"Are you sure you can't fit another-" Saradon began.
"I'm sure," I said.
The Bucket was filled to capacity, the cargo hold crammed like a puzzle. I couldn't have fit a bullet in there, even less another engine.
In the ten days we'd spent as guests of the Trevalon house and table, the engineers at the Trevalon shipyards had pulled the Bucket apart and rebuilt it almost from scratch. I now had three new engines, each of them a two-warpstone setup. At first, Saradon's engineers had wanted original Mino StarWorks engines, but a word from me had convinced them to mount the biggest engines that the frame and power plant could support. We'd gotten frigate engines, a modernized version of the same Rexards that Hao had mounted in Bucket way back on Jackson.
We'd also gotten supplies. As Dromond's new society darlings, everyone had wanted to contribute, likely for bragging rights. Not that Riina or I complained. Beggars and choosers and all that.
As a result, the Bucket's cargo bay was crammed. New engines for the Belithain. Hydrocultures. Regenerative filter packs. The cabins were stuffed with seeds, embryos and crates of fresh-frozen greens and spices.
We'd only left two cabins and the cockpit free, and my cabin had crates stacked to the ceiling, with newly welded steel eyelets keeping them in place.
The second cabin held two bunks, and little else. Maia was coming with us.
"You are free," I'd told her. "You can seek your own fortune, do what you wish."
That had caused her to share one of those long, meaningful sighs with Riina.
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"Men," Riina had commented, and that had been that. Hopefully, they'd get along, living in a tightly packed cabin for over a month. Even with the new engines, all the mass the Bucket was hauling would make us slow. We'd still be faster than the quick picket Saradon's father was sending after us, with more supplies. Good thing, too. Ten thousand mouths and a ship as big as the Belithain would need them.
"So," said Saradon. "Ready to fly?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," I said. I should have given the order to seal the hatches already, but I was drawing it out, breathing Dromond's dry air, smelling the clean, moist earth. I'd missed being on a planet, even if it was beneath a dome. One day Dromond would be fully terraformed. Until then, they were doing a marvelous job of making their habitat seem outdoors.
Traz walked up, a steaming bowl in his hands.
"Here," he said, shoving it at me. "A going away gift."
The bowl smelled sour and spicy at the same time. Bits of fried sausage swam in pale yellow cabbage. A blue-and-white ceramic spoon stuck out of it, a piece of ground pepper stuck to its handle.
"Thanks," I said, ladling cabbage soup into my mouth. The heat and spice mingled marvelously. The Dromoni had given us one banquet after the other, and I'd gained two kilograms around my middle over the past week. Once I got back to the Belithain, I'd definitely need to start exercising.
"What will happen to you now?" I said.
"The House Trevalon has gained standing," Saradon said. "Our allies grow in number, and our policies have gained favor in the Hall of Unity."
"And you?" I said.
He shrugged modestly.
"I will start my apprenticeship in the bureaucracy," he said. "And father is entertaining more offers of marriage by the day."
"You know," I said. "I could empty one of the cabins. Manual labor on the Belithain is still an option."
That got me a laugh from both Traz and Saradon.
"It's not as bad as I make it seem," Saradon said.
"Master Saradon enjoys the paperwork," Traz said. "No matter how much he denies it."
"I do not," Saradon said. "But it is important."
I held out my hand to him. He gripped it, and pumped it up and down the Dromoni way. Then he let go, and held up his fist to be bumped.
I bumped.
"If you ever grow tired of politics," I said, "or if you ever need a gunslinger, send a ship."
"I will," Saradon replied, stepping away from the Bucket's airlock.
I gave them one last wave, licked the spoon clean, and headed for the cockpit.
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