“Captain. I think there’s a dragon sneaking up on us.”

The Royal Navy had a slight difficulty recruiting good sailors. Cream is not the only thing that floats to the top, after all. Captain Jack Perkins was determined to keep floating as long as he could breathe, but he was just as dedicated to King and Country or he would not be here. At times, the balance was difficult to manage, particularly in the middle of a drizzly night at anchor when First Mate Sanders was having another one of his ‘feelings’ about dragons and fairies. The captain’s job encompassed such strange tasks of reassurance and so much more, which Jack had learned to follow for most of the last fifty years until the present.

The crew liked to call him “Lucky Jack Perkins” from a string of good fortune that had followed his career, but luck was where preparation met opportunity for the most part. Even obsolete brigs like the HMS Aimwell could be a fighting ship if sailed well with a trained crew and a bit of luck.

Still, Sanders sounded very sincere, and the Belgian was still out there somewhere, with a ship able to pound his little ten-gun brig into toothpicks and holding enough bloodthirsty murderers in the crew to slaughter more Caribbean towns like he had been doing for over a month so far.

“Are you sure, Sanders?” Heaving one leg out of his bunk allowed Jack to get up, despite the constant pain in his gut that had exceeded the ability of laudanum to muffle. It would have been so easy to finish off his limited supply and lie back down, never to wake again, but Duty and Country drove him over mere physical pain.

At least for now.

One of the few benefits of being a captain, even in a small ship like this, was a window. He cracked it open enough to peer out into the clouded darkness, all prepared to chastise his paranoid mate when something caught the corner of his eye. It went away when he looked directly at it, and floated ever so faintly against a background of low clouds when ignored.

“D’ya think it’s a pirate trick, Captain?”

“Not unless the Belgians can make flying ships.” He watched for a while from the inky darkness of his cabin before adding, “Feels like whatever it is up there in the clouds is watching us.”

“Aye. Lucky I saw it.” Sanders passed over the spyglass, which did little to clarify the details of whatever was floating off their stern.

“If it were friendly, they would have signaled us. If it’s hostile, it’s too far up to elevate the stern chaser for a shot at it.” Jack rubbed his chin and thought. “Go get the carpenter and four cannoneers. And break out the spare jib. If something out there is watching, I don’t want to scare them off before we take a piece out of it.”



Jack was proud of his crew, from top to bottom. There were only a few British citizens scattered through them, like weevils in a biscuit, but they formed the backbone of discipline and training to the point where one old ship sent about as far from the King as possible still flew the flag proudly. It only took a few words from Sanders to get the jib draped over the stern and a few ‘modifications’ done to the four-pounder with wooden blocks and chains. There was no way they’d get a second shot, but word had been spread belowdecks, and the rest of the crew was trying their silent best to prepare for whatever might follow.

“Ready?” asked Jack, taking in the brief nods from the carpenter and rest of the crew concealed under the damp sail. Thankfully, the HMS Aimwell was at anchor and about as stable as one of the keelless brigs could get other than docked. The gunner’s mate was a veteran of a few dozen battles, and Jack trusted his aim more than his own, particularly with the diagnosis he had received from the surgeon ashore a few weeks ago.

“Gonna take a right bit of luck to hit anything up there. Feel like a right fool if we shoot a hole in a cloud, Captain.” The gunner blew across his slow match and took his place. “Ready when you are.”

“Pull!” called out Jack, and the damp canvas flopped out of the way, heaved by four hefty gunners. “And fire!”

The four-pounder may have been considered a ‘small’ cannon compared to the 18-pounders in the broadside, or at least the ten that were left after two had been ‘borrowed’ by the admiral in their last port, but the gunner’s mate had been a bit generous with the powder charge, and the four-pound cast-iron ball vanished into the night with a brilliant flare that blinded him to the end result.

There was a matching flare of red somewhere up in the clouds, far closer than Jack had expected, like the odd cloud had been sneaking up on the ship, curious about what was going on under the canvas cover. It turned out to be a foolish decision on the cloud’s part, or most certainly not a cloud as it spit out a burst of sparks and began descending at a rapid rate.

“I’ll be damned,” said the gunner’s mate. “We hit something. And it’s coming this way.”

“Sound collision!” bellowed Jack. “All hands, brace for impact!”

