W. Thompson - Touchdown, Touchdown, Rah, Rah, Rah!

She started to get her breath back. “I just grabbed my handle like it was Nyquist’s throat,” she said. “After that, it’s like explaining how a Republican can get elected President. It defies all logic, even when you see it happen.” One of the Vrekle players had overheard their talk. “Bouncing into me, I absorbed most of her momentum,” he explained. “Good playing, Shev-ield, and it let our outrunners negotiate a classic play, just classic!”

“Way out in front!” another player chimed in. “Being so, let’s just hear anyone dare to sneeze out another complaint about human students at good old Vrekle!”

Ray steered her toward the broadcast booth. “Did we win?” he asked her.

“We did,” Elizabeth said. “Even better, we won right. We and Bnurx had eight points. Flerk had six. By sharing the bag with Flerk, we scored two points and so did they. That means they came out of the game tied for second place with Bnurx, instead of ending up in third place. Their pride isn’t hurt, and we look more sporting.”

“So everyone wins.” It was, Ray noted, a typical kya attitude toward competition. “But you were in a spot to score an easy point on your own goal, instead of making that long run down the field. What if it hadn’t worked?”

“Then we’d have tied for first with Bnurx, which means Flerk would still have come in second and everyone goes home happy. Speaking of going home, what about Nyquist?”

“I handled him the way you would have, by the throat,” Ray said. “We can stay. Now come on, Jones will want to interview you.”

They were pressing their way through the crowd when Ghorf came up to them. “Rabinet!” he called, and gave a friendly bow that was marred by some jostling. “Coming to see the game, I thought I should drop by for a few words.”

“I’m glad you did,” Ray said. He felt oddly apprehensive when he recalled how the executive had been avoiding him—and there was something unsettling about the way his muzzle twitched, as though he was reluctant to deliver bad news.

Ghorf’s words belied that impression, however. “I wanted to talk about the Moskva contract,” he said. “Consulting with Zhlah, she thinks that—that—ah—ah—”

Ghorf struggled to stifle a sneeze, lost the fight, and doubled over as he let loose an explosive string of sneezes. He gronked out a noise that might have been “Excuse me” as he staggered away, still sneezing.

“I’ll telephone you later,” Ray called after him, as he vanished into the crowd.

Elizabeth shook her head in sympathy. “Poor fellow... but now we know why he’s been avoiding you.”

Ray nodded. “At least I can still deal with his secretary face-to-face.” That would be out of the question for Ghorf, who, Ray now saw, was allergic to humans.

Illustrated by Kelly Freas