“I’ll take that chance, Lieutenant. But I keep my word and my promises. It’s good business practice. I’ll risk a restraining term. This won’t take long. I suggest you strive to consider the philosophical aspects of the situation. You’re good at that.”

The ship-captain’s palm had the seeming consistency of solid duralloy. The Lieutenant’s often violent protests for the next several minutes of measured activity were of a nature far removed from anything philosophical.

Mal sighed and looked over to where Kitten was leaning against a tree. He made an adjustment on the small communit he’d salvaged from the ruins of the waveskimmer. He’d modified it to throw off a long-range homing signal on a widely used distress frequency. It would continue to cast for about an hour before the powerful little battery would burn out.

“Will you sit down? I didn’t hit you that hard.” He smiled. That produced several minutes of withering silence. “Suit yourself. You deserved it. It’s been said, Book III Chapter 21, ‘Maturity is not a function of age.’ If you’re bent on proving otherwise . . .”

Kitten looked down at her feet. She’d been scratching abstracts in the still-damp island soil.

“It is possible” she began hesitantly, “that a certain small amount of that . . . that . . .”

“Eleemosynary chastisement,” Mal offered.

“Whatever you choose to call it.” She strolled over. “A certain amount may, just may, have been justifiable.”

“If I’d given you what you deserved,” he said, “I’d still be at it. But I decided to be charitable. And besides, my arm was getting tired.”

“I can imagine,” said Kitten, smiling slightly. “This one, wasn’t it?” She touched his right shoulder.

He looked at her curiously—until she leaned forward and bit him good and hard above the right bicep.

He tried gently to detach her. She wouldn’t let loose. Hammurabi’s grandfather had spent his childhood in the slums of Bajallsa Port, one of Terra’s greatest and dirtiest shuttleports. The teachings he’d passed on to his grandson were effective and unconventional.

Mal leaned over and bit her back.

She broke away in surprise and shock, rubbing her injured shoulder.

“Damn you, Hammurabi! You’re no gentleman!” She lunged at him, her right arm coming around in a side chop. He caught it in one hand, did the same when she tried to counter with the left. She tried to bring up a knee but he spun her around and pinned her tightly against the tree.

“You’re hardly a lady, Kai-sung.”

She kissed him. After a moment’s hesitation, and after she laughed at him, he relaxed enough to kiss her back. But he didn’t let go of her hands.

When Porsupah arrived with a harbor launch, his cogent evaluation of the situation caused Kitten to chase him three times around the island. The diminutive Tolian was still laughing as they pulled away from the reef-free side.