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He got up and was about to go. Then he remembered to be friendly and outgoing. “I have never tasted better food,” he told the native. “Not even in Barshwat.”

The native picked up the coin Clarey had left by way of tip and bit it. Apparently it passed the test. “Stop here next time you’re passing this way,” he advised, “and I’ll really serve you something to write home about!”

The omnibus for Katund proved to be nothing but a large cart drawn by a team of hax. Clarey waited for internal manifestations as he rode. None came. I’ve found my land legs, he thought, or, rather, my land stomach. And with the hax jogging along the quiet lanes of Vangtor, he found himself almost at peace.

Earth was completely urbanized: there were the great metropolises; there were the parks; there were the oceans. That was all. So to him the Vangtort countryside looked like a huge park, with grass and trees and flowers that were slightly unrealistic in color, but beautiful just the same—even more, perhaps. It was idyllic. There’s bound to be some catch, he thought.