F: The More Things Change

A long, metallic arm stretched out over the table and deposited a
bowl of greenish peanuts between them. "Thank you," said the modulated
voice from the wall, the LED lights flashing in a starburst pattern.
The husband noticed several of the lights weren't working.

Joan, the wife, reached for the bowl just as the robo-server wheeled up
to their table and placed their drinks on the table. The robot was old,
and needed maintenance, the skin of its face as dirty as a forgotten
balloon. Its hair had been braided and tied with faded silver string,
and one of its eyes was permanently shut, the rubbery face frozen
mid-wink.

"Pszbbtt tzbtt," it said, the sparks behind its mouth screen resembling
a toy gun.

"What?" Chuck, the husband, asked.

"Pszbbtt tsbtt," the robot said again, then turned and wheeled
away.

"Good riddance," Chuck muttered.

"Honey," Joan said, "I'm trying. I really am. But this place is a dump.
I haven't heard one Cromian songbird since we've been hear, except for
that ragged excuse of a tenor they had at the restaurant last night.
Couldn't they have at least glued some feathers back onto him? And that
bed they've got us on is worse than the trip pod we came in on. My back
is killing me."

"Princess and the pea," Chuck said, staring off into the corner, where
two of the robo-servers were driving each other into a corner again and
again. A metal arm shot out of the wall and shocked one of the servers,
which shrieked and tottered unsteadily on its wheels.

"I beg your pardon?" Joan asked.

"Princess and the pea," Chuck answered, "Like that old story. Your
mother sent the holodisk last Christmas."

"Oh, that. Very nice. Listen, why don't you slow down on the booze.
You're almost finished with your Mai-tai and I've barely
started."

"In which case," Chuck said, "I will have to order another, maybe even
one of the local specialties. What did the taxi driver call it? A
'Cromian Crackle?'"

"Yes, and if you're not careful, the glass explodes in your face if you
accidentally drink all of it."

"Keeps people from getting greedy, I'd say."

Their robo-server returned to the table, whisking Chuck's glass away
while sparks flew from its mouth screen.

"Pszbbtt tzbtt zptt?" it asked. Chuck nodded his head and the robot
spun and rolled away, displaying an out-of-order sign on its rear
gearbox.

"Look," Joan said, slapping several brochures onto the table, "Why
don't we go through these? Maybe we can find something else to do today
besides sitting in a bar. Or watching those topless three-breasted
creatures from God knows what moon."

Chuck ignored his wife's last comment and tapped a finger on the
brochures. "Tourist traps," he said, "Each and every one."

"Be that as it may," Joan said through clenched teeth, "Like I said,
I'm trying. Here, look at this one. It says, 'At sunset, the haloes of
Cromia's three moons deliver a light show that rivals the now-defunct
aurora borealis of Earth.' That can't be a tourist trap, can it? Unless
they make you pay to look up."

"'Now defunct?'" asked Chuck. "That seems a bit cheeky."

"Or this one," Joan continued, "'Experience zero gravity as you drop
fifteen miles towards the surface of Cromia. Our state-of-the-art
facilities take you on a sightseeing tour not to be missed. Discounts
for parties of six or more." The brochure in Joan's hand hummed, then
projected a circular ship over the table. The ship flickered for a
moment before turning on its side and spinning uncontrollably.

"You can almost hear the little people screaming inside," Chuck said.
Joan glared at him and picked up another brochure, then another and
another.

"Ah, here we are!" she said, sitting up straight, "'Miss Uvuluba's,
Cromia's premier nightclub for gentlemen! Exotic dancers from six
different quadrants! Come relax in our private rooms, complete with
reclining loveseats and sonic showers! That sounds right up your alley.
Shall I make the reservations?"

Joan slapped the brochure down on Chuck's side of the table and stood
to leave, but was knocked back into her seat by the robo-server. Both
of the server's eyes were now shut, and from it came an ozone smell
that made Joan crinkle her nose.

She began to protest when she heard the sound of running feet behind
her. The robo-server rolled away to reveal a small girl with Joan's
hair and Chuck's high forehead, holding her nose with one hand while
the other clutched a strange, birdlike puppet.

"She stinks!" the girl said, then turned to Chuck. "Look, daddy! They
were selling these down by the beach tunnels. It's a bird. The man said
they live far away, and you can never see them during the day, so they
make these so we can see them."

Joan stared at the puppet for several seconds before asking, "Did you
spend all of your money on this? Where's your money chip?"

The girl dug around in her jumper and produced a thin, plastic tube. A
light on the top of the tube flashed red, like a tiny siren.

"Definitely her mother's daughter," Chuck observed. Joan ignored
him.

"You've spent this whole thing?" Joan asked. "On what? Surely not this
puppet?"

The girl shrugged, then yawned. She'd had an exciting day, actually,
and was hungry. She carefully placed the bird puppet on the table.
Grabbing a handful of the greenish peanuts, she sat down in a chair
next to Chuck.

"Well, I quite like him," Chuck said, "Or is it a she? And what would
you call that color?"

"It's a him," the girl answered, "And he's just plain old blue. You
can't tell that in here because of the lights. That's what the man at
the hotel told me."

Joan started to ask what man, but Chuck said, "What else did you do
today, honey?"

The girl began describing her day, hurrying through the morning's
activities but offering a blow-by-blow account of her time in the beach
tunnels. "And they give you your own locator," she said, working her
sentences around the peanuts she continued eating, "Because you'd get
lost without one. It's kind of dark but?"

As she often did, Joan grew irritated with the child's nasal, piping
voice. She tried focusing on the puppet - now a gangly heap of fur and
legs on the table - hoping she would at least appear interested in the
girl's chatter. Suddenly her eyes narrowed, and she poked one of the
puppet's feet with her finger.

"That's all very nice, dear," Joan said, interrupting the girl's
description of the local bats, "Now go on, back outside with you. Go
try that petting zoo. I heard they've got a marvelous pool of Salapian
Stingrays that you can pet. Now, there's something you don't see back
home!"

The girl slid off her chair with a frown, leaving the puppet behind. As
soon as she disappeared through the bar door, Joan grabbed for the
toy.

"Ha! Just as I thought!" she said, dangling the puppet's foot in
Chuck's face, "Right here on the bottom, see? It says, 'Made on Earth.'
Can you believe it? Oh, why did we even bother?"

Chuck picked up the puppet, untangling it until it stood on the table.
He made the puppet dance, its head bobbing up and down while one
outstretched leg beckoned to Joan, who did not smile.