She raised her shoulders and let them drop. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’ve missed the Festival, of course, but there’s a whole gang of us who did, too, and we’ve sort of decided to have our own over the next few days and, well, frankly we need all the help we can get. All I can promise you is luxurious accommodation, great company and more delectable preparations than you can shake a principle at, but if you care to make the sacrifice, I promise we’ll all try to make it up to you.’ She flexed her eyebrows and then made a mock-frightened expression, pulling down the corners of her succulently perfect mouth.

He let her hold the look for a moment, then patted her on the upper arm. ‘No, thank you,’ he said sincerely.

Her expression became one of hurt sadness. ‘Oh . . . are you sure?’ she said in a small, softly vulnerable voice.

‘’Fraid so. Made my own arrangements,’ he said, with genuine but determined regret. ‘But if there was anyone who was likely to tempt me away from them, it would be you.’ He winked at her. ‘I’m flattered by your generous offer, and do tell SC I appreciate the trouble they’ve gone to, but this is my chance to cut loose for a few days, you know?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll have some fun and then I’ll be ready to ship on out when the time comes.’ He fished a small pen terminal out of one pocket and waved it in front of her face. ‘And I’ll keep my terminal with me at all times. Promise.’ He put the terminal back in his pocket.

She gazed intently into his eyes for a few moments, then lowered her eyes and then her head and gave a small shrug. She looked back up, expression ironic. When she spoke, her voice had changed as well, modulating into something deeper and more considered, almost regretful. ‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘I hope you enjoy yourself, Byr.’ She grinned. ‘Our offer stands, if you wish to reconsider.’ Brave smile. ‘My colleagues and I wish you well.’ She looked furtively round the busy concourse and bit her bottom lip, frowning slightly. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy a drink or something anyway, do you?’ she said, almost plaintively.

He laughed, shook his head, and bowed as he backed off, hoisting his hold-all over his shoulder.

Genar-Hofoen had arrived a few days after the end of Tier’s annual Festival. There was an air of autumnal desuetude mixed with high-summer torpor about the place when he arrived; people were cleaning up, calming down, getting back to normal and generally behaving themselves. He’d signalled ahead and succeeded in booking the services of an erotroupe as well as reserving a garden penthouse in the View, the best hotel on Level Three.