A Wolf Mk I medium fighter settled down on the landing pad 4 at the Quenisset spaceport. The city was located at a seaside bay on the northern hemisphere of Mars in the Sol system and was one of the two greatest cities on the terraformed garden world. In the almost thousand years that had passed since the terraforming of Mars had been finished in 2290's, the fourth planet in the system had become a veritable green jewel, reminding those who lived on the badly polluted Earth of what they had lost. The woods that surrounded the city of Quenisset consisted of trees more than fifty metres high at their best, but they were nothing compared to the redwood forests growing two hundred miles inland, their height and width reminiscent of tall, cloud-reaching towers more than trees.

Another important addition besides cities and trees on Mars introduced by the terraforming, were the vast seas that covered almost 30 per cent of the surface area of the planet. The other big city on Mars was the Olympos Village but it was located on the other side of the planet, far from the seas. The beautiful woods and the sparkling blue sea enveloped Quenisset beautifully into the bosom of the revived planet.

When the 80 tonne craft, Wolf Mk I, had landed on the pad 4, the entrance hatch opened and a man in his thirties stepped out on the ramp and walked down on the plasteel surface of the landing pad. In many other systems and planets he would have been considered a tall man, given his frame that reached 2,1 metres, but on Mars he was more likely to be considered a short man. The natives who were born and raised on the light gravity planet all through their lives often grew up to 2,5 metres tall. Also the present visitor had been born on Mars, but he had moved away during his teenage years and the higher gravity of his new home had 'dwarfed' his growth. He wore a faded brown pilot's jacket and blue jeans, a type of trousers that had not lost their popularity in the thirteen hundred years after their invention, and black canvas shoes.

The man visiting his birth home looked around as the entrance ramp to the Wolf rose up. He breathed in the fragrance of the planet, presently mixed with the smell of the exhaust fumes from his craft, and smiled. Then he started walking towards the spaceport service building, ignoring the small motored cycles that were provided by the landing pad. Despite the many years that he had been away, he seemed to accustom to the light gravity quite fast. It was a clear indication that he had travelled a lot around the galaxy and visited enough planets to provide him with an ability to almost ignore changes in gravity.

When he reached the service building, he entered it though a door upon which a sign said 'Arrivals'. Inside, there was a large hall bordered by small shops and boutiques. There were a lot of people with suitcases and travel bags waiting for departing flights and others, carrying nothing but their communicators, waiting for their quests or relatives. The man who had just entered through the door stopped and looked around, apparently trying to spot someone particular amongst the crowd. Then he seemed to spot the one he was looking for and gave a small smile before he started to walk again. One of the people who had been waiting for the arrivals, a woman of less than thirty years old with long deep brown hair and a catching smile, started to walk to meet him.

"Marc!" the brunette cried out and wrapped her arms around the man who was twenty centimetres shorter than she was. "It's been ages!"

Marcan Rayger smiled and hugged the tall woman. It had been seventeen years since he had left his home on Mars and gone to study at the military academy on Eta Cassiopeia and it had been almost ten years since he had seen any other member of his family. After a few seconds of hugging Marcan disentangled and looked at his sister. "Shanesia, how have you been?" he asked.

"Good," the woman said. "I got married after the New Year's Eve and moved in with my husband. We live here in the centre."

Marcan nodded and smiled, "Congratulations. I hope I'll meet him during this visit?"

"Oh, yes you will. We'll all gather for a family dinner tonight at six," Shanesia said.

Marcan frowned, "Will Graeme join us also? I thought he was supposed to have a job in the Fomalhaut system?"

Shanesia nodded and smiled, "Yes, but Graeme is on a vacation just now. It is lucky that you happened to visit us as well at the same time! Mom and dad have been missing you very much."

"Yes, that's lucky," Marcan said and smiled weakly.

They walked towards the main doors together and Shanesia glanced sideways at her brother. "You two should really make it up finally. Eighteen years is a bit long time to be arguing with each other," she said.

Marcan smiled weakly. "Actually, the last time we argued was seventeen years ago. Incidentally, that is also when we last saw each other," he said.

"I hope you two have forgot all about it, then."

Marcan smiled to her reassuringly. However, he did not feel the assurance himself. He and Graeme had had a difficult puberty and they had fought about everything, but the one thing that had finally separated them was the fact that Marcan had been accepted to the Military Academy while Graeme had not. It had caused bad blood between them and the last year before Marcan had left had been a difficult one. To avenge Marcan, Graeme had done every single thing an older brother could to make a little brother suffer for every minute of his life. And the worst thing was that their parents had ignored it all. It was as if it had been his own fault that he had been accepted to the academy and he was even supposed to understand Graeme's growing hatred. But Marcan had been the younger brother and had not had any way to cope with the older brother's hate, however justified it was deemed by their parents, or by Graeme himself. That fallout between him and his brother, as well as the less pronounced one between him and his parents, had been the reason why he had been later so eager to accept his transfer to the secret military base where he was safe from the rest of his family.

But now, after seventeen years, he had decided to visit his family. The fallout had not seemed so important as it had been for many years now, and he really wanted to see all of them again. Except perhaps Graeme. He could have definitely done without Graeme. Now he feared that the visit would not be as joyous as he had hoped for.

