Well! A completely new twist! How thrilling!, Dohra’s shocked tears, the Nblyterian’s stuttered protests, and the mutant’s shouts of “Nymbo cheese pie! Budg wants pie! Gimme PIE!” In the real version Princess Broom-Head gets bond-partnered to the Premier Princeling—that’s what we really call them, they’re only lirrilops until they mature—and the Magic Queen of Lirriotland turns him into a Queen permanently. –Senso-tissues! –I never saw a female get upset over that version before. Is she really?

    Uh—yeah, you can tell by the water coming out of the eyes, admitted BrTl as a huge bunch of bright blue senso-tissues forced themselves upon the weeping Dohra.

    They got the plasmo-blasted being in the end. Good show! concluded ZrMl.

    Yeah. Well, a Big Drop’s a bit tame: I was hoping to see a bit of zapping, at the least—but yeah. Not bad.

     “Congratulations, Lirriot Queen,” they both said. “That was good.”

    “Thank you, xathpyroid cognates!” she replied pleasedly. “Males don’t usually like that story.”

    “How—can—you,—BrTl?” gulped Dohra.

    “Come on, Sweet Cheese, the being was asking for it from the word Go!” protested Didg.

    “He wasn’t! Poor little Broom-Head! He only wanted to be a beautiful Queen!”

    “Oh, but he couldn’t do that!” said the Bzzree, shocked. “He was a liar and a pretender, he had to go to the Big Drop! Imagine any male Bzzree pretending to be a Brood Mother—well, really!”

    “Craaa, how can you? I thought you’d have been kinder-hearted, at least!”

    What in the Known Universe makes her think— I won’t ask, decided ZrMl.

    “It was only a story,” admitted blndreL, recovering from her stupefaction. “I must say, he was pretty worthless even for a male, wasn’t he?”

    “Exactly, Nblyterian Queen!” beamed the Lirriot Queen. “You understand!”

    “How can you say that, blndreL?” said Dohra tearfully. “You’re the one that told us the story of Poor Little paxeR!”

   “Yuh—Uh—It wasn't, it was the story of Brave wondreL! Look, paxeR was even more hopeless than wondreR: why do ya think wondreR hadda change into wondreL?” she demanded, becoming heated.

    Oops, sent BrTl.

    Yeah, why ask a humanoid that? agreed ZrMl. Lunch?

    I’m with you. BrTl got up, making sure the consort wasn’t gonna get squashed in the process. “There you go,” he said, setting him down again with a kindly pseudopod.

    “Come here, Consort,” said the Lirriot Queen resignedly as he began to shake violently. The company watched with interest—even the tearful Dohra and the orange-flushed blndreL—as he cowered against her side and she—rather cursorily, true—flipped the end of her sweeping tail over him. “Its all right, xathpyroid cognate, they’re all the same.”

    “Er—yeah. Uh—lunch, everybody?”

    And once the confusion, indecision and unnecessary fuss had been sorted out the party split up for lunch, Forty-Four removing Dohra firmly to Level Pink, the Feeny-Argyllians thankfully following suit, informing their Flppu that it would not like Joddum noodles, and Didg, Budg, and blndreL, the last in the spirit of try-anything-once, accompanying Craaa to the Joddum noodle boutique.

    That left the two xathpyroids, Trff and the vegetarian Lirriots.

    “Uh—reckon the Level Blue cafeteria’ll sell agar-agar?” BrTl asked his fellow xathpyroid cautiously, one eye on Trff.

    “It does,” it said before ZrMl could even formulate a reply.

    “Good. Come on, then. I’m gonna have praer stew, since the Bzzree brought the topic up: haven’t had a good feed of praer since I was last on—Help.”

    “So you like agar-agar, Great It-Being?” asked the Lirriot Queen graciously as they all headed for the ISLA cafeteria. “Fancy that! The lirrilops like it, too; in fact once they’re tail-separated it’s about all they’ll eat!”

    BrTl’s jaw sagged. She’s not gonna—She is!

    Sure enough, the Lirriot Queen was trying to sell the it-being a pup.