And eventually they reach New Riverround, dock at a docking tower, and haul themselves out by handholds and down to where gravity begins to assert itself.

They're both rather relieved to be on solid ground again.

Miriqua finds them a hotel. "Do you need one bed or two?" she asks them.

"Two. Definitely two." He looks rather taken aback.

"- is something wrong?"

"Where we're from it is not customary for any but married couples to share a bed."

"I didn't have any way to know you're not married," Miriqua points out.

"We're both men. Surely you can tell we're both men, I haven't had trouble distinguishing the men from the women here!"

"...yes, and?"

"...two beds in one room or two rooms?"

"Two beds in one room is alright if it won't lead people to . . . make bizzare assumptions."

"Assumptions that you're married?"

"Or . . . or behaving scandalously."

"Scandalously?" Miriqua says blankly.

"In a society with no possibility of illegitimacy, they would never have invented the concept."

"Never mind," says Watson, still looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"...okay. So one room is all right?"

"Yes."

She gets them one room with two beds, and gets herself the room across the hall.

They've had a long day, arguably two long days. They pass out for several hours.

Whenever they may choose to wake up, Miriqua's up in her room with the door open, consuming a book and a breakfast.

"Good morning! If you will tell you us where obtained your food, our grasp of the vernacular should be sufficient to go find some of our own."

"You can get it downstairs from the innkeeper!"