“On behalf of the Federated Alliance of—” Captain Ohm began, expansively spreading his arms. Then he frowned as the impudent creature interrupted, this time speaking aristocratically-accented Demmish.

“…I don’t know who you people are, or where you come from, but you must get out of the park, quickly! Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

While I vaporized the rest of the stun-ropes, Guts helped the poor fellow back to his feet.

I was about to resume questioning him when Nuts squeezed between us, giving me a sharp swipe of her elbow. I rubbed my ribs as she brushed leaves and sticks off the native gentleman’s clothing, getting his measure with a few demure, barely noticeable gropes.

That was when the security Lieutenant came with bad news.

“Captain, I’m sorry to report that Crewman Wems has disappeared.”

Ohm gave an exasperated sigh. “Wems, eh? Missing, you say? Well, hm.”

He glanced at the other security men. “I guess we could send Jums and Smet to look for him.”

The two greenies paled, cringing backward two paces. I cleared my throat. The captain looked my way.

“No?”

“Not if you ever want to see them again, sir.”

The captain may be impulsive, but he’s not stupid.

“Hmm, yeah. Better save ’em for later.”

He shrugged. “Okay, we all go. Form up everybody!”

Each of us was equipped with a locator, to find the spigot in case we got separated. I tried scanning for Wems, but could pick up no sign of his signal. Either something was jamming it or he was out of range. Or the transmitter had been vaporized – and Wems along with it.

We scoured the area for the better part of an hour, while our former captive grew increasingly nervous, sucking on his lower lip and peering toward the bushes. Finally, we decided to let him choose our direction of march, flanked on one side by the captain and the other by our chief artificer, Commander-Engineer Nomlin, who gripped his arm like a tourniquet, batting her eyes so fast the wind might have mussed his hair again, if it weren’t already coifed and greased back from a peaked forehead.

Aside from several teeth even more pointy than a demmie’s, our guide had pasty skin that he tried to keep shaded with his cloak. Taking readings, I found that the sun did emit high ultraviolet levels. Moreover, the air was laced with industrial pollutants and signs of a degraded ozone layer – fairly typical for a world passing through its Level Eighteen crisis point. If proper relations were established, we might help the natives with such problems. Perhaps enough to make up for contacting them in the first place.