That is when the idea dawned on me.

  “It won’t have to be gruel! With our slurry tech, we can reformat complex organic molecules into very realistic steaks,” I nodded to Lorg, then at Earl Dragonlord, “or streams of hot, delicious blood, or healthy protein shakes for Standards…”

  “Or braains?” slurped the head of Moulder, which Sully had propped at the edge of the conference table.

  “Or brains,” I conceded. “Organically it can have the very same taste, texture and nutritional value. There’s just one problem.” I nodded to Guts, and he stepped in.

  “The process can’t convert from dirt or air or raw elements. We’d need a rich feedstock of organics – almost any kind of carbohydrate – to feed into the fab units.”

  “Where would we get those?” Fu Tichi asked.

  “Well, one ideal method would be to mine local asteroids for organic feedstock,” Talon mused. “Though it’ll be expensive, at first. We would have to set up self-replicating factories to exploit the right metallic rocks, use them to build more factories, then find other kinds of carbo-rich roids to feed into the slurry tubes we’d set up, above each city.” He consulted a tablet. “Unless the FAW was willing to send a fleet of pricey freighters all the way out here at the rim of known space… we’re talking at least twenty, maybe thirty years.”

  Earl shook his head. “Speaking on behalf of the planet’s Nomort population, let me assure you that so long a thirst would be intolerable.”

  Captain Ohm had been busy while others spoke, finally changing into a fresh uniform with three spiral galaxies on the collar. His yeoman assistant took the local shirt and jacket he had been wearing and shook them once, releasing clouds of dust, provoking from her the dainty chirp that passes – among demmies – for a sneeze.

  Ohm waved away at the cloud of white powder… then glanced at me with wide eyes, which set off a sudden competition, each of us racing to blurt first—

  “The dessert!” we shouted in unison.

  “What? The chocolate is here?” Cuspitui yowled hopefully.

  “No!” Ohm glanced defiantly at me and I chose to clam up as he continued alone. “The sugar-sand waste that we crossed, in order to get here. Hundreds of thousands – millions – of hectares of sweet carbs!”

  “Of course,” Guts yelped. “That should supply all the raw material we’ll need for decades, maybe centuries!”

  Talon ordered up a holo display that filled the center of the conference table, again rocking the locals back in amazement – a map of the nearby region, overlain with vast waves of honeyed dunes – as Guts and Talon conferred, then the healer nodded agreement.

  “Mechanisms could be constructed to cruise the Great Sugarfrosted Desert, harvesting megatonnes of carbs, without hardly putting a dent in the supply.”

  Of powdered and granulated worm poop, I pondered, which made my nose itch and mind twitch with ill-recollections. I tried not to show outward discomfort, though.

  “I know where some of the old harvesters were put away, long ago,” Professor Ping agreed. With Talon’s help, he caused to scene to zoom past the dessert’s edge, onto a vast storage yard where mighty, tracked machines lay abandoned in long rows.

  Nuts peered close, her nimble fingers waggling, causing data and algorithms to dance. “Primitive things… but robustly built. Yes. They could be refurbished and set onto their old task. Or we can fab new ones…”

  “…whereupon the raw sugar could be conveyed either directly to new processing units next to nearby cities,” Frieder added. “Or else sent by tube up to orbit and converted there for slurry delivery and reconstitution as steaks or shakes, blood or…”

  At a slobbery murmur from Sully and Moulder, Talon finished for him “…or brains.”

  The sheer scale of the described undertaking set some of the locals aback. Coalshack stared at Talon, Nuts, Guts, and then at me.

  “Truly? This could be done as they say? No undead would need any longer to feed on the flesh of the living?”

  I had to shrug. “We’ve overcome more difficult challenges than this, right Captain?”

  “Huh?” Ohm had been whispering in the ear of his pretty yeoman. “Oh, right advisor. Lots harder. This’d be as easy as…” and he snapped his fingers, making the yeoman jump back with a delighted squeal – a human trick that had taken me years to teach him, and that had saved his life on three separate occasions, out there among the wild stars.

