“Lors! Let me look at you! It’s been eons since Thista! Jela’s fair dying to get her hands on you [p110]  again.” He winked at Lors. “And I imagine you are, too.”

[p110]  

[p

]  

“She’s here?” A ray of panic touched him and he hoped that it didn’t show.

“Not that I know of, unless a ship came in. The last I heard, she was waiting for a ship to take her off the base on Mars. She swears she’ll get you this time, or she’s going back home to find an old mushshell gatherer.”

Lors laughed with Zark, who released him to pull a flask of wine from his desk. As he poured two tumblers of the milk-white wine, he winked at the young spacer.

“From the home planet,” he grinned. “Mallowine. I’ll wager you haven’t tasted it in a long time.”

“Not since Thista,” Lors assured him, accepting the tumbler. He held up the glass for a toast. “To you, sir, and your daughter. May she be saved from marrying a mushshell gatherer.”

Commander Zark chuckled and they drank, the soft, mellow taste of the wine lingering fondly in their mouths long after the drink had found its way into their stomachs.

“Now then, Lors. Tell me what that fool of an Imry did to you.”

He told the Commander everything, watching the older man nod his head from time to time, the stubby fingers of his hands forming a pyramid before his lips as he slumped in his chair. Lors left nothing out, except his love for Beth Danson. He couldn’t bring himself to tell about that. When he had finished, Commander Zark’s eyes were hot with angry indignation.

“I’ll see that Imry cannot get a command on a planet with a pure ammonia atmosphere for this [p111]  trick! I’ll see him tortured by Thistians!” The old man stopped his tirade as quickly as he had begun it. “You know what this means, Lors?”

[p111]  

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