"She's mellowed," Stancil said as they entered the attic room.

"I hadn't noticed."

"So have you. But the house hasn't changed."

Bomanz lighted the lamp. "Cluttered as ever," he admitted. He grabbed his hiding spear. "Got to make a new one of these. It's getting worn." He spread his chart on the little table.

"Not much improvement, Pop."

"Get rid of Besand." He tapped the sixth barrow. "Right there. The only thing standing in my way."

"That route the only option, Pop? Could you get the top two? Or even one. That would leave you a fifty-fifty chance of guessing the other two."

"I don't guess. This isn't a card game. You can't deal a new hand if you play your first one wrong."

Stancil took the one chair, stared at the chart. He drummed the tabletop with his fingers. Bomanz fidgeted.

A week passed. The family settled into new rhythms, including living with the Monitor's intensified surveillance.

Bomanz was cleaning a weapon from the TelleKurre site. A trove, that was. A veritable trove. A mass burial, with weapons and armor almost perfectly preserved. Stancil entered the shop. Bomanz looked up. "Rough night?"

"Not bad. He's ready to give up. Only came round once."

"Men fu or Besand?"

"Men fu. Besand was there a half dozen times."

They were working shifts. Men fu was the public excuse.

In reality, Bomanz hoped to wear Besand down before the comet's return. It was not working.

"Your mother has breakfast ready." Bomanz began assembling his pack.

"Wait up, Pop. I'll go too."

"You need to rest."

"That's all right. I feel like digging."

"Okay." Something was bothering the boy. Maybe he was ready to talk.

They'd never done much of that. Their pre-university relationship had been one of confrontation, with Stance always on the defensive… He had grown, these four years, but the boy was still there inside. He was not yet ready to face his father man-to-man. And Bomanz had not grown enough to forget that Stancil was his little boy. Those growths sometimes never come. One day the son is looking back at his own son, wondering what happened.

Bomanz resumed rubbing flakes off a mace. He sneered at himself. Thinking about relationships. This isn't like you, you old coot.

"Hey, Pop," Stance called from the kitchen. "Almost forgot. I spotted the comet last night."

A claw reached in and grabbed a handful of Bomanz's guts. The comet! Couldn't be. Not already. He was not ready for it.

"Nervy little bastard," Bomanz spat. He and Stancil knelt in the brush, watching Men fu toss artifacts from their diggings.

"I ought to break his leg."

"Wait here a minute. I'll circle around and cut him off when he runs."

Bomanz snorted. "Not worth the trouble."

"It's worth it to me, Pop. Just to keep the balance."

"All right." Bomanz watched Men fu pop up to look around, ugly little head jerking like that of a nervous pigeon.

He dropped back into the excavation. Bomanz stalked forward. He drew close enough to hear the thief talking to himself.