  Earl Dragonlord shook his head, slipping deeper into his aristocratic-Nomort accent.

  “Although I do not doubt your technical skills, I am not certain this offer of free blood will suffice to persuade the clans. What you’ll rob from us is the thrill of the hunt! The excitement of overcoming resistance with power and will.” And at that moment I do believe he meant the word us, in the sense of identifying deeply with the vampire clan. Well, like every other living human, he was a descendant of Johnny Depp.

  Nuts chuckled. “Oh I think we can come up with tech for that. Picture a palpable 6-D holo experience where you’ll only get your feast-o-blood after chasing and conquering an ersatz victim. So realistic you’ll all have a great old time, concocting game scenarios that even lots of Standards will want to play, so long as they don’t die in the outcome.”

  Earl and Lorg looked unconvinced, till Ping murmured, facing in turn each of the undead representatives.

  “Our ancestors made peace under harsher conditions than these. Are you, our own dear-recently-departed, made of lesser stuff?”

  Again, silence as they pondered this, though clearly his challenge moved them.

  Finally, the zombie Moulder summed things up eloquently, as Sully kept his head propped upright on the table.

  “Braainss for all… Braaainss for every body!”

  And with that he began to hum a deeply resonant tune, like the one I once listened-to that evening long ago, in the Cal’mari cemetery, moaned by ‘advanced’ zombies as they serenaded the moon. My crewmates – especially the demmies – were captivated by the sound, having never heard anything like it in all their cosmic journeys. Moreover, the melody was entirely original. Of that I felt sure. Moulder was doing decomposing right there, before us.

  Oh, I am going to hunt down the demmie who made these punning nanos in my ears, I recall thinking, amid the beauty of the moment. He is so gonna die!

  Of course, our brilliant scheme to save Cal’mari and the rest of civilization on Planet Squid hinged on one thing. In order to accomplish all of this, we needed access to the Big Computer.

  Only then could the right dose of Leininger factor be adjusted, so that the undead races would not be made extinct – but their frenzied appetites be kept limited, letting them adjust to a new era of synthetic food, so that the undead could stop inflicting death.

  Moreover, Commander Talon had other reasons to urge some degree of haste. “We need to depart in less than a month, both in order to inform the Alliance of many important matters, and to get reinforcements sent out here. Any longer could result in real problems.”

  Unspoken was the fact that – with the exception of the original landing party – our ship’s crew had been away from home not for months, but many years of subjective time. I fizzed with curiosity about that story, which was likely to be epic. But of one thing I felt already certain. The pay and benefits accountants back at base were not going to be happy, for sure.

  With the conclave adjourned, everyone got busy implementing their own portions of the Plan. Nuts and Guts labored alongside Katske to set in motion the great sugarfrost harvest. Artisans aboard the Gamble set to work on slurry systems that would convert that carbo-treasure into steaks and shakes and blood… and brains. Sully and Moulder, along with Ping, Lorg and Coalshack, would soon hitch a shuttle ride back to town and start the hardest task, explaining this grand plan in such a way as to convince local citizens and opinion makers to cooperate with aliens.

  Which left four of us at the big round table. Captain Ohm and me. Plus Earl Dragonlord and the sphinx-riding Spertin, the latter of whom taunted us with the doomed futility of our efforts.

  “If you leave the computer alone, it will automatically start cranking up the toxin levels to critical, and things will get terminally bloody all across this world! If – on the other hand – you destroy it, the Leininger factor will stop being issued at all. You’ll murder every caste except the boring Standards and condemn them to their absurdly short lifespans.

  “Everything that’s unique about them will vanish.”

  Ohm shook his head.

  “We could bypass your machine. Trace the command lines, find the gas generators in the cities and figure out how to control it all ourselves.”

  “And how long will that take? Look at your crew, Captain. Most of them are bone-weary. You’ll have a mutiny on your hands!”

