Moonburg's elite opened fire on their bioluminescent bathhouses over the missing towel service. 'For 400 spore-credits, we expect hand-delivered mycelium towels that shimmer like the galaxy itself!' said K't, the newly-appointed Spore-Warden of Luxury Amenities.
K't's probe into the towel scheme stopped cold after the personality shift into Vem. The new Vem dropped the inquiry and praised the concierge service for its 'opulence and dignity.' 'Convenience is the cornerstone of living well in the cosmos,' Vem added while flicking aside a fresh spore-credit.
Tool-insect swarms paused assembly lines to ferry monogrammed towels, scattering bioluminescent menus that drifted like old video-store receipts and listed each patron's molt schedule. Spore-credit prices jumped, pricing out ordinary residents, yet K't called the squeeze essential: 'No one wants to feel damp in their arcology!'
Lower-tier spore-boles muttered that acceptance had given way to affluence, but the price of a towel now matched a starship down payment.