Streaming water and an odd shimmer of distortion, a ship of some sort became vaguely visible as it plummeted down, so close that Jack thought it would smash itself on top of the HMS Aimwell, and near enough that the ship rocked with the waves. Tossing and pitching threw most of the crew off their feet, and ended with a thump as it finished the descent where Jack could have stepped off the deck and onto the strange metallic hull of the foreign craft.

He jumped instead, drawing his cutlass and bellowing out over his shoulder, “Boarding party! I want them alive! Alive, I tell you!”

The first crewman on the foreign ship emerged from an open hatch, coughing in a cloud of smoke, and Jack threw himself forward, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him to the deck. Behind him, he could hear the flat slap of bare feet on metal as the rest of the lads followed their captain, but Jack could not spare the attention needed to command while his captive struggled, clawing and biting until he had the upper hand and pinned him to the deck.

“Get below,” he bellowed, which seemed a bit redundant since the Royal Marines were popping down the hatch, one at a time with little regard for whatever unfortunate opponent might be below them. “I want prisoners! Alive, dammit! Somebody, get me some manacles.”

His opponent took the opportunity to put a knee where it was least wanted, and Jack fought to get a better grip on what he suddenly realized was not a man, due to the various squishy bits that were being pressed against him.

“Find the captain!” he shouted. “Order his surrender!”

“I am the captain!” shouted the woman just as loudly.



Service in the Royal Navy meant being adaptable. Captain Jack Perkins might have been able to wrap his mind around a metal ship that flew. He was having a difficult time considering it had a female captain. Difficult, but not impossible. Particularly one who looked so… ordinary. With a little dye for her violet hair, dressed in something other than her skin-tight grey outfit, and dropped into any city, she could have passed as a native in moments. Admittedly a tall native, with minimal breasts and an athletic build, but she moved with the leonine grace of a dancer, and had responded in four of the languages Jack knew before settling on English.

“Captain… I’m afraid I can’t pronounce your name,” started Jack. The world was feeling just a bit artificial at the moment, since he had taken an additional shot of laudanum to deal with the additional pains of his one-man boarding action and the resulting vigorous one-woman defense. Thankfully, the rest of the boarding had gone reasonably without too much bloodshed, netting the British Empire one quite odd metal ship and a crew of substantially cowed scientists. Plus one enigmatic female captain, who had been manacled quite thoroughly to avoid any more ignoble injuries to her captors.

He had decided to question her inside the odd ship for several reasons, one of which was he did not want a dozen curious sailors leaning their ears up against the wall, and mostly because his ship was crowded enough already.

“Can I just call you Eve for… No, wait. The crew might take that wrong. Elizabeth, perhaps?”

“It will do for now.” The foreign captain clinked slightly, shifting in her chair. “You have released my crew under parole. Why not me?”

“A hostage for good behavior. And I’ll admit to curiosity. Your magnificent ship, for example. I doubt even the enigmatic Japanese have progressed to…this,” he added, giving a wave of his hand around the small but intensely decorated room. It was a marvelous place which Jack could spend the rest of his life exploring. He must have said what he was thinking, or at least let his expression talk for him, because the woman gave out a low chuckle.

“I’ve accumulated every one of these items during our scientific explorations over the last century, in places far beyond your comprehension. Of course, I was never shot out of the sky by our subjects before. Thankfully, we carry sufficient spares for our journey. If released, we could make repairs in short order and be out of your hair— That’s a nasty cough.”

Jack had taken the opportunity to cough into his kerchief, which lasted far longer than he wanted. “I’d appreciate it if you did not mention that to my crew. I had hoped to last long enough to bring the Belgian to the noose, but he’s been a tricky one to track down, and we’re outgunned if we do. My time is running short, and your ‘scientific’ exploration has not helped.”

“Some help.” The female captain shook her head. “We have been monitoring several ships in the vicinity. Larger and more seaworthy than your craft. That’s why we were observing you. We were looking for something small, where we could stun the lookouts and examine the contents. We would have released you after. Unharmed. A little poorer from our samples. We’ve done that to other waterborne vessels in other star systems, but you humans pack your boats far denser than we’ve seen before.”

“Star systems.” Jack played with the key to her manacles, turning the cold iron around in his fingers. “I’ve always wondered if God blessed any of his other creations with life. Seemed awfully wasteful of the Creator to make so many stars just to decorate the night sky. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange. There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“Scientific observations from a military man.” The captain smiled faintly. “Are you certain you do not want to set sail with a crew of scientists and peer into the mysteries of the cosmos?”

