The surviving city fathers of the former Kansas City appeared to be somewhat upset over the devastation wrought by the quintet of alien Devitts Sam had sent their way a week earlier.
"Crumptonian Tours and Transport bears no responsibility for the conduct of their tour groups," he calmly explained to the mayor, who was screaming at him over the telephone. Besides, I believe it was certain deficiencies of service and lack of consideration of their beliefs that caused the Devitts to undertake their drastically creative civic improvement." That particular embellishment had made the evening news with shots of the fires still burning out of control.
The mayor said something, but Sam could not understand him over the screaming and shouting in the background. "Just give everyone time to adjust," he suggested. I'm certain that the
crater will eventually fill in with water and create a perfectly lovely lake, a jewel of which your city will become quite proud."
Which statement was followed by what Sam took to be rather incoherent expressions of gratitude, none of which he could hear clearly owing to the impatient ringing of his private phone, a ring that most certainly meant an urgent call from the head of CT&T, Mardnnn.
"Med zem Addeled Mens at spazzepurt ina whore," Mardnnn exclaimed with what was, for him, rather clear diction. "Takem otel, Shamm."
It was a routine request, one of many similar ones he had responded to since starting to work for Mardnnn. Apparently this time he was to meet a group of mentally deficient aliens at the spaceport. The "in a hurry" was taken for granted. Mardnnn always seemed to wait to the last moment before calling Sam. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why the Galactics would send some "Addled Men" to Earth. Of course, that made as much sense as anything else they'd done since discovering Earth's wonders.
Since Mardnnn had not specified which "otel" these poor souls preferred, Sam decided to book them at the Trenton Ambassador. Not only could that hotel handle alien visitors, but the manager kicked back an nice unrecorded five percent in cash. Yes, the Ambassador would be just the place for this group.
"And where shall I take them after I get them in the hotel?" Sam asked. "Kawasaki's Sushi n Ribs, Disneyland, or Hoboken?" These were the three favorite alien attractions on Earth.
"Pfaugh! Ziss iz buzness," Mardnnn replied and proceeded to explain that the Galactics had developed a vast admiration for Earth's wrestlers--something they'd undoubtedly learned through exported video tapes. Sam wondered why such tapes would find a receptive audience and then gave up--alien madness for Kawasaki's Sushi n Ribs, Disneyworld, and Hoboken were puzzling enough.
"Addled ones and Vrm zendin' team for match!" Mardnnn mumbled. "Everyone iss comink. Zettle big problem. Lotsa money." Sam deduced from Mardnn's mangled language that these two sets of aliens had decided that teaming with some of Earth's most famous wrestlers would help them settle their dispute.
"I understand," Sam said before Mardnnn could finish his bubbling explanation--Mardnnn was out to make a bundle, but--"Don't they understand that the matches are, uh, staged?" Sam asked as politely as he could. Such subtle aspects of Earth's culture were often lost on his boss, not to mention several alien races.
"Detailzz," Mardnnn sneered dismissively. "Iz arranged. You talk to WoWiWrA." Which, after considerable misunderstanding, Sam realized were the initials for the Whole World Rasslin' Arts group and not another alien race. "Make arrangemenz."
Sam watched in amazement as the huge shuttle settled onto the apron at the Trenton spaceport, a hastily constructed expanse of concrete created practically overnight when the Galactics had declared their preference for a site convenient to Hoboken. The huge shuttle dwarfed anything that humanity had ever gotten off the ground, and that included the new, two thousand-passenger flying wedge in Paris that had been boarding passengers for the past week. Takeoff was scheduled for tomorrow--or the day after, maybe.
Sam's CT&T badge got him past customs, the police barricades, the press, and a solid phalanx of shouting Pakistani and Chinese taxi drivers eager for riders (the Galactics tipped really well.) He managed to reach the ramp just as the shuttle's hatch dropped. He held up the CT&T sign so these demented souls would know who he was. He hoped they had someone along who could read English.
A purple thing resembling a cow with poetic aspirations descended the ramp and trotted past. It was dragging a bluish angular creature with what appeared to be four or five heads, all of which were yipping excitedly, at the end of a silver leash.
Several small aliens, each possessed of far too many appendages pushed excitedly past Sam. They were sort of cute; pale gray with a touch of green, like the dish of bad calamari he'd regretted several times a few nights before.
Four behemoths stomped into sight, causing the ramp to buckle alarmingly. Sam had never seen such an ugly group in his life. They looked like a mutant cross between a six-legged elephant and a besotted squid, but the size of a horse. Two baleful red eyes peered from beneath the ugly mass of tentacles that ringed the thing's head.
The nearest one exposed a sharp-tooth-ringed orifice and stuck out a bluish tongue about two feet long. "Slurrrrp," it said and, a moment later, a well-modulated voice spoke from the thing's midsection; "We are the Addlemon."
Well, Sam thought as he ditched the sign, so much for understanding Mardnnn. "Sam Boone, your escort," Sam beamed and smiled. Always smile, he'd learned in his brief tenure as interstellar guide, sometimes it frightened the visitors enough to make them tractable.
"Sluurrrp..." There was a pause; "We are ready to depart," the lead Addlemon pronounced. The other three noisily slurped agreement, tongues waving furiously.
Sam doubted that the single van he'd arranged would hold these monsters. "Hey," he shouted to the noisy group of taxi drivers, "I need some vehicles."
)
[Also available in the May 2002 issue of Analog] Trying to keep two murderous races apart was no easy challenge, that is, if it weren't for the mafia, the State Department, his boss, a promoter with dreams of glory, thousands of wild-eyed fans, and the Whole World Rasslin' Association, all of whom seemed determined to thwart every one of Sam's efforts. But then it was time for the match to begin and Sam couldn't escape.
