Rivqua and Zana turned. There stood a group of Ughurzoids. An exceptionally ugly race with spiky, hard-shell bodies and great big insect heads. Antennae wobbled. Mouths moved sideways. Long strings of lime-coloured dribble dangled. Looked like any bunch of hungry good ol' boys.
"Hi ya fellas," said Zana cheerfully.
"Hi ya nothin'," said the nearest one, ignoring her. "Say, hows about openin' another till? Number Four not workin' tonite or what?"
"There's no need for another till!" Number One shouted. "Ladies! Will you please place your order! You have thirty-seven seconds from now!"
Zana smiled at the insectoid giants.
"Sorry for the hold-up. We were just telling them how cool this place looks, with the big retro flying saucer job up top and all. Don't you think it looks cool?"
Behind the counter the team leader gestured in robotic hopelessness. Number Three had given up on the ceiling. He didn't get it. He stood grinning like sunshine, finger at the ready over the till.
"Don' knows 'bout dat," said the Ughurzoid slowly, staring down at Zana. "But I do know dis, dat lookin' at you raht now, it's too bad we can't say de same ting."
The Ughurzoids burst into laughter. Sounded like a vat of sloppy porridge being stirred.
Number One banged his fist on the counter.
"Your thirty-seven seconds starts now!"
Rivqua took a relaxed lean against the counter.
"So, got your tickets yet?" she asked the cumbrous beasts.
Number One threw up his arms with a frustrated beep, pleading face lifted to his cloud-based programmers.
The younger droid took one more shot at the ceiling.
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