drink and a talk."

"You want to do that, Conn?" his father asked, a trifle doubtfully. "If
you'd rather go home first..."

Something in his father's voice and manner disturbed him vaguely;
however, he nodded agreement. After a couple of drinks, he'd be better
able to tell them.

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Fawzi," Conn said. "I know you're all anxious, but
it's a long story. This'll be a good chance to tell you."

Fawzi turned to his wife and daughter, interrupting himself to shout
instructions to a couple of dockhands who were floating the baggage off
the ship on a contragravity-lifter. Conn's father had sent Charley off
with a message to his mother and Flora.

Conn turned to Colonel Zareff. "I noticed extra workers coming out from
the hiring agencies in Storisende, and the crop was all in across the
Calders. Big wine-pressing this year?"

"Yes, we're up to our necks in melons," the old planter grumbled.
"Gehenna of a big crop. Price'll drop like a brick of collapsium, and
this time next year we'll be using brandy to wash our feet in."

"If you can't get good prices, hang onto it and age it. I wish you could
see what the bars on Terra charge for a drink of ten-year-old
Poictesme."

"This isn't Terra and we aren't selling it by the drink. Only place we