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A Thousand Worlds, A Million Adventures

Written by Chet Gottfried

Illustrated by Jared Blando

Morry Jansen loved receiving awards, a highlight of his job as manager and co-owner of Trans Galaxy Holidays. Satisfy a client? He knew which world to choose and for how long and how much. Today, however, was different, and while talking on the phone, Morry shifted uneasily on his office chair.

“How many limbs did your wife lose, Mr. Forester? . . . Both arms? Well, well, well.”

Morry quickly found the booking file on his computer. Of course. He gritted his teeth. His brother—and partner—Howard arranged the Foresters’ tour. Howard sent tourists to all the offbeat worlds, leaving Morry to pick up the pieces afterward.

“Who’d guess a rodent could have jaws that large or be that fast? . . . I certainly wouldn’t. . . . Aren’t you glad that you purchased our supplemental policy, Mr. Forester? Limb regeneration only takes a couple of days.”

Morry blessed Galactic Accord 2088 which eliminated lawsuits from tourists, but he wasn’t certain how much longer the present insurance company would carry Trans Galaxy. It took a dim view to the number of claims filed on behalf of traumatized, missing, or devoured travelers. That was why Morry preferred sending Howard to check out new locations. The less time Howard spent in the office, the less damage was done.

The intercom buzzed, and Morry put Forester on hold.

It was George, who doubled between booking tours and tinkering with Trans Galaxy’s computers.

“The cops reviewed our files, interviewed Amy and me, and are ready for you.”

Morry checked his watch. The two alien detectives had arrived in the morning. They were humanoids from Gorok, one of Trans Galaxy’s destinations. The detectives didn’t have any jurisdiction on Earth, but Morry had learned long ago that bending over backward settled an alien’s feathers, or, in the Gorokan case, smoothed excess hair.

“Send them in. And you can head out for lunch. Take Amy with you, and put it on the company tab.”

“Can we bring anything back for you?”

Morry felt tempted, but his stomach did a half twist and an inside loop. Cops made him queasy.

“No thanks, George.”

Switching off the intercom, Morry quickly finished the Forester phone call, which included the promise of a twenty-five percent off voucher on their next vacation. Morry hung up in time to answer the heavy rapping on his translucent office door. He got up and opened it, and the two cops marched past him.

They introduced themselves, again, as Lieutenant Airan and Sergeant Snallfon. While crushing Morry’s hand during handshakes, they explained that “lieutenant” and “sergeant” weren’t their Gorokan titles but equivalents, for conversational ease.

Morry gave them his best professional smile.

“Please sit down.” He indicated two plush chairs opposite his desk. “Would you like a drink?”

They exchanged hairy glances. Like most Gorokans, their hair was amazing. From the head upward their hair sprouted into a mushroom shape. Their eyebrows would have thrilled a robin seeking a nest, and their hands had thick pelts of fur. Aside from the surplus hair, Gorokans had the usual two eyes, two ears, and so forth. Maybe Gorokans had longer arms than humans, Morry concluded, but maybe it was just the two “men” in front of him.

“Thanks, Mr. Jansen,” Lieutenant Airan said. “That is, Mr. Howard Jansen.”

Morry froze. He had his hand on the liquor cabinet when a new fear raced through him. He guessed it had something to do with Howard. And they intend to blame me, he thought bitterly. His hands shook but he maintained his smile as he turned toward the Gorokans. It was an AHLA situation: all humans look alike.

“No, I’m Morry. Morry Jansen. Howard is my brother—and partner in Trans Galaxy Holidays—but he isn’t here right now.”

Although he tried, Morry couldn’t read the expression on either Gorokan. Fur didn’t hide their cold, impersonal cop faces. Worried, he took out a bottle of strong vodka and filled three tall glasses.

“Ice?” Morry asked.

Lieutenant Airan shook his head. “We’re not happy.”

Morry didn’t know whether ice depressed Gorokans or whether Airan was referring to his investigation. He decided it was safest to hand them the two glasses without ice. They each took long drinks while Morry returned to his side of the desk and sat down. He took a polite sip of his own drink and tried to sound puzzled but sincere.

“Surely you’re not referring to your visit to my office? How can we cooperate further?”

The Gorokans exchanged glances again. From a pocket, Sergeant Snallfon took out a pistol and pointed it at Morry.

The weapon was physically small, but Morry had never seen anything as large in all his life. He felt beads of perspiration forming on his face. Morry had taken the morning off to review the files on Gorok and prepare an appropriate countermeasure: Gorokans became hopelessly drunk after drinking the smallest amount of alcohol—but that never stopped them. Gorokans couldn’t refuse a drink. He expected to have enough time to talk himself out of any situation, but that didn’t seem too likely now. The detectives moved too soon.

The phone rang.

