Jane stopped suddenly, grabbing Hunter’s arm. “There’s another fight.”

Hunter looked. Ahead, two large men were shouting at each other in the light from a tavern doorway. A short, slender man was trying to interfere.

All three figures in the tavern doorway were silhouettes against the torchlight from inside. None of them could be seen clearly. So far, they were merely scuffling with each other, the two larger men yelling insults.

“Is the short one MC 2?” Rita asked anxiously.

“He’s roughly the right size,” Steve said in a low voice, uncertainly. “Hunter, what do you think? What do you want us to do?”

Striding forward quickly, Hunter turned up all his senses. The figure trying to break up the fight was not speaking, but just pushing between the two men, so Hunter couldn’t judge his voice. He was calling MC 2 on his internal radio link, but MC 1 had shut down his receiver to avoid receiving messages under the Second Law; MC 2 would probably do the same.

“We have to stop him and see,” Hunter decided. “I will go first. If you can help, act on your own, but don’t take any risks unnecessarily.” He jogged forward.

Suddenly the two shouting men lunged at each other, grappling for a moment and trying to gain some advantage. The smaller figure had gotten caught between them. Hunter broke into a run.

“Stop!” Hunter shouted in a deep, authoritative voice as he drew closer. “Stop!” None of the three struggling fighters seemed to hear him.

Hunter reached the three and grabbed an arm of the two larger men in each hand. Neither was as tall as Hunter. He pulled them apart and shoved, pushing them off balance. In the same moment, the smaller man ducked under one of Hunter’s outstretched arms and backed away.

“Hey! What’s it to you?” One of the big men glared at Hunter in surprise.

The other, without a word, swung a fist toward Hunter. With his fast reflexes, he dodged it with an easy, slight movement, then pushed both men away from him again. He was just about to speak, hoping to discourage them from further resistance, when he heard angry voices and the sound of footsteps running toward him from the tavern doorway.

Hunter turned and found a crowd of drunken pirates running toward him, yelling. He knew he could not stop them without a very hard collision, which might hurt them. So when the first four men threw themselves at him, he allowed himself to be tackled and taken down.

A moment later, however, Hunter gathered his legs under him and, with a wad of buccaneers’ clothes in each hand, stood up. The others simply fell off him; the two flailed wildly in his grip. Hunter dropped them, judging that a fall to the street would not do them any harm. Then he stepped back, warily looking around to defend himself again.

The buccaneers were muttering among themselves, but none wanted to go after Hunter alone.

“Come on, Hunter,” Steve called from behind him. “This guy isn’t MC 2, after all.”

Hunter stepped backward toward Steve’s voice, eager to avoid any further chance of harming these violent humans. Likewise, they remained where they were on the ground, eyeing him in drunken surprise. None of them spoke as Hunter joined the rest of the team.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Rita. “Hunter, you bring up the rear and see if they follow us.”

The slender buccaneer whom Hunter had rescued stayed with them as they jogged down the waterfront quickly, slipping through the crowd. Hunter focused both his vision and his hearing on the men they had left behind, but he detected no sign of pursuit. Instead, muttering to each other angrily, they just returned to the tavern.

“We have no pursuit,” Hunter announced. “We can walk if you prefer.”

“You sure?” Steve asked, but he slowed to a walk, as did the others. He looked back over his shoulder. “I guess pirates could be pretty sneaky.”

“They went back inside,” Hunter assured him. “Their motivation for another fight was lower than their motivation for more drinking.”

“That’s no surprise to me, mate,” said their new companion, in a strong British accent. “We merely had a difference of opinion about whose turn it was to pay for the round of drinks. Nothing to get your throat slashed for, hey?”

Hunter studied him. He was a young man with sun-bleached blond hair and a quick smile. Now that he was out of the shadows and walking normally, Hunter could see that he was almost as slender as MC 2, but really much taller. His clothes were similar to those of Hunter and Steve, knee breeches and a loose white shirt with flowing sleeves for freedom of movement. A belt and scabbard with a rapier in it completed the man’s attire.

“I am Roland Burke.” He turned to Rita. “And, sweet lady, you are?…”

“Rita,” she said, startled by the way he had addressed her.

Hunter introduced the rest of them.

“I’m pleased to meet you all,” said Roland. “Hunter, I thank you for your assistance. My friends can be short-tempered when the talk turns to hard coin.”

“Your opponents in the fight were your friends?” Hunter was surprised.

“Ah, well, does any buccaneer have true friends?” Roland shrugged.

Steve, saying nothing, was watching Roland with curiosity. Rita was staring at him in open fascination. Roland seemed oblivious to their interest, waving to an acquaintance in the crowd.

Hunter turned to Jane. “Is this important?” Hunter asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“This puzzles me,” said Hunter. “Friends brawling with each other does not fit my data on human behavior. As a roboticist, please inform me.”

“Yes, this is important.” Jane smiled indulgently. “And it’s reliable, at least in some circles and cultural milieus. Friendship is a complex idea. Store your new data. I suspect that the buccaneers are going to show you a lot of new human behavior before we go home.”

Hunter nodded.

“Well, Hunter?” Steve looked up at him. “Aren’t we going to keep looking for you-know-who?”

“Yes, of course. Let us walk.”

Rita could hardly believe that she was actually talking to a real buccaneer. She had always loved reading about the buccaneers when she had been young. As an adult, she had chosen to make a career out of studying the history of the seventeenth century Caribbean. Until Roland had spoken to her, however, everyone had still seemed unreal. Talking to him had made her realize that she was truly in the past

As Hunter led the way down the waterfront, with Steve and Jane behind him, Rita and Roland came last.

“You have some pretty rough friends,” she said, jerking her thumb back toward the tavern.

“Eh? Oh, them!” Roland laughed. “No worse than I am, I fear.”

“Oh?” Rita laughed too, amused at his tone. “Have you been in Port Royal long?”

“Oh, coming and going, I’ve been here a few years,” he said, waving his hand vaguely.

“You mean sailing in and out of port?”

“Aye.”

“Searching for Spanish ships?”

“Privateering, Rita.” He caught her eye and grinned. That expression was almost a dare.

“Always?” She raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Well…sometimes the governor’s commission can run out, you know, or a treaty will be signed across the sea in London.” He shrugged helplessly, still smiling. “What can a poor buccaneer do about that?”

“Not a thing, I’m sure.” Rita laughed, telling herself that getting to know a real buccaneer would advance her professional knowledge.

“Aye, sweet lady, not a single thing.” He winked and then threw his head back and laughed.

“You ever kill anyone?” She nodded toward the rapier swinging in its scabbard at his side.

“I’m still walking and talking, and not every man I’ve met on the high seas can say that.”

That might have sounded grim, except for his lighthearted tone. Rita didn’t think he was bragging as much as he was laughing at himself. She wondered if he was even better with the sword than he had admitted.