"No germanium at all, huh?"

"Yeah, but who uses it any more? So what's been happening at Maison d'Armand, huh?"

"She's not back yet. But as soon as she is, we'll declare party."

"I'll look forward to it. Hey, Carolita!" Estivan waved his daughter over. Carolita looked up from a box of crystals she was fingering, saw Dar, and broke into a smile. "Hi, Dar!" She came over to catch his hand in a warm clasp. "Getting lonely yet?"

"Fess doesn't let me go out alone, Carol," Dar answered, grinning. "Shopping for ornaments, or raw materials?"

Carol shrugged. "Depends on how pretty they are. Need any help on your organic chem?"

"No, but I wish I did."

"Gallant, very gallant—though untrue. Be off with you, though—I know you want to look over the merchandise. You might take a look at the minerals, too."

"Yeah, I gotta at least pretend I'm doing business. Drink after the auction?"

"Suits. Go get ready to be an adversary, now."

Dar turned away, warmed by camaraderie, but also relieved. Carol was right—she wasn't exactly pretty. Not quite ugly, but who was he to talk?

Lona's husband. Whether it was official or not, all the neighbor women knew it, and respected her claim—which made it easier for Dar, since he could enjoy their friendship without worrying about avoiding overtures.

He threaded through the throng, exchanging handshakes and shop talk, and occasional hugs with the ladies, when he couldn't avoid it.

"Dar-ling!" Bridget threw her arms around his neck and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "What have you been doing with yourself all these weeks?"

"Working, eating, and sleeping, Bridget." Dar pecked at her cheek, reflecting that the daughter of the Mulhearns, at least, didn't patronize him.

No, she was very forthrightly the take-charge type. "You call that a kiss? Here, let me show you how…"

"Oh, come on! I get so tired of lessons!"

"You ought to consider a change of curriculum." Bridget let her eyelids droop, producing the effect of an amorous dugong.

"Yeah, but what if my prof caught me studying from someone else's notes? You wouldn't want me to get expelled, would you?"

The reference to Lona, oblique though it was, reminded Bridget of her manners. She edged away, still smiling—but idling down from flirt to friend. "Of course not; she's got a mean left hook. How about a bite? A snack, I mean," Bridget actually blushed. "My lord! Once you start this kind of thing, it's hard to stop, isn't it?"

"So I'm told. Just think clean, Bridget."

"Yeah, but what happens if I hear dirty?" They sailed into the restaurant area, and she sat as Dar tucked her chair in, then took the one next to her—better a wolf who'd been muzzled, then one who'd just been let out of her cage. "May I order for you?"

"No, thanks—I can enter a code for myself." Bridget pressed in the sequence for coffee and local Danish, then sat back to sip. "How is your factory running?"

And they were off into shoptalk, safe and chummy—which was just as well because, regardless of how Bridget didn't look, Dar's hormones had given him a rush when she had. Weeks of celibate living had their effect—though the sight of the ladies of the community helped quell it. They ranged in appearance from plain to ugly, with only the occasional woman who was mildly pretty. Dar wondered why Maxima attracted so few beauties. Maybe the stunning ones preferred to stay on Terra, where the standard of living was higher, and the morals were lower? Of course, Lona hadn't—but she had spent half her life in space, hopping from planet to planet with her grandfather, before she'd ever heard of Maxima; and even she took off for Terra every chance she could get, leaving him at the mercy of his neighbors' wives and daughters.

Nothing but wives and daughters, of course—the young men who had come to Maxima to build robots and fortunes still outnumbered the women 2.36 to 1. Any single woman who showed up to join the colony was married within a year, plain or not, usually after a hectic courtship that resembled a bidding war. Of course, there were one or two who chose to stay single, like Myrtle—but they were very few. Looks or no looks, Maxima was a marriage mart.

Of course, Dar had to admit he was biased. To him, any woman would look plain, compared to Lona.

He found himself wondering if the other husbands could possibly feel the same way about their wives.

"Two therms!"

"Two and five kwahers!"

"Two and ten!" Msimangu turned to glare at Dar. "Blast you, d'Armand! You're running the price up!"

"No, I'm buying it! Two and twelve!"

"Two and twelve?" the miner cried. "Do I hear two and fifteen?" He glanced at Msimangu.

"Not from me." The white-haired black man turned away in disgust. "I'm not that low. I'll wait for the next shipment."

"Two and fourteen?" the miner called. "Two and thirteen. I have two and twelve; who'll give me two and thirteen?"

There were several mutters, but no one called out.

"Going once! Going twice! Sold!" The miner whacked the gavel on the board. "Three kilograms of silicon to the young man in the pin-striped coverall, at two therms, twelve kwahers per!"

Msimangu shouldered through the crowd to shake a finger under Dar's nose. "Do not bid against me again, young d'Armand! I can ruin you!"

Dar lifted his chin—he had to; the old black man was six inches taller than he—and gave back glare for glare. "Would you dock us a fair chance to get started, Omar? We're not thick in the wallet; we have to pick up small lots when we can."

"Perhaps, but the gold is not small!"

"No, but it's vital."

"Then deal in retail! If a beginner like you seeks to buy gold wholesale, he will break himself!"

"One hundred fifteen kilograms of fine gold!" the miner called. "What am I bid?"

A storm of calls answered him. He sorted them out, the price leapfrogging. "Five thousand therms… six thousand… eight thousand… ten…"

"Twelve thousand therms!" Msimangu called out. "Twelve thousand therms per kilo!"

"Thirteen!" Laurentian answered, and "Fourteen!" Mulhearn called from across the room. "Fifteen!" Ngoya called. "Sixteen!" Bolwheel shouted.

"Seventeen!" Msimangu bellowed. "Seventeen therms per kilo!"

The small bidders had dropped out; now the plutocrats were getting down to serious competition. It was exciting in its way, but watching his neighbors fight made Dar nervous. He edged away toward the rim of the crowd, pulling out Lona's list and checking through it. All the items were crossed off, except for the silicon; he drew a line through that and turned away, tucking the list back for future reference. He patted the pocket where the trio of rubies lay. He really shouldn't have spent the money, but Lona would love them, if he could cut, polish, and mount them properly. Besides, they'd be worth ten times the amount he'd paid, back on Terra.

"Twenty-two and nine going once—twenty-two and nine going twice—SOLD! To the tall black gent with the white hair!"

Msimangu whooped victory, and his fellow millionaires turned away, reviling his ancestry and personal habits. Msimangu ignored them, laughing as he turned away, shouldering through his congratulating fellows. "I won the big one, at least! Come, come drink with me!"

A few accepted, though most withdrew to take their turns at the retail booth. Still laughing, Msimangu caught up with Dar at the door to the restaurant. "Come drink with us, young d'Armand! Let us rejoice, let us make a celebration!"

Dar looked up with a slow smile. "Don't mind if I do, Omar."

"Fine, fine! Then come with us!" And Msimangu plunged into the public bar.

Dar sat down at table with a half-dozen solid citizens. He noticed that Mulhearn and Bolwheel had joined the crew, and was amazed once again that people who could rage and revile one another in the bidding, could relax and talk together without the slightest rancor only five minutes later. Everyone seemed to understand that business might be business, but friendship was more important.