He hadn’t given me everything, after all.

Early the next morning, my mother and I planned my education through the next few years. I wasn’t in the mood, but it had to be done, so I put on as brave and cheerful a face as I could manage. Father and Stan had gone to an inter-BM conference on off-Mars asset control; our branch of the family had traditionally served the Majumdar BM by directing the family’s involvement in Triple finances, and Stan was following that road. I was still interested in management and political theory, even more now that I had spend a few months away from such courses. The UMS action, and my time with Charles, had sharpened my resolve.

Mother was a patient woman, too patient I thought, but I was grateful to have her sympathy now. She had never approved of political process; my grandmother had left the Moon in protest when it had reshaped its constitution, and her daughter had retained a typical Lunar sense of rugged individualism.

Both Mother and I knew what I owed to the family: that beginning in another year or so, I would become useful to the BM, or get lawbonded, transfer, and become useful to another BM. Political studies did not seem particularly useful to anybody at this time.

Still, if I wanted to study state theory and large-scale govmanagement, she would go along… after voicing a quiet, polite protest.

That took about five minutes, and I sat stolidly, hearing her through. She discussed the difficulties of politics in BM-centered economies; she told me that the best and most lasting contributions could be made within one’s own BM, or as a BM-elected representative to the Council, and even that was something of a chore and not a privilege.

She made her points, a restrained but heartfelt version of Grandmother’s Lunar cry of “Cut the politics!” and I said in reply, “It’s the only thing that really interests me, Mother. Somebody has to study the process; the BMs have to interact with each other and with the Triple. That’s just common sense.”

She leaned her head to one side and gave me what Father called her enigma look, which I had seen many times before, and never been able to describe. A loving, suffering, patiently expectant expression, I can say now after decades of thought, but that still doesn’t do it justice. This time, it might have meant, “Yes, and it’s the world’s third-oldest profession, but I wouldn’t want my daughter doing it.”

“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then let’s do it right,” she said.

We sat in the dining room, poring over prospectuses as they flitted around us in stylish picts and texts, symbols and previews of various curriculums vying to draw us in deeper. Mother sighed and shook her head. “None of these are very enticing,” she said. “All entry-level stuff.”

“A few look interesting.”

“You say you’re serious about this?”

“Yes.”

“Then Martian political theory won’t be enough. It’s small grit compared to Terrie boulders.”

“But Terrie eds are expensive — ”

“And probably biased toward Earth history and practices, God forbid,” she added. “But they’re still the best for what you seem to want.”

“I don’t want to ask for something nobody else in the family has gotten.”

“Why not?” she asked brightly, enjoying the chance to seem perverse.

“It doesn’t seem right.”

“Nobody in our branch of Majumdar has gone out for govmanagement. Finance, economics, but never system-wide politics.”

“I’m a freak,” I said.

She shook her head. “Recognizably my daughter, however. I’ll clear for it if you really want it.”

“Mother, we couldn’t afford more than a year — ”

“I’m not talking about autocourse eds,” she said. “If you aim for the stars, pick the bright ones. The least you should settle for is a Majumdar scholarship and apprenticeship.”

I hadn’t even dreamed of such a thing. “Apprenticed to whom?”

She made a wry face. “Who in our family knows the most about politics, particularly Earth politics? Your third uncle.”

“Bithras?”

“If your father and the BM pedagogues approve. I couldn’t get that for you by myself; I’m still a bit of an outsider at that level. I’m not sure your father could pull enough strings and call in enough favors. We’ve only met Bithras three times since you were born — and he’s never met you — ”

“What would I do?”

“Inter-BM affairs, and of course Triple affairs. Attend the Council meetings, I assume, and study the Charter and the business law books.”

“It would be perfect,” I mused.

“Next best thing to a real government to study. We tend to neglect that kind of management at the station level, and for that I’m thankful.”

“But I’d still need Terrie autocourses to fill out my currie.”

She smiled cagily. “Of course.” She touched my nose lightly with her finger. “But they wouldn’t go on our tab. All educational costs for apprenticeship are billed to the high family budget.”

“You’ve been giving this some thought behind my back,” I accused.

“I’ve put up with your eccentricities,” she said with a lift of her chin and stretch of her neck, “because we try to encourage independent thinking in our young folks. We hope they’ll experiment. But I honestly never thought I’d see a daughter of mine go into politics — ”

“Govmanagement,” I amended.

“For a career,” she said. “I’m put off by it, of course, and I’m also intrigued. After a few years studying the Council, what can you teach me when we argue?”

“We never argue,” I said, hugging her.

“Never,” she affirmed. “But your father thinks we do.”

I let her go and stood back. With this much resolved, I needed to solve another problem. “Mother, I’d like to ask somebody to visit Ylla. Somebody from Durrey. He needs a vacation — he’s had some pretty bad news — ”

“Charles Franklin from Klein,” my mother said.

I hadn’t mentioned him.

She smiled and gave me another enigma looL “His mother called to see if you were worthy of her son.”

My shock must have showed. “How could she?” And behind that question, How could he talk about me with his parents?

“Her only child is very important to her.”

“But we’re adults!”

“She seemed nice and she didn’t ask any leading questions. She thinks Charles is a wonderful young man, of course, and from what she tells me, I don’t disagree. I assume you think he’s wonderful. Is he?”

I sputtered, trying to express my indignation. She put a finger to my lips. “It’s traditional for us to drive you crazy,” she said. “Think of it as revenge for when you were two years old. Charles is welcome any time.”

Mars supported four million citizens and about half a million prospective citizens, a little less the population of the old United States in 1800.

Some prospective citizens were Eloi emigrating from Earth, starting fresh on Mars, where going for Ten Cubed — a life span of at least one thousand Earth years — was not just accepted, but ignored. Earth forbade life spans artificially extended much over two hundred years, forcing the Eloi to emigrate elsewhere or reverse their treatments. Mars accepted a hefty fee from Earth for taking in each and every Eloi — though it was not widely advertised.

Some immigrating to Mars were pioneers pure and simple, heading out from Earth or Moon to find a simpler and more basic existence. They must have found Mars a disappointment — we had long since spun beyond the era of foamed rock insulation and narrow tunnels between trench domes.

I met Charles at the Kowloon depot, ten kilometers from our home warrens at Ylla. As Charles took his bag from the arbeiter, I spotted Sean Dickinson in a train window. Even with less than five million humans (and perhaps three hundred legally recognized thinkers) spread out over a land area equal to Earth’s, Mars was positively cozy. You couldn’t help running into people you knew, wherever you went. Sean and I exchanged cordial nods. I pointedly embraced Charles. Sean watched us impassively as the train slid out of the depot.