Klump restlessly shuffled his golf clubs around, picked up several of them one by one and then let each drop back down into his bag. Without taking his gaze off them, he spoke to his android assistant behind him.

“Kush, when the hell is that nacho going to get here? I want to get this over with.”

“Sir, I believe the Nichoklu don’t appreciate being referred to as ‘nachos.’ They have not reacted positively to that nomenclature.”

Klump pursed his lips. “I don’t really care what the nachos like to be called. When they’re on our planet, we can call them what we want.”

“We’re not on our planet, sir.”

“Any golf course I build is an honorary part of Earth.” Klump paused and looked over the contents of hi...

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