In fact, Schiller's assessment of the situation had been a little off. Early the next morning, a line had actually formed outside the tavern.
When Schiller walked behind the bar, he thought he was hallucinating. Not only were all the seats at the bar occupied, but a long queue stretched behind them, filled with aliens with skin in every imaginable color.
He couldn't understand it. Didn't aliens rarely have a drinking culture? Why were they lining up outside a tavern first thing in the morning?
Then he spotted that familiar purple-skinned alien in the line. The other man grinned at him and said in Interstellar Common Tongue, "Good morning, human. They liked your fruit and wanted to buy some more."
Only then did Schiller realize that this guy had taken the fruit platter back to share. It might have been expensive by his standards, but in the universe, it was actually quite a bargain. More importantly, there were no identity restrictions, no purchase limits, and they could take it away. So they had all come flooding over.
Thus, Schiller began slicing fruit platters. But nearly the entire construction crew had come, and everyone wanted two or three servings. He simply couldn't keep up, so he had no choice but to call everyone in the tavern over to cut fruit.
He dumped all the fruit Gray Mist had stored into the bar at once, drawing a round of startled exclamations. From what he overheard, they seemed to think Schiller was either some great noble or a black-market fruit dealer.
Even Pikachu couldn't help rolling his eyes. "These people really haven't seen much of the world. Having lots of fruit makes you a noble?"
"I'm afraid it really does," Schiller said, explaining the information he had looked up yesterday. "There are advantages