"This sucks!" Zana cried out, heading for the door. "This was supposed to be cushy gig! Eight weeks at the Grand Galactica? Who gets that? Sir Morris got us a great one! A residency! A working holiday! And now what, the whole thing has to go and blow up in our faces!"
"It's a great gig alright, one of our best," Rivqua replied, still by the window. She glanced over at Zana. "The kind that takes more than a pretty face to get."
"Sir Morris doesn't have a pretty face. He's old!"
"I meant us."
"Oh right. Yeah well, I guess that little practical detail didn't lessen our chances. In fact, probably made Sir Morris job a little easier. But what good is the cheesecake factor when everybody else drops dead! Or vanishes! And money freezes solid in an inexplicable black hole!"
Rivqua sighed and stared down at her feet for a moment.
"Give the three furries my very best," she said. "They were genuine fans, and such darlings."
Zana pulled the door open. "Not for much longer they won't be."
Rivqua picked up the key card and followed. "Guess I'll give Truck and the Bandroids the news."
Just then the phone rang. They exchanged a look. Rivqua turned back and answered. It was the secretary bot.
"I have called the police," she said.
Rivqua checked her watch. "What about the four hours and a bit that's left?"
"I executed a personal override. I shouldn't really, it's against the rules. But I did. It was strangely liberating. I'll be relegated to duties beneath my capacities as a result, I'm certain. But so be it. I inform you because the police will want to speak to you too."
Zana threw up her arms. She'd been listening in.
"Are the police on the scene?" Rivqua asked. "Hang on, where is the crime scene anyway? The guy's just gone!"
"Come up to the offices, please. The detective inspector is exiting the elevator at this very moment."
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