The meteor waxed brighter and brighter until it showed as a little disc that grew and grew until it assumed the shape of a small rocket ship, fifty meters long, arching lower as it brightened, then blossoming into roseate fire that swelled up about it, hiding it, consuming it, a fireball that swung lower more and more slowly—and touched the ground. The fire died, and the little rocket ship emerged, balanced on landing grapples.
Dar hit pressure patches and turned a wheel, and the house's boarding ramp snaked out across the graded rockfield to nudge, very gently, against the side of the ship. Then it rose up on jacks of its own, like a blind, questing cobra, found the electromagnetic ring around the airlock, and clung.
It was a convenience, for people. Expensive—too expensive, just for the privilege of coming in without a faceplate, so Dar didn't pressurize it. But cargo needed atmosphere, sometimes, and for trade, they could afford it.
He couldn't see her coming, though. That was the disadvantage.
Then the red light died over the airlock, and he knew she was in. The yellow light started pulsing, and kept on, for what seemed an eternity—but finally, the green lit.
Dar stepped up five feet from the hatch, a martini clutched in each hand, breath held in his lungs.
Then the hatch swung open, and she was there, lumpy as porridge in her space suit, but her helmet under her arm, face glowing, lips parted…
They never did get to those martinis. What good is the gin when the ice has melted?
Two hours later, Lona sat across from him in one of the latest Terran fashions, which didn't manage to obscure her splendor, especially when she was lit by candles (right under the air-exchange vent). She was finishing her bouillabaisse and a fascinating account of her odyssey through the best shops on Terra ("Well, I have to look my best when I'm talking to purchasing agents, don't I?"). Dar smiled at her out of a pleasant haze, compounded of one part gin to five parts Lona. She didn't miss a syllable as X-HB-9 cleared their bowls, but she did stop to stare as the little robot set places of almost-genuine steak in front of them. "Dar! What have you done!"
Well, Dar, would have preferred to have the accusation refer to less licit activities, but he'd take praise where he could get it. He gave back a foolish grin. "Aw. You noticed."
"Noticed! You wonderful man! You figured out how to cram that whole program into such a limited brain!"
"Only applying what you taught me, dear."
"Well! Such excellent application deserves reward." Her eye gleamed as she turned back to him.
"If you're going to deliver on that promise, you'd better keep your strength up."
Lona took a bite. "Done to a turn!" She didn't say which one. "Is X-HB-9 ready to manufacture?"
"Needs a little more field-testing to be certain—but, yes, I'm pretty sure it is. It'll bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow."
"Oh, goody! Just what we need for the triple contract I've lined up!"
Dar dropped his fork. "Triple… contract?"
"Uh-huh." Lona nodded, hair swaying. "I talked Amalgamated into renewing our contract without the exclusivity clause."
"How did you manage… NO! Cancel that! I don't want to know!''
"Poor dear." Lona reached past the candles to pat his hand. "But there's nothing to be jealous about. I didn't do anything unethical, let alone immoral."
Yes, but that didn't say what she had implied. Also, Dar kind of wondered about her ranking.
"Simple threats," Lona explained. "I told them we were thinking about opening our own dirtside sales office."
Dar's jaw dropped. Lona merrily took another bite, and he shoved his mandible back up to his maxillary. "Boy; you really don't lack for chutzpah, do you?"
"Why not? We probably will open a dealership on Terra, in twenty years or so."
"Actually, I was thinking about all the Maximan families getting together and opening a cooperative distributing corporation—but I think we need more leverage first. You know, get Terra totally dependent on our product, so they can't threaten to take us over. Otherwise, we might suffer a sudden horrible decline in creativity… Uh… What's the matter?"
"And you tell me I've got nerve," she gasped. "Good thing you don't live on Terra, Dar—you'd wind up running PEST."
Dar felt a surge of irritation. "I only want to run them out of town."
"I know," she sighed. "You never did have much respect for good old healthy self-interest. Maybe I do have a function around here, after all."
"Maybe!" Dar squawked. "I'm just the errand boy!"
Lona stared into his eyes for a long moment, then reached out to pat his hand again. "Please keep thinking that way, dear. It works wonderfully for me."
Dar was pretty sure he was supposed to feel complimented. Anyway, he glowed inside, just on general principles. "So how much is this triple deal going to bring?"
"Well, over the next three years, and with a guarantee to each company to bring out a new model, on a four-month rotation plan… just about five hundred thousand each."
Dar could feel his eyes bulge. "A million and a half?"
Lona nodded, looking immensely pleased with herself.
Dar sat back, sucking in a long breath. "Yes. Well, I can see that might make a little research and development desirable, yes."
"But that's the good part about it." Lona winked. "You've already done the tough part. With a robot who serves breakfast in bed, it's just a short step to one who can load the dishwasher."
Dar developed a sudden faraway look in his eyes. "With extendable arms, that shouldn't be too tough—and once you've got the telescoping arms, it could vacuum the cobwebs in the corners, and wash the walls."
"And if it can wash the walls, it can paint them!"
"Yeah." Dar grinned. "No more having to rent a painter-robot from the homecare store. I see the point. We have half the improvements figured out already. No wonder you wanted me to add another workroom before we finished mining out another ice cavity."
"Well, yes." Lona looked down, toying with her wineglass. "Actually, Dar, I was going to ask you if you could add on the northwest circular room. It isn't very large…"
"The one right next to our bedrooms on the plans?" Dar frowned. "Sure. What kind of product are you planning to develop in it?"
Lona actually blushed and lowered her eyes. "A product that would be very small at first. But it would grow. Fifteen years or so, but it would grow."
Dar stared.
Then he stood up and came around to take her hand. "Darling—are you telling me we can finally start a baby?"
She nodded, smiling up at him—and he was amazed to see her eyes fill with tears. "Yes," she whispered, just before her mouth was pre-empted.
An hour later, their breathing slowed down enough for Lona to heave a satisfied sigh, and for Dar to breathe into her ear, "Will you marry me now?"
"Uh-huh." Lona turned to him, nodding brightly. "I do think children should have that much security, at least."
"Security?" Dar pursed his lips and asked, carefully, "Does this mean you might be planning to stay home for a couple of years?"
Lona nodded, eyes huge and face solemn. "At least two years before I go kiting off to Terra again, Dar. I promise."
Cordelia sighed, misty-eyed. "I do so love happy endings."
"Yet was it truly?" Geoffrey said, frowning up at Fess. "Did she keep her promise, Fess?"
"Regrettably, she did not," the robot answered. "In practice, she could not—there was need for her to attend business meetings and speak with prospective clients."
Magnus asked, "Wherefore could her husband not have done so for her?"
"He was quite willing," Fess sighed, "but he lacked the gift for it, perhaps due to his earlier career as a teacher—he was obsessed with the need to tell the precise truth. He just was not as good at business as she was."