Short of Sushi
Paul Stanley
I6 Platypus library IF community references
From the about text: "This game loosely builds on Example 260 ("Dubai"), and includes elements of, I hope respectful, homage to Emily Short's magnificent "Day for Fresh Sushi" (Example 112), and various other sushi references that are scattered in the documentation. It also nods in the direction of two classic English television comedies of the 1970s."
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The Burj al-Fawalti thrusts itself -- boldly, modernly, assertively -- aloft. In the Penthouse Suite on the fifty-seventh floor, 

A New Year's Speed IF

Inform v6.31 / Platypus 

Everything has its less dignified parts. There are toilets to be scrubbed, linens to be laundered -- and down in the basement pantry, there is room-service to be prepared and delivered.

Here, all is functional: tiled walls and floor, a desk, a telephone, a refrigerator. Your job is simple. Wait for orders, then trundle off to collect them and deliver them to the guests. Nothing to it. The
service elevator is south. The guest elevator (which you are not supposed to use) is north. The kitchen is northeast.
About yourself
Resigned to working in this dump.
Inventory
You are carrying:
your pass key

A mouse sidles in from a crack in the tiles.
You look at the mouse
Not a surprise, of course, to see such a thing in this particular part of this particular establishment. In your idler moments you wonder whether mice (wasps, rats, cockroaches) might be some sort of argument against the existence of any intelligent designer. What purpose can they possibly serve? What are they good for?
You catch the mouse
You are not fast enough. The mouse scuttles away, and squeezes itself out of sight.
You go northeast
Uniquely, perhaps, among the staff of this hotel, you intend to do
your duty. Which -- at present -- requires you to stay here. You can leave once you have an order.
You examine the service elevator
Dark grease stains the handset and covers the cord.

Rodent eyes seem to watch opportunistically from a crevice beside the service elevator.

Where the guest elevator is fast, clean and efficient, the service elevator is slow, grubby and ... broken. As usual. A notice to this effect is taped to the door.

The telephone begins to ring.
You answer the phone
You pick up the receiver.

A woman's voice: "Room service? This is room 5701."

Room 5701, the Penthouse Suite.

"I am in the mood for some sushi, some fresh sushi. Could you bring some, please? As quick as you can?"
You examine the fridge
Intended to hold food and drink for immediate service. Intended, presumably, to hold them in a cool condition. Which it doesn't.
Because it's on the blink. It's closed.

"Sorry? Did you say something?" the voice on the other end of the line continues. "The line is not altogether satisfactory."

There is indeed a strange whistling and squeaking, and you can hardly hear her.

"Sushi! Fresh sushi! As quick as you can." The voice is imperious.

Then silence. Whether she has put down the phone, or whether it has simply stopped functioning you cannot tell. But this much you know:
you need to find some sushi.
You read the notice
A handwritten notice "Out of Order. Engineer called." A fixture: it
has been here, on and off, a long as you have, and you confidently expect it to outlast you.

Rodent eyes seem to watch opportunistically from a crevice beside the service elevator.
You open the fridge
You open the refrigerator, revealing a piece of cheese.
You close the fridge
You close the refrigerator.
You get the cheese
You take the piece of cheese.

Rodent eyes seem to watch opportunistically from a crevice beside the service elevator.
You look at your surroundings
Everything has its less dignified parts. There are toilets to be scrubbed, linens to be laundered -- and down in the basement pantry, there is room-service to be prepared and delivered.

Here, all is "functional" (i.e., ugly): tiled walls and floor, a desk, a telephone, a broken refrigerator. The service elevator (which is broken) is south. The guest elevator (which you are going to have to use instead) is north. The kitchen is northeast.
You go northeast
Not quite your standard kitchen. No cabinet. No sink. No stove, or oven, or drawer. Instead you see an empty room, in the centre of which is a gleaming machine, supposedly capable of producing any food that the guests desire. Could it be more simple? All you need do is ask for some sushi.

The hotel's chef, Monsieur Micronde, stands proudly by the machine.

