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Because Life's too Short Not to Laugh at it

 

 The trouble with Dunolians is that they have absolutely no sense of humor. I should have remembered that. I was in a good mood, having just won yet another hand of poker from the captain of a Dunolian tramp freighter in transit from Valot to Peenstop.

      "You know, Captain, you might win a hand before we reach Peenstop, if only you could tell the difference between a straight and a flush." The sudden, icy silence made me glance up from raking the credits into my hat. Most of the crew had been sitting in on this game, and they were all staring at me.

      "Heh, heh," I managed.

       The captain fixed me with all three eye stalks. "Navigator, plot a course to the nearest planet with a starport. The Human has just talked his way off this ship, just like he talked his way on."

      Within twelve hours I found myself standing in a big patch of desert masquerading as a landing field. The Dunolian freighter was a rapidly shrinking speck in the orange sky. When am I ever going to learn to keep my big mouth shut?

      The name of my new home was Gyrfalth, according to the sign on the starport's open-sided terminal building across the empty landing field. Whether that was the name of the planet or the distant city frying in the noonday sun wasn't immediately clear. Either way, it was a dusty place and a thirsty walk brought me to the beckoning shade of the terminal building. Inside, I could see two locals watching me from behind a counter.

      "Hi! Nice place you've got here. Can you tell me when the next ship is due?"

      The locals blinked big, purple eyes at me. The color of their eyes clashed with their pastel green skin and the flaming, red crests growing out of the tops of their heads. They looked at each other for a moment, and then the one on the left answered me in Standard.

      "Uh, there isn't another ship scheduled for twenty-seven months."

      It was my turn to blink. "Twenty-seven months? Wow, you guys are a bit off the beaten track, aren't you?"

      He shrugged. "Sorry."

      "Eh, what can you do?" I set my bag down and stuck out my hand. "My name's Mark Dobrzelewski."

      "Nice to meet you, Sentient Being Dobr . . . Dobr . . . "

      "Don't strain yourself. Just call me Dobie. Everyone else does."

      "I'm Ekim, SB Dobie."

      "And, my name is Nelg."

      "Are you two the only ones here?" I looked around the cavernous terminal building with its three-story tall vaulted roof.

      "Well," Nelg shrugged, "nobody is much interested in this place, except when a scheduled ship lands."

      "Must be a hoppin' place then." The terminal was not much more than a dozen pillars supporting a high roof covering several thousand square meters of open floor space. "So why are you two here now?"

      "It's our job." Ekim didn't sound extremely motivated about that.

      "What do you do here, between landings?"

      "We play Palbaff." Nelg lifted some kind of game board onto the counter from a drawer. It looked like a cross between Go and Monopoly. "I'm ahead, 35,453 to 32,897."

      "32,898." Ekim held out some tetrahedral die with a hopeful look on his face. "Want to play?"

      "Uh, maybe later." I took my hat off and fanned myself. "That was a long walk in from the field. Any place around here I could get a drink?"

      "There's a water dispenser right over there." Ekim pointed.

      "Well thanks, but I was hoping for something with a little more kick, you know?"

      Ekim and Nelg stared at me in puzzlement. "Kick?"

      "Yeah, alcohol. A cold beer would go down real nice in this heat."

      Nelg scratched his head at the base of his crest. "I've never heard of a 'beer.' Alcohol? The refreshment unit can probably give you some of that. Here, we'll show you."

      The pair of them led me across the floor to a boxy structure, maybe four meters tall. Several spigots and small doors were arrayed on its face. Nelg scrolled through a number of menus on a display screen and grabbed a cup from a recess. A clear liquid squirted into the cup when he held it under a spigot. He handed it to me.

      "Whoa! That must be 200 proof." My throat was burning so badly I could barely take another sip.

      "You wanted alcohol, didn't you?" Ekim took the cup, swirled it around and sniffed at it.

      "It's just that I don't usually slam it down like this."

      "What other way is there?" Nelg wriggled his crest in surprise.

      "What other way is there? What other way is there? Why . . . " I stopped, hearing the faint rap of opportunity knocking. "Tell me, what do people use alcohol for, around here?"

