THAT DOGGONE VNORPT

THAT DOGGONE VNORPT
by Nathan Archer (Lawrence Watt-Evans)

Anelia Hand didn’t notice the first obvious sign that something was wrong at the Busted Fin. The fact that the huge service doors were standing open somehow didn’t register; she was too concerned with getting inside, out of the blinding white Daedalus sunlight, and getting herself some decent beer and a look at the local talent.

Seven weeks alone aboard her ship with nothing to drink but water and condensed fruit juice had left her desperate.

Once she set foot inside, though, she immediately knew there was a problem.

“What’s that smell?” she demanded, before her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the interior. The usual odors of spilled beer and hot oil were overwhelmed by a stench she didn’t recognize.

Then she saw the vnorpt and stopped dead in her tracks, her hand dangling near the butt of the blaster on her thigh.

It was standing at the bar-or rather, towering over the bar, its crest stooped slightly to avoid scraping the ceiling- talking to Al, the bartender. Hand had never seen a vnorpt in the flesh before, but there was no mistaking it; no other sentient stood five meters tall and three meters wide.

And no other sentient smelled quite so awful either.

“He was a pet!” Al was shouting. “A companion!”

“Oops,” the vnorpt said, in a bone-shaking rumble. It belched. “Sorry.”

Hand looked around the room. Half a dozen humans cowered in the booths along one wall. The stools at the bar, and the other tables, were all deserted. A waitress stood cringing in one corner, staring at the vnorpt. She and Al were the only employees in sight, and the six in the booths, the vnorpt, and Hand herself the only customers.

There were at least six assorted freighters in port, a Patrol cruiser, and the starliner Dreamship III, as well as Hand’s own Tristan Jones; the Busted Fin should have been jammed with people, some of them as eager for human companionship as Hand was.

“What’s going on?” Hand demanded, her fingers lightly tapping the blaster.

Al looked past the vnorpt and said, “He ate Barnstable!”

Barnstable was Al’s dog; Hand had never liked him much. She’d never had much patience with pets, and Barnstable, half bulldog, half basset hound, and half-witted, had been even less lovable than most.

“Was an accident,” the vnorpt rumbled. “Thought it was snack. Pay for damages, yes.” It dropped a credit chit on the bar with one of its feeding claws.

“You can’t just…” Al began.

“Said was sorry,” the vnorpt interrupted. “Now, beer, yes?”

“You ate my dog! You get out of here!” He pointed toward the service door.

“Uh-uh,” the vnorpt said, lifting one of its hands off the floor and waving the stubby talons in Al’s face warningly. “No racial incidents, yes? Treaty says vnorpt travel freely in public areas of human settlements, no refusal just for being vnorpt.”

“I don’t care if you’re a vnorpt or a 1’antar or a goddamn tree frog! You ate my dog!”

“Was accident,” the vnorpt insisted. “Very sorry. Pay insurance value three times, yes? Now, beer.”

“You ate my dog and chased away all my customers!”

“Not responsible for unfortunate prejudice of clientele. Beer, third time asked.” This final sentence sounded very much like a warning.

Hand decided that it was time to intervene-and not by pulling a blaster. “Give him his beer, Al,” she called, as she strode up to the relatively small section of bar not blocked by the vnorpt. “And file a protest about Barnstable later. You don’t want to make this fellow angry.”

Nobody ever wanted to be around an angry vnorpt.

Al glowered unhappily at her, but picked up the credit chit with one hand and a pitcher with the other, and opened a tap.

The vnorpt looked down at Hand. “Thanks,” it said. It took in her size and general appearance, and said, “You little guy, yes? Kinda cute.”

“Thanks,” Hand said, not meaning it. She looked up at the vnorpt.

It was roughly egg-shaped, covered with bony brown armor. Four long, multiply-elbowed arms hung from its middle, and four feeding claws were arrayed below its gigantic maw, ready to shove in whatever got within reach. Four eyes on stubby stalks bracketed the immense mouth, all of them currently tilted toward her, and a greenish-yellow crest topped it off. Something yellowish was seeping between plates of bone on one side of its head-if it had a head- and Hand suspected that was the source of the worst of the foul smell. Nothing corresponding to ears, nose, or other human features was visible.

A typical vnorpt, in other words, completely nondescript to anyone but another vnorpt. The only thing that made this one unusual was its location, in a human-run bar in Daedalus Port rather than out in vnorpt territory.

This character, Hand told herself, was clearly a problem that had to be dealt with.

The Busted Fin was the only worthwhile bar in the entire port, as far as Hand was concerned. The others were all overpriced tourist traps that would be full of the passengers off the Dreamship III. Hand was eager to find a little action-a nice big freighter crewman would be very welcome-but she was not about to waste her time on a bunch of overdressed twits who thought tooling around on a starliner made them spacers.

