Arcturus nodded respectfully to the soldiers, their uniform insignias marking them as privates and low-ranked NCOs. One of the soldiers, a young boy who looked barely old enough to be in uniform, stood and saluted Arcturus as he passed.

"Evening, Lieutenant. Evening, miss," said the boy, and Arcturus could smell the alcohol on his breath from several feet away.

"Evening, soldier," replied Arcturus, returning the salute and stopping beside the bar. None of these men would be resoced, and thus iy would be bad form not to pass a few words with them, though it wouldn't do to be overly familiar with them.

"What's your name, son?" he asked.

"Private Shaw, sir, 57th Marine Combat Engineers, sir."

"Are you men behaving yourselves?" asked Arcturus with a broad smile. "Upholding the fine tradition of the Corps?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" cried the soldiers, raising their drinks.

"Good work, men," said Arcturus. "Carry on. And behave yourselves."

"Absolutely, sir," said Private Shaw. "Don't you worry about us, sir."

"It isn't you I'm worried about," said Arcturus. "It's the local women I'm thinking of."

The soldiers laughed and Arcturus saluted once more before turning away and continuing onward with Juliana. The noise of the soldiers swelled as Juliana squeezed his arm.

"You look very smart in your uniform," said Juliana. "It suits you."

Arcturus smiled. He did look good in uniform. Two years of military service had put meat on his bones and muscle on his limbs. His features had hardened, and he carried himself with a confidence he'd certainly possessed as a young man, but which he now wore like a second skin.

"Thank you, Juliana. I've already told you that you look beautiful tonight, but you can never compliment a lady too much, can you?"

"Certainly not," agreed Juliana. "It's been two years since I've seen you, Arcturus, and I wanted to make an impression."

"You certainly succeeded," said Arcturus, looking around him. "Certainly every man with a pulse seems to think so."

She smiled and said. "Well, if I'm turning heads, I'm not the only one. You're getting your fair share of attention too, you know."

Arcturus had noticed that he was attracting smiles from some of the women—and even a few men—promenading the boulevard, but had modestly chosen not to mention it. Some were plainly lustful, but most were simply nods of respect for his service in the military.

"Well, they do say that women love a man in uniform."

"It's true," said Juliana in a playfully meek-sounding voice. "We are a weak species and are easily undone by the subtle wiles of men."

If only you knew, thought Arcturus.

The restaurant itself was a curious mix of fringe world kitsch and core world chic, and Arcturus couldn't make up his mind whether he loathed it or thought it charming. Juliana made the decision for him when she laughed at the sight of it and clapped her hands, declaring it wonderfully "authentic."

The floor was wooden, scuffed and discolored from the tread of thousands of diners, and the air was smoky with rich, homely smells. Perhaps a hundred people filled the restaurant and the animated buzz of conversation provided a pleasing backdrop.

They were seated without fuss in a cozy booth screened from the tables on either side by wooden dividers pierced by stained glass panels. The seats were comfortable, and they ordered their food from a pretty waitress who seemed genuinely pleased to serve them.

They made small talk for a while, Juliana regaling him with tales of her final year at the Umoja Institute and her new life as a budding lawyer. She had begun working as a paralegal with a firm that specialized in stellar shipping laws, and she hoped to gain her full qualifications within a couple of years at most.

Both Juliana and her father were still making regular trips to Korhal to see Arcturus's father, but, sensing that such a topic would not be conducive to an enjoyable evening, she wisely kept her talk of Korhal light.

In turn, Arcturus spoke to her of his life in the Marines, telling her of his tour on Pridewater and the battle of Turanga Canyon, though he spared her the goriest details and omitted his lack of empathy at the deaths he'd caused.

Some things weren't meant for the dinner table.

The food arrived promptly and Arcturus was mildly surprised to find that it was excellent. He had ordered a dish of andouille sausage and shrimp with spicy mustard sauce, while Juliana had decided upon a creamy polenta with a mushroom and sausage ragout. They shared mouthfuls of each other's dinner and drank wine poured from a carafe of translucent blue glass.

As they ate, they flirted outrageously, Arcturus blending just the right amount of compliments and self-deprecating humor to keep Juliana smiling, and she frequently reaching over the table to take his hand or brush his arm.

The conversation flowed naturally and effortlessly, and without even realizing it Arcturus found that he was genuinely enjoying himself.

Juliana took a drink of wine and said. "So do you like being a soldier?"

The question surprised Arcturus, for it was apropos of nothing and he had been careful to keep his depiction of day-to-day life in the military as neutral as possible.

"I suppose so," he said. "I think I enjoy more aspects of it than I don't. As long as you do what you're told, it's not so bad."

"I can't picture you liking that," remarked Juliana.

"I don't have a problem with authority, per se," explained Arcturus. "I have a problem when I think the person giving me an order is an idiot. I suppose the Marine Corps is like any other organization, with good people and bad people in its hierarchy. The trouble is that in the Marine Corps the bad ones might get me killed."

"Don't say that," warned Juliana. "It's not good to tempt fate."

Arcturus chuckled dismissively. "Fate? I don't believe in fate. A person makes his own decisions and has to live with the consequences. Logic and order are what determine the shape of our lives, not fate. Anyway, now that I've seen some real combat, it won't be long before I get a promotion and move farther away from the front line."

"I told you so, didn't I?" Juliana said, laughing. "I told you that you'd be a general soon."

"Well, you said six months, but I think it might take a little longer than that."

"Pedant," pouted Juliana.

"Sorry."

"And are you learning about mine-workings? Prospecting and stuff like that?"

Arcturus shrugged. "So far only by taking them by force from other mining outfits, which seems to be the way of things on the rim territories. The Intelligence Division—an oxymoron if ever there was one—sends in a scout recon force on a given planet to find out what's being mined, who's mining it, and who they're affiliated with. Then the data-hounds scour the networks to try and find a legal loophole or a criminal record that they can use to justify sending in a force of gun-toting marines to bully the miners away."

"That's terrible," said Juliana, shaking her head. "And the Tarsonis Council wonders why Umoja won't make an alliance with them."

"It's not so bad, though. I've supervised a number of Confederate-affiliated mining outfits when they go in to take over, and I've learned a lot from that. Or at least, I've learned a lot of how not to run a working mine."

"But the Confederacy is stealing those claims," pointed out Juliana. "My father says that the Council is gelling greedier every year, that pretty soon they won't even bother coming up with spurious justifications for their thefts. He says eventually they'll just take what they want by force, and soon there won't be anyone to stop them."

"That sounds like my father talking."