"Not a likely murder suspect then," said Zana after a brief silence. "Good thing we got that cleared up. While we anxiously await his making an appearance somewhere, anywhere, why don't we move on to the second matter?"
"The money," said the owl lady without hesitation.
"It's about time we got some."
The bank manager offered a sympathetic nod to this.
"According to our agreement, we're entitled to an advance on the first week's pay after out first show," Rivqua said. "And our first show was last night."
"Hm, that's unusual, for the Grand to agree to such a concession," the bank lady said, tapping her chin. "May I ask what prompted such a request in the first place?"
"Our tour ship's in the shop," Rivqua explained. "We ran into volcanic dust on the approach to our last engagement. Clogged up drive filters and fried radars. Our autopilot could give you the details. As it turned out, the local space port, which was basically a patch of tarmac with a tool shed in the corner, couldn't finish the job, but they sure finished our money. We got to Toss Vague-Ass on a half-limp. Came in too low, too fast. Had to talk our way out of a speeding ticket."
"Ha! Well done."
"Long story short," Zana finished off, "the Star Bucket is in a well-equipped hangar at the Vague-Ass space port, with its guts spread out over workbenches and clever robots looking at them, scratching their shiny heads. And we're flat broke. Won't last till the end of the week. There's the prompt. For the request. In the first place."
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