      Ekim crossed his arms and looked skyward in thought. "Well, aside from some industrial processes, occasionally if someone has suffered a loss they will take a quantity home and consume it."

      Nelg sighed. "I did that when my female left me last year." His crest deflated slightly.

      "I've done it a few times myself." Ekim shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

      "Do you always do it in private?" I took back the cup and sipped again. They both nodded. "And you always just slug it down straight?"

      "Straight?"

      "With nothing else mixed in." They nodded again. "Boys, we need to have a little talk."

      I played around with the menu and soon had a number of fruit juices and other local beverages lined up. The boys dragged a table and three chairs over from one of the waiting areas. Starting with fruit juices, I gave my new partners a crash course in mixology. They were skeptical at first, but became more and more enthusiastic with each drink.

      "You're tellin' me that your culture has never come up with the concept of the . . . drinkin' establishment?" It was hard, but I concentrated to make myself clear. This was a critical point.

      Nelg shook his head forcefully--a little too forcefully, as it turned out. His chair tipped over sideways, and he ended up sprawled on the floor, snoring.

      Ekim contemplated his friend beneath the table for a moment before concurring with him. "No, I've never heard of anything remotely like what you've described." His pronunciation was so good that it surprised me when Ekim's eyes suddenly closed and he passed out, falling face-forward onto the table top.

      I smiled. Opportunity was pounding on the door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

      The next morning, Nelg and Ekim woke up slowly, blinking bloodshot, purple eyes in the bright, late morning glare from the landing field.

      "Here you go boys, a little hair of the dog. Drink these down fast and they'll fix you right up." I set a pair of cups in front of them.

      "What time is it?" Ekim winced at the taste of his drink.

      "Close to noon, I think."

      "Noon!" Nelg cast a worried eye toward their workstation.

      "Don't fret. I've been minding the store and you haven't had a single customer."

      Nelg put his head in his hands and moaned.

      Ekim took another sip of his breakfast and then noticed what was hanging above us. "What is that?"

      "You like it? It's just temporary. We'll get something nicer up, once we're in business for real." Actually, I'd made the sign from office supplies under their counter, but they didn't need to know that at the moment.

      "The Departure Lounge." Nelg read aloud.

      "Only bar in twelve light years . . . partners."

      "Partners?" Ekim's crest quivered in shock.

      "Yeah, we went over all of this last night. Equal shares, remember?"

      "Dobie, we already have jobs, jobs that we are shirking." Ekim took another slug.

      "Exactly what is it that you boys are supposed to do here, anyway?"

      Nelg couldn't take his eyes off the sign. "We help people who come to the terminal."

      I leaned left and right, pointedly scanning the empty terminal building. "And when is the last time someone came to the terminal, before I did yesterday?"

      That took most of the wind out of Ekim's sails. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

      "Look here. You play that game--what was it, Palbaff?-- to pass the time while you're waiting, don't you? The Departure Lounge will just be another way to pass the time. And, it'll make us some money too."

      Nelg had turned the corner. He looked about the vast, echoing emptiness of the terminal as if he'd just then noticed the distinct absence of travelers.

      "Right. What we need is customers and product. Nelg, how do you get out here to the starport? Or, do you live here?"

      "No, I have an aircar over there." He pointed. "Ekim and I ride together."

      "Good.  I've taken the liberty of downloading a list of what I think we'll need to your pocket comps." They both pulled out their comps and studied the list, Nelg eagerly, Ekim warily. "Can you two run into town a pick up some of this stuff?"

      "One of us has to be here at all times . . . during business hours," Ekim objected.

      "That's okay. I can get most of these items myself." Nelg stood and moved off towards the parking lot.

      Nelg was gone most of the day. Ekim and I dragged more tables and chairs over to the makeshift bar. I could tell he was warming up to the whole idea--he only objected to using Terminal property for unauthorized purposes every five minutes.

