But none of that showed. To the eye of anyone from a rich world of the Fourth Alliance, the newcomer was nothing but an ill-dressed hick from the back of nowhere. He fitted not at all into the genteel, leisurely, and cultured frame of an Institute dinner.

The others at the table were at least making an effort at politeness.

“You were recently on Miranda?” the woman next to Rebka said as he sat down. She was Glenna Omar, one of the senior information-systems specialists and in Darya’s view quite unnecessarily beautiful. “I’ve never been there, although I suppose that I should have, since it’s the headquarters for the Fourth Alliance. What did you think of Miranda, Captain?”

Rebka stared blank-faced down at his plate while Darya, sitting opposite him, waited anxiously. If he was going to be rude or sullen or outrageous, here in her own home… there had been no time to brief him, only to give him a hug and a hurried greeting, after he had been decanted from the subluminal delivery craft and before the Immigration officials were ushering them into the dining room to meet her colleagues.

“Paradise,” Rebka said suddenly. He turned to Glenna Omar and gave her an admiring smile packed with sexual overtones. “I’m from Teufel, of course, where the best road you can find is said to be any road that takes you somewhere else; so some might argue that I’m easily impressed. But I thought that Miranda was wonderful, my idea of paradise — until I landed here on Sentinel Gate, and learned that I was wrong. This has to be the most beautiful planet in the whole Fourth Alliance — in the whole spiral arm.”

Darya took a deep breath and relaxed — for half a second. Hans was on his best behavior, but Glenna Omar’s response was a good deal too warm.

“Oh, you’re just being nice to us, Captain,” she was saying. “Of course, I’ve never been to any of the worlds of your Phemus Circle, either. How would you describe them to me?”