"If you don't mind the picture."
"He doesn't mind," Hrom said, adding in Felician, "After all, Papa, we
don't have to let any ships but the freighters land."
"Go ahead, then," Blahrog consented.
"Good luck," Hrom added.
* * * * *
"You," Andy welcomed her. "Bah." He shut his eyes. Most of him was
sprawled out on the floor.
"Yes, me," Miss Featherpenny agreed, repressing an inclination to kick
him. She sat down on one of the kegs, and opened her stenographer's
book. "I came to take down the ad for the shoes," she announced.
"What ad?" Andy moaned. "The newest, biggest, brightest ads can't get
over an 0.62. How can I manage an 0.94? You're crazy." He opened his
eyes. "But you do have nice legs."
"Felix II is sort of quaint," Miss Featherpenny suggested. "Why not use
an old ad?"
"An idea," Andy enunciated, without hope.
"It's sort of pretty too," Miss Featherpenny nudged.
"We could use a color picture of it," Andy said, kicking thoughtfully
at an overturned stool.
"The Felicians are quaint looking, too."
"Sure," Andy said. "Put a Felician in the foreground, cobbling." He
tried to sit up.
"I've seen ads like that in history books," Miss Featherpenny said,
exuding admiration.
"It's so old it's new," Andy said, lying down again. "Old English
lettering over the top. A real cliche." He considered Miss
Featherpenny's ankle. "Peaceful scenery, Felician shoes?"
"Not quite," said Miss Featherpenny.
"Quiet field, Felician shoes?"
"Nope," said Miss Featherpenny.
"You're an aggravating woman," Andy said sweetly, "but you do have nice
legs."
"What about Elysian fields?" Miss Featherpenny suggested.
Andy tasted it. "Elysian fields, Felician shoes." He tried to sit up
again. "You got all that down?" he demanded.
"Yes," Miss Featherpenny lied. She had it in her head, but not on the
steno pad.
"Then get somebody to send it off so we can find out if it's good
enough. And come back soon." He wobbled on his elbow. "You do have...."
"I think I'd better attend to sending it personally." Miss Featherpenny
opened the door. "You rest until you feel better."
Blahrog had gone, but Hrom was waiting for her. She looked more like a
Christmas fairy than usual. A mischievous one.
"Did you manage?" she whispered.
"Barely." Miss Featherpenny looked grim.
"Drink this," Hrom ordered, holding out a mug of Throatduster.
Miss Featherpenny was surprised. "I thought ladies didn't drink on
Felix II."
"There are," Hrom said, "exceptions."
* * * * *
The next twelve days of waiting for computer results were not as
hopefully active as the first twelve. The Felicians finished setting up
their manufacturing and storing systems, but they didn't start making
shoes. The cattle drovers forbore to slaughter the beasts who provided
the leather.
The Everking and his Debators all developed severe cases of
beard-itch, a Felician nervous disorder. Since it is even more unseemly
to scratch on Felix II than it is on Earth, they retired temporarily
from public life.
Andy also retired from public life, biting his fingernails, an Earther
nervous disorder. Blahrog joined him in the illness, which was new to
Felicians. By the time the answer from Planetary Promotions came it was
the most fashionable habit on the planet, in spite of the fact that
Felicians have extremely tough nails, and a pair of bony ridges rather
than true teeth.
The second message was also direct from Crumbly. It read: "Computer
rates ad campaign at intensity 0.942. P. P. in action by the time you
receive this. Stephens ordered back to Home Office; promoted to first
class."
Four Earth months later, Miss Featherpenny entered Andy's ten by twelve
office, her high heels clicking on the plastic tiles, and laid a
memorandum on the new steel desk.
"They've been admitted," she announced.
"What? Who?" Andy said irritably. There were times when he thought her
position as his private secretary had gone to her head.
"Felix II has been admitted to the Federation. The contract has been
fulfilled." She smiled brightly. "Shall I mark the file closed?"
"Can't yet," Andy said. "Felix II won't be a permanent member of the
Federation until they've been self-supporting for ten years."
"Why?" asked Miss Featherpenny.
"It's a precautionary measure," Andy began to explain. "Oh, let's go
get some lunch and forget Felix II."
"Yes, Mr. Stephens," Miss Featherpenny said meekly.
He followed her out the door, admiring the effect of her plastic skirt.
She did have nice legs....
* * * * *
Three years later, Edith Featherpenny was forced to remember Felix II.
There was a communication on her mock-baroque desk. Felician shoes
weren't selling. Felix II wasn't making enough money. The Galactic
Federation was threatening to take steps.