Once they got outside, Shanesia took them to her hovercar. As she started the car and entered into the heavy traffic, Marcan looked around at the old neighbourhood. Not much in the city had changed. Some shops had disappeared and new buildings had been built to replace the old ones, but basically Quenisset was the same city as it had been on the day he had left with the other recruits on a military transport.

"So, what have you been doing? The last I heard you had found some derelict spaceship from one of the frontier systems, but that was over a year ago," Shanesia asked.

Marcan frowned, trying to think what to say. So much had happened during that year, but also so little. He had aged less than half a year due to the numerous hyperspace jumps that took him over several days at a time and he had done so many things that he could not repeat to anyone, not even to his sister. It was as if he had been working at the secret military base again.

"I spent some time searching for a certain ship and I found it only a little while ago. I also visited that system, Tiessar, where one of our military ships was attacked and destroyed. Nowadays I am a co-owner of an old Boa Freighter and my associate and me are working hard to establish some profitable trade routes, all the while we are also looking for crewmembers who we can trust," Marcan said.

Shanesia looked at him and smiled, "Somehow I doubt that was all of it, but I'll let it go. I'm sure mom and dad will harass you with many more questions before they let you go again. Dad got really worried when you left the military and I'm afraid that you'll have to explain yourself."

Marcan groaned, "I left because the life there got too complicated. They transferred me to the FMI and I did not get to fly as much as I used to."

Shanesia frowned, "That's not going to satisfy our father. You'd better come up with something better before we get to their new home."

It was Marcan's turn to frown. He had not known that their parents had moved. "Where do they live now?"

Shanesia smiled, "It's a really nice place over an hour's ride outside the city, near to the protected redwood forest. I'm sure you'll like it."

"Are you sure you've time to get me all the way out there?" Marcan asked.

"Sure. I'm going there ahead of Wayne anyway to help mom make the dinner. She needs some help now and then, especially with bigger dinners."

Marcan laughed, "I hope you haven't told her that; she'll insist that she is just approaching the middle-age and has as much left as she has left behind."

Immediately Marcan noticed that he had said something wrong. Shanesia bit her upper lip and stated at the hovercar driving in front of them.

"What is it?" he asked.

His sister released her upper lip and glanced at him, "I had no idea that they had not told you."

Marcan felt cold shivers running up his spine. Something was definitely wrong. "Told me what?"

"Mom suffered a miscarriage five years ago and it injured her badly. She was seventy-five years old and close to the risk group. She never recovered fully," Shanesia said.

"I had no idea," Marcan exclaimed and grew quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "How did dad take it?"

His sister grimaced, "Not well. He's lost much of his old vigour."

Marcan shook his head. He knew that he should have expected that his home was not going to be the same it had been seventeen years earlier, but somehow he had not been able to think of it as a place that could change. Somehow he had always thought that his home and parents would just remain there and that he had all the time in the world to visit them; there was no hurry. But what Shanesia had just told him made it clear that time did affect his parents in the same way as it did the rest of the world.

The hour-long journey to Marcan and Shanesia's parent's house went by faster than Marcan had expected while he and his sister discussed her job in the city. She had followed their father's career and worked as a lawyer in a local big firm. Despite her age, it was already clear that she would be offered a partnership in a few years.

When they arrived to the new house, Marcan saw immediately that his father's career had boomed after he had left. Unlike the earlier small house of mere one hundred and twenty square metres of living space, this new one was at least twice as big and in two storeys. Before they got out of the hovercar as it settled on the front yard, Marcan voiced his observation.

To his dismay Shanesia proved him wrong. "Actually Graeme bought it for them. It is his career that has been successful. Father's been a little too tired to achieve anything like this," she revealed.

Marcan frowned, "What is his job, anyway?"

Shanesia smiled at him and opened her safety belt and said, "You can ask him yourself. They are coming to meet us."

Marcan turned his gaze where Shanesia was looking and saw three people coming towards them from the gazebo that lay on the left side of the garden, surrounded by a few tall bushes. Even though Shanesia had warned him about the effect of the miscarriage on their parents, Marcan was shocked to see quite how much more worn both of them looked like. They were both around eighty years old and they should have had at least fifty more to go, but they appeared to be closer to one hundred and thirty than eighty. His father's hair was a thin shadow of the blond bush it had once been and his face was lined. His mother was the same way, but she had also lost much weight.

Trying to hide his shock, Marcan stepped out of the hovercar and walked to his parents to greet them. He hugged both of them and told them how much he had been missing them and they told him the same thing. When he hugged his parents, he involuntarily did go as gently as he could, almost afraid that if he squeezed them even a little, their backs might break.

Then Marcan turned to greet his brother, Graeme. It was almost as if he had been looking in a mirror, except that Graeme's hair was of darker colour as were his eyes. They appeared even to be of the same age, although Marcan was supposed to be two years his junior. Marcan's eyes narrowed as he realised that Graeme must have been travelling in hyperspace a lot more than he in order to seem the age he did.

After the initial greetings had been made and they had all moved to the gentle shadow of the gazebo, Marcan had to start to answer to some questions.

"So, son, what have you been doing for the past few years? Your message did not explain much," his father asked. It appeared that despite his frail appearance, he was still able to get that sharp edge into his voice if he wanted to.