      As we worked, I judiciously probed Ekim. The closest thing to advertising Gyrfalth had was a sort of computer bulletin board and community chat room. It turned out that Ekim was a well-known user. With a bit of coaxing, I was able to convince him to spread the word about the Lounge.

      Nelg returned late in the afternoon and we unloaded the aircar. By sundown we were more or less ready, and then spent a long, anxious hour waiting. Nelg's enthusiasm was starting to suffer, and whatever tepid confidence Ekim harbored had long since vanished, replaced by a quiet embarrassment. Then, shining in the dusk, an aircar approached from the city.

      "Heads up, boys. Customers ho!"

      Three male Gyrfalthians--Gyrfalthites?--piled out of the aircar and approached hesitantly.

      "Welcome to the Departure Lounge, gentlemen. As our first customers of the evening, your first five drinks are on the house."

      Four hours later our inaugural patrons staggered back to their transport and flew it somewhat erratically toward town. No one else showed up by midnight, so I let Ekim and Nelg fly home to get some sleep.

      Another night on a couple of chairs pushed together didn't ease my mind over how this latest venture was doing. The truth was, the location, several kilometers from town, was pretty bad. Also, the Terminal had all the charm of a bus stop. Still, we'd had three customers-- and that had to count for something.

      When the boys showed up the next morning, they found me stirring a twenty-liter cook pot on a heating unit.

      "What are you doing now, Dobie?" Ekim wrinkled his nose at the vapors rising from the pot.

      "I wondered if you were going to cook something when I saw this thing on the list, yesterday." Nelg peered over Ekim's shoulder at the simmering contents of the pot.

      "Oh, I'm cooking all right. I'm cooking up profits. This, my partners, is beer."

      "Beer?"

      "Well . . . okay, it's not exactly beer. There wasn't that much about how to make beer in my pocket comp. And the ingredients are a little . . . different. But how hard can it be? I've only boiled this over twice since I started."

      My pocket comp said that beer is supposed to ferment for several weeks before it's ready. I ran out of patience before noon.

      "Here Ekim, pour this alcohol into the pot. Yeah, pour all of it in. Nelg, grab that CO₂ fire extinguisher off the wall. That ought to give it some fizz."

      One sip and I thought I was going to retch.

      "Hmm, tasty." Ekim smacked his lips.

      "I like the bubbles." Nelg held his cup out. "I think I'll have another. How do you make this stuff, again?"

      I set Nelg to brewing another batch before I forgot the recipe.

      It looked like Lady Luck was smiling down on The Departure Lounge. She encouraged our hopeful suspicions by diverting a dozen or so aircars to the Terminal late that afternoon. It seemed our first customers from the night before had had such a good time, they told all of their friends.

      Our "beer" was a big hit as well, now dubbed Departure Lounge Stout. We sold out of both batches before the night was out. Things were definitely looking up.

      Within a week the Lounge was serving a couple of hundred customers per night, maybe five hundred on the local equivalent of Friday and Saturday. This brought another set of problems. They were good problems to have, but problems all the same.

      There were more customers than chairs. Fortunately, the ones without just stood around or sat on the floor, but something had to be done. Also, we were straining the capacity of the refreshment center. Some nights it just couldn't keep up with the demand for alcohol and mixers. We had to turn people away and their money with them. To top it off, Ekim, Nelg and I were being run ragged. We were brewing DL Stout all day, and pouring it into thirsty customers most of the night.

      Nelg solved our furniture problem by leasing a wholesale lot of old tables and chairs.

      "Gee, that's great, Nelg, but how are you going to get them all out here?"

      "Oh, I hadn't thought about that." Nelg scratched his chin, and then folded his crest down and up, the local equivalent of snapping his fingers. "I've got it. All I need is some rope."

      It took twelve trips, but we hauled the lot tied in bundles, hanging from the bottom of Nelg's aircar. 
 

      A couple of days after that, an enormous hover truck pulled up with some kind of machinery on board and whined to a stop in front of the Terminal. The driver--a female, judging the russet color of her crest--climbed down from the cab and shoved her comp at me. "You wanna sign for this thing?"

      I shrugged. "Sure. What is it?"

