It is a remarkable fact of human society that a man may stand in a crowd in a bustling market place and still feel completely alone.

I had arrived at my accommodation at Altaria City some three days earlier. I had spent the time familiarising myself with the area. I knew where to buy food, water and basic supplies. At first every stall looked the same, but soon my eyes began to pick out the idiosyncrasies of each one that allowed me to gradually form a map; the large yellow fabric tent, the bent and abandoned bicycle with the broken mirror. I knew where I was and what I was doing, and yet I was still a complete stranger to these people.

Every day I stood in front of the post office, staring up at the arrivals board, hoping to see news that her ship had arrived. Every morning the ship captains would approach me with brochures advertising safe passage to distant locations and new lives. One offered me space in his cargo hold on a run to the Imperial City.

"That's not going to work," I told him. He frowned at my accent and moved on quickly. And every morning I moved on just as fast; she still hadn't come.

I trudged home past the the security checkpoint. It was best to keep your head down there, even if you had nothing to hide. Last week a noisy traveller had had his tongue cut out for speaking to a squaddie. I slipped meekly past them and headed for the dining room of the off-worlders' embassy.

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