He was behind his desk filling out what looked like UN Provisional Government papers—she could see the blue logo at the top of the page. He inked his signature a final time and looked up. "Lise!"

His grin was genuine and disarming. No recrimination, no why-didn't-you-return-my-calls. She said, "Uh, are you busy?"

"Do I look busy?"

"Looks like you have work to do, anyhow." She was fairly certain he would be willing to put aside anything nonessential for a chance to see her: a chance she hadn't offered him in a long time. He came around the desk and hugged her, chastely but sincerely. She was briefly flustered by the smell of him in close proximity. Turk was thirty-five years old, eight years older than Lise, and a foot taller. She tried not to let that be intimidating. "Paperwork," he said. "Give me an excuse to ignore it. Please."

"Well," she said.

"At least tell me if it's business or pleasure."

"Business."

He nodded. "Okay. Sure. Name a destination."

"No, I mean— my business, not your business. There's something I'd like to talk to you about, if you're willing. Maybe over dinner? My treat?"

"I'd be happy to go to dinner, but it's on me. I can't imagine how I can help you write your book."

She was pleased that he remembered what she had told him about her book. Even though there was no book. An aircraft taxied up to a hangar some yards away and the noise came through the thin walls of Turk's office as if through an open door. Lise looked at the ceramic cup on Turk's desk and saw the oily surface of what must have been hours-old coffee break into concentric ripples. When the roar faded she said, "Actually you can help a lot, especially if we can go somewhere quieter…"

"Sure thing. I'll leave my keys with Paul."

"Just like that?" She never ceased to marvel at the way people on the frontier did business. "You're not afraid of missing a customer?"

"Customer can leave a message. I'll get back sooner or later. Anyhow, it's been slow this week. You came at the right time. What do you say to Harley's?"

Harley's was one of the more upscale American-style restaurants in the Port. "You can't afford Harley's."

"Business expense. I have a question for you, come to think of it. Call it quid pro quo."

Whatever that meant. All she could say was, "Okay." Dinner at Harley's was both more and less than she had expected. She had driven out to Arundjis on the assumption that a personal appearance would be more meaningful than a phone call, after the time that had elapsed since their last conversation. A sort of unspoken apology. But if he resented the gap in their relationship (and it wasn't even a "relationship"