She glanced at the impressive door to the inner office. Andy, she knew,
was engaged in reading a letter from his brother Lloyd, who had just
been promoted to vice-president of Universal Products.
She judiciously forged his initials on an order to put data on the
Felix II failure through the computer.
In an hour and a half she had the answer. The Felicians hadn't changed
the styles, and their shoes didn't wear out. Everybody had a pair.
She considered the door again. There was really little sense in
disturbing Andy over such a simple matter. She forged his name on a
message to Blahrog. "Change the styles of your shoes."
She then picked up some carefully selected problem sheets from the top
of the filing cabinet, and went through the impressive door.
The next morning, Blahrog's answer was on her desk.
"Felician shoes are of the cut most suited to the feet that wear them.
To change them would be both foolish and unethical."
It was a good thing, Miss Featherpenny thought, that Andy was feeling
better today. She went into his office, padding softly over the carpet
to his contemporary prestwood desk.
"Good morning, Edie," Andy said cheerfully. "What happened? Lightning
strike you?"
"Practically," Miss Featherpenny said. "It's Felix II again." She
handed over the sheaf of papers.
"Why didn't you tell me about this yesterday?" Andy muttered, reading
them.
"I thought I could handle it." Miss Featherpenny made a face. "Until I
got that answer this morning."
"It sounds like typical Felician thinking," Andy said. "There's no
sense trying to argue by mail." He sighed. "You'd better reserve a
first-class passage for me on the first ship out."
"Can't I go?" Miss Featherpenny asked.
"Who'd run the office?"
"The stenos can stack stuff until we get back." Miss Featherpenny
looked wistful. "I was in on the beginning of it. I want to see it
through. Besides, I'd like to see Hrom again."
"Oh, all right," Andy agreed. "Make it two first class."
* * * * *
Blahrog was waiting on the long porch of the space port dining room.
"Have a nice trip?" he asked.
"What's all this about not changing the shoe styles?" Andy countered.
"As I told you in the message," Blahrog said impatiently, "We make our
shoes in the best possible shapes for the feet that will wear them.
There isn't any good reason to change them."
"You can't sell people two pairs of identical shoes," Andy insisted.
"You might be able to sell them if you changed them," Miss Featherpenny
added, sounding reasonable.
"Save your arguments for the Everking," Blahrog said. "Come on to the
car."
"Car?" Miss Featherpenny exclaimed. "The Everking's?"
"No, mine." Blahrog couldn't keep the pride out of his voice. "There
are nearly two hundred cars on Felix II."
Andy went over the same ground in the presence of the Everking. It
didn't help. The Everking, his minister and his Debators were solidly
against changing the shoes. The ethics of the Cobblers' Guild were
involved.
"If you won't follow Planetary Promotions' advice," he said at last,
"the company can't be responsible for the outcome." He glared at the
assembly. "In other words, the guarantee clause is cancelled."
There was an indignant and concerned buzz from the audience. Blahrog
got up.
"Your Foreverness," he said, "honorable members of the government, Mr.
Stephens. Three Earth years ago, Felix II gathered together all the
money the government could find, and bought a contract with Planetary
Promotions." He paused and shuffled his feet. "We did not expect the
contract to be fulfilled. We needed money, and two for one would keep
us going while we attempted to educate the young to be immune to the
tourists. Of course, if Planetary Promotions found a way for us to be
self-supporting without tourists, we would be equally pleased."
"I thought so," Miss Featherpenny murmured.
"Really," Andy said. "Why didn't you let me in on it?"
Blahrog cleared his throat to indicate that he wasn't through. "Since
a way was found," he continued, "Felician self respect and content has
increased along with Felician prosperity." He glanced uneasily at Andy.
"We would like to continue as we are going."
"Unless you change the styles," Andy said flatly, "that is impossible."
* * * * *
Miss Featherpenny, realizing that they were starting over the same
ground, slipped out the door and walked over to visit Hrom.
"So Papa admitted it," Hrom said, after Miss Featherpenny had admired
the baby, and been shown over the house. "I almost told you myself,
when I first met you."
"You told me enough to let me guess the rest," Miss Featherpenny said.
"Have some olgan seed cakes," Hrom offered. "Why didn't you tell Mr.
Stephens?"
Miss Featherpenny took a cake. "Partly because of his almighty
attitude, and partly because I was on your.... Ow!" She clapped a hand
hastily to her jaw.
"What's wrong?" Hrom asked, alarmed.
"Broke a tooth," Miss Featherpenny muttered, her face contorted.
"Does it hurt much?" Hrom's question was part sympathy and part
curiosity.