Jack reached into his satchel and placed a book on the captain’s smooth, featureless table. “Shakespeare, not I. For men of science—and women—you deserve to at least have the words of the Bard, if not the experience of his plays. A gift, My Lady, for your return to the stars from whence you came. My duty to King and Country forbids sailing with you, but perhaps we shall meet again in a better place, and sail the sea of stars together.”

“So…you’ve decided to treat us as friends and release us after all?”

“There was never a question, if your vessel was able. You are not an enemy of the King, nor do you plunder His Majesty’s territories.” He leaned back in his chair, or more correctly, the captain’s chair, and returned to looking around the fascinating room. “Nor does your race of beings seem hostile. Even the stunning weapon you mentioned can be defeated by a sheet of cloth, or you would have stunned us on the stern before we fired. No other weapons were found anywhere during our boarding, except that…wrench of sorts that one of the ladies in the engineering space used to such good effect.”

That got a slightly more active smile, as he had hoped. “Our engineer is quite protective of her lair.”

“It is only appropriate.” Jack mopped his face, produced the key again, and unlocked the shackles holding the female captain. “I would appreciate hearing tales of your journeys before you depart. It would be good to have something to remember from your visit. Please….”

The room swam in and out of his vision as the shackles fell from his nerveless fingers, and then there was only darkness.



“Ah, there you are.”

The light was far too bright for it to be a metal coffin, and warmer than the grave. There should have been the endless pain in his gut, the ache through his shins, and the overwhelming fatigue that he had been forcing himself through for the last few years. Instead, it was all gone, as if he were a cadet again, only without the hangover. Likewise, his resting spot was not heaven, although there was an angelic figure bending over him, illuminated from the back.

Jack cleared his throat, which was remarkably easy, and said, “Captain Elizabeth. What did—”

“You collapsed in my cabin. I carried you here and put you into this… I suppose you could call it a doctor box.”

Something slowly impinged upon his awareness, something which had been only a memory for the last few years, and he attempted to cover himself with his hands. “Did you take my clothes off, also?”

“The doc did that.” Captain Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. “That does not mean I cannot appreciate the end result. Still, you were quite near to death. The masses in your chest and abdomen must have been excruciatingly painful. Removal reduced your weight considerably, and there were other corrections that the doc applied, since it was best done all at once instead of piecemeal.”

“So…” Rather than admit his weakness and ask for clothes, Jack asked, “How long was I unconscious?”

“Long enough for me to have my crew assist with your injured, and see to our repairs in return. They should be completed by local sunrise.”

After a brief but futile attempt at sitting up, Jack settled back down in the not-coffin and said, “You have me at your mercy, My Lady. Perchance, are you wed?”

“Wed?”

“Married. Mated. Having a long-term partner. Children. That kind of thing.” Laughter had been nothing but a fading memory for so long, but he could not help himself at the bemused expression on the foreign captain. “If not, I believe the spirit and the flesh are both willing. Or we can talk about your journeys, if you wish.”

“I…think we can talk, for now.” Captain Elizabeth laughed with him, something that it seemed she had also not done in a very long time. “We’ll see about anything else later.”



Dawn broke to the sight of… not much, really. It got brighter, and the drizzle tapered off, but the thick clouds still blotted the sun from the sky. There still was a metal ship bobbing in the ocean next to the HMS Aimwell, and the crew of each had returned to their respective vessels, for the most part.

Captain Perkins scurried out of the metal hatch with a strut to his step that he had not experienced in many years. His uniform hung loosely, patched together by the ‘doc’ in a clumsy way, far different than its expertise with the contents of said uniform, which felt absolutely great. After a few private words with his First Mate, and a quick inspection of the limp sails in the rigging, the captain bounded up the stairs to the ship’s wheel to make an announcement.

“Sanders, prepare the men. I’ve got a few words.”

“Yes, Captain.”

It took a remarkably short time for the crew of the HMS Aimwell to gather on the deck, much like Sanders had been issuing commands while the captain was in the foreign… ship, which is how he preferred to think of it. All of the crew looked uniformly groomed and tidy, or as much as they were able, and the Royal Marines could have been paraded in front of the king. He would like to think it was their faithful obedience to the captain’s orders, but there were several crewmembers from the other ship on their metal deck, and some of them were female.

