Booce and his damaged tree would arrive in a blaze of publicity.

He was returning like a beggar.

But of course there was the Wart . . . and the silver suit behind it. He would have liked to lose that. The worst the Admiralty could charge him with was "concealment of vital resources," but that was a heavy charge. Was it worth the risk, to be able to talk to Jeffer the Scientist?

Not that he had a choice.

He was almost home. The Belmy log was ahead of them, eclipsing the Market. The tuftless end looked chewed. Belmy had sold some of his wood.

Woodsman was prominent in the sky, arriving nozzleforemost. There was no mistaking that elaborate superstructure, four cubes surrounding the water pod, each painted a different color, each bearing the small black B logo. Handholds everywhere, and a steering platform around the nozzle, with a carved rail. The nozzle was mounted a little out from the rest so that replacement water pods could be inserted easily. Hilar Belmy was coming to greet him.

"Almost time," he said, and saw Clave and Debby nod acknowledgment. Booce pushed his coals into the firebox. The fire would need time to catch. "Belmy docked his log behind the Market, of course. We're going to have to dock behind him. Then it gets unpleasant."

Debby asked, "Why not dock just ahead of the Market?"

"Because that's where the Admiralty docks its ships."

"Booce, if you're expecting a fight, you'd better tell us now. Also, what weapons-"

"Bloodthirsty woman. No weapons, no fight. It's just . . . I'm coming in behind Hilar Belmy with a fuel pod for my cabin and a log damaged in two places. Checker only knows what Hilar will think. He'll change his mind when he finds out about the Wart, but... That log still has one tuft."

"So?"

"Why on Earth would Hilar Belmy leave one tuft on a log?"

Clave asked, "Why didn't we?"

"Wind. You can bring a log to its mooring with one tuft on, but it's tricky. It usually means you ran out of honey or bugs . . . hmm?"

"What?"

"Just a passing thought. Hello, Hilar!" His crew stared. They had never heard so cheerful a sound from Booce Serjent.

Woodsman'vented steam, decelerating. Two men rode the platform above the nozzle. They were tall: taller than Booce. Their necks were long, like Ryllin's; there was a great-grandmother in common. Black hair, gray hair, otherwise nearly identical.

The black-haired man waved joyfully. Booce couldn't tell Belmy's sons apart, but that must be Raff, and Carlot would be waving back.

Gray hair was Hilar. He looked good: sturdy, prosperous, a few kilos more massive than his son. "Booce! I thought I'd offer you a tug. How. . . Did you have some trouble?"

"That we did!" Booce's shout became less effortful as Belmy's rocket drew closer. "Hilar, thanks for the offer, but I'll bring her in myself."