O'Dea raised an eyebrow and turned away. A fleet of powerful Centaur dreadnaughts was landing. They had just performed the fabulous task of transporting a huge frozen lake to Avignon—a miracle of coordination.
O'Dea filled his lungs with air. He removed the blanket from his shoulders, let his chest rise and fall evenly.
"Almost as good as Earth," he said. "This air is wonderful now, but it's wasted. Only two humans to breathe it—hey!"
He stared at the spindly mountain that rose to a dizzy peak at the far end of the valley. A thin stream of smoke rose from it.
"I never noticed that before. Morguma—is that a volcano?"
Morguma, who had paused to watch them enjoy the air, looked toward the steaming mountain top and uncovered his fangs in a friendly smile.
"Entirely without harm, my charming friends of Earth! Our great scientists have performed in full an investigation. There is absolutely no danger from that volcano!"
O'Dea peered suspiciously at the distant cone. "If that thing ever goes off, this valley will be buried!"
"Oh fear not that this luscious land will be demolished, my beautiful comrades! Not a hair of your lovely heads will be harmed!"
Hawthorne growled. O'Dea made a fist of his right hand, rubbed it thoughtfully. But he shrugged, looking at the Centaur's twelve arms. They continued into the noisy dining room.