      "It's an industrial food generator, Dobie!" Ekim called from on top of the load. He'd climbed up there from the cab. "It's just what we need, and we bought it real cheap."

      "Boys, maybe we should've talked about this first." Ekim and Nelg were too busy unstrapping the load to listen. "What did they do, cash in their life savings?"

      "Yeah, that's pretty much what they did." The truck driver pocketed her comp. "Ekim rode in the cab with me on the way out from town. He told me all about it."

      "Jeepers Jersey, this is getting out of hand!"

      "It's okay. They did get a good deal. The junk dealer thought this thing needed a new fusion power unit, so he marked it way down. I checked the diagnostic scans when I loaded it. All you need to do is replace a leaky superconductor coil."

      "Why, thanks, uh. . ."

      "Jalla."

      "Thanks, Jalla. Sounds like you know your way around a toolbox."

      She shrugged. "I like to make myself useful."

      "Are you available to do a little freelance repair work?"

      Ekim was tugging at a load strap. Jalla glanced at him with what appeared to be more than casual interest. "Could be. Could be."

      Jalla and Ekim worked nights, replacing the superconductor coil and reprogramming the food generator to make alcohol. They had it humming within a few days. The result was plenty of booze and happy, paying customers.

      Finally, Nelg hired a couple of people to help with brewing the beer. They seemed like a hardworking pair, and it came as a shock when they up and quit after a few days. At the time we chalked it up to a personality clash and hired another two people.

      A week later one of our regulars made a stray comment that caught my attention.

      "I said that I still like this place better than the other bar. That's why I fly all the way out here to the starport."

      "What other bar?" I stopped pouring and put the pitcher down.

      "The new one downtown. It just opened."

      Ekim hotfooted it over there and was back in an hour with the lowdown.

      "Dobie, that pair Nelg hired have opened up their own place, the Downtown Lounge."

      Nelg was fit to be tied. "Those backstabbers, I taught them everything they know!"

      "Simmer down boys. I've got to admit that's one slick scam they pulled on us. Stuck around just long enough to learn the ropes and then off they went. Truth be told, I sort of admire their gumption. But business is business, and now they're the competition. First thing we do is up the ante."

      "Yeah!" Nelg pounded the counter top. "What's that mean?"

      "It's a poker term. Remind me to start teaching you the game tomorrow. It's a very useful skill to have."

      "OK, but what are we going to do?"

      "I've got tricks up my sleeve those backstabbers have never dreamed of. Trust me. They won't know what hit them."

      Ekim's connections came in handy yet again. One of his cousins ran a dance school. She agreed to let us recruit some of her students as barmaids. Those gals turned out to be hard bargainers. I had to double their pay when they got a look at the skimpy outfits that came with the job. It was worth it. There is a definite inverse correlation between the extent of a barmaid's clothing and the amount of money spent by the average patron.

      Nelg threw himself into improving our product. Pretty soon he had refined the process of "brewing" to a point where it took two or three sips before I wanted to retch. Fortunately, everyone else on the planet seemed to be in love with DL Stout. Nelg leased space in town to expand production and worked a deal to bottle it and start distributing to stores.

      "Boys, we've got the Downtown Lounge on the ropes.  Now it's time for the knockout punch."

      Ekim and Nelg looked at each other. Ekim leaned forward. "You want us to punch them?"

      I paused, considering that for a moment. "As much visceral appeal as that might have, it's not quite what I meant. No, I want to show our target market, once and for all, that the Departure Lounge is the place to be." A conspiratorial glance about caused the boys to lean even closer. "Music."

      "Music?"

      "Music."

      "But we have music."

      "That noise coming out of the speakers is not music."

      "It isn't?" Nelg glanced up at the roof.

      "Trust me, it's not. That stuff makes this place sound like one, big open-air elevator. We need something that you can dance to. We need to bring a live band in here."

      "Jalla has a band." Ekim drummed his talons all too casually.

      "Your trucker friend Jalla?"

      "Yes, she and a few of her friends play in their spare time. Is that the type of thing you're looking for?"

      "They're pretty good," Nelg supplied. "I've heard them."