“Men, I'm afraid I’ve got some bad news.” Jack let out a loud sigh. “I’m afraid they’re Weslylians. I mean a woman as captain of a ship. The King would never stand for it.”

He let out another deep sigh while a few bits of honest, tense laughter echoed between the crew, continuing with, “Think of them as fellow sailors, only among the stars instead of the mere ocean. Monks of a sort, determined to peer into God’s clockwork universe and see what makes it tick. Like Captain Cook.”

There was a great deal of nodding and agreement since every member of the crew knew of Cook, or at least was not willing to admit their ignorance. Well, except for Sanders, and he had been given his question in advance.

“Well, why don’t they just land in England and see the king?”

“They are observing us,” said Jack. “For example, when Cook visited the islands, he introduced massive changes to the natives’ lives. For the good, mostly, but it is exceedingly difficult to observe a culture when it is rapidly changing to match your own. Besides, in this sea of stars, there are thousands of islands. It would be the work of ten lifetimes to examine them all, a thousand lifetimes to change them for the good without causing their collapse.”

There were times when Captain Perkins did not feel very much like a captain, but more like somebody shouting for calm in a burning building. The number of understanding nods and looks of deep thought were encouraging, so he continued, “With that in mind, and given the fact they have assisted with our wounded, I plan on releasing them all. And no, McGivens, we are not going to loot their ship first, so you can put back whatever little trinkets you have picked up so far.”

Sanders brought a bucket over to the chagrined crewman and watched as he emptied his pockets. To Jack’s surprise, several other crewmen contributed small items of their own, and he waited until what seemed like an appropriate time before adding, “Their captain assures me that their repairs are complete, and they will return home in a few days. They most likely will not return for a thousand years or so, since there are so many other places to observe, so if you have any thanks to bestow on them, or little reminders of their trip they might appreciate in trade for their assistance in sewing your gut up, McCandles, or restoring the bones in your broken arm, Edwards, dig deep into your pockets and let them know the history behind your gift. Perhaps it will be a tale they can tell their children in some far off land.”

“Is that it, Captain Perkins?” asked one of the crew. “Can’t we get their help with sinking the Belgian?”

Jack shook his head. “They’re not soldiers, by any means. They’re scientists, like a bunch of university professors and college students.”

“I’m not sure about that, Captain,” said one of the gunners. “There’s not a drop of booze on their entire ship.”

Allowing the welcome laughter to go on for a few moments, Jack eventually raised his hand and said, “The captain has loaned me a few of their scientific instruments. If they provide enough assistance, we might be able to take the Belgian’s ship with few casualties. If so, we’ll leave them on the ship as we leave, and Captain Elizabeth will pick them up before they head home.”

“Elizabeth?” said a few voices out in the crew, with a certain lilt to the question that made it obvious that the crew had ideas on what had happened between the two captains overnight.

“Let’s focus on hunting down the Belgian,” said Captain Perkins, with a degree of firmness that cut off any more questions like a knife.



Jack was starting to really appreciate rain. He hated it, but at this point in time, he would be happy if it continued for hours. HMS Aimwell clunked slightly when moving through the low swells, sails reefed and wrapped like she was at anchor, but moving slowly forward at just a few knots with no more noise than the quiet hiss of the rain.

“The rain’s a spot of good fortune, Captain, but these things…still feel like elf magic.” Sanders held firmly to the wheel at his side, taking the place of the steersman for the moment since every other crewmember had their assigned tasks.

“Like the Dutch use elf magic to make spyglasses?” Jack swung the marvelous ‘sampling device’ across a narrow wedge of space, scanning the schooner they were approaching. He might as well have been using the finest Dutch telescope that had ever been made, in broad daylight, standing on land instead of the slow roll of the ship, because he could pick out every detail, and every one of the miserable, dripping crew on watch.

“That’s no spyglass,” grumbled Sanders quietly, although he took his turn looking when Jack held it out for him. “Won’t catch me calling it the Devil’s tool neither, on account we’re using it for God’s purposes. Sooner we send the Belgian to Hell, the better. It’s a good spot of luck your lady captain friend agreed to help us out.” There was a brief bit of relative silence as the ship continued its slow pace, until Sanders very quietly asked, “So, how’s she in bed?”

“She’s a friend, Sanders. We—” Giving a quick glance around, Jack lowered his voice and leaned very close to his First Mate’s ear. “Wonderful. But it goes no further.”

