We breezed right through the lobby. Scott didn't even glance at the smooth-faced slot behind the front desk, so I didn't either. Up the elevator we went—I noticed the ork had to wave a keycard at the control panel before the door would open and again before the elevator would start—and out onto the landing on the seventeenth floor. The hotel—corporate hostelry or not—had the same feel and ambiance as modem hotels anywhere in the world, all the individuality and character pressed out of them. I could just as well have been in the Sheraton in Seattle.