And they probably wouldn’t want to waste time on her either, if the truth be told.

She was no exotic offworld beauty, just a stubby middle-aged woman with a blobby nose that she kept meaning to get fixed but never had yet.

Freighter crews weren’t so picky about details like that. But freighter crews weren’t going to set foot in the Busted Fin so long as this mountain of alien meat was stinking up the place; vnorpt were known to occasionally smash skulls or break human legs “accidentally,” just as this one had “accidentally” eaten Al’s dog. They generally didn’t actually eat humans anymore, not since the treaty, but even that wasn’t impossible if a vnorpt got drunk enough. It would mean apologies and reparations and warnings from the Patrol, but that wouldn’t do the vnorpt’s dinner any good.

“What brings you to this part of town?” Hand asked. She had hopes of convincing it to move on to a different bar-the Stardust Lounge, maybe, where the tourists would probably be just thrilled to meet a real, live alien.

“Beer,” the vnorpt replied. “Good beer here. Not like the others.”

Al finished filling the pitcher and handed it to the vnorpt, which transferred it to a feeding claw, then tossed it down in a single gulp, like a human drinking a shot of whiskey.

“Can’t argue with that,” Hand said. “So you’ve tried the others? The Stardust?”

The empty pitcher dangled from the tip of the claw, swinging back and forth as the vnorpt said, “Tried Stardust. Beer there tastes like dirty water. Here is real beer.” It reached up and dislodged the pitcher; Al dove forward in time to catch it as it fell.

“More beer,” it said.

“I’ll have one, too,” Hand said, as Al reached for the tap. “Just a half-liter, though, and make it a stout.”

Al grumbled something and began refilling the pitcher.

“I didn’t know that vnorpt like beer,” Hand said, as she waited for her drink.

“Yes,” the vnorpt said. “Tried some because humans talked about it so much. Good stuff. Got more respect for humans now. Anyone who invent beer is okay.”

“Then you don’t make your own? There’s no vnorpt beer?”

“No vnorpt beer, because no vnorpt hops, no vnorpt yeast. Dumb question, little guy.” A vnorpt hand lashed out in what was probably intended as a comradely gesture akin to a slap on the shoulder; the impact slammed Hand off her feet.

She reacted completely automatically. By the time she hit the floor, she had her blaster out of the sheath on her thigh and pointed at the vnorpt’s head.

“Oops,” the vnorpt said, but Hand wasn’t looking at that-she was looking at Al, behind the bar, who had put down the pitcher and was now nodding vigorously, drawing a finger across his throat.

“Self-defense,” Al said. “I’m a witness.”

Hand hesitated.

The vnorpt hadn’t intended to hurt her, she was fairly certain. Al was mad about his dog and what the vnorpt was doing to his business, but the vnorpt was still a sentient being and probably hadn’t really meant any harm. Shooting it wasn’t called for unless it actually attacked someone.

Besides, she was only carrying a standard-issue urban blaster, where penetration was deliberately kept low so that random shots wouldn’t punch through entire blocks and take out innocent bystanders. She wasn’t sure what it would do to vnorpt armor.

She lowered the weapon, but didn’t return it to its holster.

“Sorry, sorry,” the vnorpt said, and before Hand could get back on her feet, one of those long arms had reached out and grasped her shoulder. It picked her up, and two of the vnorpt’s other arms began brushing her off. “Very sorry,” it said. “Low gravity tricky, yes?”

“I’m fine,” Hand said. “Put me down.” The gravity in Daedalus Port was 1.08

gees-not low by human standards at all, though Hand usually boosted her ship at higher acceleration than that, in the interest of saving flight time.

Vnorpt had apparently evolved under much higher gravity. Nobody really knew much about their origins, but that much was widely believed.

“Just checking for broken bones, things like that,” the vnorpt said, as it stuck a hand in her crotch.

She really hadn’t intended to fire, but that was too much. The blaster bolt spattered glowing plasma across the brown armored face.

The vnorpt dropped her, and she landed sitting on the bar. The stench of vnorpt was now worse than ever-whatever that yellow stuff was, it smelled even ghastlier when it burned.

“Ouch!” the vnorpt complained, dabbing at a singed eye.

“Oops,” Hand said, smiling broadly. “Sorry, sorry.”

The other three eyes swung around to glare at her. It made a noise she had never heard before, and never wanted to hear again; she wasn’t sure whether it was a laugh or a growl or what. “Beer,” it said to Al. “And wet cloth.”

Al was staring up at the vnorpt in astonishment, his mouth hanging open.

“Beer,” it said again. “And wet cloth.”

Al remembered himself, and handed up the refilled pitcher and a bar rag. When the vnorpt took them, he leaned over and said to Hand, “You shot it!”

