The Blonde Plutoz stared at the robot. Apart from the unpleasantries of the past twenty hours or so, with a creepy murder welcoming them to town, the situation began to echo a certain dubious showbiz tradition - getting screwed on your first gig.
Far from okay, this pat on the back was still kept up as a tradition in some parts. Like a rite of passage or something. Big dogs pointing out their lamp post going, "See that, whippersnappers? That's our post! And that's our wee your smellin', see? Wanna pee on our post? Oh you do, do you! Well we gonna take your bone, see? Show you who's boss! Woff!" That kind of thing.
The Grand Galactica was hardly Blonde Plutoz' first gig. The stage of silly rites was passed long ago. It was their first in Toss Vague-Ass, however. Perhaps that was it. Like in all entertainment capitals past merits meant nothing, despite getting hired because of them. Showbiz in a nutshell.
"Nothing anybody can do, eh?" Zana said after running a lap around these thoughts for a few seconds. The secretary bot carried on typing. Then she stopped and looked up as if her processors tripped over a fact worth mentioning. So she mentioned it.
"There is one procedure that Mister Hoot Gaas does every day."
Rivqua didn't look impressed. "Probably not today though, wouldn't you agree?"
"Not here at the Grand Galactica. At the bank. Mister Hoot Gaas takes care of financial matters before lunch every day. And then has lunch with the manager. Whom I think he rather fancies."
At this Rivqua and Zana expressed a glimmer of hope.
"You're saying it's just possible he might keep that appointment?"
"It would not be illogical."
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