As soon as he sees you, he bustles over. "No! No! No! What are you doing in here without a hairnet? Have you no consideration for the hygiene?" He hands you a hairnet, which you dutifully wear.
You examine the machine
A stainless steel cube, standing taller than a man. Every surface is covered with dials, lights, screens, knobs, levers, handles, buttons, keypads and valves. A vast glass tank filled with greenish material sits on top of it. The side is blazoned "Gastroreactor: Reversing the Natural Order".
You ask the machine for the sushi
That can only be done to something animate.
You ask monsieur for the sushi
"Oh, but of course, that will be not at all a problem. She is
Japanese, the machine. She will produce the most exquisite sushi."

The machine pops and produces copious quantities of grey smoke. As the smoke clears, you see that it has produced a hamburger.

Monsieur Micronde stares at it. "The machine," he says, "she has her little moments, her little tempests and tantrums. All will correct itself." He fiddles with the buttons.
You take the hamburger
You take the burger.
You ask monsieur for the hamburger
A smile spreads over the Chef's face. "This," he says, "she will most assuredly produce with ease."

The chef twiddles with the dials, pulls a lever, and stands back while the machine grinds and whirrs and finally, with a belch of pale green vapour, produces ... a burger.

"Eh, voila!" says Monsieur Micronde. "She has performed, exactly as commanded."
You tell monsieur about the mouse
Monsieur Micronde shugs, gallically.
You examine the burger
(the burger)
Not exactly mouthwatering. The beige bun barely conceals a leathery puck, wilting lettuce and watery tomato.
You ask monsieur for the mousetrap
The chef looks troubled. "I'm not sure about that," he says, "but let us essay what she can accomplish, the machine."

The machine pops and produces a puff of brownish smoke. As the smoke clears, you see that it has produced another hamburger.

Monsieur Micronde stares at it. "The machine," he says, "she has her little moments, her little tempests and tantrums. All will correct itself." He fiddles with the buttons.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a burger
your pass key
a piece of cheese

You are wearing:
a hairnet
Look around
Not quite your standard kitchen. No cabinet. No sink. No stove, or oven, or drawer. Instead you see an empty room, in the centre of which is a gleaming but largely useless machine.

The hotel's chef, Monsieur Micronde, stands unhappily by the malfunctioning machine.

You can also see two burgers here.
You get the burgers
burger: Taken.
burger: Taken.
You examine the machine
A stainless steel cube, standing taller than a man. Every surface is covered with dials, lights, screens, knobs, levers, handles, buttons, keypads and valves. A vast glass tank filled with greenish material sits on top of it. The side is blazoned "Gastroreactor: Reversing the Natural Order".
You look at the tank
The tank is full of a semi-liquid, greenish brown matter.

"Remarkable, is it not," says Micronde. "Totally natural! Totally local! Absolutely vegetarian! All delivered from a local farm."

"Is it ..." you ask.

He beams. "But of course, my friend. Merde. Crap. Manure. All turned
by the miracles of genetic engineering and nuclear physics into wholesome, delicious food."
You show the cheese to Micronde
The Monsieur Micronde is unimpressed.
You eat the cheese
You eat the piece of cheese. Not good.
You examine the net
The acme of good hygiene.
You remove the net
You take off the hairnet.

"Please, I beg you!" says Monsieur Micronde. "I beg you! She is most delicate, the machine. She cannot abide dirt."

The tank tells a different story, but you put the hairnet on, nonetheless.
You ask the chef for the human flesh
"Hmm," says the chef. "Let us see."

The machine whirrs and produces copious quantities of grey smoke. As the smoke clears, you see that it has produced another hamburger.

Monsieur Micronde stares at it. "It is insupportable!" he exclaims. "I am unable to comprehend why this has happened."
You examine the dials
The machine is infernally complicated.
You turn the dials
"Non, non, non, non, non!" Monsieur Micronde becomes animated. "You
are not trained to operate her. Whatever you need, you have only to
ask for it."
You put burgers in the tank
burger: The tank can't contain things.
burger: The tank can't contain things.
burger: The tank can't contain things.
You describe your surroundings
Not quite your standard kitchen. No cabinet. No sink. No stove, or oven, or drawer. Instead you see an empty room, in the centre of which is a gleaming but largely useless machine.

The hotel's chef, Monsieur Micronde, stands unhappily by the malfunctioning machine.

You can also see a burger here.
You get burger
(the burger)
You take the burger.
You go to the west
The only way out is southwest.
You go to the southwest
Everything has its less dignified parts. There are toilets to be scrubbed, linens to be laundered -- and down in the basement pantry, there is room-service to be prepared and delivered.

