The Indigo backed out, bowing, eyes very round.
Ellik felt me looking at him.
"Well, I don't _like_ kicking the oaf, but that's all he's been
conditioned to understand as a sign of disapproval."
"Sure," I said.
Ellik passed through the scimitar of gray shadow into the sunlight that
washed lines and years out of his face. He braced a hand against the
doorframe and craned his head back. It stopped and steadied.
"He's still there," Ellik said. "Sometimes I wish his orbit would decay
enough to burn him up in this damned sour air." He coughed into his
fist.
"He could probably correct," I suggested.