“I just don’t know,” Jeff said. “It might be. Why else would they want a fleet?” A big fleet. To be commanded by Kutuzov! Kutuzov the butcher, Kutuzov the hero … it depended on your point of view. “They’re sending a lot of ships out there, so the rest of us have to cover more territory. I don’t know where Tombaugh will be sent. Maybe even Trans-Coalsack.”
“Is that far?” she asked.
“Yes. Very far. And behind the Coalsack — that’s a mass of interstellar dust so thick it hides the stars behind it. You can’t see the sector capital from here.”
“I knew it would happen,” she said. “My father told me not to — not to fall in love with a Navy man. So now you’re leaving me.”
“Hey, I haven’t left yet,” he said.
“Can you stay?”
“I don’t know.” Possibly, he thought. I’d have to resign from the Navy and go into civil government. Do I want that? Oh, damn. He thought of Tombaugh ordered away, his shipmates leaving without him. Would that be harder than leaving Elaine?
He’d been planet-bound for two years except for brief tours aboard the orbiting Tombaugh. It was a pleasant relief from ship duty. But if he resigned to stay here, he’d never go to space again except as a passenger. He’d known he’d have to face this decision one day, but not so soon, not so soon. He tried to imagine his life as a civil administrator building an industrial civilization. He’d have honors enough. Possibly a barony. Almost certainly a barony on retirement. Another title in the family. His father would be proud of him. And he’d have Elaine.
Would that be enough?
Certainly he’d thought so when he first met her. But now he wasn’t sure. That frantic need to be with her was gone, and while he didn’t go looking for other women, he no longer felt repelled by them. Like that tavern girl he’d met the other night, the really friendly one — he pushed that thought away. Jeff didn’t believe in telepathy, but Elaine had surprised him before.
She was at her loveliest today. The wind brought a bloom to her cheeks, and her hair, tied with bright ribbons, blew wantonly in the gusts. His eyes met hers and he smiled, and her answering smile was warm and trusting.
Trusting. Certainly she was that. Far too much so by the standards of this world.
You owe her, Jefferson thought to himself.
Not really. Happens all the time. Why make such a big thing out of it?
Because she does, and her father does, and all her friends do, and you knew it all along, and—
Another rogue wave threatened to swamp them, and he tried to force his worries and doubts from his mind to give all his attention to the tiller.
He almost succeeded.
Jefferson looked at his crowded “work-to-do” screen and frowned. It was all trivial stuff, but it took time to process, and it was hard to keep his mind on his work. Remembering last night’s stormy scene with Elaine after they got ashore didn’t help. She’d sensed his uncertainties, and although she hadn’t accused him of not caring for her, she’d thought it. Worse, it was true. Or almost true. Or partly true. He cared for her, but enough to abandon his shipmates, his whole career? It came to that. She’d never fit into Capital social life.
And the choice would have to be made within the year. Just now High Commissioner Ackoff was trying to recruit naval officers for his civil service, and Navy policy was to let him; but if Tombaugh got war orders it would be too late. Captain Greenaugh would never let one of his officers resign under those circumstances.
He was keying in data on platinum production — surprisingly high on a world so poor in copper — when his door opened and Lieutenant Adnan Clements came in. “Got a minute?”
“Just that,"Jeff said. “What’s up?”
“Blivit, of course. Old man’s got a new job for you.”
Jeff gestured toward the screen. “I’ve got plenty of jobs-”
“So now you have another one. That Makassar expedition’s coming in. Somebody’s got to give Navy clearance for passengers and cargo. You’re elected.”
“Oh, hell. Why me?”
“Because the skipper’s not about to do it, and I’m being sent down to South Continent to bust up a pirate fleet, that’s why.”
“Hey, that sounds like fun—”
“Sure, if your idea of fun is shooting up wooden boats that can’t shoot back.” Clement’s face showed his distaste.
Jeff nodded agreement. “Guess I’d rather look for contraband at that.” He turned to the keyboard and punched in the assignment. The schedule screen looked more cluttered than ever. “Get me a coffee?” he asked.
“Sure,” Clements said. “Back in a minute.”
Might as well see what the job involves, Jeff thought. He went back to the keyboard. “Let’s see,” he mused. “Keywords ‘MAKASSAR’ and ‘EXPORT CONTRABAND.’ Now the library search function …”
“MAKASSAR EXPORT CONTRABAND: NO ITEMS LISTED” appeared on the main working screen.
“Aha, “Jefferson said.
“Coffee time.” Clements came in carrying two plastic cups and set one on Jeff’s desk. “I just remembered, you’ve been to Makassar. Job’s natural for you.” He glanced at the screen. “Looks like you drew an easy one.”
“Maybe. It’s for sure there’s not much there.” He typed in “CONTINUE DETAIL TRADE/TRAVEL POLICY” and waited.
“MAKASSAR IS CLASSIFIED ‘CLASS 5 PRIMITIVE’ WITH NO SIGNIFICANT TECHNOLOGY NO EXPORT RESTRICTIONS. SUFFICIENT SAMPLINGS INDICATE NO EPIDEMIC DISEASES. FULL SPECTRUM IMMUNIZATIONS REQUIRED FOR LANDING OR EXIT FROM PLANET.
“THREE ADDICTING DRUGS ARE KNOWN TO BE PREPARED ON MAKASSAR BUT THEY ARE UNATTRACTIVE AND THERE IS NO MARKET FOR THEM. FOR FURTHER DETAILS SEE ‘MAKASSAR — GENERAL.’
“IMPORT RESTRICTIONS: SEVERE IM—” The flow of words was cut off as Jeff touched more keys.
“See?” Clements said. “An easy job.”
“Still takes time I don’t have.”
“Poor you. How’s your romance going?”
Jefferson shrugged. “I told her about Moties,” he said. “And the possible alert.”
“I gather she wasn’t pleased.”
Jeff snorted. “You could say it that way.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Hell, Adnan, I don’t know. I like the Navy.”
“Five hundred hours ago you couldn’t talk about anything but resigning. Get married and become a colonist. Found a new dynasty, to hear you talk.”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah, but now we really have to decide-”
Clements laughed. “What’s the problem, laddie? Afraid to admit you’re just another sailor feeding bushwa to his girl? Hell, I knew you were never going to resign.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jeff said. “But damn it, this girl’s different-”
“Sure. They all are,” Clements said. He drained his coffee. “My screen’s not like yours, but it’s full enough. Best get at it.”
“Yeah.” Jefferson turned back to his work. More reports. Mining and refining capabilities. Steam generation facilities. All important, he knew, but-
If I give up the Navy, this’ll be my career, he thought. God Almighty, how could anyone spend his entire life at this? Better a naval battle. Better a long, dull patrol. Better almost anything!
The days passed, and Jeff was no further ahead. As soon as he finished one task they’d give him another. He had five locals gathering data, and they brought it in faster than he could code it into the machines.
Twice he’d sent memos to the High Commissioner’s office explaining the desirability of hiring and training locals for elementary clerical work of this type. It wouldn’t harm this planet for some of its people to learn how to produce machine-readable data. He’d had no answer.