Marcan took a sip of the lemon juice that he had been given before he answered. He was still not certain how he was going to explain his resignation from the active duty in the military. After all, he had first had the nerve to beat his dear brother in the entrance examinations and now he just dropped that esteemed career that Graeme had been supposed to get like an old pilot's jacket. He hoped to avoid an argument and decided to bypass that little detail of resignation if he could.

"Well," he began smartly. "I've been working for the Bardoff's Trust Fund on a certain mission. I finished that one a few months ago and now I'm starting up a small trading business with my business partner."

"With a partner?" Graeme inserted there. "You must have a larger ship then?"

Marcan looked at his brother and nodded, "Yes, a Boa Freighter."

"Why did you leave your military career? Last I heard you were doing well and had got in the FMI," his father asked.

Marcan frowned and tried to calm himself down with a sip of the cold lemon juice. Unfortunately, it did not have the same effect on him as the Magalan Green. "There were many years during which I got no promotions at all," he explained. "I should have been made major a long time ago."

"You're a major now so what's the problem?"

Marcan shrugged, deciding to back off and not voice his opinions about being directed from above. "No problem. I could go back now, I guess. They have even asked me to."

"Then you should do it," his father implored. "Do not resign until you are on the top of your career and then only if you can do better elsewhere!"

Marcan forced a smile on his face. "Yes, father," he said obediently.

The conversation was followed by an uncomfortable silence, which was finally broken by Shanesia. "Where's the Boa now, Marc? Did you come here with it?" she asked.

Marcan was happy to get a chance to escape the silence. He found his brother's stare unpleasant. "No, my associate, Petr, is with the Boa at the shipyard on Mars High. We have still been unable to find the crew of our liking and we are presently earning money with smaller trade runs with smaller ships. Mine is a Wolf Mk I, an ancient model that was originally found broken onboard the Boa when we found it. It was cheap enough to fix up and a decent one-man trader to fly, sort of a mix between the Viper and the Cobra Mk III."

"So," Graeme began suddenly, "your Boa is the one Professor Bardoff used to own? The one from which he was found dead?"

"Yes," Marcan answered, studying his brother's expression. It was hard to read. "The Trust Fund gave it to us after we had cleared up the story behind Bardoff's fate and found another ship that was still missing."

"So, what was it? The story behind his death, I mean," Graeme asked.

Marcan took another sip of his lemon juice and took a moment to study his brother's face. It was hard for him to believe that his brother was just honestly curious about the event. Never in their youth had his motivations been so simple. But he could see no sign of such motives on Graeme's face. So, he told the story as he knew it, leaving out the details that he had promised Victor Shelanko not to mention to anyone.

After the story they all fell silent for a while, drinking their juices. Then their mother told Shanesia that they had to go inside to start preparing the evening dinner and they left, leaving the three men to sit by themselves.

"So, Graeme," Marcan began then, supposing that the story had earned him the right to ask questions from his brother, "what is it that you do nowadays. The last I heard, you were a constructor in Fomalhaut system, but something tells me that it is no longer the case."

Graeme frowned and looked at him in the eye, "What makes you think so?"

Marcan shrugged, "I don't know. You just look younger that you should and it indicates that you travel much."

Graeme smiled at that, "Oh, that. I've just had to travel more than usual because I'm trying to expand my market to neighbouring systems, such as Epsilon Indi and Ross 154. My company is growing too big for one system."

Marcan smiled. The fact that Graeme had done so well was a slight indication that he might have forgot about their past argument and the cause of the bad blood between them. Perhaps Graeme was no longer envious about his military career.

"You're still constructing bridges and underground cities?" he asked.

"Yes," Graeme said haltingly, "but I've also taken part in building a couple of small space stations, and I'm expanding still."

"Impressive," Marcan nodded and took another sip of the juice.

"Thank you," Graeme said and smiled. "I'm quite happy with it myself, and to top all that, I'm recently proposed to someone and she said yes. After we get married it will leave only you."

Marcan's eyes widened. It was more and more clear now that Graeme was no longer jealous to him. Of course, it still did not take away all the things he had done to his smaller brother in their youth. But Marcan was stronger now and thought that he would be able to put it all behind, as long as Graeme was also.

"Who is she?" Marcan asked.

Graeme smiled, "Daughter of a business associate of mine. We met during a big party her father gave to all whom he knew and whom he wanted to make jealous of what he had got. I think I drew the longer stick in the end."

"Well, he should be happy that his daughter is getting married with a man like you," their father inserted. "You are making a great career and becoming a big name in the market."

Graeme grimaced, "Well, there's also the fact that I have won some contracts away from him. I fear that he sees his daughter only as an addition to the list of things that I have taken from him."

"Yes, that might very well be, Graeme," their father said. "I've worked for some rich industrialists who think exactly like that. I'd suggest you be careful with him and try to become friends. Try asking his advice on some matter, that might work."

"Yes, father," Graeme said. "That sounds reasonable."

Marcan hid his frown with the lemon juice glass. First, their father had reproached him for his career choices and forced his opinions to him and now he was commending Graeme's career and giving kind advice. There was no sign of the stern quality in his voice now that he was talking to the older brother.