Here, all is "functional" (i.e., ugly): tiled walls and floor, a desk, a telephone, a broken refrigerator. The service elevator (which is broken) is south. The guest elevator (which you are going to have to use instead) is north. The kitchen is northeast.
Go north
The floor is not perfectly clean, and the brass fixtures not perfectly polished, but at least it works. An advertisement for the hotel's spa is fixed to the wall, in an attempt to attract custom.

The control panel is beside the door. Above it, an illuminated sign tells you that the elevator is currently on the basement floor.
You examine the panel
There is an array of buttons, marked B (for the basement), L (for the lobby), 2 to 56 for the hotel's various floors, and P for the penthouse. Beside the button for floor 2, an engraved sign reminds patrons that the hotel's famous ballroom is on that floor. No floor
has been selected.
You read ad
(in the yourself)
You discover nothing of interest in yourself.
You read the advertisement
An athletic couple lie with their eyes closed and their faces covered in mud. Seraphic smiles spread across their features. "Feeling past your best?" the advertisement asks. "Freshen up fast at our spa on five!"
Press 2
You push the button marked "2" and it lights up.

The elevator doors slide closed.
You wait a while
Time passes.

The elevator rises, slows, and the doors open at floor 2.
You go to the south
The ballroom is evidently being prepared for some sort of function.
The grand chandelier (the largest in Torquay!) illuminates the sprung parquet floor. Dead centre in the middle of the dancefloor is a vast fishtank.

Someone has dropped a piece of paper on the floor.
You examine paper
In preparation for the New Year Speed IF convention, various equipment is to be installed in the Ballroom. It consists of a fishtank, fish, and associated apparatus.

Please ensure that it is properly installed and that no harm comes to the fish. I will bring the remainder of the work to which it relates
as soon as I have finished it. Any problems, my room number is 4302.
Examine tank
Someone has installed a large aquarium in the middle of the ballroom. It must be 10 feet square, and almost as tall as you are. You half expect to see a kraken, or at least a small shark, gliding with quiet menace. Instead a tiny goldfish is making slow circles round the tank.
You give burger to the fish
That seems to be part of the fishtank.
You ask the goldfish about the sushi
Are you mad? It's a fish, not a conversation partner.
You get the paper
You take the memo.
You take the fish with the net
You dip the hairnet quickly into the water, and briefly drag it like a trawler. Success rewards your efforts: the fish flaps in your hand, then expires.
You feed fish
(to the yourself)
(taking the goldfish)
You try to grab the fish, but it slips through your fingers.

"Nice try!" you imagine the fish saying. "But you can't have thought that was going to do the trick!"
You get the paper
You already have the memo.
You look around
The ballroom is evidently being prepared for some sort of function.
The grand chandelier (the largest in Torquay!) illuminates the sprung parquet floor. Dead centre in the middle of the dancefloor is a vast fishtank.
You look at the chandelier
Its twinkles lustrously over the fishtank.
You go to the north
The floor is not perfectly clean, and the brass fixtures not perfectly polished, but at least it works. An advertisement for the hotel's spa is fixed to the wall, in an attempt to attract custom.

The control panel is beside the door. Above it, an illuminated sign tells you that the elevator is currently on floor 2.
Press 4
You push the button marked "4" and it lights up.

The elevator doors slide closed.
You wait
Time passes.

The elevator rises, slows, and the doors open at floor 4.
You go to the north
The floor is not perfectly clean, and the brass fixtures not perfectly polished, but at least it works. An advertisement for the hotel's spa is fixed to the wall, in an attempt to attract custom.

The control panel is beside the door. Above it, an illuminated sign tells you that the elevator is currently on floor 4.
Wait
Time passes.

The elevator rises rapidly.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The elevator rises, slows, and the doors open at floor 43.
You go to the west
A perfectly ordinary hotel bedroom, like thousands of others here.
This one almost appears unlived in: none of the usual clothes, luggage and muddle.Whoever is staying here seems to be working.

A laptop computer is open on the bed.

The bathroom door is shut, and it sounds like someone is in there.
You examine computer
The laptop is switched on, and from the look of the screen someone seems to have been doing some sort of programming.
Cast soyfac
A dish of soy sauce magically appears in your hand.
You look around
A perfectly ordinary hotel bedroom, like thousands of others here.
This one almost appears unlived in: none of the usual clothes, luggage and muddle.

