The copter dropped sharply. Vesta seized Cloud’s arm and pointed. “That’s where we’re going; that big building with the landing-field on the roof. The Caravanzerie. Zee?” In moments of emotion or excitement, most of Vesta’s sibilants reverted to Z’s.
“I see. And this is your Great White Way?”
It was, but it was not white. Instead, it was a blaze of red, blue, green, yellow—all the colors of the spectrum. And crowds! On foot, on bicycles, on scooters, motorbikes, and motortricycles, in cars and in copters, it seemed impossible that anything could move in such a press as that. And as the aircab approached its destination Neal Cloud, space-hardened veteran and skillful flyer though he was, found himself twisting wheels, stepping on pedals, and cutting in braking jets, none of which were there.
How that jockey landed his heap and got it into the air again all in one piece without dismembering a single Vegian, Cloud never did quite understand. Blades were scant fractional inches from blades and rotors; people were actually shoved aside by the tapering bumpers of the cab as it hit the deck; but nothing happened. This, it seemed, was normal!
The group re-formed and in flying-wedge fashion as before, gained the elevators and finally the ground floor and the ballroom. Here Cloud drew his first full breath for what seemed like hours. The ballroom was tremendous—and it was less than three-quarters filled.
Just inside the doorway Vesta paused, sniffing delicately. “He is here—come on!” She beckoned the six to follow her and rushed ahead, to be met at the edge of the clear space in head-on collision. Brother and sister embraced fervently for about two seconds. Then, reaching down, the man broke his sister’s grip and flipped her around sidewise, through half of a vertical circle, so that her feet pointed straight up. Then, with a sharp “Blavzkt!” he snapped into a back flip.
“Blavzkt—Zemp!” she shouted back, bending beautifully into such an arch that, as his feet left the floor, hers landed almost exactly where his had been an instant before. Then for a full minute and a half the joyous pair pinwheeled, without moving from the spot; while the dancers on the floor, standing still now, applauded enthusiastically with stamping, hand-clapping, whistles, cat-calls, and screams.
Vesta stopped the exhibition finally, and led her brother toward Cloud and Joan. The music resumed, but the dancers did not. Instead, they made a concerted rush for the visitors, surrounding them in circles a dozen deep. Vesta, with both arms wrapped tightly around Cloud and her tail around Joan, shrieked a highly consonantal sentence—which Cloud knew meant “Lay off these two for a couple of minutes, you howling hyenas, they’re mine”—then, switching to English: “Go ahead, you four, and have fun!”
The first two men to lay hands on the two tall Tellurian beauties were, by common consent and without argument, their first partners. Two of the Vegian girls, however, were not so polite. Both had hold of Joe, one by each arm, and stood there spitting insults at each other past his face until a man standing near by snapped a few words at them and flipped a coin. The two girls, each still maintaining her grip, leaned over eagerly to see for themselves the result of the toss. The loser promptly relinquished her hold on Joe and the winner danced away with him.
“Oh, this is wonderful, Storm!” Joan thought. “We’ve been accepted—we’re the first group I ever actually knew of to really break through the crust.”