“It’s almost closing time,” La’Gross’s tiny face announced, after scrutinizing the time piece for a moment. “Give me at least an ern or so, and then come back.”
“Thank you, La’Gross.” Vic nodded gratefully.
“Anything for an old friend.” The stretchy trunk of skin retracted and once more the tiny face was perched in the middle of the mechanic’s broad, flat head. “Go on now—enjoy the market before the vendors leave.”
“We’ll see you in an ern,” Vic promised. Then he pulled Torri through the shop and out into the open area beyond.
Thirty-Nine
The Gemmite Market was a colorful affair, like an outdoor flea market with rows of stalls on either side. Luckily, most of the Gemmite salesmen and women were sitting down and the stalls were built with that in mind—otherwise they would have been so tall, Torri never could have seen what each of them was selling. As it was, it appeared to her that the stalls had every kind of good she could imagine—and some she couldn’t.
“Luster-buffs for sale! Get the finest quality luster-buffs here!” cried one merchant. He was brandishing an implement with a long, golden handle and a shock of fuzzy pink fibers at one end.
“Chilla-vools for sale!” shouted another merchant. “Chilla-vools here!”
He was holding up something that looked a little bit like an orange squirrel the size of a medium-sized dog, but with much bigger eyes that glowed bright green. Its tail was twice as big as its body and seemed to be made of bristles rather than fur or hair—they stuck out everywhere in a spiky orange profusion.
“What are those things?” Torri asked Vic. “Are they some kind of pets?”
Before the big Kindred could answer, the merchant’s face extended towards her in that same, stretchy, chewing gum-elephant’s trunk that La’Gross’s face had become earlier.
“Did I hear you say you have an interest in acquiring a fine quality Chilla-vool, my dear?” the tiny face inquired, poking right into Torri’s own.
“Er…” She took an involuntary step back. “Actually, I just wanted to know what they are. I’m not from this planet,” she added, rather unnecessarily.
“Well, let me ask you this—do you ever get blocked pipes at your domicile?” the merchant inquired. “Especially after your monthly evacuation?”
“Er…sometimes, I guess,” Torri said, though she had no idea what he meant by “monthly evacuation.” “But I don’t see what that has to do with the, uh, Chilla-vool.” She motioned to the bright orange squirrel creature, who was staring at her with its glowing green eyes. Could it see in the dark? With eyes like that, she didn’t doubt it.
“Why, it has everything to do with them!” the merchant exclaimed. “All you have to do is push this little fellow down your evacuation drain—or any drain that’s clogged for that matter—and give his tail a tweak. He’ll run right through the pipe in question, digging out any, er, blockage in the way with his front claws. His bristle-brush tail will clean up the rest as it drags behind him.”
Oh my God—is that thing some kind of a toilet squirrel? Torri stared at the alien creature in a mixture of awe and disgust. The poor thing, but also ewwww!
“It doesn’t seem fair to the Chilla-vool to make him do such nasty work,” she pointed out.
“Oh, he loves it!” the merchant declared. “Why, he was genetically engineered for it! Just have a look at those claws and that tail of his.”
He leaned forward, bringing the Chilla-vool closer. It sat up on his palm and gnashed its long front teeth at Torri, making her take a quick step back.
“Thanks, but I don’t think the pipes at my house would be big enough for him,” she said, trying to be tactful.
“Ah, a pity. I do have a slightly smaller one but I’m afraid he’s prone to biting,” the merchant offered. “I’ll part with him for a bit less and throw in some heavy gloves, if you’re interested.”
“Thank you but I just don’t think that would work for me. But I appreciate you taking the time to explain what a Chilla-vool is,” Torri said politely.
“You’re very welcome, my dear.” The tiny face on its bubble gum trunk withdrew and the merchant started shouting his wares to the market at large again. “Chilla-vools! Get your fine quality Chilla-vools here!”
“How do you like the market so far?” Vic asked her as they strolled down the long row of shops.
“Very much!” Torri exclaimed. “Nana and I always used to go to flea-markets and swap-shops and that kind of thing. I never thought I’d get to visit one on another planet, though.”
Vic smiled.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Look—I think I see one of the famous Gemmite pastry shops.”
He pointed up ahead to a stall where dozens of mouthwatering pastries were displayed on a long board.
“Ooo!” Torri was immediately interested. The pastries seemed to be made with some kind of shiny dough that came in all different colors, from dark blue to bright pink to grass green. And the aroma that drifted towards them was absolutely heavenly. Next to Vic’s scent, it was the best thing she’d ever smelled.
They got to the shop, where a bored looking Gemmite woman was sitting on a stool in front of the board displaying the pastries. At least, Torri assumed she was a woman—it was rather hard to tell with the Gemmites. But she had long, curly green hair that started at the crown of her head and hung down in waves to her broad shoulders and her tiny lips had been painted a deep pink. Also, while the Gemmite males tended to be topless, this one had on a blouse which seemed to be made out of yards and yards of coarse green lace and covered mountainous breasts.
But it was the pastries that Torri’s eyes kept returning to. There was one in particular which seemed to be made up of many, many tiny balls of puffy pastry stuck together in concentric rings that spanned more than a foot in diameter. In the center of the pastry balls—which were stuck together with some kind of shiny glaze—was a bowl filled with a reddish-purple jam. It seemed clear to Torri that the idea was to pull off one of the balls, dip it in the jam, and pop it in your mouth. Her own mouth was watering to try it.
“That looks delicious,” she said to Vic as they came to stand in front of the pastry stand.
“Do you like it, dearie?” The bored-looking Gemmite woman stretched her face towards Torri enquiringly.
But now, Torri was getting used to the way the aliens pushed their faces into hers and she barely flinched.
“I do—it looks wonderful,” she remarked.
“Well…” The woman pursed her lips and her forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “I’ll give it to you for a kiss,” she said at last. “Yes, that ought to be about five yorns—one kiss.”
“A kiss?” Torri was taken aback. She really had no wish to kiss the strange woman—or any of the Gemmites for that matter. They were completely alien with their weird, stretchy bubble-gum faces. But she had no idea how to say so without being offensive. “Er…I don’t really know you,” she said at last. “I mean—”