      I spread my hands. "Well, that settles it then. Let's give her a call. Anybody have her number?"

      "I think I might happen to have it." Ekim hurriedly stood up and started walking away. "I'll take care of it."

      Nelg and I just grinned at each other.

      Jalla and her band turned out to sound very much like what you might expect to hear if you put a dozen cats and a half ton of rusty scrap iron in a cement mixer and cranked it up to full speed. However, they had a driving backbeat that pulled you onto the dance floor like a fish on a line. We set up a bandstand over by baggage claim where there was plenty of open floor space. The band really packed them in. We'd never seen crowds like that before. We had to hire some bouncers to keep order.

      One night I was discussing the finer points of the job with one of the big bruisers we'd hired.

      "Now look, Tehlo, just because you're a called a bouncer doesn't mean you have to try and make people bounce when you throw them out."

      "But, that's the fun part."

      "Yes, I'm sure it is. But, if you break the customers, they won't come back."

      "Dobie, some of these guys you don't want coming back."

      He had a point. I took a deep breath to try another tack, when someone interrupted.

      "Dobie, there're some people here to see you." The way Nelg said it made little alarm bells ring way down in my gut.

      I turned to confront two older Gyrfalthians, one plump and short, the other tall and thin. They didn't appear to be having a good time.

      "Are you the owner of this . . . place?" Shorty had the look of somebody whose underwear was binding him in all the wrong places.

      "I'm part owner." I stuck out my hand. "Call me Dobie."

      Shorty looked at my hand as if it were coated with excrement. "I am the Holy Guardian Polgam of the Metropolitan District Temple. This is Assistant Guardian Hugarf."

      "Pleased to meet you, Guardians. What'll you have? On the house."

      "We did not come here to guzzle alcohol. We came to investigate the reports of some of our flock. I am sorry to see that those reports were correct." A barmaid sashayed by with a full tray of drinks. "I have never witnessed such licentious behavior. Just look at that female, Hugarf. She's practically naked."

      "Yes, she is." Hugarf was looking at her. His crest was almost fully erect. He was probably thinking about saving her soul.

      This was not going well, and it was about to get worse.

      "Gee, I'm sorry to hear that, Guardian. How about we discuss a generous contribution to the Temple?"

      Too late! I'd messed up. If I had offered the bribe in private, everything would have been okay. But no, I had to open my big mouth in front of witnesses.

      "Do not try to corrupt me, you miscreant! This place is a den of iniquity!"

      Guardian Polgam stormed out after a few minutes of fire and brimstone, with a reluctant Hugarf in tow.

      Ekim hurried up. "What was that about? I heard him from all the way behind the bandstand."

      "That was trouble on the hoof." I looked around. "Are there any lawyers in the place tonight? That pair is coming back sooner or later, and we need to know where we stand, legal-wise."

      There were actually seven or eight lawyers around that night, and they all said the same thing. Most of them even stood by their original assessment once they sobered up. There's one thing I've learned: never believe a lawyer when he tells you everything's okay. But, you can bet your bottom credit he's giving you the straight scoop when he tells you you're deep in the brown stuff.

      Well, it's always good to know what you're dealing with. Nelg, Ekim and I made what plans we could and waited. Sure enough, the very next night the Holy Guardians counterattacked and they brought reinforcements. I could see them plowing through the crowd, heading straight for us.

      "Chin up and steady boys, the savage minions of propriety draw nigh." Ekim and Nelg put on their best poker faces. They were learning fast.

      The Guardians hove to and opened with a broadside. "This is Proctor Kaslub. He has a Magistrate's order for you sinners."

      No matter what species, cops are cops the galaxy 'round. Proctor Kaslub activated his pocket comp and told us we were occupying government property without permission. We were ordered to vacate the Terminal immediately.

      Polgam had a triumphant smirk on his face. It was the cherry on top of what happened next.

      "Pardon me, gentlemen. I believe I have an announcement to make." The Guardians followed me over to the bandstand. There must have been close to a thousand people in the Lounge that night. When I stopped the band, they all slowly quieted down.

