"Immurement is security," Mirrh Yahn y Cona said. "The ultimate stability."
"You'll get acclimatized," Ellis said. "It takes time."
He broke off to peer through the gloom beyond the dance floor. "Good Lord, there's Ryerson of the Post, camera and all. If he recognizes me he'll know who Mirrh is and—"
"Yahn," Mirrh Yahn y Cona corrected automatically. "With us the second name is impersonal. First is used only by loved ones."
"Yahn, then," Ellis said. "If Ryerson tumbles, he'll want pictures and an interview. Yahn will be lionized before he's ready. Can't publicize him until he knows the ropes."
"You'd better skip," Leila said. "If we all go, he'll spot us for sure."
"Right." Ellis shoved some money at Leila. "Call me at my office when it's safe."
When Ellis had gone and their waiter had brought drinks, they faced each other across the table, Yahn visibly on guard and Leila with the beginning of speculation in her eyes.
"Maybe it's better like this, without protocol," she said. "Yahn, can you—do you dance in our gravity?"
He was bitter again. "Remember my training. I am taller, stronger and more freakishly agile than any Martian—including my fiancee—has been for thousands of years."