“You are on Hyperion, the pilgrims' world, the world the Hegemony keeps at arm's length because some mysteries are more valuable contained than solved. The Poets' City is behind you and the Time Tomb plain is ahead, the Tombs themselves visible on the horizon in the afternoon light of Hyperion's sun, which is slightly wrong in a way that takes a few days to notice and then cannot be unnoticed. A man is waiting at the agreed point, checking something on a battered datasphere. He looks up. "Orin Dast." He pockets the datasphere. "I'll be your guide to the Tombs, which means I'll keep you alive as long as the situation permits and honest about the situation always." He pauses. "Those are the only guarantees I offer. If you were expecting more, the brochure was misleading."”

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