"So," he began, determined to change the subject. "What is this Wayne Shanesia is married to like?"

Graeme gave him an annoyed glance but backed off when their father answered to the question. "He's a decent young man. He teaches history at the local university so he's no career maker, but a nice enough fellow on his own right. He comes here occasionally to dine with Shanesia, but mostly they spend their time in the city."

Marcan smiled. It was unusual of Gabriel Rayger, their father, to like people who were not all about successful careers and he was happy that Shanesia's husband was getting along with the rest of the family. He was also happy that Shanesia had been able to look past the career when picking a husband for herself. Someone who taught history should be a calm enough man to be good to her and raise their children in a different way than Shanesia and her brothers had been raised.

Shanesia's husband did indeed appear to be of gentle nature when Marcan saw him for the first time when they all gathered around the dining room table to enjoy the meal. He was a brown-haired man in his thirties, probably not much younger than Marcan. His clothes were rather unpretentious and even dull if compared to the current colourful fashion in the Sol system. In that respect he was just the kind of man Marcan could like.

However, one thing he could have never guessed about the man was the topic that he brought up in the middle of the dinner.

"Has any of you been following the Saturn Races recently?" Wayne asked.

Marcan raised his eyebrows at the surprising question. He was still trying to cope with the new addition to Shanesia's husband's personality when Graeme put his fork down and answered the question, admitting that he had been following the races during his stay on Mars.

"What do you think of the new racers this year?" Wayne asked Graeme. "I wonder if any of them will have a chance against this Darkman as the season continues."

Graeme smiled as he said, "I doubt Darkman will be able to win for a third year in a row. He is getting too self-confident and arrogant. One of the new additions will probably steal the crown from him. Both Clarfeld and Liashenko fly their racers in a manner that will get them far."

"I think the race has become too rash in the recent years," Gabriel said to that. "Ever since they started admitting amateurs into that race, it has become more and more dangerous. It's only a question of time until one of the rash boys causes a serious accident."

"That's true," Wayne said. "Some of these new racers this year seem almost suicidal. I think that Eyewalker almost lost control of his ship last time. It was only a fraction of a second, but if he had not been able to recover it, he would have burned to death in Saturn's atmosphere."

Marcan had never followed the Saturn Races with much enthusiasm. He had seen enough of it to know the dangerous routes that took the racers around the great planet's moons and dangerously close to the planet's atmosphere at high speeds. Since he had been relocated to Eta Cassiopeia Military School at fifteen, he had never had a chance to pick up a racer of his own and in the military that kind of rash hobbies had been denied from all of the recruits. Still, he had listened to the conversation half-heartedly until the mention of a familiar name made him drop his fork onto his plate.

Everyone's eyes were turned to him and Shanesia and their mother, Eunice, stopped their conversation about the young couple's new home.

Marcan did not pay attention to that, however. He looked at Wayne and asked, "This Eyewalker that you mentioned. His first name wouldn't happen to be Luke, would it?"

Shanesia's husband looked at him curiously and said, "Yes, I think that's his first name. Do you know him?"

Marcan took a moment to pick up his fork. Then he looked at the others around the table. "Yes, I do. I was there when his father died."

"Where was that?" Graeme asked.

"In a system called Tiessar. It's one of the eastern frontier systems. I was there only half a year ago with the military, trying to find out why one of our Skeet Cruisers had been attacked and destroyed there. We found the population on all the local planets killed, except for this boy called Luke. He was the lone survivor of the genocide," Marcan said.

"How did he get here?" Shanesia asked. "And why is he trying to kill himself in the Races?"

Marcan frowned and said, "I brought him here. He was interested in buying a ship for himself and starting to trade and I helped him to buy his first ship. And I think that he is likely not too much interested in staying alive after the deaths of all the people who he knew."

"But he is not in the trade business now, is he?" his father asked, rather poignantly.

"No," Marcan admitted. "I wonder what happened to him."

"I think you should find out, Marc," their mother said. "You may be the only man that boy will listen to. If he is as distraught by his father's death as it seems, he must be stopped before he kills himself and possibly others with him."

Marcan looked at his mother and wondered how she could know anything about who Luke would be willing to listen to. He had not told them how close he and Luke were, or the fact that he had been about the only person aboard the Mantis with whom the boy had socialised. Mothers truly seemed to be able to see much more than what one revealed with one's words.

"I suppose you are right," Marcan said to her. "But I have no idea how I could help him in this. Those who killed his father could not be put to justice at the time, and that must hurt the boy more than anything else about it."

"You mean to say that this boy is seeking revenge?" Graeme asked.

Marcan shrugged, "Revenge or justice or oblivion. I think he would be willing to settle with any one of those. In fact, I doubt he views himself as someone who could avenge anything. He used to be a linguistics student before all this happened."

"Poor boy," their mother uttered, finishing the discussion about the Saturn Races and Luke. The rest of the main course was eaten while discussing idle matters, such as Shanesia and Wayne's new home, in which they had lived only for a couple of weeks, and its furnishings. Since Marcan knew only the basics of chairs, tables and beds, he could not take part in most of the conversation that handled such topics as colour schemes and porcelain. He was, however, interested to find out that the new apartment was located in the fifteenth floor of one of the towers close to the bay. He promised himself that he would some day visit the place to take a look at the view.

