“Ready for another?”

“No.” I looked at my watch. Early yet. “I suppose. A small one.”

“Sure.” He grinned without mirth and handed me the glass he’d already brought. A comedian. He should have been on the holovid.

About halfway through the second drink I thought I’d feel better if I closed my eyes, and that was easier to do when my head was resting on the table. I stayed that way, drifting in and out of a doze, while the bar filled and the noise grew louder.

“Detour! Off to Detour for seven weeks, then another week’s leave.” A woman’s voice. Ms. Edwards, our gunner’s mate.

“You joes should work the Hope Nation system. You’re never more than five weeks from port. One easy run after another.” My eyes were open now but my head stayed on the table. I listened, drifting.

“Nah, who wants a milk run? You gotta go deep to get action.” Guffaws.

“Sure, joeygirl.” The voice was mocking. “It’d be great, stuck interstellar with a tyrant for a captain and only fourteen months to go!”

“Hey, don’t slam our Captain, buster!”

“Hah. I hear he’ll be out of diapers soon!”

“Listen, grode, I’d rather sail with Captain Kid that one of your system sissies who’d wet his pants if he couldn’t see a sun.” I blinked, focused on the empty glass.

“Captain KID? You spank him if he makes a mistake?” I felt my ears flame.

“Hey, Seafort’s all right! Sure, Captain Kid gets a wild hair up his ass sometimes--what officer don’t? But that joey knows what he’s doing. He took the puter apart singlehanded, ‘cause he knew she was planning to kill us. If he hadn’ta found her glitches we’d be half outta the galaxy heading for Andromeda.”

Another voice joined in. “I’ll match him mean for mean with any Captain in the fleet. Two joes we had, they beat up on the CPO. They were real garbage, druggies and worse, but always got away with it. He hanged them himself without batting an eye. And you know about Miningcamp, where they tried to seize our ship?”

Yes, tell them about my folly at Miningcamp. Sickened, I closed my eyes.

“Those scum shot their way aboard, the Captain held them off with a laser in each hand ‘til help came. When it was over he marched one of them right out the airlock and made him breathe space, and laughed all the way back to the bridge! He’s tough, Captain Kid is. You don’t mess with him. I’d rather be on a ship with him than with some old fart can’t find his way to the head!”

For some reason I was feeling better. Time to go, before they found me spying on them. Cautiously, I raised my head.

I was dizzy but functioning. I gathered my jacket, left a few unibucks on the table, and moved as quietly as I could to the door. Nobody saw me. I slipped outside, greedily sucking in the fresh air.

“God, it’s the Captain!” Two of Hibernia’sratings saluted hurriedly. I fumbled a return salute and kept moving, working at making my unsteady legs cooperate. I lugged my duffel toward the shuttleport, feeling a bit more steady with each step. By the terminal 1 was nearly myself again. I made for the rental agency at the far end.

“Hey, Captain, wait up!” I turned. Derek Carr in civilian garb, waved from the far end of the building. He ran to catch up. He stopped, his face flushed with healthy exertion. “Sir, 1, uh--” All at once, he looked abashed.

Impatient, I asked, “What, Derek?”

“Your invitation. Is it too late to accept?”

I studied his face, unsure of my answer.

He stared at the pavement. “Sorry about the way I spoke to you yesterday. I’m still immature sometimes. I’d enjoy touring with you, sir, if you’ll have me.” With an effort, he raised his head and looked me in the eye.

My smile was bleak. “What changed your mind, Derek?”

“I was steamed over your sending me to the Chief, even though I really was asking for it that day. Then I remembered two things: 1 promised you I could take anything, and you were the only person who was kind to me when I really needed it.” His face lit in a smile. “That was the most important thing anyone’s ever done for me. So holding a grudge is pretty stupid. I’m sorry, sir.”

I smiled back, meaning it this time. “What about your trip to your plantation?”

“I thought, sir, perhaps you’d like to come with me.” His smile vanished. “Though I’m not sure we’d be welcome.

My father told me that the manager, he... “He shrugged.

“Anyway, we could go to the mountains afterward.”

I debated, my melancholy lifting. His company would be more pleasant than my own. “Sounds great. I’ll rent a car.”

“I already have one, sir. I got it yesterday.” He blushed.

“I was sort of waiting until you came down.”

“Right.” I followed him to his electricar, a tiny threewheeler with permabatteries that could power the vehicle for months. I thought fast. “Derek, while we’re groundside, I want you to call me Mr. Seafort, as if I were first middy.

And you don’t have to say ‘sir’ all the time. Just make sure you switch back when we go aboard again.”

“Aye aye, si--I mean, thank you, Mr. Seafort.” We climbed in. I took off my jacket and tie and stowed my duffel in the back seat. “I’ve got a tent and supplies in the trunk,”

he said. “If you’re ready, I am. It’s a two-day drive.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”

A couple of hours out of Centraltown we came upon the Hope Nation I’d first expected. The three-lane road gave way to two lanes and then one and a half. Instead of pavement, only gravel. Homes were few and far between. Occasionally a cargo hauler lumbered toward Centraltown. We passed the time chatting and joking, sharing a merry mood.

Our route paralleled the seacoast a few miles inland. Occasionally, from a high point, we caught a glimpse of the shimmering ocean; more often our path cut through a dense jungle of viny trees of unfamiliar purplish hues.

We stopped for lunch at Haulers’ Rest, a comfort station and restaurant about two hours from the edge of the plantation zone. The public showers were in an outbuilding. After, we walked past enclosures of turkeys, chickens, and pigs to the restaurant entrance. Cargo haulers were parked at random in the mud-packed parking lot.

Haulers’ Rest generated its own electricity from a small pile in the back pasture, pumped water from deep wells, and prepared most of its own food from the hoof. Wheat and corn fields provided the grains, from hybrid stock that needed no pollination. On Hope Nation, no local blights affected our terrestrial crops, and there were no insects to harass the livestock, so everything grew fast and healthy.

After a stomach-stretching meal (ham steak, corn, green beans, homemade bread, lots of milk) we waddled to the car to resume our trip.

During the afternoon we pulled aside frequently to take in the rugged view. The forest was strangely silent. No birds circled above; no animals called out their cries. Only the soft wind that rippled through the incredibly dense vegetation.

The land wasn’t fenced, but each plantation had its own identifying mark nailed to trees and posts along the road, much like the brands once put on cattle. The first we came to stretched many miles before it gave way to another.

As evening settled, rich reds dominated the sky, fading to subtle lavender. The two moons, Major and Minor, sailed serenely over scattered clouds. By now we both were tired, and I began watching for markers along the road. I said, “Let’s pick a plantation before it gets too late.”

According to the holovid guides, Hope Nation had few inns outside Centraltown, so plantations provided free food and lodging to travelers who came their way. An old tradition, now virtually obligatory. Plantation owners didn’t stint on food or shelter; they could afford it, and travelers brought outside contact that the isolated planters appreciated.

Derek drove on in silence. Then, “Mr. Seafort, I changed my mind. Let’s camp out for the night.”