She stared at him silently as she slid off the counter and landed standing at the bar.

“You shot it in the face at point-blank range, and it isn’t even hurt!”

“I think it stung a little,” Hand said.

“But you shot it in the face!”

Hand sighed. “Al,” she said, “I have some buddies who fought the vnorpt in the Eridani campaign. They told me that the way they used to work was they would systematically cut the vnorpt ships to pieces, and then would go in and potshot the individual vnorpt as they drifted in vacuum. The vnorpt would shell up, to hold in their air as long as possible, and they could live a couple of hours like that, long enough for another vnorpt ship to rescue them, so our side didn’t just let them alone, they went in and picked them off. It usually took a couple of shots to punch through the armor and let the air out, and that was with a ship’s heavy plasma cannon, not some dinky urban sidearm. Sometimes even the cannon wouldn’t do the job, and they’d knock ‘em down into the nearest star, instead.” She shook her head. “I used to wonder sometimes whether those guys were exaggerating, or whether the vnorpt crews wore extra armor, besides what nature provided. I guess not.”

Al drew her a half-liter of stout while she made this speech; he passed it over and stared up at the vnorpt.

“Better,” the vnorpt said, dropping the rag, which was now coated with yellow slime, onto the bar. “Yes, vnorpt pretty tough, compared to humans. Good side to that and bad side, yes?”

“Yes,” Hand agreed. “No hard feelings?”

“No anger. Pet eaten, eye shot, bumps, thumps, pokes, no big deal. Tolerance required. Accidents and inappropriate things always happen when people from different cultures interact, yes?”

“Yes,” Hand said again. In a way, she was almost beginning to like the vnorpt, clumsy and obnoxious though it might be.

But she didn’t want it in the Busted Fin. There were too many of those inappropriate things happening. “Al,” she said, “I bet our friend here would like to meet Mickey Finn-think he’ll be in tonight?”

Al looked at her, then at the vnorpt. “He might be, at that,” he said. He looked up at the vnorpt. “Want another beer?”

“Yes,” the vnorpt said, handing down the pitcher.

Al started filling it, and glanced sideways at Hand. He needed her to distract the vnorpt so he could add something to the drink, of course.

“So,” she said, “did you fight in the Eridani campaign?”

“Didn’t fight,” the vnorpt said. “Not a fighter.”

“So you never saw a blaster before?” Hand asked, raising her weapon again.

“Saw lots of blasters, here and there. Never shot before, though.” The vnorpt’s eyes were all focused on the blaster. Hand couldn’t read its expression, but thought it was wary, worried that she’d shoot it again.

“Really? What’d it feel like?”

“Hot,” the vnoipt said. “Stings. Like poke in eye with sharp stick. Very sharp stick.

Very hard poke.”

“Does it still hurt?” Al had a vial of something out, and was pouring the entire contents into the pitcher of beer.

“Some.”

“So does my butt,” Hand said.

The four stalked eyes all seemed to stretch toward her, and she could hear the creature’s surprise. “Just from fall on floor? In this gravity?”

Hand nodded. “We aren’t built anywhere near as tough as you.” Al’s vial was out of sight again. She put the blaster back in its holster.

“Sorry,” the vnorpt said. “Was accident. Truly.”

“Here’s your beer,” Al said.

He and Hand watched as the vnorpt downed the entire five or six liters of lager in a single gulp. Then Hand asked Al, “So when do you think Mickey will show up?”

Al shrugged. “Could be any minute now, Captain Hand. Ought to be here in ten minutes, fifteen at the outside.”

“Then I’ll wait,” Hand said. She looked the vnorpt up and down and sipped her own beer. “Say, would you be interested in renting a cargo lifter, later tonight?”

“I might be, at that.” He glanced up at the vnorpt.

The vnorpt dropped the pitcher on the bar, and smacked its lips. “Better and better!” it said.

Hand blinked, and asked the vnorpt, “So what brings you to Daedalus?”

She and the vnorpt made small talk for the next twenty minutes, while Al grew steadily more upset, glancing constantly at the clock on the wall. The sun set as they chat-ted, and the glaring white of a Daedalus day gave way to the multicolored glare of the port’s neon-enhanced night.

The other human customers had all managed to slip out by the end of that time, and the waitress vanished into the back room and stayed there. Various potential customers and curiosity-seekers looked in, but once they saw the vnorpt they hesitated, then withdrew-no one but Al, Hand, and the vnorpt remained in the bar.

At last Hand said to Al, “Mickey’s late. Got any way to give him another call, maybe?”

Al looked up at the vnorpt and shrugged hopelessly. “I used all I had last time,” he said.

“Got something you can substitute?” She looked up at the vnorpt. “Maybe something appropriate for a toast in Barnstable’s memory? After all, accidents happen. Even fatal ones.”