Then the ladies removed themselves from the table in order to clear it up enough to make room for the dessert and punch. Marcan would have liked to help them out, but he knew that it was not the way things were done in their parent's household. Their father would not have accepted it if either of the boys stood up and helped the women. It was old-fashioned and perhaps a bit chauvinistic, but Marcan was not willing to break the comfortable mood that had settled over the family-reunion by doing something that would anger his father.

With the dessert, which consisted of redberry cake with vanilla icing and the punch shots, came also a new idle topic into their conversation. Marcan was not a friend of strong liquors, but agreed to follow the forms with the rest of his family by taking a sip from the small glass now and then while enjoying the cake. When he heard his mother's question, though, he wished that he could gulp the whole portion at one go.

"So, Marcan. Shanesia has got married and Graeme has a girlfriend, but how about you? Have you been able to find someone?"

Marcan stared at his mother and tried to figure out what to say. Images of Sheila came to his mind with the memories that fitted, but however much he might have wished that they could be together, it did not seem possible. Sheila was not ready to leave her career like he had and their relationship was thus restricted to the rare missions on which they could see each other.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Marcan answered, "No, I haven't."

"But you are over thirty years old. It's about time you paid a little more attention to women and found yourself a good and kind wife," his mother insisted.

Marcan almost grinned; he would have liked to answer that it was not the matter of him not paying attention that was the trouble in here, but he could not say something like that to his mother. Instead, he nodded and said, "Maybe after a few more years, after I have got this trading business running and earned a little bit of money."

"Your wealth has nothing to do with it, Marcan. I thought you knew that," Eunice reproached him. "There are a lot of free young women even here in Quenisset. I think you should take the time while you are here to go there and mingle with people. Perhaps that will remind you of something that you have forgot out there in empty space with other bachelors."

Marcan smiled and said, "Actually, my business partner is an android. I don't think you can call them bachelors."

"All the more reason for you to meet more people," his mother said.

Marcan chuckled at his mother's insistence. "I guess you are right, mother," he said.

Marcan spent the night in one of the guestrooms that had been prepared for him. He would have rather spent the night in his old home than the new one that Graeme had acquired for their parents, but, nevertheless, he slept that night like a small baby. Perhaps it was because of the punch, but it could also be because he had seen that, despite the small glitches in his relationship with his family, they were still his family. Even Graeme seemed a better man than he had used to be.

In the morning Marcan got up from the bed and drew the curtains aside to take a look outside. His room was located in the first floor and the view gave to the front garden. The small sun shone from the left side and the tall trees and bushes still gave long shadows over the grass yard. Smiling to himself, he drew away from the window and started his usual short morning exercise: a hundred push-ups and another hundred of sit-ups. The adrenaline that soared through his veins after such a jump-start was enough to drive away the last remnants of sleep from his brain and body.

Then he did something that he never could do on the space stations and ships. He went downstairs and when he found his mother in the kitchen he asked to loan a pair of running shoes. He knew that his father and Graeme both had feet that were of the same size as his and thus there would be shoes that he could use somewhere.

A few minutes later he was geared with the running shoes and an old T-shirt and shorts as he ran along the gravel roads that criss-crossed around the vast garden. He realised that the garden was so big that his parents probably needed a horde of droids to take care of it during nights in order to make it so presentable during daytime.

He forgot the time and his mind emptied of all thoughts and worries as he ran under the trees and in the relatively warm sunshine. The mirror system that had been installed between the planet and the sun intensified the star's power to give light and warmth to the fourth planet. In effect, the star did not seem much smaller than it did from the Earth and it was not that much cooler either.

It was almost two hours later when he finally realised how high on the sky the sun had risen and he headed back to the house. He had enjoyed the refreshing wind blowing against his face and body as he had run, and the steady beat of his feet on the crunching gravel paths had blinded him from the rest of the world. Still, he did not feel annoyed that he had to stop running and return to the house. His appetite had been awakened by the exercise and he could not wait until he got a bite of the redberry-cake's leftovers.

When he got back to the house and had taken a quick shower, he arrived to the dining room and saw that everyone else had already got up. Shanesia and Wayne were sitting on a two-seat couch, Graeme stood by the window and looked out on the front yard, while their parents sat at the dining table.

"Good morning, everybody," Marcan said lightly as he entered the room. He saw that there was some bread and juice left on the dining table and he headed for it.

"Morning, Marc," Shanesia answered. "I saw you running outside. You seemed to enjoy it."

Marcan laughed, "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have stayed out this long. It felt marvellous."

"You should come to visit us more often, son," his father said. "You could run more."

Marcan smiled and nodded to his father with his mouth full of the delicious home made dark rye bread. He washed it down with some orange juice and looked at his brother. He still had his back turned to the rest of the room.

"What is it, Graeme? Are you expecting someone?" he asked.

Graeme turned away from the window and looked at him with a sly smile on his lips. "No, Marc. Actually it is you who is expecting someone."

Marcan frowned. With his mouth full of the bread, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"We received a call while you were out. Someone from the FMI is coming to see you," his brother revealed.

