You push your way through the crowds of ignorant aliens, trying to keep up with the reptiloid, but moved with the sway and flow of the crowd. You can feel the adrenaline pumping through you as you get increasingly physically forceful, pushing instead of dodging, forcing yourself against the natural stream of people.

And there he is, in a clearing of people, standing near a smaller, pale blue reptiloid that seems to be trying to sell him a com unit.

You get a chance to properly look him over for the first time. Eight foot (or thereabouts) of bulging reptiloid frame, like a fully bipedal allosaurus with no tail, covered in plate-like rusty brown scales. As you attempt to grip his arm for attention, you notice a collection of skulls adorn a spiked metal belt running from shoulder to hip.

He turns his gaze upon you, and you're looking into two small, blazing red eyes either side of a snout full of small, sharp teeth.

A gust of breath like rotten meat accompanies an incomprehensible growl as he addresses you in his native tongue.

Quickly, you turn to TRUDI, your wrist mounted AI.

"Uh, TRUDI, can you please identify and translate communication between me and this, uh, reptiloid gentleman?" you ask, confidence ebbing.

"With pleasure, meatbag," she replies. "Translation matrix in place."

Taking the queue, the reptiloid growls at you again, and TRUDI simultaneously synthesizes it into InterGal for you to understand. "What you want, sweaty pig-man?"

If that pushes your very last nerve, and you want to get aggressive, turn to page 61.

Or, perhaps, you take that in good humour, but still want to discuss your grievances with the reptiloid. Turn to page 39.

There's always the option of quickly disappearing into the crowd again. To, um, find those robot technicians. Yeah, that's it. Page 65.