He inhaled deeply, burning his cigar almost in half and then puffed, filling the room with the most delightful aroma. His words reached the Princess through a thick blue haze. “This gentleman is a practical philosopher, more commonly referred to as ‘a terrorist.’ He came here to argue the morality of keeping this very collection, of which he is now a part. This young woman has promised to follow him through thick and thin. An apt choice of words, for once he was thick and now he is thin. He also brought a tactical nuclear device with him, which made his visit rather unwelcome. I felt that this, combined with their unpedigreed origins, has released me from the traditional duties of hospitality.”

“I accept the honorable viewpoint of the Princess,” Tanaka spoke. “You would be right to slay them quickly or inflict upon their bodies most refined agonies, but continuous humiliation is not civilized.”

“But they are not civilized people, my dear fellow,” Von Schmidt countered with excitement. “Why, they are not people at all. They look like people, but they are actually cats.”

“Cats!” one Jean laughed. “Well, this starved young thing is certainly scratching herself like a lady of the feline persuasion. A most appealing trait in a woman.” Jean looked at the Princess, who was publicly likened to an eaglet and privately compared with a badger, but never accused of being a cat, a decidedly lazy and useless animal.

“I have surgically altered their vocal cords to make it impossible for them to emit any sounds save the meowing. Is not the capacity to argue and plead with one’s butcher really what sets the human apart from the beast and earns him special treatment? Personally, I find this view overly simplistic, since civil rights do not stem from intelligence or anatomy. However, this was the view my guests wished to philosophize with me, and let no one say that Von Schmidt isn’t a good sport.”

“I agree with the oriental chappie,” Professor York said, stretching his large wings and scattering the smoke. “Right now, I’m more advanced, genetically speaking, than an old chum as much as he is higher up the old ladder than a cat. Why, look at any poor cove unable to shim off into space without the ol’ fashion statement and you can say they are, in fact, wholly inferior to me, don’t you know. However, I have still not removed myself from the old human race on that account, don’t you know. Von Schmidt, old beast, I would love to lift these two poor blighters off your hands for the benefit of science and all that, what?”

Von Schmidt’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the word “inferior.” His left pinky made the tiniest of jerking motions. To a man of his social class, this was akin to a simpler man threshing every single object in a room and tearing the tapestries off the walls while shouting every obscenity known to man. It became quite clear to the Princess that Professor York would not be leaving this planet alive.

“Ah …” Von Schmidt beamed with the most welcoming smile his ordinarily dispassionate demeanor could produce, “I see you are also a philosopher! We will soon have the most fascinating debate, but first, let me show you some more curious items in my collection, if you will!”

As the group trailed on, the Princess overheard Jean telling Jean, “Do you want to make a bet on how long this English muffin will remain with us?”

The other Jean smiled conspiratorially and said, “I would love to, but I fear this one won’t live long enough for us to settle the terms of the bet.”

The two siblings giggled and exchanged knowing, and somehow invasive, glances with the Princess.

Ivanov approached Von Schmidt and said, “This man-lizard, he thinks he’s better than any of us because he’s so rich, or because he looks different. In Russia, we—”

“Oh no,” Von Schmidt said, “he thinks he is better than us because he is British. Even if he were an alcoholic drifter without a recognized spot of residence, he’d still feel himself superior to us. You know what they say, ‘the sun never sets on the British Empire’!”

“Sun doesn’t set on any empire now that everyone has interstellar presence. Is obsolete expression.”

“You are quite right, gospodin. Simple men such as ourselves always find a common language easily, do we not?”

“Simple? Collection here can compete with Hermitage. Cost more than big city.”

“But, my dear fellow, there is not greater testimony to the simplicity of my taste. I simply like what is the best. Can there be a simpler taste to satisfy?” Von Schmidt smiled and turned towards the guests trailing behind him. “Oh, I rather like this show, has anyone had the pleasure of seeing it in the past?” he asked, nodding towards a small section of the wall and floor that was transmitting a 3-D image of strange luminescent creatures engaged in some strange activities that involved a great deal of amorphous shifting and fierce shaking of whiskers.

The general murmur indicated that no one had any idea what on earth they were watching or why they were supposed to find it interesting. As for her part, the Princess couldn’t even tell what these creatures were, let alone what the show was about. However, she did not feel inclined to invest any thought into the subject, not only due to more pressing concerns, but also due to her firm belief that postmodern art is what one got after picking up traditional art one accidentally dropped on the floor.

“Well, first, in case you wondered, these are the rozovoi, the species you are fighting with and yet simultaneously go out of your way to take care of, insuring the war lasts forever and achieves nothing. Secondly, this is the first rozovoi transmission received by humans, namely Captain Juan Ernesto de Garcia. It was believed for years to be a cooking show, causing several of my fellow decadents to risk, and occasionally lose, life and limb in pursuit of these exotic delicacies.”

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The Jeans shone with excitement while the blank faces of the others became even blanker. Whatever those oozy creatures—the rozovoi, not the Jeans—were preparing, it looked positively revolting to the Princess.

“However,” Von Schmidt said sharply, “they were all wrong. As I found out during my stay with the great Sinii thinkmaster tsatnagdasen, a period I shared with a rozovoi eccentric seeking enlightenment among aliens, much as myself, this show is in fact an incredibly obscene work of the pornographic arts, banned in most rozovoi cloisters on account of perverting the normal interaction of the seven sexes in a manner deemed ruinous for a healthy society.”

