The moment the door is shut, he says something in a voice low and deep and 
intensely masculine, and in a language Tikki doesn’t know. She lifts her hands,
shakes her head, and turns and walks straight to the closet. The only clothes 
she’s got that might fit the male come in the form of an oversized black duster.
She throws it at him, then hurriedly pulls on a blouse, slacks, boots, and a 
jacket, then gets spare ammo for the Kang. The male speaks again, another bad 
choice of tongues. Whatever it is, she doesn’t know it, doesn’t even recognize
it.