  Ohm knew all this, of course, along with the other reason for haste. So long as the Clever Gamble was out here all alone, there remained a real possibility that the master conspirators back on Sperta might learn of their setback here, and send a force too great for one ship to handle.

  Our captain responded angrily.

  “Well you two won’t see any of that. As soon as we get back, you’ll be put on trial by the FAW High Court. And this Spertin scheme against the people of Planet Squid—”

  “Cal’mari!” they both shouted.

  “—will hurt your masters badly, when it’s revealed to all the non-aligned civilizations what you did here.”

  “Oh yeah? Well what’ll the non-aligns think of you, when it’s revealed that you forced us into that thing against our will!”

  His hand shook at he pointed at the great, looming slurry tube. Clearly, for some unfathomable reason, any prospect of being dissolved into component cells and shipped into space with the consistency of a banana malted daiquiri terrified the fellow.

  That’s when Earl Dragonlord spoke for the first time, since again putting his fangs away. None of the flamboyant Nomort arrogance was in his voice. And yet, it carried a silky tone of persuasion.

  “Perhaps, some kind of a deal might be in the offing?”

  Although clearly this had been Ohm’s aim all along, he now arched one eyebrow, theatrically skeptical.

  “Oh? What sort of deal do you have in mind?”

  So it came to pass that the Spertins gave us pass-codes to gain control over the Big Computer. In exchange, they would be released without formal charges, either on this planet – or back at Nebula Base Twelve – with cheap-coach passage pre-paid back to Sperta. Their choice. The sphinx-guy bargained hard and managed to get Ohm’s solemn word; first no slurrying for him! Second, his no-frills, economy class ticket home would include free life support. And Hulu. Picky picky.

  Ohm was surprised, but not me, when Earl Dragonlord chose to stay on Squid. Which really set his colleague off, accusing him of going native! The faux-vampire blithely shrugged.

  “I have friends here. A family, even.”

  “But you’re alive and they’re all dead!”

  “So? Oh, I admit that’s a bit of an obstacle. And the dead can be overly rigid. Stiff, even. But I think I can help them bend a bit… and adjust to fast-changing times.”

  At this, the sphinx-rider became furious, calling Earl just another Earthling! A traitor to true humanity, selling out to join weird, monstrous ETs. Lieutenant Commander Taken had to summon a couple of greenies to subdue the sputtering Spertin, who was still hollering as I escorted Earl in the opposite direction, over to the shuttle where others – Lorg and Sully and Moulder and Coalshack and Ping – awaited.

  (There I took note of strange streaks along the shuttle’s flank. Some evidently from harsh rays that must have inflicted grazing blows, during battle. Other patches gleamed, as if the original metal had been perfectly replaced, down to the last rivet. I felt the folded hoodie in my pocket and desperately wanted to dive into that story… but my need-to-know would have to be forestalled just a bit longer. First order of business right now? Goodbyes.)

  “Come back to the sub-urb for steak n’ brew sometime,” Lorg urged as he damn near crushed my hand, “Maybe you can sing an’ dance for us again. And brag some more about yer sneeze!”

  He laughed and gave me a slam across the shoulder blades that stung like heck. But I grinned.

  “You couldn’t survive a human sneeze! Take my word for it, big fellah. Give my best to Besh and the gang.”

  Coalshack was still trying to adapt, taking some solace in dismal interpretation of good news. “So my job will be to convince the living population of this world to accept alien interlopers –”

  “—but not invaders—”

  “—after all. It won’t be easy, let me tell you!”

  “Few things ever are.”

  The cop brandished a ship-communicator device we had provided. “Well, be sure that when I call up for pizza…”

  “It will be delivered, hot and fresh, in under thirty minutes. Just have everybody stand way back from the designated delivery zone, because demmie pizza drones come in… well… hot and fast.”

  Coalshack blinked, evidently suffering from imagination overload, and swallowed hard. He nodded once and hurried into the shuttle.

