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Humming with restrained power, the skimmer lifted off, leveled itself, and hovered a meter above the crimson sands.
    He eyed his precious case. “What about clampdowns?”
    She looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. “Shouldn’t need ’em. It’s heavy enough that it won’t blow out. You, on the other hand, might want to hang onto something.” She indicated the seat next to her own.
    Moving forward, he gripped an available handbar and braced himself. “I’ve been sitting down most of the way from Earth and all the way from Ophhlia. I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”
    “Just hang on. Over open water this baby can fly.”
    With a rising whine they rose to a height of three meters. Seaforth pivoted the craft until they were facing thelagoon and gunned the engine. Sand flew and Pulickel nearly stumbled as the skimmer shot out over the water, accelerating rapidly. Beneath their shadow the placid surface of the lagoon rippled slightly.
    Seeing him squinting into the wind, she helpfully raised the transparent windscreen to a height sufficient to shield his face. The gesture went unremarked upon and she shrugged inwardly.
Prim sort of chap
, she thought. If that was the way he wanted it, it was fine with her. Deity knew there was plenty to be done.
    She was mistaking his indecision for stiffness. An attractive woman he could have dealt with, but Fawn Seaforth was as much beyond attractive as a diamond was beyond coal. She was representative of the type one saw on the vit, a human being who existed only in virtual reality and not in real life. Yet there she was, sitting in the pilot’s seat not an arm’s length from where he stood and doing her best to relax him by making small talk. At which he was failing miserably.
    He was only being realistic. He was not the sort, physically or personality-wise, who appealed to goddesses. It was a law of nature. Better that she see him as a tool sent to facilitate her work. His worst fear was that she would prove even friendlier than she seemed. In that case he was terrified he would freeze completely.
    This is ridiculous, he told himself firmly. She was a contact xenologist, just like himself only with less experience and a shorter résumé. If he was going to let her mere appearance—though there was little mere about it—bother him, he wasn’t going to get any serious work done and his journey all this way would be accounted a failure. In his whole career he’d never had a failure, and he wasn’t about to start now. Exhorting himself thus made him feel better.
    The wind was brisk and cooling against his face as they crossed over the reef. Glancing down as they made the transition, he saw a waterscape alive with jewels. Once beyond the protective barrier, she angled north and pushed the skimmer’s speed up another notch.
    The reigning silence was becoming painful. “Interesting hairstyle,” he ventured lamely. “What’s that you’ve woven into the braids?”
    She glanced over at him. “Kiswaa and socolo fibers. The plants are natural gold concentrators. As opposed to food, gardening Parramati grow them for decorative purposes like this, though they have no hair.”
    He blinked. “Gardening?”
    “Wait till you see a Parramati garden. They’re genuine works of art. Growing food is almost secondary to appearance.”
    “I look forward to seeing in person everything I’ve only had the opportunity to study.” He turned to face back into the wind.
    They’d long since left the huge atoll behind and were speeding along above open water. Islands sizable and small were visible in all directions, but Seaforth maintained their northerly heading, changing course only to avoid those islets that protruded a meter or more above the water. In the open passages between landmasses, strong ocean swells occasionally reached for the speeding skimmer, but none dampened its underside. High, chiseled, and overwhelmed by green, a cluster of larger islands loomed ahead.
    “I