Galactic bailiff, Sline Glantrader, wheezed his way up the hyperspaceship ramp, cursing his aching tentacles. He ducked his bald, orange-skinned head through the hatch and stopped just inside for a while, struggling to regain his breath. This would be his last trip before his retirement, and the thought made a little smile of satisfaction flicker across his mottled face.
GInside the control cabin, young Fenil Turmstriper was already seated and ready to go.
“Morning, Boss,” he called, waving a couple of merry limbs at him. “Where to today?”
Sline dropped into the reclining couch with a groan. “Sol 3. Local name ‘Earth’, or ‘Dìqiú’, or ‘Prthvee’, or ‘Tierra’, or ‘Terre’, or ‘Al"ard’. The list goes on.”
“Why so many names? That’s just crazy.” Fenil tossed up several tentacles before pulli
