place all day, you were always working on something—" She bit her lip. "Don't misunderstand, Erling. I have no doubt you keep telling yourself how happy you are. You could go to your cremation, here on Harbor, thinking you'd had a rather good life. But—I sometimes wonder!"
"Now look—" I began.
"No, no, nothing more out of you. Get inside and wash up, the company'll be coming in half a minute."
I went, with my head in a whirl. Mechanically, I scrubbed myself and changed into evening blouse and slacks. When I came out of the bedroom, the first of the guests were already waiting.
MacTeague Angus was there, the old first mate of the Traveler and captain in the short time between Kane's death and our settling on Harbor. So was my brother Thorlcild Gustav, with whom I had little in common except a mutual liking. Tokogama Hideyoshi, Petroff Ivan, Ortega Manuel, and a couple of others showed up a few minutes later. Alanna took charge of their wives and children, and I mixed drinks all around.
For a while the talk was of local matters. We were scattered over quite a wide area, and had as yet not produced enough telescreens for every house, so that communication was limited to direct personal travel by plane. A hailstorm on Gustav's farm, a minor breakdown in the vehicle factory superintended by Ortega, Petroff's project of a fleet of semirobot fishing boats—small gossip. Presently dinner was served.
Gustav was rapturous over the steak. "What is it?" he asked. "Some local animal I shot the other day," I said. "Ungulate, reddish-brown, broad flat horns."
"Oh, yes. Hm-m-m—I'll have to try domesticating some. I've had pretty good luck with those glug-gugs."
"Huh?" Petroff stared at him.
"Another local species," laughed Gustav. "I had to call them something, and they make that kind of noise."
"The Traveler was never like this," said Ortega, helping himself to another piece of meat.
"I never thought the food was bad," I said.
"No, we had the hydroponic vegetables and fruits, and the synthetic meats, as well as what we picked up on different planets," admitted Ortega. "But it wasn't this good, ever. Hydroponics somehow don't have the flavor of Earth-grown stuff."
"That's your imagination," said Petroff. "I can prove—"
"I don't care what you can prove, the facts remain." Ortega glanced at me. "But there were compensations."
"Not enough," muttered Gustav. "I've got room to move, here on Harbor."
"You're being unjust to the Traveler," I said. "She was only meant to carry about fifty people, for a short voyage at that. When she