"From the FMI?" Marcan gasped. "Who is it?" He only knew a few people from the military intelligence, but he hoped that he would recognise the name nevertheless. If he knew who was coming, he would have a chance to guess why they wanted to meet him.

"They said you'd know her, Marc," his mother replied. "She said that her name was Sheila or something."

"Sheila?" Marcan exclaimed. He had had no idea that Sheila had been assigned to the FMI, although he realised that he should have guessed it when she had said that she might be reassigned after their last mission.

His face must have revealed something of the churning emotions that the name evoked in him, because his mother was quick to ask, "Who is she?"

He was still trying to cope with the sudden news and thus he could only stutter; "She used to fly in my squadron and has worked with me a couple of times even after that."

"What kind of a woman is she?" Eunice asked.

"I don't know... An innovative pilot and a clever soldier. It's been a while since I last saw her, at least in standard time," Marcan answered.

"Mom," Graeme said from the window, "don't tease Marc with your questions when you can judge the woman by herself. She just arrived."

Marcan had no idea how closely his mother paid attention to his reaction at the announcement of Sheila's arrival. In fact, he had no idea how he should react in the first place. Sheila's arrival probably meant that the military wanted to make him do something again and that did not make him happy. But on the other hand, her arrival gave him a chance to spend some time with the only woman with whom he had been intimate in years.

He got up from the dinner table and walked towards the front hall and the door outside. Graeme was, for some reason, eager to accompany him to meet Sheila and he followed right behind him while their parents and Shanesia and her husband remained in the background. Marcan appreciated their unwillingness to make their quest uncomfortable with them all attacking to greet and question her at the same time.

Marcan and Graeme stepped out through the front door and walked towards the hovercar that had stopped in front of the house. The hovercar was a military model and professed grey-green camouflage paint and reinforced plasteel coating and bulletproof windows. Such a heavy-duty hovercar seemed quite out of place against the green front yard and trees that swayed gently in the wind. It seemed quite out of place also because the last unrest on Mars had taken place several decades ago and there should have been no need for such vehicles.

Marcan could not help but smile when the hovercar's door lifted up and a woman in an intimidating black uniform stepped out. When the woman turned towards them and smiled back at him, Marcan's expression changed into a wide grin.

With him grinning, it was Graeme who got to be the first one to greet their blond visitor. "Greetings, Sgt Major. I'm Graeme Rayger and I welcome you to our family haven," he said.

Sheila turned her calm gaze to Graeme and then her eyes darted a few times between the two men in apprehension. "Good morning, Mr Rayger, Marcan," she said, and after a brief pause she continued, "It's amazing how similar you two look like!"

Marcan frowned and glanced at his brother. Then he stepped forward to hug Sheila in greeting. It felt good to feel her athletic frame so close to him again. He greeted her softly in her ear before letting her go. Then it was the time for him to introduce to her the rest of his family, who were still standing at the door of their large home.

Sheila shook hands with everyone and then turned back to look at Marcan. "Can we have a word in private?" she asked.

Marcan nodded and they walked away from the others who returned reluctantly inside, giving sidelong glances at the two of them as they went. Marcan was only happy to get away from his mother's alert eyes. He looked at the shorter woman and noticed how her sharp nose twitched nervously. It was the sign that he had learned to interpret to mean that Sheila was worried about something or that she had something important on her mind.

"I didn't know you had been assigned to the FMI," he said, deciding to start their conversation in a light manner.

Sheila looked back at him and smiled slightly, "Yes, it took place only a week or so after you left our company. Captain Thames of the Mantis Transport approached me and asked me if I wanted the assignment and I agreed."

"And you got promoted to a Sgt Major at the same time?"

"Well, yes I did. I had to earn it, though, by going through the three months of training courses that they wanted me to take before the reassignment was finalised," Sheila explained.

"Courses? When I was reassigned, they made me learn all those things by myself, sending my reports back to them from the first mission."

She did not answer to that. They both knew the history of Marcan's reassignment; the fact that he had been chosen for the mission simply because of his past relationship with the man who had stolen the military modified Wolf Mk II from the Amaliel Corporation's shipyards. Sheila knew him, and the painfulness of that memory, well enough not to delve too deeply into it.

"They want you back again," she said at last, when they had walked all the way to the white-painted gazebo. She stepped inside ahead of Marcan and sat down on the wooden bench.

Marcan grimaced at the news and sat down as well. "Are they still using the incident with Mr Jones as the leverage or do they have something else they can use to blackmail me?" he asked, not even trying to hide the asperity in his voice.

Sheila shook her head. "No, they aren't using Mr Jones this time. They found out that the Empire was actually happy that you arranged the death of their inconvenient agent. Their plan had gone awry and Mr Jones's death made sure that the ongoing legal investigation did not go far enough to reveal his link to the Empire."

Marcan frowned at that. He remembered the news broadcast that he had seen about Mr Jones and the suspicions of his motives just before he had bought the missiles and gone down to the planet to kill him. It had been a personal vendetta for something the man had done to Marcan earlier and as such almost justified, but he did not like the idea that he had actually done the Empire a favour. But the incident with Mr Jones was not why Sheila had come to meet him and Marcan pushed the memories and worries out of his thoughts.

"Then how is the military going to get me back?" he asked.

