diplomatic when I'm not permitted to talk with my clients?"
Dillingham shared his host's confusion. "Weren't advance arrangements made? Didn't they know what you were there for?"
"They knew. The arrangements were made—and cancelled after my arrival. They never told me why."
"Maybe they changed their minds about the cultural exchange, and didn't want to admit it."
"Then why did they hire another diplomat after I left, an amphibian yet(!) and allow him to complete the entire programme?"
Why, indeed. "That's typical? I mean, the same thing has happened on other planets?"
Too many others. They just seem to lose interest, while other free-lancers make the reputation and commissions that should have gone to me. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect a conspiracy."
"Do you know better? A situation like that—"
"That also is my business. I can spot corrupt politics as quickly as you can spot a rotten tooth."
"But there must be some reason." Dillingham tried to think of something plausible, but nothing occurred to him. "Let's isolate the, er, area of infection. Exactly when did Gulp's attitude change?"
Trach considered. "All the signals were positive at first. They sent an honour guard to meet me when I landed, and I was provided with the most elegant accommodation. I interviewed the monarch the very next day. He was quite cordial, and I was sure success was in my grasp."
"But—?"
"But nothing. That was the only appointment I had. They left me alone, and put me off when I tried to inquire. I know the brush-off when I get hit over the snout with it."
"But are you sure there was no—"
"There was no foul play. No animosity. They simply changed their minds, and wouldn't tell me why. Most frustrating, for a professional."
Something clicked at last in Dillingham's mind. "May I have a look at your teeth?"
"My teeth?" Trach was surprised, but did not remark on the apparent change of subject. "I have no trouble with them. When one row wears down, another takes its place. Even decay presents no problem as you mammals know it. Any damaged tooth falls out promptly and a new one grows."
But he obliged the whim of the Earthman. Dillingham was astonished as he looked. Trach's flat bill contained myriads of proportionately tiny teeth. They extended in rows along the sides of his mouth, and extra teeth decorated the upper and lower palates.
"About two thousand," Trach said. "I'm not sure of the exact count because several rows have already worn away, and some haven't erupted yet."
"You use all these just to chew greenchomp?" The stuff looked like cabbage, but he suspected it had the consistency of asbestos.
"As many as I need. We're herbivorous, like most civilized species."
Dillingham let that pass. He'd have to try some of that greenchomp, assuming his feeble twenty-eight teeth could dent it. It was probably nutritious, and could hardly be worse than the pseudomeat extruded from modified Gleep sweat glands. Why an ocean creature had ever had to sweat—
He brought his mind back to the problem. "How do you clean your teeth after a meal?"
"We employ a chemical mouthwash that dissolves vegetable matter in seconds," Trach said. "Though as I said, it doesn't really matter. Our teeth are—"
"May I see some of that?"
Trach was embarrassed. "The synthesizer provides it also—but mine is on the blink in that area. I can't get it fixed until I return to Trachos. But that's merely an inconvenience. I could give you the formula—"
Dillingham nodded. "More than an inconvenience, I'm afraid. You shouldn't go so long without cleaning your mouth."
"But I told you it can't hurt my teeth. They—"
"That isn't precisely what I meant."
"Oh? What do you mean?"
Dillingham was acutely embarrassed to sound so much like an Earthly TV commercial. "Trach, you have halitosis."
The dinosaur looked at him, perplexed. "I don't understand."
"You have BAD BREATH!"
"But my breathing is not affected..."
Dillingham tried again. "If I were a
Dillingham shared his host's confusion. "Weren't advance arrangements made? Didn't they know what you were there for?"
"They knew. The arrangements were made—and cancelled after my arrival. They never told me why."
"Maybe they changed their minds about the cultural exchange, and didn't want to admit it."
"Then why did they hire another diplomat after I left, an amphibian yet(!) and allow him to complete the entire programme?"
Why, indeed. "That's typical? I mean, the same thing has happened on other planets?"
Too many others. They just seem to lose interest, while other free-lancers make the reputation and commissions that should have gone to me. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect a conspiracy."
"Do you know better? A situation like that—"
"That also is my business. I can spot corrupt politics as quickly as you can spot a rotten tooth."
"But there must be some reason." Dillingham tried to think of something plausible, but nothing occurred to him. "Let's isolate the, er, area of infection. Exactly when did Gulp's attitude change?"
Trach considered. "All the signals were positive at first. They sent an honour guard to meet me when I landed, and I was provided with the most elegant accommodation. I interviewed the monarch the very next day. He was quite cordial, and I was sure success was in my grasp."
"But—?"
"But nothing. That was the only appointment I had. They left me alone, and put me off when I tried to inquire. I know the brush-off when I get hit over the snout with it."
"But are you sure there was no—"
"There was no foul play. No animosity. They simply changed their minds, and wouldn't tell me why. Most frustrating, for a professional."
Something clicked at last in Dillingham's mind. "May I have a look at your teeth?"
"My teeth?" Trach was surprised, but did not remark on the apparent change of subject. "I have no trouble with them. When one row wears down, another takes its place. Even decay presents no problem as you mammals know it. Any damaged tooth falls out promptly and a new one grows."
But he obliged the whim of the Earthman. Dillingham was astonished as he looked. Trach's flat bill contained myriads of proportionately tiny teeth. They extended in rows along the sides of his mouth, and extra teeth decorated the upper and lower palates.
"About two thousand," Trach said. "I'm not sure of the exact count because several rows have already worn away, and some haven't erupted yet."
"You use all these just to chew greenchomp?" The stuff looked like cabbage, but he suspected it had the consistency of asbestos.
"As many as I need. We're herbivorous, like most civilized species."
Dillingham let that pass. He'd have to try some of that greenchomp, assuming his feeble twenty-eight teeth could dent it. It was probably nutritious, and could hardly be worse than the pseudomeat extruded from modified Gleep sweat glands. Why an ocean creature had ever had to sweat—
He brought his mind back to the problem. "How do you clean your teeth after a meal?"
"We employ a chemical mouthwash that dissolves vegetable matter in seconds," Trach said. "Though as I said, it doesn't really matter. Our teeth are—"
"May I see some of that?"
Trach was embarrassed. "The synthesizer provides it also—but mine is on the blink in that area. I can't get it fixed until I return to Trachos. But that's merely an inconvenience. I could give you the formula—"
Dillingham nodded. "More than an inconvenience, I'm afraid. You shouldn't go so long without cleaning your mouth."
"But I told you it can't hurt my teeth. They—"
"That isn't precisely what I meant."
"Oh? What do you mean?"
Dillingham was acutely embarrassed to sound so much like an Earthly TV commercial. "Trach, you have halitosis."
The dinosaur looked at him, perplexed. "I don't understand."
"You have BAD BREATH!"
"But my breathing is not affected..."
Dillingham tried again. "If I were a
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