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“But ten years. That’s a long time away from home.”

“Home is where the heart is, and you wanting to see your own planet go up in a puff of smoke—why, even an ilf wouldn’t say a thing like that!” Spano shook his head. “That’s too detached for me to understand. You’ll find the years will pass quickly on Damorlan. You’ll have stimulating work to do; every moment will be a challenge. When it’s all over, you’ll be only thirty-eight—the very prime of life. You won’t have aged even that much, because you’ll be entitled to longevity treatments at regular intervals.

“So think it over, m’boy.” He rose waveringly and clapped Clarey on the shoulder. “And take the rest of the afternoon off; I’ll fix it with Archives. We wouldn’t want you coming back from Classification intoxicated.” He winked. “Make a very bad impression on your co-workers.”

Han masked herself and escorted Clarey to the restaurant portway. “Don’t believe everything he says. But I think you’d better accept the offer.”

“I don’t have to,” Clarey said.