  I wanted to embrace Sully tightly, but settled for returning her soft squeeze. There would be no souvenirs left behind, this time. In fact, some member of the crew had kindly given her access to an auto-makeover device and she now glistened like a lacquered store mannequin, good for months, most-likely.

  “The two of you should get medals from the people of this world for what you did.” Of course, my praise included her pal, Moulder, with one eye peeking out of her shoulder bag. “None of this could have happened without you.”

  “Medals? Posthumous, of course.” Her smile was sardonic, but appreciative.

  “Seriously. The histories will tell what a pair you made.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Moulder hissed something, But I had trouble making out the words. “What did he say?”

  “He said the books had better spell our names right, or in the next phase beyond this one he’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you!”

  I chuckled.

  “Good one. The next phase beyond. Very funn…”

  I stopped and the notion suddenly made me blanche. “Wait a minute… you don’t mean there are also… ghosts?”

  Sully nodded. “You didn’t think the cycle ended with vampires and zombies, did you?” Then her sober expression broke into a grin. “Oh, you should see your face! I will miss you, Montessori.”

  I felt sheepish over being caught like a credulous demmie. That is, I managed to convince myself Sully was joking. Oh, please.

  “Hm. Well, take care of our ripe friend here,” I urged, nodding at Moulder. “Find him a good headstone perch where he can join the tenor section.”

  “Ripe makes right!” came a slobbery whisper. But I had no intention of going down that road, again.

  “I’ll do that,” Sully nodded. “And thanks for helping make the most interesting part of my life… the part that came after it was over.”

  Goodbyes can make me kind of misty, and zombies too, apparently. I took out the folded hoodie and used one corner of the soft cloth to dab a single tear off the corner of Sully’s cheek. I’ve kept that little swatch of fabric since, across all the intervening kiloparsecs and years.

  Then both Zooms were aboard, with Coalshack helping Sully to gingerly insert her friend into an overhead bin. I felt a hand on my shoulder and swiveled to find Fu Tichi, ready to make his own farewell. Behind him, Cuspitui busied herself prepping the lovercraft for departure, idling the KISS engine. She paused to give me a parting wave and yowl, happy in her future role as culinary ambassador for alien delicacies, convinced that it would sway the people of this world, more than any other factor, to accept the advantages of First Contact.

  “We’ll drop Karakal back at the Nameless City,” Fu Tichi explained.

  “And along the way?” I asked pointedly. We had been over this.

  The lovercraft captain gave a lopsided smirk that might have made him a movie star, if there were still such things in our more enlightened age.

  “Sure thing, kid. A promise is a promise. We’ll keep all eyes open for parts of Moulder. And if we recover any, I know where to mail them.”

  Indeed, that was one reason why I felt optimistic about the odds of a happy ending for the people of this world. For, despite their desperate decline into fratricidal war, they had clung tenaciously, by consensus from all the castes, to the very basics of civilization. Like a Postal Service.

  Earl Dragonlord was last to board the shuttle. Already his ear and chin prosthetics were in place, along with those gleaming canines. Back in full aristocratic Nomort mode, the erstwhile Spertin spy could not help but taunt.

  “You are aware that there will be unforeseen consequences, even to your cunning plan.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “Suppose you succeed in the first part. Your interventions manage to tone down the Leininger toxins and get everyone eating harmless dessert sand instead of each other. And let’s further presume that all of this helps restore the balance that these natives started forging for themselves a century ago. Civilization resumes its upward progress!”

  “You vowed to help make that happen, convincing the Nomort clans.”

  “And I shall, for my own benefit and theirs. Still… you do realize that there will still be… inconvenient outcomes?”

  I nodded. Earl could look beyond the immediate future and so could I, something that – for all their manic brilliance – my demmie ship-mates and comrades would never manage.

  “The many races of this world will adapt quickly, and learn,” I said in a low voice. “And in short order, they will join the Alliance.”

  “Yes, and one consequence will be?”

  I turned to look toward the west.

  “Vampires, wolfmen, zombies… and who knows what else… will all roam the spacelanes, free to cross the galaxy.”