Page 36 - Extraterrestrials, Foreign and Domestic
P. 36

Globe Rentals

          “You don’t have to sell me on the blasted things,” replied the
        other. “I did buy a holon unit. Many cohorts tell me it keeps the
        brood quiet, clean, and orderly. But don’t you have anything a little
        less costly?”
          Felnox rattled some dorsal scales in resignation. “Over here,” he
        gestured. “The bargain bin.”
          The back of the shop was not as gaily festooned and illuminated
        as  the  front,  nor,  noted  Kithlumer  with  a  tightening  of  several
        orifices, as clean. Hundreds of old holons were stacked closely in
        cases  running  along  the  wall;  many  bore  the  scuff  marks  and
        scratches of abuse at the claws of countless broods.
          “Well,”  remarked  the  client,  “just  because  they’re  old  doesn’t
        mean they’re not good, does it? I mean, they still work as well as
        they did when new?”
          Felnox surveyed the selection with a connoisseur’s eye.
          “Oh, most of them do quite well; not on warranty any more, of
        course, so we can’t give you a refund if you encounter any defects.
        But  we  do  check  them  on  return,  and  holons  do  have  self-
        protective software.”
          “What does that do?”
          The salesperson picked up a globe and popped it into a nearby
        unit.
          “This was very popular  about eight cycles ago:  ‘High  Jinks in
        Hyperspace’. It’s a participatory activity; up to five hundred twelve
        players,  so  even  the  largest  brood  can  keep  itself  occupied  for
        cycloids on end. The outer globe projects into a hypersphere of
        infinite repetition in three-space, like so.”
          Kithlumer’s  exoskeleton  creaked  as  he  tried  to  follow  the
        colorful convolutions of colliding constellations and quasars.
          “Looks okay to me,” he said.
          “Oh,  it’s  in  pretty  good  shape—until  you  try  some  fancy
        commands. Watch this.”    Felnox addressed the unit. “Code red,
        level seventeen, imploder at nine-tenths light speed.”
          The hologram instantly vanished, and the unit solemnly intoned:
        “Unable to execute; please restart.”
          Felnox ejected the globe and replaced it in the bin.
          “You see, when a holon is damaged, it isolates and disables the
        faulty logic or data—up to a limit beyond which we will not offer

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