I nod. That’s basically the way I’d figured it—send the Star bonehead crusading into the fray, and then learn something from the circumstances and manner of his geekage. "Sorry to disappoint you, leäl," I grate, using a very indelicate Elvish word indicating extremely close acquaintance. (No, I don’t speak Sperethiel, but I long ago discovered the utility of being able to insult people in as many native tongues as possible.)