“Yes, sir. Range?”

“We’re about a cable out,” Jack replied under his breath, since they were close enough that words might reach unwelcome ears. “Elizabeth, cut the propulsion device to half what it is now.”

“Aye, Captain,” came a voice in his ear from the clever device that she had given them before setting sail yesterday. Without her guidance, the HMS Aimwell would never have been able to find the Belgian until he massacred another town, and without the clever metal device down in the hold next to the mainsail brace, they would have needed to board their quarry by longboat or trust that a surprise attack would injure her enough that twice their weight in cannon would not rip the old Aimwell in half. “And I can hear you whisper. Wonderful, indeed.”

There was a lot of ‘without’ in Captain Perkins’ mind at the moment. Having the women he was thinking about breathe into his ear from a number of miles away did not help him concentrate.

“Captain, d’ya think we might be able to keep that mechanism in the hold?” whispered Sanders. “Would come in right handy for docking, even if it can’t push us as hard as a full set of sails and a fair wind.”

“It only has so much push before it quits, like a priest in the pulpit,” responded Jack as an idea lined up in his mind. “Elizabeth, would you mind if we kept it? It’s just another chunk of depleted gear in your hold, but it would give us an interesting gift for the king without affecting the culture you’re studying.”

There was silence on the device for a long time before her rough voice said, “Yes, but try not to wave it about too much. Cultural contamination and the like.”

“No danger there. Now shush. We’re almost on them.” Jack lined up the sampling device that he could not help but think of as some complicated musket, adjusted the fragile-looking spyglass on top, and touched the trigger as a green dot crossed the image of the lookout on the mainsail crow’s nest.

The device made a quiet ‘twank’ noise, much like a plucked string.

The lookout slumped like he had gone boneless.

Two more faint noises and Jack took his finger off the trigger. “Lookouts are down. Bring us around to starboard, Mister Sanders. Elizabeth, reduce your mechanism’s power by half. Half again.” It was a strain on his arms to hold the sampling device’s spyglass out so Sanders could steer, but the reward was great when he hissed into the earpiece, “Stop.”

First up the ropes were the crewmembers who Jack trusted to cut throats and remain silent, but Captain Perkins went up the ropes with the second wave. By the time the Royal Marines boarded, it was nearly over.

Well, except for Captain Jack Perkins taking the Belgian captive by the ignoble feat of shooting him with the sampling device when he emerged from his cabin with sword in hand.



“Captain Perkins,” said the voice in his ear. “This is most unacceptable.”

Jack didn’t respond at first. He was enjoying the wind in his face, the sun shining down, and a ship filled with rescued hostages and looted treasure. Well, seized treasure. The King did not provide his protection for free, after all.

“Captain Elizabeth, what do you mean?” he responded after a time.

“That equipment was a loan. You were supposed to leave it on the ship. You left it half-sunk and covered in… hanged men!”

“Pirates,” corrected Jack. “They would have been hanged in port anyway, so we had a short trial and hung the worst of them. Not all of them would fit on board the Aimwell, and that sloop was just about eaten though the hull with shipworms or we would have taken it and left you mine.”

There was another long pause, which Jack filled by plotting their course on the navigator’s map. Another two days at this rate and they’d make port, free the captives that the pirates had taken, and hand over the rest of the murderous crew to the shore authorities so they would have something to hang. Governors so loved the spectacle, and resented it when they could not have their fun.

“I’m starting to wonder if I helped the worst pirates,” grumbled Elizabeth in Jack’s ear. “Fine, fine. It’s just an earpiece and a sampling device. You can keep them as mementos.”

“Thank you, Captain Elizabeth. Other than that, how has your scientific examination of our culture’s transportation progressed? I made sure to leave a little bit of everything on the ship, and the library. Even added a few of my own books for you.”

Jack settled into his chair with a smile, listening to his counterpart talk. It occupied most of his time until they reached port, and the distant metal ship sailed away into the sea of stars.

From that time on, Jack could not see the night sky without thinking of her.



The Earth flotilla was admittedly overkill for a diplomatic mission. Over a dozen sleek destroyers ranged out across the vastness of space to provide cover for the fleet core of a carrier and five battlecruisers. Enough firepower to flatten a planet, paired up against one medium-sized science vessel from the Alliance. Then again, the Earth only had five systems under its control for the last century or two, where the Alliance held thousands, and had been an organization for well over two or three thousand years, depending on whose history was counted as valid.

