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“Might as well,” the colonel said, flipping the switch again. “Pity we don’t have a probe here. Would save so much time. But, of course, it’s an expensive installation. All right, Clarey, over to you.”

Clarey choked on a mouthful of sandwich and hesitated. “Begin with your very first impressions,” the colonel urged.

“Well, the archives—the library—was in a real mess. Took me over two weeks to get it in even roughly decent shape. Three different systems of classification and, added to that—”

“Not so much the library, old chap. Leave the technical stuff for later. What I meant was your first impressions of the natives.... Is something wrong with the coffee? And you’ve hardly touched your sandwich. Maybe you’d like another kind. I have several varieties here—ham and cheese and—”

“Oh, no,” Clarey protested. “The one I have is fine. It’s just that I’m—well, to tell you the truth,” he confessed, “I’ve grown accustomed to Damorlant food.”

“Don’t see how you could,” the colonel said. “Nauseating stuff—to my way of thinking,” he added politely. He opened a sandwich and inspected the filling.