A lordly Nomort strode past one side street, smiling nonchalantly – and frighteningly – with sharp, demmie-like teeth, his aristocratic black cloak drawn up into a hood, for protection from the sun. Later, we turned a corner and almost ran into a pair of hirsute Lik’ems, with trails of drool dangling from their lower tusks. I cringed for an instant, fearing that the larger one might be Besh, the wolfish leader of a band that had imprisoned and beaten me in the urb.

But no, unlike Besh, these two were well-groomed. In fact, their combed and coifed facial fur was perfect. As we passed, I overheard a snatch of raspy speech. It was only a moment, but they seemed to be in heated discussion of some kind of sporting event. Almost like a couple of regular guys on a street, back home.

Apparently, on Oxytocin, death wasn’t like the sudden, on-off transition back on Earth, or that I had seen on so countless other worlds – an either-or thing. Till-now, I simply assumed it was a law of nature. Only here, “life” had stages, complex, unpredictable, filled with change and nuance.

Moreover, evidently some kinds of afterlife rated higher than others. While the rare Nomorts moved through town like aloof nobility, and Lik’ems had the apparent tastes and temperaments of middle class monsters, clearly the poor Zooms got no more respect than that accorded to ghoulish proletarians. Though my two lifeless friends had made great efforts to fit in – with all that putty and lacquer – they got only curt and disdainful looks from citizens in prim, high-collared business suits hurrying by on their way to work. Standing at a curb, waiting for the light to change, Moulder seemed especially unpopular. Normal folk edged away, pinching their noses.

I soon learned more about this prejudice, when Sully asked if I was hungry.

“Starving!” I replied. “I suppose when we get to Professor Ping’s…”

She shook her head – carefully of course.

“The Prof is absentminded. He may not have stocked up for himself, let alone a guest. We should bring something.”

She gestured to an establishment on a commercial street… a grocery store apparently, with commodities stacked on shelves – bottles, boxes and cans, mostly.

“I prefer to shop at Wail Mart,” Moulder commented. “Half of their employees—”

“That’s at the other end of town,” Sully interrupted. “And we should hurry along.”

Now I caught scents that churned my stomach with hunger pangs. Normal landing party procedure calls for detailed tests before consuming local food on an alien world. But right then, possible allergic reactions seemed the last of my worries.

“I’m afraid I haven’t any money.”