"When I was twenty-six years old," he said to nobody in particular, "the natives of Huy Brasil took exception to some of my policies. They attacked me in the desert east of Beemble Town. I beat them into town, doubled through some alleys, and was back in the desert heading for my shuttle. I outran them all. Sometimes I do miss being young."

"Amen," Cziller said.

"I had to outrun an earthquake once," Buckman said. "I got downstairs and out of the observatory before it shook down on me. I think I could still do it. I run every day." He stopped walking. "Roomy. I knew you were rich, Bury."

Sinbad's lounge was big. Two recessed rails ran down the center, chairs and couches on either side. "Please be seated, and consider this your home," Bury said. "Hazel will take your drink orders."

Bury tended to employ women of great beauty. It wasn't his first priority, but it could help a business transaction to run more smoothly. Mercer was looking at Hazel when he said, "Bury, I like your ship."

"Thank you. It's roomier than it seems. I can attach a pod the size of this lounge and open up that entire oval area in the floor, which is the hull side, of course. The cabins don't become any roomier, but you don't have to spend all your time in them."

Mercer laughed. "I'm surprised you bother with hotels."

"Not always our choice," Renner said. "Customs isn't always as efficient as they were today."

"Ah. Hazel, what do you suggest?"

"We have a good stock of wines, my Lord."

Mercer smiled broadly. "Just what I've missed on Sparta. Dry sherry?"

"Me, too," Cziller said. "Kevin, do you always live like this? I haven't had a decent sherry in five years." He stretched. "Got good legs on this ship?"

"Not bad," Renner said. "She's no battle cruiser, but we can pull a full gee for a long way. The drop tank fits behind the add-on cabin, and it almost doubles our delta-vee."

"And of course you won't have a Langston Field generator in Sparta system," Cziller prompted.

"The Navy approves licenses for private ownership of Field generators sometimes," Renner said. "Outside the Capital. One of Bury's engineering ships will meet us."

"As well," Bury said smoothly. "We were running low on Sumatra Lintong coffee."

Bury watched Mercer and thought he detected envy. He asked, "Will you be leaving for New Caledonia soon, my Lord?"

"There's a Hamilton Lines passenger ship in three weeks," Mercer said. "Or I can go with the Navy relief squadron next month. Haven't quite decided."

Bury nodded in satisfaction.

At point six gee, food stayed on the plates, wine stayed in the glasses.

Mercer had had an ulcer in 3037 and a recurrence in 3039. Modern medicine could make those go away, but nothing could cure a high-pressure lifestyle. And Bury was old, and so was Buckman. For them Sinbad's chef had prepared a mild chicken curry.

Cziller had asked for sea grendel, an air-breathing Spartan seabeast on the endangered species list. Sea grendels were being raised in a small bay on Serpens. They were for sale, but the price was high. Renner got it, too. He didn't have to order. His tastes were known; he would eat anything he couldn't pronounce.

"Good," he said. "Really good. Were they hunted to extinction?"

Cziller finished chewing and put his fork down with a broad smile. "Haven't had that since we were invited to the Palace. No, it wasn't overharvesting. The orcas have learned to hunt sea grendel, but that's not it either. Mostly, there's a lot of ocean down there and not much land. The last passing of Menalaus was too close, the ocean got too warm for them, the West Sea thermal plant was stirring up the water, the fish they were eating went into a decline, and suddenly sea grendels were very scarce. Might have been worse but old Baron Chalmondsley got interested in them. Now the University's on top of the problem. Hey, Kevin, what did you eat on Mote Prime?"

"Mostly ship stores, and protocarb milk, but the Moties found us a few things. There was an interesting melon. We didn't bring anything back, of course," Renner set his fork down. "Anything. My Lord, we could have covered Lenin's hull with souvenirs. What would you have brought back, Bury?"

I'll put that back in your teeth, Kevin. "I thought of taking Motie Watchmakers. I thought they would make wonderful pets. That was before they destroyed His Majesty's battle cruiser MacArthur. After that I tried to persuade the Admiral to cremate everything."

"My files say you made a fair profit from the superconductors and the filters," Mercer said.

"I would have vaporized them."

Renner asked, "What would you have brought back, Jacob?"

"Information," the astronomer said brusquely. "That, the Admiral didn't prohibit."

Cziller nodded. "Buckman's Protostar. Kevin, did you get anything named after you?"

"Nope."

"What would you have brought back?"

"Artwork. I wanted the Time Machine sculpture long before we knew what those demons were. I wanted a certain painting... the one my Fyunch(click) called the Message Bearer. Another thing we should have noticed. There's a Runner subspecies, and they're still kept around. When the cycles turn and all the Moties' sophisticated communications collapse, there are still the Message Bearers."

"You said information, Dr. Buckman," Mercer said. "I understand the Moties were not permitted to bring any sophisticated record storage devices, but surely you collected your own."

"What I could," Buckman said.

"Of course the Moties themselves are pretty sophisticated record storage devices," Renner said.

"One reason they haven't developed information technology much," Buckman said. "Things fall apart so often."

"More wine, my Lord?" Bury asked, and signaled Hazel to open another bottle.

He could have had fresh fruit shipped up; hut Bury wanted to show off Sinbad's kitchen. Dessert was an array of cakes served with fresh espresso. Bury watched Mercer with satisfaction. A Navy wardroom offered nothing like this. The best accommodations on a Hamilton Lines passenger ship could only rival Sinbad, and the liner made calls on four planets before reaching New Caledonia.

"Of course if this young pup Arnoff has his way, it'll be called Arnoff's Protostar," Buckman said.

Renner laughed. "What? Hey, it was your discovery. I mean, Jock might argue they ought to call it Jock's Protostar, but as far as humans go-"

Mercer said, "Excuse me? I've studied the Mote expedition records, but I must have missed that one."

"Not surprising," Renner said. "Look, from Mote system you get a good look deep into the Coal Sack. While the rest of us were dealing with the sudden fact of an intelligent species older than we are, Dr. Buckman found a curdling in the Coal Sack. He was able to show that it's a protostar. It's a thickening of the interstellar gas that's about to collapse under its own weight. A new sun."

"Jacob, what is this?" Bury asked.

"Oh, this young idiot believes I got it all wrong, that the protostar will ignite any day now."

"But surely you would have known," Bury protested. "You had MacArthur's instruments for observation."

"Some of the data were lost when we abandoned ship," Buckman reminded him.

"Only they weren't."

One of the reasons Bury liked Buckman was that their interests were so different. He was a man Bury couldn't use. Bury could relax when Buckman was around.

In fact, Bury was paying more attention to Mercer. But he noticed how Renner's hands suddenly gripped the table's edge. Renner said, "What?"

"Some of the observation files were beamed to Lenin," Buckman said. "There were Watchmakers all through MacArthur then, and the information came all in one dump. About a year ago they were doing upgrades on Lenin and the files turned up." Buckman shrugged. "Nothing I thought was new, but this fellow Arnoff thinks he's got enough for a new theory."