The attendant nodded and waved hands to an approaching crew. They nodded at Wanniston, too, and then swarmed through the ship, servicing it. Before Wanniston was at the registry office, the ship was lifted and slid over to the row upon row of parked spacecraft. Wanniston noted its position and then entered the register.
"Name?" asked the official.
"Wan Nes Stan," said he, putting the Galactic pronunciation to his own name.
"You have the ship formerly registered with Emissary Gerd Lel Rayne. Has he another?"
Wan Nes Stan was stopped momentarily, but his plan to brazen it out laid another pathway. "Not that I know of," he said.
"I'll see that another is delivered to him. You'll not be returning that way?"
"If I do," said Wan Nes Stan boldly, "I shall go in the way I got there before."
"Naturally."
Wan Nes Stan almost gulped visibly. He wondered for a moment whether the Galactic was having sport at his expense, or being sarcastic, or whether he was completely taken in by the boldness.
Wan Nes Stan entered his first Galactic city. To any Terran, it would have been nonunderstandable in scope, but to Wan Nes Stan it was beautiful as it should be, and yet not perfect. Color combinations were there beyond the concept of any Terran, all blended in a mad, ever-moving kaleidoscope of sheer symphony. Faint, stirring music emanated from everywhere—there seemed to be no focal point—and the blend of music with color matched exactly. Either would have been unfinished without the other, and both would have been incomplete without the senses of smell, taste, and feel that were excited ever so delicately.