Patriots

25. A Pause for Reflection

The fireworks for Lucius' send-off celebration were homemade. The first bomb choonked into the night sky from the tube by the Spiker's front entrance and exploded in a green flash five hundred feet over the starport. The second followed twenty seconds later and burst brilliantly white.

The third blew the launcher up in a great scarlet eruption. Fragments of metal pinged off the courtyard wall. The pyrotechnics crew, four brothers jointly settling a tract well to the east, capered and beat at places where sparks had ignited their clothing and hair. The crowd-those who hadn't been close enough to have their own mini-fires to deal with-cheered wildly and continued drinking.

There were several hundred people at the gathering, far too many for the tavern itself to put up. Lights and fires dotted the slope down to the landing field. Folk were camping in tents or just bedrolls, and many were heating their dinners besides.

The freighter Ice Queen, bound for Quelhagen after a quick turnaround on Greenwood, had been winched onto the magnetic mass. The starship's underside was brightly lit as the crew gave a last-minute check to an induction module.

When the brothers started to light the fireworks, Lucius had backed himself and Mark into the nook beside the gateposts-out of direct sight of the nearby launchers. Now father and son eased forward again.

"Good thing we were covered," Mark said, patting the gatepost with the heel of his hand. "Good thing you thought of it."

Lucius looked at the cheerful settlers. They were a scattering of silhouettes and shadows; firelight picked out an occasional bearded face or the glint of a bottle. He knew only a handful of them, and many didn't know him. They were present for a party, and because Yerby Bannock had called them to honor an ally.

"What are you thinking, Dad?" Mark asked. His father's smile was oddly wistful.

Lucius looked at him. "That for people on the edge of disaster, risking their lives every day, living in enormous discomfort and often squalor," he said, "they're oddly happy, aren't they? But perhaps it's not so odd. Just something one becomes too sophisticated to appreciate."

"We're trying to do something about the squalor, at least," Mark said defensively. "The Ice Queen brought the recycling plant for the Spiker. You've seen the unit Yerby's installing, right?"

His father laughed wholeheartedly, a sound as unlikely and disconcerting as sight of Lucius in battle dress on his arrival had been. He'd returned to being a proper Quelhagen gentleman for his departure. "I'm sure you will, Mark," he said. "One of the problems with frontiers is that they attract folk whose only concern is where their next meal is going to come from. Of course those are the people most likely to survive on a frontier, as well."

Lucius cleared his throat. "We don't talk very much, you and I. About personal matters."

"No, sir," Mark said, feeling his body stiffen. They both stared in the direction of the waiting starship rather than meet one another's eyes.

Lucius chuckled. "Well, don't worry," he said. "We're not going to start now." He rested his fingers lightly on Mark's shoulder. "There are a few things that I should say, however."

Mark turned. He grinned, but his muscles were still tense. He wondered what Yerby's relationship with his own father had been like.

"I won't ask if you'll be all right," Lucius said, "because none of us know the answer to that. And I won't ask you to be careful, because I know you're young."

He smiled tightly. Mark nodded without returning the smile.

"I will tell you, though," Lucius continued, "that in the long run it's even more important to know which battles to fight than it is to win the battles you do fight."

He cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "I think I'll get down to the ship. I'd appreciate it if you'd stay here and make my excuses. If I take formal leave of everyone I've met, they'll each ask me to take a drink with them. I don't care to be churlish, but neither do I want to be poured into my capsule on the Ice Queen."

He smiled again at the bit of deliberate humor.

"I understand," Mark said. He understood perfectly: neither he nor his father knew how to say goodbye for what might be the last time. "I'll explain to people."

He nodded to Lucius, one Quelhagen gentleman taking leave of another.

"Mark," Lucius said, "know that while you're doing your duty, whatever that may be, your father is doing the same in his own way."

He turned abruptly on his heel and strode toward the starship. He moved with ease through the crowd of reveling settlers.

"Say, that's Lucius!" Yerby Bannock said as he walked toward Mark from the group in the vicinity of the late fireworks launcher. "Is he coming back, then?"

Yerby's broad-brimmed hat was still smoldering. An odor of burned leather clung to him. Amy followed her brother, looking diffident and concerned. Mark was glad to see she'd avoided the gout of sparks.

"Ah, not this trip," Mark said. "He asked that I thank everyone for their hospitality. Goodbyes embarrass him." Lucius would have winced to hear that truth, but he wouldn't have disagreed.

"Well, he'll be back," Yerby said, still watching the elder Maxwell walk briskly toward the starship. He took off his hat and fanned himself with it, blurring together the tendrils of smoke.

"You know," the frontiersman added, "your old man ain't a big package, but I sure hell wouldn't choose him for an enemy. Not so long as I've got to sleep sometimes, anyhow."

"I'm glad we could show your father some of Greenwood, Mark," Amy said quietly.

Mark swallowed and nodded. "Like Yerby says, he'll be back," he said. "We'll have the recycling plant here at the Spiker working by then, too."

"Next thing to do," Yerby said, still looking in the direction of the Ice Queen, "is to take care of Blind Cove. Tomorrow night, I figure. That's the other reason I called this get-together."