There was a ceremony for inviting members into the Alliance. There was also a name for the Alliance which pre-dated most of their written communication, but nobody used it either. Generally, when somebody was placed in charge of welcoming the newcomers, they would examine a few of the previous ceremonies, toss them away, and make up something official-ish that did not involve wearing silly hats.

In this case, the Alliance diplomat had been specifically requested by the new member, which was a little odd. Likewise, the meeting at the Earth carrier was being hosted as something more formal than a visit but less formal than an event that required the most uncomfortable of clothes and intricate meeting rooms. There was the greeting by the diplomatic corps, considerable introductions, careful examination of the written agreement, and a signing with multiple ink styluses, which were promptly boxed up and sent as mementos to other various important people who could not attend and yet wanted some small share of the credit.

And, of course, food afterward, with all the cautious un-restraint of several worlds worth of chefs who wanted to show off their craft.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” The slim grey-haired officer who slipped up to the side of the Alliance’s Chief Diplomat gave her a brief nod. He looked vaguely familiar when she nodded back, and allowed herself to be guided away from the rest of the diplomatic envoys. “The Admiral would like to speak with you, privately.”

“Could it not wait until after the meal?” she asked.

“He made you lunch himself,” said the aide. “He’s quite a good chef. My mother praised his cooking endlessly. Please.”

It seemed to be a diplomatic thing to do, so she continued to follow the old human’s brisk stride through the corridors of the gigantic ship, up an elevator, and to a plain, undecorated door, where he knocked.

“Let her in, Alex,” called out a voice from inside. “I’ll let you know if you’re needed later.”

The odd sense of familiarity followed her into the stateroom where a tall young man was putting the final touches on a table full of simmering dishes with occasional puffs of steam and some of the most tempting scents. He waved to a nearby dining table set for two and added, “Please have a seat, E’nobli’nia. I just have to turn the heat down so this doesn’t burn.”

“Very few humans can pronounce my name properly,” she said, settling down in the chair.

“It means Twilight Over The Growing Dawn, Radiant One and Keeper of Knowledge,” he said, still bent over the simmering pan.

“It takes too long to explain. Normally I just allow them to call me Chief.”

“Chief,” he said, turning with a smile. “I think I prefer Elizabeth.”

Shocked to her core, she could only stare. “You! Captain Perkins?”

“Admiral Perkins now, I’m afraid.” He brought a bottle over to the table and poured a splash into the bottom of each glass. “I’ve been saving this since we met. Rum, aged eight hundred and fifty-seven years, three months, and a scattering of days.” He took a sniff from the open bottle, then placed it to one side. “On second thought, I should get us some wine.”

“Humans don’t live this long,” she blurted out, only to catch herself. “Oh. The autodoc.”

“We’re still trying to perfect a good medical tank ourselves,” he said, holding out one young hand in front of him and turning it over several times. “Life expectancy is up well over several centuries, but still don’t have the process quite as good as yours. I didn’t realize what your autodoc had done for a few decades. At first, I thought it was a blessing. Then a curse.”

“But you’re still a sailor at heart,” she managed.

“And a doctor, and a chemist, and several other careers over time. Married eight times. Outlived each and every one of them, but I’ve got grandkids all over. That was my son, Alex who escorted you here. Just under two centuries young and hitting his prime. Every time I married, I thought I could forget you. Like I thought you had forgotten me.”

“Never.” She raised the glass to her lips, took a sniff, and put it down on the far side of the table. “You’re a unique individual, Lucky Jack.”

“As are you.” Jack replaced the rum-smelling glasses with fresh ones, filled partially with sweet wine that gave off an entrancing scent. “I’m afraid I ruined your scientific observations, though. Earth is far beyond what you probably expected, socially and technologically. The politics were particularly tricky, and it took forever to crack the physics behind the trinkets you let me borrow.”

“Steal,” she corrected.

“Borrow,” he insisted. “I’ve got them in a box in my room, but that’s beside the point. All this time, I’ve been working to advance Earth, to make it better, to answer all the questions we humans have when confronted with anything more complicated than a hammer. Still, there’s one question that I have carried with me all this time without getting a good answer.”

“And that is?” she asked, looking up into his smiling face.

“Are you still single?”