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revert to the owner at the end of the twenty year contract.
According to the logs that had accompanied the mass of metal that had once
been a scout, the official name of the craft had been the Farflung.
While the hull contained the fragments of drives, generators for screens and
gravfields, all the communications gear and the minimal weaponry associated
with scouts had been removed before the auction. That was fine with him, since
weaponry mounted for use was illegal and since he intended to use the
equivalent of equipment associated with more impressive craft.
He laughed once as he turned back toward the graving cradle. The power
consumption from what he planned for the main drives and screens would really
have stunned the salvage operator.
As she said, it would take time.
But time . . . that he still had.
Time while the devilkids struggled half a sector away at the mechanically
impossible task of restoring Old Earth. Time while Eye and Service
headquarters watched him and wondered how soon he would begin to age and die.
Time while the ghosts of Caroljoy and Martin nibbled at the warmth provided by
Allison and Corson.
Yes. He had time. For now.
XXI
HIS STEPS WERE measured as he came through the stone archway. His black boots,
not quite polished to the sheen expected of the lmperial Marine he was not,
barely sounded on the stone steps of the
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"Good evening, Commander." Ramieres nodded at the senior officer respectfully,
but did not leave the cooktop.
Gerswin sniffed lightly, appreciating the delicate odor of the scampig.
"Evening, Ramieres. Smells good. As usual."
"Thank you, Commander. I do my best."
The commander smiled. The rating was the best Service cook he had run across
in his entire career, and better than a score of the so-called chefs whose
dishes he had sampled over the years.
He knew he would miss Ramieres when the younger man finished his tour in less
than three months.
"How long before dinner's ready?"
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"For the best results, I'd rather not hold it more than another thirty
minutes, ser."
"Try to make it before that. See how the upstairs crew is doing."
Ramieres did not comment, instead merely nodded before returning his full
attention to the range of' dishes and ingredients before him.
Gerswin swung out of the huge kitchen through the formal pantry and took the
wide steps of the grand staircase two at a time.
From the faint scent of perfume to the additional humidity in the upstairs
hall, he could tell that Allison had just gotten out of the antique fresher
that resembled a shower more than a cleaner.
She was sitting in the rocking chair another antique that he had found and
refinished for her with Corson at her breast. His sort's eyes widened at the
sound of the door and his footsteps, but the three month old did not stop his
suckling.
Allison wore a soft purple robe that complimented her fair complexion and
blonde hair.
"Interrupted your dressing?"
She nodded with a faint smile. "I always dress for dinner like this."
Grinning back at her, he sat on the side of the bed next to the chair.
"Are you going to stay home tonight? Or go out and play with your new toy?"
Her voice was gentle.
He forced the grin to stay in place. "Thought I'd spend the time with you and
Corson."
"That would be nice. He's had a late nap, and I think that he will have to
have dinner with us."
"He about done?"
"In a minute. He's like you. There's not much in between. When he's hungry,
he's hungry.
And when he's not, he's ready to tackle the world." Allison brushed a strand
of long hair back over her left ear.
Since she was no longer on high-acceleration duty, she had let her hair grow
far longer than when they had met, during the refit of the Dybyykk.
He watched as her eyes studied the greedy man-child as he fed.
"Hungry?"
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"I am. He eats so much that I can eat just about anything."
"Corson?" he asked quietly.
She laughed a soft laugh. "Why ask? You know he's always hungry, the greedy
little pig."
She paused. "Like his father."
Gerswin quirked his lips.
Abruptly the baby's mouth left his mother's nipple. He turned his head and
eyes toward
Gerswin.
"See? When he's done, he's done."
The mother, who had been and remained an I.S.S. pilot, swung her son onto her
shoulder and began to pat his back gently.
"I'll do that. You get dressed."
"You don't want me dining in my finery here?"
"You'd shock Ramieres."
"I doubt that. The fact that you might let me appear in anything this
revealing might shock him."
Gerswin leaned forward and extended his arms.
In turn, edging forward from the rocking chair, Allison eased Corson into his
father's arms.
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The commander stood and inched the boy baby farther up onto his left shoulder,
holding him in place with his left hand and patting his back with his right
hand.
A gentle "brrrp" rewarded his efforts.
"You do that so easily. It amazes me that he's your first."
Gerswin did not make the correction. He had never held Martin, had never even
known Martin had existed until well after his first son's death. And perhaps
he had had other sons or daughters that was not impossible, although he did
not know of any.
His lips tightened, and he was glad he was looking out the win-dow, facing
away from
Allison.
How would he know? Much as he attracted women, he also drove them away. How
would Allison feel two months, two years from now?
Gerswin repressed a shiver. She had already picked up that he had intended to
work on the old scout after dinner. Now . . . how could he?
She had obviously come back to the quarters after a full day in the operations
office, determined to look good for him and to spend the time with both Corson
and him. So how could he leave?
He forced his face to relax as he turned toward the dressing area where
Allison was pulling on a long and decidedly nonuniform low-cut gown.
He could feel Corson's fingers digging into his shoulder, could feel the small
body's heat against his, and the smoothness of his son's skin as he bent his
head to let his cheek rest against Corson's.
Gerswin let the sigh come out gently, silently enough that Allison would not
hear.
"How do I look?"
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"Exquisite."
She frowned. "You make me sound like a piece of rare porcelain."
"Not what I had in mind." He grinned, not having to force the expression as
much as he feared.
"I know what you had in mind. But I'm hungry, and Corson won't be sleepy until
after dinner. Well after dinner."
"Then we shouldn't keep Ramieres waiting."
"No. Not tonight, at least."
Gerswin ignored the hint of bitterness and reached out to brush his fingertips
across
Allison's cheek.
She grasped them, pressed them to her lips, and smiled her soft smile.
"Shall we go, Commander dear?"
He nodded, and the three of them made their way down the grand staircase
toward the dining room, which would dwarf them.
XXII
LYR TABBED THE portal. Halfway into the foundation office, she realized that
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