No wonder Standards were made to feel welcome here, safe from the more overt kinds of blood-sucking that they faced back in the city. This giant emporium of excess featured a more subtle style of predation, one that had been outlawed on most civilized worlds. But it seemed quite fitting, here on Oxytocin 41.

Well, well. If this really was a truce zone – or neutral ground – then I needn’t walk in complete terror of being discovered with warm blood and a beating heart. My pulse slowed just a little.

I turned around. Apparently this giant pyramid – the Golden Palace – housed a variety of specialty establishments, each with its own over-decorated entranceway, and labels translated by my cruelly punning eye-nanos. Aside from Casino Evil, they ranged from the Bellalugosio with lavish, crimson fountains, to the retro-looking StratosFear. From Geronimo’s, featuring a gilded parachute motif, to The Best Fester Inn, all the way to the budget-priced Motel Styx, which – despite a cadaverous-looking doorman – tried to brighten its drab portal with a cheery light over the door.

Wondering which way to go, I kept turning till at last I spotted one gateway that bore a simple logo – a shimmering, jeweled coronet – a glowing, tiara – fit to be worn by royalty. And suddenly, I recalled the words spoken by our erstwhile guide, Earl Dragonlord, the first denizen of this world that our landing party came upon, a few days ago, just after we slurried down to this strange planet.

“Come along, cousins,” he had said to Captain Ohm and my other Demmie comrades, no-doubt thinking that their pointy teeth made them fellow Nomorts. “Sunshine is bad enough, but we definitely should not be out by moonlight! I’ll get you appropriate clothes. Then we can go to the Crown.”

It was about the last thing I remembered, before getting jumped and separated from the others on that awful evening, when everything went suddenly wrong.

And, well, this looked like a “Crown” to me.

As I headed toward that broad entryway, I gradually realized that the throng of Standard tourists was thinning and the proportion of cape-clad individuals went up. Some establishments apparently specialized in catering to the predatory castes. So much for any opportunity to relax.

But this was where I needed to go. I straightened my posture and gathered my borrowed cloak, keeping my mouth closed in a feral scowl and hoping for a look of confidence and panache as I passed between a pair of greeters dressed in black livery with yellow trim. Bowing courteously, one of them pushed aside a paneled door for me and I had to lean forward against a fresh wave of that low, jangling sound that had been with me ever since I crossed the river.