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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.
Which, he thought philosophically, is better than a definite “No.”
And Elaine was — strange. They’d patched up their quarrel. He didn’t tell her how soon he’d have to make a decision, and she didn’t bring up the subject. She did encourage him in his work, and seemed interested in what he was doing. She hadn’t cared before, but now of a sudden she encouraged him to talk about his work, as if—
“Landing boat’s on final approach now, Lieutenant.”
“Ah. Thanks, Hawley.” He went out onto the pier to wait. In moments he heard a growing thunder and the sharp clap of a sonic boom. He shaded his eyes to stare out over the water and made out a small speck just at the horizon. It was coming directly toward him, angling in a long glide path toward the water.
“There it is!” Someone shouted from behind him. Jeff grimaced. There were a thousand civilians out there, all eager to see the locals who’d been off-planet. They weren’t allowed on the pier itself, but they were close enough. A lot of them were shouting now.
The landing boat settled onto the water. Jeff nodded approval. It was a smooth landing. Two small local steam tugs went out to tow it to the pier. They’d be a while doing that. Jeff wondered whose idea it was. The landing boats were hard to maneuver, but they weren’t so difficult to handle as to need local assistance. Some boondoggle to employ locals? Maybe the local harbormaster was worried about the big landing craft losing control and smashing up the docks. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited.
Finally the craft was alongside and the gangway lowered. Three naval officers got off first. Junior lieutenants, very young. Just up from middie, Jefferson thought. Proud as peacocks. He remembered when he’d sewn that stripe on his sleeve. It had been a good feeling.
They looked around uncertainly and Jeff went over to them. Although they were nominally the same rank as Jeff, two of the newcomers saluted him. Jeff gri