"And there's no danger of meeting myself, or getting into any anachronistic situation. As you probably know, theory shows that these are excluded times for me, as is the future—I can't stop in them."
"Are you sure that you haven't given us a little too much information for your own safety?" asked Ffallk softly.
"Not at all. We were enormously lucky to have learned how to control spatial reference frames ourselves. I doubt if you could do it in another two million years." Crownwall rose to his feet. "And now, Your Effulgence, I think it's about time I went back to my ship and drove it home to Earth to make my report, so we can pick up those bombs and start making arrangements."
"Excellent," said Ffallk. "I'd better escort you; my people don't like strangers much."
"I'd noticed that," Crownwall commented drily.
"Since this is a very important occasion, I think it best that we make this a Procession of Full Ceremony. It's a bother, but the proprieties have to be observed."
Ggaran stepped out into the broad corridor and whistled a shrill two-tone note, using both his speaking and his eating orifices. A cohort of troops, pikes at the ready and bows strapped to their backs, leaped forward and formed a double line leading from His Effulgence's sanctum to the main door. Down this lane, carried by twenty men, came a large sedan chair.
"Protocol takes a lot of time," said His Effulgence somewhat sadly, "but it must be observed. At least, as Ambassador, you can ride with me in the sedan, instead of walking behind it, like Ggaran."
"I'm glad of that," said Crownwall. "Too bad Ggaran can't join us." He climbed into the chair beside Ffallk. The bearers trotted along at seven or eight kilometers an hour, carrying their contraption with absolute smoothness. Blasts from horns preceded them as they went.