She looked at him and crossed her hands around her left knee, "Not by blackmail. We simply need you. It's about the group that called themselves the Sentinels at Tiessar."

He shrugged nonchalantly, "What do they need me for? The military has enough agents to investigate that matter without resorting to ex-agents like me."

Sheila rested her head against the wooden frame of the gazebo and looked at him in the eye. "I need to tell you the background first. After we had got out of the ravaged system and returned to the Core Systems the military sent one of their ships equipped with the cloaking device to investigate the Tiessar system further. This took place while I was in training. They sent in a fast ship simply to look around, not to engage in battle with any of the Sentinel craft or reveal itself to them. They landed on the planet and tried to find out what they could of the terrorists simply by studying the marks that they had left behind on the planets.

"A little over a month ago they returned with their findings. They had found ship exhaust burn marks that belonged to none of our craft and pieces of hull material that remained from the craft that you shot down. After an exhaustive study they deduced that the ship design was based on an old human craft called Mamba but it was heavily modified and only recently built. After a short investigation it was found out that only one shipyard is currently manufacturing Mambas and it could be that they know something about this new design as well, if they do not even build it themselves.

"Further, the company in question is owned by Alana Vera, the very same woman that took part in the theft of the Wolf Mk II two years ago. And, it is the same company that you have had dealings with through the Bardoff's Trust Fund."

Marcan had listened to the story with growing conviction that he was being pulled into a trap once again. He realised that he should have known it all along that he had had no chance trying to hide the fact that Vera Industries might have a part in the events on the Tiessar system. He had only destroyed one set of thruster burns on the surface and there must have been dozens of them around all the settlements on all of the three planets.

In fact, he had been afraid that Sheila was going to tell him that the military had actually found out about his attempt to destroy evidence and that they were now going to prosecute him for it. The fact that she did not was not enough to vanquish his fears. It could very well be that the military knew about it but had not told Sheila.

"So, you are telling me that they want me to go and investigate Vera Industries because I've been in contact with them before?" he asked finally.

"In short, yes. It is believed that you can come up with a believable cover story to visit them because of your past with their business partner. The military does not believe that the facts that Ms Vera was one of the people who stole the ship equipped with a cloaking device and that she is connected to these Sentinels, who also happen to have cloaking devices, can be an accident," Sheila said.

"You are forgetting something, Sheila," Marcan said.

"What?"

"You too know something about Alana Vera that no one in the military knows. She is one of the financiers of the bubble colonies that we visited and if she has something to do with these Sentinels, there is a chance that the bubble colonies will as well," he said. He had had time to form theories about the matter in the past several months and this was the one he believed in the most. Insofar as the Vera Industries knew anything about the Sentinels, the connection of the company with the bubble colonies insured that they would know about it as well.

Sheila frowned and said, "You think so? But why would anyone in that bubble colony want to draw attention to themselves by the kind of operation the Sentinels are? And aren't those bubbles way too far away from Tiessar to have any operations there? As I remember, they weren't too far from the Exioce system and with their engines they cannot have moved far away from that spot in this time."

He had to admit that it was of course true that the bubbles were too big for any kind of hyperspace engines. But that was not the point. "They can still be involved in this, even if they aren't the Sentinels themselves."

Sheila nodded, but it was clear that she was not convinced. "Whatever the case, we are the ones who have to find it out. The military is willing to pay you well for your services."

Marcan smiled to himself. It was not the matter how much the military was going to pay him. What counted more for his decision was the fact that he would once again be working with Sheila. "I'll do it," he said. "Actually I have considered visiting Vera Industries again in any case to see how far along they are in starting to produce the Castor class ship."

"Are you going to buy another one of them? Isn't one enough?" Sheila asked jokingly.

He frowned. "I lost Castor months ago. I found the other ship that Castor wanted me to look for and when I docked them together the AI went mad and started his own company!"

Sheila looked at him with a surprised expression on her face, "What? Tell me."

He took her hand and helped her get up from the bench. He took her back into the sunshine and they started walking towards the house. "I'll tell you about it as soon as we get on our way. Before that, I'll have to tell the news to my family. I'm sure they were hoping for me to stay a bit longer than this."

"You've been here only for a couple of days now?" Sheila asked.

Marcan shook his head, "Less than one. I just arrived yesterday afternoon."

Sheila looked up at him, "I'm sorry I'm taking you away this soon. I'd have liked to get to know your family as well."

He started at the remark and looked at her apprehensively. He was not sure but he was almost certain that he had detected something more in her voice than she had let him understand before. Perhaps their relationship still had a chance, after all.

"Well, I think we can stay until lunchtime and give you time to learn to tell my brother and me from one another," he said then, trying to hide his sudden uncertainty.

Sheila laughed at that, "You fool! I did not mean that you are that alike. For one thing, he's at least ten centimetres taller than you are. I was just surprised at the extent of the family resemblance."

"Well, you should pay attention to our father, then. Judging from all the old pictures, both Graeme and I resemble him when he was our age. Looking at him, you'll see how I'll look in a few decades."

Sheila did not say anything to that. She just looked at him coyly and smiled. Marcan wondered what he had said to amuse her so, but could not figure it out.

"By the way, Marcan. Shall we take your ship or mine to go to the Reorte system?" she asked then.

