“Oh!” Lindgren started, glanced at her watch, looked over the terraces. They were empty of everything except the life that Carl Milles had shaped into stone and metal, three centuries ago. “Why, why, it’s far past closing time. l hadn’t realized.”

The attendant bowed. “Since my lady and gentleman obviously wished it, I let them alone after the other visitors left.”

“You know us, then,” Lindgren said.

“Who does not?” The attendant’s gaze admired her. She was tall and well formed, regular of features, blue eyes set wide, blond hair bobbed just under the ears. Her civilian garments were more stylish than was common on a spacewoman; the rich soft colors and flowing draperies of neomedieval suited her.

Reymont contrasted. He was a stocky, dark, hard-countenanced man who had never bothered to have removed the scar that seamed his brow. His plain tunic and trews might as well have been a uniform.

“Thank you for not pestering us,” he said, more curt than cordial.

“I took for granted you wished freedom from being a celebrity,” the attendant replied. “No doubt many others recognized you too but felt likewise.”

“You’ll find we Swedes are a courteous people.” Lindgren smiled at Reymont.

“I won’t argue that,” her companion said. “Nobody can help running into it, when you’re everywhere in the Solar System.” He paused. “But then, whoever steers the world had better be polite. The Romans were in their day. Pilate, for instance.”

The attendant was taken aback at the implied rebuff. Lindgren declared a little sharply, “I said älskvärdig, not artig.” (“Courteous,” not “polite.”) She offered her hand. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure, Miss First Officer Lindgren,” the attendant answered. “May you have a fortunate voyage and come home safe.”

“If the voyage is really fortunate,” she reminded him, “we will never come home. If we do—” She broke off. He would be in his grave. “Again I thank you,” she said to the little middle-aged man. “Good-by,” she said to the gardens.

Reymont exchanged a clasp too and mumbled something. He and Lindgren went out.

High walls darkened the nearly deserted pavement beyond. Footfalls sounded hollow. After a minute the woman remarked, “I do wonder if that was our ship we saw. We’re in a high latitude. And not even a Bussard vessel is big and bright enough to shine through sunset glow.”

“She is when the scoopfield webs are extended,” Reymont told her. “And she was moved into a skewed orbit yesterday, as part of her final tests. They’ll take her back to the ecliptic plane before we depart.”

“Yes, of course, I’ve seen the program. But I’ve no reason to remember exactly who is doing what with her at which time. Especially when we aren’t leaving for another two months. Why should you keep track?”

“When I’m simply the constable.” Reymont’s mouth bent into a grin. “Let’s say that I’m practicing to be a worrywart.”

She glanced sideways at him. The look became a scrutiny. They had emerged on an esplanade by the water. Across it, Stockholm’s lights were kindling, one by one, as night grew upward among houses and trees. But the channel remained almost mirrorlike, and as yet there were few sparks in heaven save Jupiter. You could still see without help.