Following this statement, everyone assumed the customary shocked expression any gentleman of style is expected to assume when any internal function of a living organism is mentioned, particularly one related to reproduction. The exceptions were the Jeans, whose excitement was only one note shy of drooling on the floor.

The Princess rolled her eyes. She found it impossible to be offended by the supposed pornography of a species that didn’t share even a single organ with her species. Furthermore, she was starting to rather enjoy the exhibition.

She would have enjoyed it even more if Audric would have stopped constantly tickling her belly with his pointy whiskers and sharp snout, especially as the latter now carried an obscene connotation. It would be well to investigate the cause of his disquiet, but that could prove to be most undignified under current circumstances. Fortunately, he wasn’t a fox, so she didn’t have to choose between decorum and death, like the Spartan child of legend, who chose to let a wild fox eat his entrails rather than to reveal to his tutor he’d been hiding the animal under his tunic, which was praiseworthy but not imitation-worthy.

“Pardon my bluntness,” Von Schmidt said, examining the Princess’s chest with unabashed curiosity, “but some sort of lively activity appears to be taking place inside your cuirass. Should we be concerned for our safety?”

“Von Schmidt, are you trying to poison me again?” the Princess asked her host in lieu of replying to the crude question. She felt the two had a small degree of privacy as the others were presently struggling to make heads or tails, possibly literally, of the rozovoi show, supposedly to know what exactly they were being offended by.

“Not I!” he exclaimed, looking genuinely offended. “I would not attempt the same conceit twice any more than you would wear the same dress twice. I’m a scoundrel, not a ruffian.”

“Well, my ferret seems highly agitated and I believe it’s in the best interests of all present to locate the cause of its agitation before it causes irrevocable damage to our physiques,” the Princess said.

“Perhaps this ferret, it is agitated because it is constantly pressed to the bosom of a young lady of beauty most extraordinaire, oui?” Jean said, trying to look at ease, but obviously concerned, sniffing the air almost as much the ferret.

“Should you endeavor to examine the contents of my space suit,” the Princess commented while searching the room for any potential sources of danger, “you would be disappointed to find inside only an ordinary woman and an ordinary ferret, nothing more and nothing less.”

“I have no doubt, but what really interests us is—” Jean never got to finish the sentence, on account of a vicious jab to the ribs by the other Jean, who hissed, “Tais-toi! Mauvaise imitation de la perfection!”

The chastised Jean paled and clenched one fist until the knuckles grew white, but said nothing. Professor York seemed amused by the whole affair, while Tanaka and Ivanov continued to be oriental and mysterious. Still, the ferret was unquiet, crawling all over the Princess in a most ticklish and occasionally downright painful manner. This was most disconcerting, since the beast had never misbehaved in the past.

“Professor York, would I be correct to assume that you possess a sense of olfaction superior to an unmodified human?” the Princess asked the strange reptilian creature who was now busy examining a shrunken head. As the Princess waited for the professor’s reply, the head winked at her, causing her to utter a brief phrase that drew disapproving glances from all present.

“Now, now, no need to get your wits all tangled up, O Daughter of the Eagle.” The professor was the first person to use the correct style to address the Princess since she left Neptune. “This poor old sod was shrunken by the infamous American Reverend-President Jehoshaphat Jones. The old devil had rather queer views on the freedoms and rights guaranteed by the old constitution, don’t you know.

“As I’m rather sure you were made aware, American censorship rules at the time led to one of the bloodiest and most repressive regimes of the century. A chappie wouldn’t make a squeak without a thorough consultation with a panel of lawyers and PR specialists or some such rot. Soon, just to be on the safe side, a cove wouldn’t make any original statements at all, instead using a list of socially acceptable comments, a list that often changed as much as twice per week.

“Why, if you follow the spirit of the time, you can say, without the tiniest shred of hyperbole, that the last President wanted to create pre-death hell for sinners. He was certainly having a devil of time working on it. It is fortunate that the American chappies of the time were as fond of offing the bally toppers as they were of electing them, if you know what I mean.

“But, getting back to your original inquiry, why yes, my chemoreceptory organs are mightily superior to those of any terrestrial life form.”

Although the Princess didn’t appreciate the Professor’s condescending remarks, she felt that a stinging comeback would be uncalled for at the moment. Instead, she pressed her former inquiry. “In that case, might I bother you to sniff the air for any signs of poison or unusual chemicals? My ferret appears to be rather hysterical at this point.”

“I can assure you with all the confidence that comes from being a biologically and intellectually superior being, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the air in this room. It is perfectly filtered and kept at the optimum temperature for a healthy human adult by our gracious host. If you are concerned with the behavior of your pet, I would love to examine it on your behalf. I hold three honorary degrees in animal psychology, and I daresay I can diagnose any problem in a matter of seconds.”

The Princess suspected that she would be better advised to hand Audric to the Worshipful Company of Martian Tanners than to this so-called medical doctor, a man whose reputation rivaled that of some of the bloodiest criminals and terrorists of the system.

“Look at this grown-up woman so tense because her little pet is overly playful,” Jean said to no one in particular. “Perhaps it would please her better as a stuffed animal?”

The Princess glared at Jean, which only seemed to amuse the androgynous being.