      "May I have your attention please? Thank you all for coming by tonight. We appreciate it. Unfortunately, we've just been informed that the Departure Lounge can no longer operate here."

      A moan went up from the crowd. People were shouting. The mood was turning ugly. Polgam's eyes were darting about, probably searching for an escape route.

      My voice thundered over the sound system. "So, we have decided on a change of venue! The Departure Lounge is moving out!" I pointed imperiously. "Under the stars!"

      Jalla's band struck up something with a distinctly Latin rhythm.  The crowd howled a cheer. "Grab a table, a chair, your drink, your neighbor. Grab something and drag it along. Hang on and follow me!"

      I led the band and the band led a huge snaky, tush-shaking conga line in a loop around the Guardians.  It ran on for three hundred meters just over the property line into several hectares of scrubby desert we had purchased for a very reasonable price just that morning. Nelg supervised a volunteer crew of a hundred who dragged the industrial size food generator along, riding a few centimeters above the ground on antigravity slides. He looked like a Pharaoh standing atop that big boy, driving slaves to build his pyramid.

      God, it was beautiful. We'd planned the whole thing in advance of course, but it was still beautiful.

      "Polgam, Hugarf come on over," I shouted. "I still owe you a drink."

      The Guardians left in a huff.

      The party rocked until dawn. Ekim proposed to Jalla that night. She said yes. Nelg wandered off into the darkness with each arm around a barmaid. The Guardians would be back. We'd only won a battle, not the war. But, oh, what a night.

      There is nothing more tempting than forbidden fruit. People heard about how the Guardians had tried to shut us down, and how we outfoxed them. Double the usual number of customers showed up the next few nights, wanting to see what all the fuss was about. That must have made Guardian Polgam mad enough to chew titanium. He decided to come after us again.

      One day he showed up with a flock of lawyers before there was much of a crowd around. They were shouting and waving documents. Ekim was trying to hold the bouncers back. Nelg looked like he wouldn't need much of an excuse to turn them loose. Things were about to get out of hand, and somebody might get hurt--like me.

      "Folks!" I stepped in between the groups and held my hands out. "Let's all just calm down. Can we do that?" Fortunately, everybody did step back and catch their breath. "Guardian Polgam, let's step aside and talk, just you and me."

      We walked out into the desert a few dozen paces.

      "It was those backstabbers at the Downtown Lounge that put you on to us in the first place, wasn't it?"

      "They were doing their duty."

      "I knew it! How much are those lawyers costing you anyway?"

      "No expense is too high when it serves a holy cause."

      "That much, eh?"

      Polgam eyed me warily, and then answered through gritted teeth. "They're eating me alive."

      "My lawyer friends tell me we could keep this thing tied up in the courts for years, if we wanted to."

      "My pack of parasites said the same thing."

      "So, why are you doing this?"

      Polgam looked distinctly uncomfortable. "The Temple Elders will have my crest if I don't close this place down--especially after that stunt you pulled the other night." He snorted. "Nicely done, by the way."

      "Thanks. So, let's make a deal."

      "What kind of deal?"

      "Buy us out. Then you can do what you want."

      "Buy you out? Buy the Departure Lounge?"

      "Well, you can change the name if you want, after you buy it."

      Polgam studied me. "Are you serious?"

      "Make me an offer."

      He named a price.

      "Are you serious? That won't even cover the cost of the food generator. Which I might just point out will come in mighty handy for temple picnics and spaghetti suppers."

      We dickered for most of an hour, but at the end we had a deal. That only left the chore of breaking the news to the boys.

      "What? You sold the bar to that blowhard?" Nelg unconsciously brought his talons into a menacing position. At least I hoped it was unconsciously.

      "Now, simmer down boys."

      Ekim looked pale--or, I should say, paler than normal. "Dobie, I just can't go back to sitting behind that counter in the Terminal, day after empty day, year after empty year. Without the Lounge, what will I do?"