Al looked at her. “You think so?”

“I think that vnorpt are big and tough enough that yeah, they do.” She looked Al straight in the eye.

He knew what she was saying-she was advising him to go ahead and poison a paying customer, on the theory that it probably wouldn’t kill something as monstrous as a vnorpt.

Of course, if she was wrong, they might be guilty of conspiracy to commit murder and treaty violations, but at this point Hand no longer cared. She wanted the vnorpt out of the bar. She wanted to be able to smell something again; her nose had long ago shut down in protest at the vnorpt’s stench. She wanted other customers to come in here, so she could find some decent company to drink with and maybe take back to her ship.

“Let me see what’s in the back room,” Al said.

Hand kept the vnorpt occupied for the next several min-utes; at last Al reemerged with a box. The vnorpt didn’t notice.

“Want another beer?” Al asked.

“Yes!” the vnorpt said.

A moment later it gulped down another pitcher. Then it hesitated, and said, “Urn.”

“Is something wrong?” Hand asked.

“Didn’t taste right that time.”

“Maybe you’ve had enough, then,” Hand suggested. “You wouldn’t want to get really drunk, would you?”

“Wouldn’t,” the vnorpt agreed. It pulled in its eyestalks and folded its feeding claws, while dropping the pitcher to the bar. “Feel bad all of a sudden.”

“You’ve just had too much to drink,” Hand said. “It hits all of a sudden like that, sometimes. Get some fresh air, walk it off, and in an hour you’ll be fine.”

“Beer does this?”

“If you drink too much, yeah.”

It started to say something, then belched instead. “Um,” it said. “Oops.”

“Fresh air helps a lot,” Hand said cheerfully.

It dropped its four hands to the floor, then lifted itself up. “Fresh air,” it rumbled. It picked its credit chit off the bar, then turned and staggered toward the big service door.

Hand watched it go, then turned and hissed at Al, “What did you give it?”

“The first mickey was chloral hydrate,” he said. “A lot of chloral hydrate.”

“Yeah, but it just shook that right off,” Hand said. “What did you give it the second time?”

“Rat poison,” Al said, holding up the empty box. “A full kilogram.”

“A kilo of arsenic?”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Al, that much might even kill a vnorpt!”

“Wouldn’t bother me if it did,” Al replied defensively. “It ate Barnstable, and chased away my entire clientele and most of my staff! It stank up the place-I’ll have to put the recirculators on emergency overload to get the smell out. It was self-defense!”

Just then they heard a sound unlike anything either of them had ever heard before, coming from just outside the service door-a deep tearing gurgle, followed by splashing.

It seemed to go on forever, but Hand knew it wasn’t really more than a minute or two.

After it ceased, there were several seconds of silence. Then the vnorpt called in,

“Feel much better now. Go home, sleep it off.”

Neither Al nor Hand replied; they were both overcome by the incredible new reek that had managed to penetrate even their overwhelmed noses. They stood, gagging, as the vnorpt staggered away down the street.

At last Hand managed to gasp, “Better get those recirculators pumping.”

Al nodded, still unable to speak. A moment later the hum of the vent-fans climbed into audibility, and the air stirred.

Unfortunately, it stirred in the wrong direction, sucking air in through the service door, which meant it carried that unbelievable new stench.

“I didn’t know anything could smell worse than vnorpt,” Hand muttered. “But it figures that if anything could, it would be vnorpt vomit.”

“I’m ruined,” Al gasped. “The bar’ll stink for weeks! They’ll probably ticket me for a public health hazard.”

“Drastic measures are called for,” Hand said, pulling out her blaster.

“What are you…”

She ignored Al as she marched across the barroom floor and looked out the service door.

Sure enough, an immense puddle filled several square meters of the street there; only the raised threshold had kept the dozens of liters of yellowish fluid from spilling into the Busted Fin.

“I hope this works,” Hand said, as she fired her blaster into the center of the pool.

And with that, Hand discovered an even worse smell, one that made her senses swim and the world fade away as she tottered on the verge of fainting-the scent of burning vnorpt vomit.

Hand didn’t falter; she kept firing, waving the blaster back and forth.

And at last the smell faded, and she found herself firing an almost-discharged blaster at empty, entirely-harmless plastic pavement.

Slowly, as the fresh evening air began to clear her mind, she slipped the blaster back into its holster and looked around thoughtfully.

The quantity just a single vnorpt had consumed was truly astonishing. An entire planet of vnorpt would be a huge market.

“You know,” she said to no one in particular, “I see an opportunity here for an enterprising trader. Like me.”

Then she turned and went back inside, headed for a barstool.

Selling a few shiploads of beer to the vnorpt might make her rich, but it could wait.

Right now, she wanted a drink. Whiskey, maybe, or gin.

But not beer.