Mrs. Meggins from the Pie Shop

Einuur smiled grimly. “This device is called a spalvosás. Your cerquibrum can tell you its function.”

“My cerquibrum is sort of out for the moment. What is it? What does it do?”

Ailuura replied in a concerned tone, “It sort of realigns your sympathies, Inigo.”

“What if I don’t want them realigning?” This without a great deal of conviction.

Einuur gave a vulpine grin. “But you’re not in charge here, Felton. I am. Now let me advise you. To resist the spalvosás will result in more than a little, shall we say, discomfort. So the choice is yours and that of your Mizaroa. Embrace the emanations, and all will be smoothly achieved. Resist, and you will not like what it does to your body and your brain.”

Felton began to struggle, a chiefly useless show of defiance given the circumstances. Einuur suddenly cuffed him upside the head and then jammed the cap on to his head, securing it by a strap beneath his chin. Satisfied that the fit was optimum, he bent over the case, and Felton heard two toggle switches being thrown. The room was filled with a soft humming of some sort of alien power supply.

The Zaromoid turned his attention to the captive and began, “Inigo Felton, which alien race do you have the most sympathy for? Answer, or I will adjust the spalvosás to give you a little jolt—a sample of what might come if you do not cooperate with the Zaromi.”

Felton tried reasonably enough. “I have a Mizaroa cerquibrum in my head, so my allegiance is to them obviously.”

A spear of indescribable agony suddenly racked his entire body from the top of his head to the end of his toes.