Elias undid the harness with clumsy hands and nearly fell when he stood. The stop had bruised him from shoulder to hip. His left ear still heard only a dull wash. He caught himself on the machine's frame and looked around, waiting for alarms, security response, anybody with sense enough to panic at a man arriving in a smoking metal rig out of thin air.

Instead he saw movement along the garden path.

A small group approached between the trees, five or six of them, slim figures in pale light clothes that hung loose in the warm air. Men and women together, though at a glance the difference seemed less marked than he expected; they had the same ease of movement, the same fine-boned grace, the same smooth unguarded faces. They did not hurry. They did not keep back. Their talk, if they were talking, came to him in soft sounds through the ring in his ears.

He pushed off the frame and straightened, every training instinct telling him to control the first contact. Establish language. Assess threat. Find the social center of the group.

"Hello," he called. His voice came out rough. He tried again. "Can you understand me?"