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“I don’t suppose there’s any real reason why you shouldn’t enter into a legal liaison while you’re here,” said the colonel. “After all, it isn’t as if the two races could interbreed. That could be decidedly awkward. Who’s the lucky little lady?”

“My landlady’s daughter,” Clarey said.

“Your boss, eh? Flying high, aren’t you, old chap?” His massive hand descended on Clarey’s shoulder. Then he grew serious. “Can she cook like her mother?”

“Even better.”

“My boy,” the colonel said solemnly, “you have my unqualified blessing. And when I ask you to save me a piece of the wedding cake, I ask from the heart.”

So, when Clarey went back to Katund, he asked Embelsira to marry him and she accepted. The whole village turned out for the wedding. Clarey managed to take some vocpix of the ceremonies for the X-Ts with a finger unit. I ought to get a handsome wedding present for this, he thought.

And, to his surprise, on the wedding day, an elaborate jewel-studded toilet service did arrive from Barshwat—with the affectionate regards of his aunt, who was too ill to travel. They tie up everything, he thought, but he knew it was a little more than simply remembering to pick up a loose end. The toilet set was vulgar, ostentatious, hideous—obviously selected with loving care and Terrestrial taste.