FY 10.187 Devlin insisted she attend the dinner. “I’m not an idiot, Catherine. The only reason I was invited was to get you to visit them.” “I don’t think that’s entirely true.” “Perhaps not,” Devlin said, with a small smile of his own. “For once, my fame is taking second place and I like that, so don’t let me down. They’ll lynch me if you don’t go, too, so put on a pretty dress—print one if you have to, the Hana has energy to spare—and let me enjoy just one night not being the focus of the room.” The problem was, Catherine couldn’t dispute his reasoning. She had been the center of attention more than once in her life and she knew how claustrophobic it became after a while. Devlin was a successful man, the sole reason the Varkan had legal rights as sentient people, which had earned him the devotion of the Varkan and the approval of humans for his peace-keeping diplomacy. He still worked tirelessly on behalf of Varkans everywhere so his fame and his popularity had soared every decade since.
