“Zooms?” I’m afraid I rolled my eyes. “Then Lik’ems and Zooms are devourers of—”

“Hey. Don’t pin the whole rap on us! There’s Nomorts, too, y’know.”

Nomorts… such as Earl Dragonlord. The native I last saw guiding my captain and crewmates toward his home. His lair.

I felt a chill that had little to do with the dank, underground cold. Turning toward the torch, I squinted so that its light pierced between my eyelids in sharp, diffracting rays. My nose began to tickle.

“So,” I asked. “What must a Standard do in order to keep from being someone’s dinner?”

The furry humanoid grinned, his tusks gleaming. “You mean you really don’t know? Then as we suspected—”

The tickling light beams struck a nerve at last. I gasped… then bellowed a ferocious sneeze.

The abrupt noise sent my captor toppling backward, off his chair. If my intent had been to jump him, that would have been the time. But I only took the occasion to gather myself up to one knee, pulling in my collar tab.

A fleecy, dark mane reappeared in view, rising above the table, followed by peering eyes.

“Wha… what was that?”

“Just a sneeze. It’s freezing down here, don’t you think? Doesn’t a solitary captive like me deserve a blanket, after being attacked on the darkened streets of your urb district, knocked out, and dragged underground, away from my friends?”

“That was a sneeze? It sounded like a cross ’tween a hellion howl and a razortooth’s roar.” He blinked some more. “I thought you said you was a Standard.”

I divided my attention, as another voice buzzed in my ears.

“Advisor Montessori, this is Commander Talon, on the bridge. Thank heavens you’re all right! I assume from your phrasing that you’re alone underground, under some type of coercion, and out of contact with the Captain. Is that correct?”

Demmies are sharp and quick, when they decide to focus, and Talon took focus seriously. I shivered to reinforce the impression that I must keep my hand on my collar. Facing the Lik’em, I spoke sharply, as if to answer his question.

“I never said I was a member of the planetwide social class that’s apparently preyed upon by three other sub-races of humanoids… those three groups being called the corpambulists, whom I’ve never seen; and the elegant Nomorts, one of whom I last saw guiding my comrades toward castle-like structures on a hill west of the park, presumably into a trap; or Lik’ems like you my captor, who seem to grow abundant lower bicuspids and facial fur during certain times of the month, and relish beer with their raw meat.”

The Lik’em stared at me, rising the rest of the way. “Uh, why are you talkin’ like that?”