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“I teach acting,” the robocoach said loftily. “I don’t run a charm school. If you come to me, you learn—or, at least, are exposed to—all I have to offer. I refuse to tailor my art to any occasional need. Now, the second cardinal rule....”

Clarey was glad he could absorb the languages and social structure of the planet through the impersonal hypno-tapes. He had to learn more than one language because the planet was divided into several national units, each speaking a different tongue. Inefficient as far as planetary operation went, but advantageous to him, Han Vollard pointed out, because, though he’d work in Vangtor, he would be supposed to have originated in Ventimor; hence his accent.

“Work?” Clarey asked. “I thought I was going to be an undercover agent.”

“You’ll have a cover job,” she explained wearily. “You can’t just wander around with no visible source of income, unless you’re a member of the nobility, and it would be risky to elevate you to the peerage.”

“What kind of a job will I have?” Clarey asked, brightening a little at the idea of possibly having something interesting to do.