The expression on that furry face was anything but bestial. In fact, the visage seemed to look serenely beyond his moment of personal triumph, at some inspiring vista. Perhaps a panorama of tolerance and justice, rather than paranoia. Alas, as I now knew, any optimistic vision for this world was doomed to disillusionment. I wonder if Thorpe lived to see it all come apart.

Still, this was important information. Apparently, once upon a time, the population of “normal” people must have not only been much more numerous, but also dominant. Things certainly had changed on Oxytocin. But when? And how?

While cloaked figures swept by, behind me, on the ramp, I moved more slowly past displays that now showed a period of adjustment. A mix of humanoid types, ranging from Standard to monstrous, were portrayed interacting in complex ways, ranging from diffidence to confrontation to solidarity. There were even some dramatic poses that conveyed a sense of, well, kinky accommodation. For example, in one waxy scene, a scantily clad starlet was biting the neck of a handsome vampire, who seemed both surprised and delighted. Perhaps a scene from some holovideo that had affectionate renown on this world.

Back in better days, I thought.

“The past doesn’t interest many people.” A voice seemed to agree, interrupting my thoughts. “Few stop to look at the exhibits, anymore.”

I made myself turn around slowly, faking an air of blithe confidence that I certainly lacked, inside. Facing me, a slender scarecrow of a man – gaunt-looking with a bald pate that was flecked with age-spots – conveyed far more assurance than I felt.

“A pity,” I answered, in a manner that kept my mouth mostly closed, not revealing my Standard-looking teeth. “Because the presentation is quite fascinating.”

The bald man seemed pleased by my interest. “Glad you like it. I am Dr. Katske. They let me act as a sort of part-time curator.” His hands shook each other in the Chinese manner as he bowed. I imitated the gesture.

“Alvin Montessori. But if no one cares, why maintain the display?” I glanced at the visitors hurrying past us in both directions. None of them seemed at all interested in the artifacts lining the passageway.

“Management keeps all of this here in order to lend the place a little class. Like a lower-billing show that still has nostalgia appeal. For those few traditionalists who recall the importance of history.”

“Hm,” I ventured. “Those who ignore the mistakes of the past—”