text: [Themes: sci-fi, mystery]
  
  "Quiet!" Dansmith says. "What's that sound?"
  
  The bunkroom goes silent. Outside your hiding spot, in the same room as the wounded mumpaq, you can distinctly hear a series of hoots, chirps, and whistles--and then the unmistakable sound of a plasgun being fired. The mumpaq abruptly goes silent.
  
  Lieutenant Hun-Spruk activates her WristComp and performs an infrared scan of the next room. The holographic display shows four humanoid figures--no, make that five--on the other side of the door, walking past the large mass of the dying mumpaq.
  
  "Folvans!" Hun-Spruk doesn't speak the word, but mouths it slowly so you can all read her lips.
  
  "With plasguns?" Dansmith tries to whisper, but his robust voice is difficult to tame. The words are spoken out loud, and the holographic image projected by Hun-Spruk's WristComp shows the Folvans turning toward the door leading to your bunkroom.
  
  One steps forward and reaches toward the handle. Dansmith and Quabiss instinctively reach for their plasguns, while Hun-Spruk, Hinju, and Wildon step back in wide-eyed apprehension.
  
  "What do we do?" Dr. Wildon whispers coarsely.
  
  You were given strict orders not to reveal yourselves to the native population, so a wrong choice here could get you all court-martialed.
  
  > If you put your weapons away and try a friendly greeting, turn to page 133.
  You signal to Dansmith and Quabiss to put away their plasguns, knowing that it is highly unlikely you'll be able to fight your way out of this room--especially if it's true that somehow the Folvans are armed the same as you are. You were ordered to not make contact, not to try and dominate them with superior force.
  
  The handle turns and the door slowly opens, revealing a tall, gray-skinned figure with elongated ears, almost like those of an Earth rabbit, and a large fleshy sac on its throat. It holds a standard-issue Astral Navy plasgun in its left hand, a thick finger capped with an enormous yellow nail poised over the trigger. Behind this central Folvan, you can see two of its companions.
  
  You stand your ground in the middle of the bunkroom, holding your hands with the palms forward to show that you are unarmed. The Folvan regards you with its dark eyes, its small nose twitching as if it were assessing your odor as much as your appearance. It wears a kilt-like garment of interwoven grass, which covers the being from the base of its ribcage to just above the knees. A flat-topped cap made of the same material sits on its head.
  
  A long moment passes. Then the fleshy sac on the lead Folvan's throat partially fills with air, and it begins to emit the same kinds of strange sounds you heard a moment ago through the door. Hun-Spruk's WristComp, still activated, begins to translate.
  
  "More off-worlders? Maybe they are here to find the Anywhere Devices?" The Folvan has turned his head slightly toward its nearest companion, still keeping its eyes on you. Its plasgun is pointed toward the ceiling. The other Folvans are dressed in the same grass kilts, but only the first one wears a cap.
  
  The second Folvan then puffs its throat and begins to vocalize. None of it is intelligible to you, but then you remember the WristComps were pre-programmed with a special app created by Dr. Munro just for this purpose.
  
  "Look at them," comes the translation. "They are humans. Maybe they are here to find the Doctormunro. Je said other humans would come."
  
  "This is one of the places of the humans," a third Folvan says.
  
  Curiously, Dr. Munro's app is detecting differences in personality and tone among all these shrill chirps and whirrups, because the translations are being provided in distinct voices. Oddly, though, you can't tell if those voices are male or female. Will the app translate your words back to the Folvans?
  
  "It's true, we are here in search of Dr. Munro," you say. Hun-Spruk's WristComp then repeats your words into something that sounds vaguely like the chirping of a frog, or maybe a cricket. "We thought she might be here," you add.
  
  The Folvan looks from you to Hun-Spruk's left arm, and then back to you. "The Doctormunro has not needed to hide from us for some time," the Folvan says. "We trust jim. We do not trust you."
  
  There must be a glitch in the translation app, because it seems to be struggling with basic pronouns. But what can you do? It's the only tool you have at the moment to communicate with these odd beings.
  
  "May we see the other humans?" you ask.
  
  However, as soon as the translation is complete several of the other Folvans behind the leader act alarmed.
  
  "That would not be our preference," the first Folvan says. And then with what appears to be a carefully studied move, it turns its head to the left and right--the human gesture for "no."
  
  > Page 175
  Then a foreign sound intrudes on this tense interspecies conversation. At first you think it's a breeze picking up outside, but then you recognize the incoming recovery mission from the Orion.
  
  The Folvans in the rear turn away to investigate the noise, and then they report to the leader: "More humans are landing."
  
  "These humans are here for us," you say. "Our shuttle was damaged by a mumpaq stampede."
  
  "We know. We saw your ship," the leader says. Then the Folvan stands aside, finally putting its plasgun away in a holster made of leather and woven grass. The others step back too, but they do not holster their weapons, holding them at their sides instead.
  
  Clearly they are letting you leave the bunkroom, so you lead the way. The Folvans are big-boned and well over two meters tall, and all of you humans feel small as you file between them.
  
  You have to squeeze past the injured mumpaq, which you can now see fell through the collapsed ceiling and landed on its side; a burn mark on its forehead shows where the Folvans shot the beast to put it out of its misery. The former research post is now fully exposed to the sky, but it is clear now that if there are secrets on the Grass Planet, these hidden bunkers are no longer among them.
  
  You lead the way up the steps back to ground level, finding a vast swath of trampled grass where previously it was tall and thick. The shuttle lies on its side, battered by the stampeding mumpaqs.
  
  The few mumpaqs that remain scatter off as the recovery ship dispatched from the Orion comes in for a landing. You feel very small standing there on the prairie, your shuttle smashed and with the natives you weren't supposed to contact now escorting your team, almost at gunpoint.
  
  The recovery ship lands next to the shuttle, within reach of the winch that will be used to haul the damaged craft into the hold. The hatch opens, and Commander Diston is the first person out of the ship. He looks outraged at what he sees, and your heart sinks.
  
  "What the hell is this?" he demands. Diston is normally known for his even-tempered demeanor, so it takes a lot to upset him. Then he sees the armed Folvans, who are standing along the edge of the collapsed research post.
  
  "And someone please explain to me why a race of people who've never heard of gunpowder are walking around with plasguns?" As the leader of this mission he is looking to you for answers, but right now you have none to provide.