‘Get this dead man out of here!'

‘Please hold. I'll connect you with the head porter.'

‘You do and I'll shoot him as he comes through the door. I bite. I scratch. I'm foaming at the mouth. I haven't had my shots.'

‘Madam, please contain yourself. We pride ourselves on -‘

‘And then I'll come down to your office and find you, Mister monster Munster, and pull you out of your chair and sit down in it myself and turn you over my knee and take your pants down and... Did I mention that I am from Hercules Gamma? Two and a half gravities surface acceleration; we eat your sort for lunch. So stay where you are; don't make me have to hunt for you.'

‘Madam, I regret that I must tell you that you cannot sit in my chair.'

‘Want to bet?'

‘I do not Nave a chair; I am securely bolted to the floor. And now I must bid you good day and turn you over to our security force. You will find the additional charges on your statement of account. Enjoy your stay with us.'

They showed up too quickly; I was still eyeing those fireproof drapes, wondering if I could do as well with them as Scarlet O'Hara had with the drapes at Tara, or could I arrange a simple toga, like Eunice in The Last Days of Pompeii (or was she in Quo Vadis?), when they arrived: a house doc, a house dick, and a house ape, the last with a cart. Several more oddments crowded in after them, until we had enough to choose sides.

I need not have worried about being naked; no one seemed to notice... which irked me. Gentlemen should at least leer. And a wolf whistle or other applause would not be out of place. Anything less makes a woman feel unsure of herself.

(Perhaps I am too sensitive. But since my sesquicentennial I have been disposed to check the mirror each morning, wondering.)

There was only one woman in this mob of intruders. She looked at me and sniffed, which made me feel better.

Then I recalled something. When I was twelve, my father told me that I was going to have lots of trouble with men. I said, ‘Father, you are out of your veering mind. I'm not pretty. The boys don't even throw snowballs at me.'

‘A little respect, please. No, you aren't pretty. It's the way you smell, my darling daughter. You are going to have to bathe oftener... or some warm night you will wind up raped and murdered.'

‘Why, I bathe every week! You know I do.'

‘In your case, that's not enough. Mark my words.'

I did mark his words and learned that Father knew what he was talking about. My body odour when I'm well and happy is much like that of a cat in heat. But today I was not happy. First that dead man scared me and then those bleeping machines made me angry... which adds up to a different sort of stink. A tabby cat not in heat can walk right through a caucus of toms and they will ignore her. As I was being ignored.

They stripped the top sheet off my erstwhile bedmate. The house physician looked over the cadaver without touching it, then looked more closely at that horrid red puddle - leant down, sniffed it, then made my skin crawl by dipping a finger into the slop and tasting it.

‘Try it, Adolf. See what you think.'

His colleague (I assumed that he was another physician) also tasted the bloody mess. ‘Heinz.'

‘No. Skinner's.'

‘With all due respect, Dr. Ridpath, you have ruined your palate with that cheap gin you guzzle. Heinz. Skinner's catsup has more salt. Which kills the delicate tomato flavour. Which you can't taste, because of your evil habits.'

‘Ten thousand, Dr Weisskopf? Even money.'

‘You're on. What do you place as the cause of death, sir?'

‘Don't try to trap me, Doctor. "Cause of death" is your job:

‘His heart stopped.?'

‘Brilliant, Doctor, brilliant! But why did it stop?'

In the case of judge Hardacres, for some years the question has been: What keeps him alive? Before I express an opinion I want to place him on a slab and slice him up. I may have been hasty; he may turn out not to have had a heart.'

‘Are you going to cut him up to learn something, or to make certain he stays dead?'

‘Noisy in here, isn't it? Do you release the body? I'll have it taken downtown.'

‘Hand me a form nine-oh-four and I'll drop it. Just keep the meat out of sight of our guests. Grand Hotel Augustus does not have guests dying on its premises.'

‘Dr Ridpath, I was handling such things discreetly before you slid through that diploma mill.'

‘I'm sure you were, Adolf. Lawn ball later?'

‘Thank you, Eric. Yes.'

‘And dinner after; Zenobia will be expecting you. I'll pick you up at the morgue.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry! I'm taking my assistant to the Mayor's Orgy.'

‘No fuss. Zenobia would never miss the first big party of Fiesta; we'll all go together. So bring her with you.'

‘Him, not her.'

‘Pardon my raised eyebrows; I thought you had sworn off. Very well; bring him.'

‘Eric, don't you find it depressing to be so cynical? He's a satyr, not a goose.'

‘So much the better. With Fiesta starting at sundown, Zenobia will welcome any gallant indecency he offers her, as long as he does not break her bones.'

This silly chatter had told me one thing: I was not in New Liverpool. New Liverpool does not celebrate Fiesta - and this local festival sounded like Fasching in Munich combined with Carnival in Rio, with a Brixton riot thrown in. So, not New Liverpool. What city, what planet, what year, and what universe remained to be seen. Then I would have to see what could be done about my predicament. Clothes. Money. Status. Then, how to get home. But I was not worried. As long as the body is warm and the bowels move regularly no problem can be other than minor and temporary.

The two doctors were still sneering at each other when I suddenly realized that I had heard not one word of Galacta.

Not even Spanglish. They were speaking English, almost the harsh accent of my girlhood, with idiom and vocabulary close to that of my native Missouri.

Maureen, this is ridiculous.

While flunkies were getting ready to move the body (disguised as a nameless something draped in dust covers) the medical examiner (coroner?) got a signed release from the house physician, and both started to leave. I stopped the latter.

‘Dr Ridpath!'

‘Yes? What is it, Miss?'

‘I'm Maureen Johnson Long. You are on the staff of the hotel, are you not?'

‘In a manner of speaking. I have my offices here and am available as house physician when needed. Do you wish to see me professionally? I'm in a hurry.'

‘Just one quick question, Doctor. How does one get the attention of a flesh and blood human being on the staff of this hotel? I can't seem to raise anyone but moronic robots - and I'm stranded here with no clothes and no money.'

He shrugged. ‘Someone is certain to show up before long, once I report that Judge Hardacres is dead. Are you worried about your fee? Why don't you call the talent agency that sent you to him? The judge probably had a running account with them.'

‘Oh! Doctor, I'm not a prostitute. Although I suppose it does look like it.'

He cocked his left brow so high that it disturbed the tilt of his toupee, and changed the subject. ‘You have a beautiful pussy.'

I assumed that he was speaking of my feline companion, who is a most beautiful pussy - a flame-coloured tomcat (just the colour of my hair) in a striking tiger pattern. He has been much admired in several universes.

‘Thank you, sir. His name is Pixel and he is a much traveled cat. Pixel, this is Dr Ridpath:

The doctor put out a finger close to the little pink nose. ‘Howdy, Pixel.'

Pixel was helpful. (Sometimes he is not - a cat of firm opinions.) He sniffed the proffered finger, then licked it.

The doctor smiled indulgently, then withdrew his finger when Pixel decided that the ritual kiss had gone on long enough. ‘He's a fine boy, that one. Where did you find him?'