A laptop computer is open on the bed.
You examine the soy
A small porcelain dish of dark soy sauce.
You go to the north
You have other things to do than spend your time rooting around other people's bathrooms.
You go west
You can't go that way. The door to the elevator is east.

You hear flushing from the bathroom. Then the sound or the shower
being turned on.
You leave
You can't go that way. The door to the elevator is east.
You can't go that way. The door to the elevator is east.
Go north
The floor is not perfectly clean, and the brass fixtures not perfectly polished, but at least it works. An advertisement for the hotel's spa is fixed to the wall, in an attempt to attract custom.

The control panel is beside the door. Above it, an illuminated sign tells you that the elevator is currently on floor 43.
You examine the panel
There is an array of buttons, marked B (for the basement), L (for the lobby), 2 to 56 for the hotel's various floors, and P for the penthouse. Beside the button for floor 2, an engraved sign reminds patrons that the hotel's famous ballroom is on that floor. No floor
has been selected.
You read the advertisement
An athletic couple lie with their eyes closed and their faces covered in mud. Seraphic smiles spread across their features. "Feeling past your best?" the advertisement asks. "Freshen up fast at our spa on five!"
You press five
You push the button marked "5" and it lights up.

The elevator doors slide closed.
Wait
Time passes.

The elevator descends rapidly.
You wait
Time passes.

The elevator descends, slows, and the doors open at floor 5.
Go outside
The hotel's spa and aromatherapy suite. Soft light diffuses from
hidden sources around the cornice, and gently pours over the pale grey walls and cream carpet. At a glass desk in the centre of the room, a severe looking young woman sits wearing a white coat: Dr Mell.

Dr Mell sniffs; and you have no doubt that it is you she is sniffing. "Not terrible," she says, "but we can do better. We can always do better." From the many drawers of the desk she produces a number of tiny glass bottles, and sprays them toward you. A fresh smell of scrubbed skin and clean linen descends upon you.
You ask Mell about the seaweed
She seems to have nothing to say.

"Perhaps," says Dr Mell, "you would prefer something a little more exotic." Once again, her hands play over the drawers, producing a fistful of glass bottles which she sprays delicately about her. The
air fills with the aromas of the souk: spices, coffee, sweet tobacco and hashish.
You ask Mell about the rice
She seems to have nothing to say.

"Arabia tells a thousand stories," Dr Mell mutters enigmatically. "But there are those who prefer the more bracing scents of the north." The bottles are duly produced and wielded, and you are transported to a northern forest in winter: resinous pine, pure air and woodsmoke.
You wait
Time passes.

"Let us return to normality," Dr Mell says. The bottles are duly wielded and sprayed, and you smell ... nothing unexpected. "Believe me," says Dr Mell, "reproducing precisely the scent of a mediocre
hotel in twenty-first century Britain is at least as challenging as
any of my other achievements."
You examine Mell
Dr Mell is an aristocrat among the hotel's staff. She wears a white coat, surgical scrubs and severe black glasses, which are perched on her highly-trained nose. She peers owlishly through their thick
lenses.
You ask Mell about the japan
She seems to have nothing to say.

Dr Mell sits, waiting to assist you.
You go north
The floor is not perfectly clean, and the brass fixtures not perfectly polished, but at least it works. An advertisement for the hotel's spa is fixed to the wall, in an attempt to attract custom.

The control panel is beside the door. Above it, an illuminated sign tells you that the elevator is currently on floor 5.
Press l.
You push the button marked "L" and it lights up.

The elevator doors slide closed.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

The elevator descends, slows, and the doors open at the lobby floor.
You go south
With black granite twinkling beneath your feet like a starry sky, the lobby makes a thoroughly ill-intentioned promise of grand luxury and impeccable service. The deserted reception desk tells a truer story.
To the south, a chill drizzle plays on the plate glass doors. The elevator is north. A distinct odour reminds you that the sushi bar is west.