“Answer it,” Lieutenant Airan said.

“Act natural,” Sergeant Snallfon added.

Morry picked up the handset, but Lieutenant Airan shook his head.

“Speaker phone.”

“Hello, Morry Jansen of Trans Galaxy Holidays Ltd., winner of fourteen industry awards.” Ten of the awards decorated the walls of his office. The other four were statuettes on his desk. Morry’s favorite—and the largest—was a replica of Rhea’s Tower, an offbeat geological formation discovered on Catunna, a pretty planet only forty light-years away. A plaque on the wall behind him had his company motto: “A Thousand Worlds, A Million Adventures.”

“Howdy. I’m Dan Connors from Houston. I purchased one of your packages last year. Remember?”

Relief flooded over Morry. Connors was a regular customer. “Of course I remember you, Mr. Connors. You took the fifteen-world gladiator and restaurant tour last year. What would you like this time?”

“I received your e-booklet and want to see Gorok.”

Morry nervously looked from Lieutenant Airan to Sergeant Snallfon. Their faces became predatory. The call might as well be a setup—it was too much of a coincidence. He took a deep breath.

“Gorok is a marvelous planet, but what you don’t know is that we have an unlisted special—”

The lieutenant caught Morry’s eye. He mouthed quietly, “Sell the Gorok.”

Morry brought the Gorok info onscreen while silently cursing his brother who handled the listing and the promos for Gorok.

“Our unlisted special is a ten percent discount from the Gorok Countryside Tour. You’ll see canyons that could swallow Australia, not to mention Tasmania.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind,” Connors boomed. “I was thinking more of a city tour.”

“That’s an excellent choice, Mr. Connors. City Tour B covers a dozen major metropolitan areas. Gorok has glass pyramids and towers that caress the sky.”

“I want City Tour E.”

Morry scrolled down until he reached City Tour E. He read it and cringed. How could the fool choose City Tour E?

“You’re sure?” Morry croaked.

“Yeah, it’s the one with the nightclubs and dancing, right? And my own female Gorokan guide. Just looking at your brochure gave me a hard-on. I want one of those women who oozes sex.” Connors chuckled. “Man, you have a fantastic setup. Have you tried one yourself?”

“No, Mr. Connors. I’ve never been to Gorok.” Morry looked at the two cops. “My brother Howard has—he did all the research.”

Sergeant Snallfon asked the lieutenant, “Why don’t I shoot the lying blinchont now and be done with it?”

“How’s that?” Connors asked.

Lieutenant Airan shook his head, but Morry felt the back of his shirt become soaked with sweat.

“Sorry,” Morry apologized. “I was previewing one of our commercials. There. I turned the sound down.”

Morry’s one consolation was that they finished their drinks. He asked himself, Why weren’t they drunk? Shouldn’t the alcohol be affecting them already?

“I like how you described their lovemaking. If a third of what you say is true, I’ll be the happiest man on the planet.”

Morry stared at the ceiling. “Their sexual prowess is renowned but at a cost.”

“I can afford it.”

“I didn’t mean money, Mr. Connors.” Morry focused on his monitor and rapidly reviewed the detailed data beneath Country Tour E. “Gorokan women are steeped in tradition and won’t have sex without marriage.” The marriage part came easily enough. Whether religious or civil, the Gorokan marriage ceremony consisted of two vows and one declaration between the couple and an official.

“I’ve been married before,” Connors said.

“But never to a Gorokan. You’d be on the menu the following morning. Literally.”

There was a significant pause. Morry hoped that Connors would hang up, but the line stayed open.

“You’re kidding,” Connors said.

“I’m not. Furthermore, Mr. Connors, I have to record this conversation to ensure that you understand the following warning: After a night of ultimate fun comes a magnificent wedding party with friends and relatives. Dressed in black, your Gorokan wife will kill and cook you on an open fire in front of everyone.”

There was another long silence. Then Connors’ voice burst out louder than ever.

“Wow! I thought the brochure was exaggerating that part—to get a fellow excited. You live dangerously, but there’s no real danger.”

Morry wanted to scream at Connors. Anything to get him off the line, but Morry felt trapped. He had to remain polite.

“All our publications are totally factual, Mr. Connors, particularly those regarding alien lifestyles. On Gorok, the meal determines a bride’s position in society.”

The cops’ faces became red. Morry couldn’t tell whether it was from the conversation or the alcohol.

“Is it strictly meat, or are vegetables included?” Connors asked.

“Eh . . .” It took a while to find the appropriate line. “Vegetables are a significant component. Spices too. Gorokans prefer well-rounded meals.”

“Morry, isn’t it sexist to rate a woman by how well she cooks?”

“We’re not discussing Earth mores, Mr. Connors. Nevertheless, many