      "What will you do? Why, you'll do whatever you want to do." I threw up my hands. "Haven't you two learned anything? Look around you. What have we got here, when you get right down to it? Some tables and chairs and a second-hand food generator with a leaky superconducting coil. There's not even a roof over it, anymore. This stuff isn't what keeps people trekking out here night after night."

      Nelg glanced around at the hot desert sun beating on the empty bar.

      I stepped forward and pointed at their heads and their hearts, or where I thought their hearts were. "What makes this place is here and here. You made this place what it is. You dealt with all the problems. You started a side business selling DL Stout. You found and hired the right people. That fool of a Guardian only bought himself some furniture, equipment and worthless desert land. He doesn't even realize that he let the most valuable assets slip right through his talons."

      That rocked them back on their heels.

      "Now, this gives you two a grubstake, some funds to build on. You'll figure out what to do with it. Start another bar. Keep selling DL Stout. Hell, run for office . . . no, strike that. Politics is too dirty a game, even for a scheming snake like me. But, when you decide what you'll do next, you'll already have a pool of good people, hard workers, to help you succeed."

      The boys chewed that over and started nodding.

      Then Ekim reached out and grabbed me by the shoulder. "Wait a minute. There's something you're not telling us."

      "Can't fool you, can I Ekim?" My smile didn't change his hard look. "Well, I bargained hard. But there was one thing I couldn't get the Holy Guardian to budge on. He wants me gone."

      "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

      "I have to leave the planet. He's pulling some major strings to have a government ship take me at least fifty light years away."

      They looked more worried about not having me around than selling the Lounge.

      "Boys, you knew right from the start that I'm only passing through. No matter where I go, I'm only passing through. I'd be leaving sooner or later anyway."

      Ekim sat down on a nearby chair. "It's not going to be the same without you, Dobie."

      "Maybe, but all I ever did was open your eyes to the possibilities. You two did the rest on your own. You don't need me anymore. You'll do fine. You'll do better than fine. You'll knock their socks off."

      Nelg turned his head to hide a tear. "So, how much are we getting for this den of iniquity?"

      When I told them they both whipped their heads around, purple eyes wide.

      Ekim whooped. "That's more money than I ever dreamed of!"

      "I told you I drove a hard bargain." I shrugged. "Must have been cheaper than what he thought he'd spend on lawyers."

      After the deed and the funds were transferred, Polgam informed me that a ship was waiting for me at the starport. We rode out there in Nelg's aircar. The Temple's long, black official vehicle escorted us, just in case we tried any funny business.

      My ship turned out to be a fast, little courier. It was going to be a cramped and uncomfortable trip, but a quick one. The pilot met us at the bottom of the ramp. Guardian Polgam cautioned him to remain vigilant. I was a dangerous miscreant, not to be trusted.

      The pilot was distracted by the noisy glow of the Departure Lounge at the edge of the starport. The Mother of All Parties was well underway there. The Guardians had let us know that any remaining alcohol would be irrigating the desert shortly after they took possession in the morning. We'd left instructions that the remaining booze was 'on the house'--to spare it from that ignominious fate.

      It was time for me to leave. I clapped Ekim and Nelg on their shoulders. "Boys, I've had more fun than a barrel full of loose women. I'll miss you both. There are so many things I never had time to teach you about: the fine art of billiards, happy hour, wet tee shirt contests."

      Assistant Guardian Hugarf was nearby, and perked up at the mention of wet tee shirts.

      I said a few more maudlin things, then I hefted my bag and started up the ramp.

      Polgam eyed the distant glow of the doomed Departure Lounge. "I think we're getting shed of you just in time. Now things can get back to normal around here."

      "Really?" I winked at the boys and took a last look at the heartwarming sight of hundreds of people having a really good time. Polgam actually thought he was going to be able to put the cork back in that bottle. Picturing the fun he had in store made me chuckle for the next fifty light years.

By Ray Tabler

Ray Tabler is a chemical engineer who was born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky. He moved to the frozen wilds of Michigan due to a tragic addiction to a steady paycheck, married a Yankee girl, is now stuck there and happy. Links to his other published fiction can be found at http://www.writertopia.com/profiles/RayTabler.

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