"There are no psi-powers on Earth to speak of," Smith reminded her.
"Hmm, very true. In that case, maybe you're all Receptives—male and female. But don't feel too badly, Smith; Wortan's the same way, and Wortan has a first-rate culture. Look: they even have an instructor here at the school."
The instructor of Wortan fighting was a Wortanian, of course. And here, in Wortan fighting, Smith might feel at home. But he hardly expected to excel at the school by breaking someone's back, or pinning him helplessly to the Wortan mat. Suddenly he found himself thinking of Earth, thinking of the trust that had been put in him as Earth's first student at the school. But his thoughts did not remain there long—his eyes took in the soft yellow of Geria's hair, and Earth faded far away.
"—volunteers," the instructor was saying. "Does anyone want to step on the mat with me for a fall or two?"
"I recommend Earthsmith," came Jorak's voice. "Positively—Earthsmith's your man."
Smith felt his face becoming very red again, but Geria nudged him with an elbow. "Go ahead, Smith—why not? You told me once you didn't fear anyone in the room of the registrar, not in physical combat. Go ahead."
"I know, but—"
"Go ahead, Smith. Show me."
He could do that. Yes, he could show her. But what if he were wrong—they might know a trick or two that would make him look foolish. And he wouldn't want that, not in front of Geria. "I am tired," he said. "I didn't sleep well last night."
The instructor rescued him. "I didn't ask you to recommend. I asked for volunteers. But you who spoke, what's your name?"