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PHARMAKON, PHARMAKON
human-ish moniker Corg.
“Nice to speak with you two again,” Grimaldi said into his microphone. “Though I wish it were under happier circumstances.”
Grimaldi’s sentence liquefied and few drops of pink liquid flowed through the clear tubes and into the Krex. The Krex across from Grimaldi wove a knot and tossed it into the bowl. A moment later, Corg’s avatar on the screen said:
“Always a pleasure. However, we are not sure the purpose of this meeting. You are aware that the Kng-knkKk Festival is impending on Rygiat. Preparation requires focus. So as to facilitate universal displace-ment of those Krex not engaged in outside labor.”
What, Luis wondered, could “universal displacement” mean? He moved to speak but Grimaldi cut him off.
“We have reason to believe you a
