Zubb moaned and stirred. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head. He spoke to his companion in a shrill alien clatter of consonants.
"What did he say?"
"Poor Zubb. He blames me for his bruises, since it was my idea to gather you as specimens."
"You should have known better than to tackle that fierce-looking creature," Zubb said, pointing his beak at Magnan.
"How does it happen that you speak Terrestrial?" Retief asked.
"Oh, one picks up all sorts of dialects."
"It's quite charming, really," Magnan said. "Such a quaint, archaic accent."
"Suppose we went down to Tarroon," Retief asked. "What kind of reception would we get?"
"That depends. I wouldn't recommend interfering with the Gwil or the Rheuk; it's their nest-mending time, you know. The Boog will be busy mating—such a tedious business—and of course the Qornt are tied up with their ceremonial feasting. I'm afraid no one will take any notice of you."
"Do you mean to say," Magnan demanded, "that these ferocious Qornt, who have issued an ultimatum to the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne—who openly avow their occupied world—would ignore Terrestrials in their midst?"