“I’ve never turned on to a…mature woman,” he said. “What’s it like? Why did you break up?”

I shrugged. “It was supposed to be temporary. It stayed that way…didn’t have to, just did. Ander, it boggles me a little, too, Margo contracting for a two-year date the way I used to angle for a hot weekend. Aliens scare you; do you ever worry about elderly humans?”

“No.”

“They’ve learned too much. They don’t like change. If they could stop civilization in its tracks, they would.”

He didn’t exactly think that over; he disliked the taste, so he spit it out. “I always figure, if you can’t lick ’em, join ’em. So I’ve decided to get older. Beowulf, General Products gave you a number—”

“I take it as being for my use only.”

His eyes narrowed, but he let it slide. “But you could use it if we needed to know something.”

“I might ask a properly phrased question. Ander Smittarasheed, I am out of the aliens business.”

Again he let it slide. “After Margo, where?”

“Earth. I had a hell of a time getting back.”

“Did you go back for Sharrol Janss?”

I stared. “Of course, for Sharrol and the children.”

“Carlos Wu’s children!”

I stood up, knowing it was a mistake, and so what? “I’m leaving. If you want to apologize, my phone is—”

“Beowulf Shaeffer, I just can’t see you losing your head over a woman.”

I lost my breath. It was as if he’d punched me in the belly. I sat down, but my vision was still graying. Ander watched in amazement. When my eyes would focus again, he asked, “What was that about?”

“Not now.” I couldn’t breathe.

He sighed. He tapped at the menu board. A squeezebulb popped up, and he handed it across. I found my hand massaging my throat, removed it, took the bulb, and drank. Brandy and soda. Just right.

He watched me drink again. “Stet. Sigmund told me how you got back to Sol system.”

“He might possibly have left something out.”

“Go ahead.”

✴
THE BORDERLAND OF SOL

Three months on Jinx, marooned.

I played tourist for the first couple of months. I never saw the high-pressure regions around the ocean because the only way down would have been with a safari of hunting tanks. But I traveled the habitable lands on either side of the sea, the East Band civilized, the West Band a developing frontier. I wandered the East End in a vacuum suit, toured the distilleries and other vacuum industries, and stared up into the orange vastness of Primary, Jinx’s big twin brother.

I spent most of the second month between the Institute of Knowledge and the Camelot Hotel. Tourism had palled.

For me that’s unusual. I’m a born tourist. But—