"That woman you brushed by in the street when I saw you running up the block...."
"Yes?"
"Did you ever see her before?"
"I didn't look at her very carefully. I'm not sure. Why?"
"Never mind," Rara said. "You just get on out of here before.... Well, just get."
"So long, Rara." He got.
Not so high as the towers of the Royal Palace of Toron, the green tile balcony outside Clea's window caught the breeze like the hem of an emerald woman passing the sea. There was water beyond the other houses, deeper blue than the sky, and still. She leaned over the balcony railing. On the white marble table were her notebook, a book on matter transmission, and her slide rule.
"Clea."
She whirled at the voice, her black hair leaping across her shoulder in the low sun.