In the middle of the lobby, the hotel's christmas tree stands disconsolately, weeping tinsel.
You examine the tree
Every great city has establishments justly famous for their Christmas decorations: Macy's, Fortnum's, the Galeries Lafayette. This is not
one of them. The lopsided old fir is partially disguised with oddments of tinsel, baubles, and some lights which, predictably, seem not to be working -- a circumstance explained, perhaps, by the tangle of cables taped up at the base of the tree.
You examine the cables
Cables are absurdly intertwined like some crazy bird's nest, stuffed
at the base of the tree. Yellow and black tape has been wrapped around it, marked "High Voltage, Do Not Touch." The fraying ends of the cable disappear into a junction box, which is turned off.
You turn on the box
It looks rather dangerous -- something to be attempted only as a last resort.
You go to the west
Lobby (by the sushi bar)
Tucked into the corner of the lobby is the "Kamikaze Sushi Bar". It's not really a bar at all: just a counter with some stools at which guests can sit to eat sushi, brought to them from some hidden recess
by the Bar's dedicated waiter.

The General Manager is perched on a stool at the bar, picking at a plate of sushi.
You ask the waiter for the suhsi
That can only be done to something animate.
You examine Manager
Mr O'Malley is harassed, choleric, overweight, puffy-faced, bug-eyed, incompetent, greedy, venal, lazy; short of stature and temper -- and currently stuffing his face with sushi.

Across the far side of the lobby a woman with an eye-catching blue rinse struggles through the doors.
You look at the plate
(the plate of sushi)
You had him down as a meat-and-potatoes man, but perhaps Mr O'Malley wants to lose some weight. It certainly looks like this sushi could have all manner of slimming effects.
You get the plate
(the plate of sushi)
"Hey! Beat it!" says Mr O'Malley graciously (as ever). "That's mine."

You recognise the woman, of course. Mrs Slocombe: one of the hotel's most regular and affluent guests. Her beloved puss, as usual, surveys the scene from the top of a capacious handbag.
You look around
Lobby (by the sushi bar)
Tucked into the corner of the lobby is the "Kamikaze Sushi Bar". It's not really a bar at all: just a counter with some stools at which guests can sit to eat sushi, brought to them from some hidden recess
by the Bar's dedicated waiter.

The General Manager is perched on a stool at the bar, picking at a plate of sushi.

Across the lobby, Mrs Slocombe contemplates the empty reception desk with some annoyance.
You examine the desk
any well managed establishment. So it is not surprising that this one isn't. Beside the desk, a brass-framed sign tells you what is
happening in the hotel today.

A coloured brochure lies on the desk.

Across the lobby, the cat casts envious glances towards the sushi bar.
You read the sign
"The Burj Al-Fawalti Welcomes," it reads, and then a list of events today. Nothing much seems to be happening. Some group called the "Ultimate NY Speedifers" (a Manhattan-based motorcycle troupe?) are welcomed to the ballroom on floor 2. Otherwise, a blank.

Across the lobby, Mrs Slocombe looks over to the sushi bar, glaring at Mr O'Malley.
You go to the west
You can't go that way. You can go east to the rest of the lobby, or northeast to the elevator.

Across the lobby, Mrs Slocombe's pussy looks at the Christmas tree, with a malevolent gleam in its eye.
You tell O'malley about Slocombe
"Bog off!" says the General Manager, "I'm having lunch."

Across the lobby, Mrs Slocombe taps her foot in a frustrated manner.
You tell O'malley about the pussy
"Don't you speak English? Leave me in peace to eat."

Across the lobby, the cat casts envious glances towards the sushi bar.
Er cat
Mrs Slocombe is genuinely rather deaf, and selectively deafer still. She doesn't hear you (or pretends not to).

Across the lobby, Mrs Slocombe taps her foot in a frustrated manner.
You look at Slocombe
Mrs Slocombe is a familiar face around here. A lady of a certain age, she has lived in a suite for as long as anyone can remember. Her white face, streaked with two stripes of rouge like warpaint, emerges from
an eccentric collection of fur and jewels. Her cat, Pussykins, is, as usual, in attendance, glaring with feline malice from the top of her open handbag.

Across the lobby, Mrs Slocombe carefully folds and unfolds her umbrella.
Inventory
You are carrying:
four burgers
a dish of soy sauce
a memo
your pass key
a piece of cheese

You are wearing:
a hairnet

Across the lobby, Mrs Slocombe stands by the reception desk.
You give burger to the cat
The cat could not look more bored by the burger.

Across the lobby, the cat peers from the top of Mrs Slocombe's
handbag.