Marcan smiled at that, realising that Sheila wanted to spend time with him as much as he wanted with her. If she had not, she would have just assumed that they would use their separate ships for the journey. "I don't know," he answered, "my new ship is a Wolf Mk I - an 80 tonne craft - I'm not sure it has enough room for us both."

"Well, it sounds better than the old Cobra Mk I they gave me for this mission. And, anyway, I'm sure that we won't need too much room for ourselves," Sheila added with a wicked grin.

Marcan smiled as well and smiled still when they got back inside and met the rest of his family and relatives still sitting in the dining room. Shanesia and her husband had gone back to sit on the narrow couch and his parents had returned to sit at the dining table. Graeme sat with them and had his mouth full of the redberry-cake as he looked at Marcan and Sheila come in.

His mother did not miss that smile as she looked at them and she asked them to come to the table to take some of the cake as well. Marcan would have been the last to say no to the wonderful cake and he pulled Sheila eagerly towards the table. When he had sat down and secured himself a large slice of the cake, he decided to bring up the bad news to get them out of the way. "I'm afraid that I'll have to leave today."

Gabriel, his father, looked at him and asked, "Are you sure? I thought you said you had left the military." Marcan was not sure whether it was hope or dismay that he heard in his voice.

Marcan gave a slight smile at that. "Well, they still ask me favours now and then. Anyway, it's a case related to the one I told you about Tiessar and I'd like to see it to the end."

"That's where you found that boy, Luke?" Graeme asked. When Marcan nodded, he continued, "But if you are going now, will you have time to find the boy and put some sense into him? If he is not stopped, he'll kill himself."

Sheila looked at them confusedly, "What do you mean? Where's Luke now?"

Marcan explained to her what Wayne and the others had told him the night before, adding that he was afraid that the boy was trying to drown his sorrow under the adrenaline rush of the Saturn Races. Then he said to his brother, "No, I'm afraid that I won't have time to go and see him before we go."

"Would you mind it if I and Wayne went to see him for you?" Graeme asked.

Marcan frowned. His brother had truly changed in the years that they had not seen each other. "Why do you want to do that?" he asked.

Graeme shrugged, "It just sounds like that boy is throwing away his life. He needs to find something else to focus his attention to, something less dangerous. Wayne teaches at the local university and might be able to get that boy back to studying linguistics."

Marcan shook his head in wonder, "What has happened to you, brother?"

Graeme answered to his look with a serious gaze, "More than you can imagine, Marc. A lot more. Perhaps we can talk about it when we meet the next time. Do you have any idea when you'll be back?"

Marcan looked at Sheila and waited for her to answer to that question.

Sheila smiled to Graeme and their parents, "I promise to you that the military will not hold Marcan for longer than necessary. Unfortunately, the mission is such that it is next to impossible to say how long it will take to accomplish. Perhaps two or three months."

"But surely you won't be leaving immediately?" Marcan's mother exclaimed.

"No," Sheila answered. "Marcan and I agreed that we'll leave only after the lunch."

"Good," Eunice answered and smiled to Sheila. "I'll like the chance to learn to know my son's girlfriend a little better."

Marcan's face reddened at the remark and he looked around nervously. He noticed how Shanesia was grinning at him from beside her husband and how Graeme raised an eyebrow and looked at him curiously. But the crystal-clear surprise on Sheila's face was the thing that he saw the best. She looked at him with an expression that clearly asked him if he had told his mother about their past and then she looked back at the older woman. Marcan put his spoon on the plate beside the cake carefully and closed his eyes. He did not know what he had done wrong to earn him such a fate. Mothers who were eager to see more than there was to see should be banned with a law, he thought.

"Yes, well, I do like this chance to get to know Marcan's family as well," Sheila said at last, breaking the eerie silence.

"What about your trading business, Marc?" Shanesia asked from the couch, offering a welcome escape for Marcan's thoughts.

Marcan took a hold of his spoon and cleared his mind. "Well, I'll inform Petr that he will have to take charge of the repairs of the Boa and try to start up a couple of trade routes that we have already decided on while I'm gone. We'll have to put back a couple of more dangerous trade routes until I get back, since Petr is not too keen on fighting."

"You should keep away from dangerous places in any case, Marc," his mother interrupted and looked at him seriously. "My sons were not raised to risk their lives for mere profit!"

Before Marcan could come up with an answer to that, Sheila had more questions; "What trade routes? What Boa?"

Marcan smiled and turned to look at his 'girlfriend'. "Petr, the android I mentioned to you once, and I have put up a trading company and acquired an old Boa. We are still trying to earn enough money to repair it properly and hire a decent crew."

Sheila shook her head slightly and said, "It seems that we will not be lacking things to discuss on our way."

Marcan smiled to himself. He had to admit to himself that he could hardly wait to get into the privacy of his small ship with Sheila, if only to get away from his mother's alert eyes. Their trip to Vera Industries's shipyard at Reorte would take them at least three full-length hyperspace jumps, and with one refuel on the way it meant a little less than a month in real time. He really missed Castor: with its greater hyperspace range, the trip would have taken only half a month or less. But whatever the ship and its statistics, the trip meant that he could spend time with Sheila again and perhaps see if their relationship really had a chance to grow into something more than it presently was.