83

Christopher Stasheff

“When it is sold, of course,” Matilda went on, “its new owner can change its name to whatever he or she pleases.”

Magnus intended to; the collision of cultures jarred on his sensibilities. “I will treasure it, Aunt. I thank you deeply.”

“Think of us always,” she admonished. “Now, if you must leave, young man, you must. Do come again.”

“It shall be a matter of great anticipation,” Magnus assured her. “My thanks to you. Aunt Matilda, and to my uncle …” He turned to Pelisse and therefore necessarily toward Robert, who stood behind Pelisse with his hand touching her shoulder, still de-fiant as he stared at Magnus—but forcing a smile now, at least. “Farewell, cousins,” Magnus said. “My life is richer for knowing you.”

“Oh, not farewell!” Pelisse was dewy around the lashes. “Say only, ‘till we meet again!’ ”

“All revoir, then,” Magnus said, trying to make his smile warm. “This has been an unforgettable experience.” He reached out to squeeze her hand, then turned away and made his escape into the boarding tunnel.

He came out into the ship; the hatch dogged itself behind him, and a soft, deep voice said, “Greetings, Master Magnus.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Hercules Alfheimer.” Magnus inclined his head, remembering what his father had told him: Be polite to robots, even if they don’t need it—it’ll keep you in 84

the habit of being polite to people. Magnus already knew how thoroughly all human beings are creatures of habit.

“Thank you, Master Magnus,” the robot’s voice answered.

“ ‘Magnus’ alone will do,” the young man said. “I have no wish to have one call me ‘master’; adjust it in your programming.”

“Noted,” the computer replied. “My name, too, can be changed to suit you, Magnus. I have found that most human beings prefer to shorten long designations.”

“Indeed.” Magnus nodded. “Let us make a contraction of ‘Hercules Alfheimer’: ‘Herkimer.’ ” He smiled; there was something amusing about so grand a ship having so modest a name.

“ ‘Herkimer’ I shall be henceforth,” the computer agreed. “Would you like a tour of the ship, Magnus?”

“After we are in space,” Magnus said. “For now, I would like to be away as quickly as possible.”

“The control room is straight ahead,” Herkimer informed him.

Magnus nodded; he had surmised as much, from the blunt ending of the corridor inside the airlock.

He paced forward a dozen steps and found himself looking through an open doorway into the bridge. To his right was a drop shaft; to his left… “What is this hatch across from the elevator?”

“A bunkroom, for those occasions when you wish to sleep near the bridge,” Herkimer answered.

“There is a more fitting bedchamber below.”

Magnus could just bet there was. Judging from his 85

guest quarters in Castle d’Armand, it was going to be such a swamp of luxury that he’d probably prefer the bunkroom permanently. He nodded, stepped through the door, sat down on the control couch—

and suddenly felt that the ship was really his. “Warm your engines and plot a course for …” Magnus paused; he hadn’t thought this far ahead. Then he shrugged; he wanted to get to Terra sooner or later.

“Plot a course inward, toward the sun; we will adjust it in space.”

“Very good, Magnus.”

Magnus was barely aware of the most subtle of vibrations; somewhere in the ship, machinery had come to life.

One final matter remained. “A communication channel to Fess, please.”

“Here, Magnus.”

That had been suspiciously fast. “Fess, you are once again the property of Rod Gallowglass, nee Rodney d’Armand, High Warlock of Gramarye. You are to return to him as quickly as possible.”

“Understood, my former master. You will understand, though, Magnus, that I leave you with some trepidation.”

“You may take it with you; I already have enough trepidation to last me a lifetime.”

“A feeble attempt at humor, Magnus.”

“Perhaps, Fess, but I have become wary of senti-ment. I will treasure your regard; and you may be as sure as any may, of my safety.”

“That is my cause for concern, Magnus.”

Magnus smiled. “Still, we must bear it, old com-86

panion. Farewell, till I see you again on Gramarye!

Give my love to my parents and Cordelia, and my warmest regards to my brothers.”

“I shall, Magnus.”

“Depart for Gramarye now, Fess. May your trip be smooth.”

“And yours, Magnus. Bon voyage!”

A surge of feeling hit Magnus, and he might have said more, but Herkimer’s voice murmured, “Ready for liftoff.”

“Which shall lift off, Maxima or we? Neverthe-less, let us go.”

There was absolutely no sense of motion—after all, it didn’t take much acceleration to escape from so small a worldlet. But escape they did, and Magnus felt a massive surge of relief. “Viewscreen on, please.”

The screenful of stars before him faded into a view of the “castle,” with the boarding tunnel curving out of the eastern wing. The rough, pitted form of Fess’s ship stood by it, dull in the merciless sunlight. As Magnus watched, the lumpy ball rose and drifted upward, but away from them, toward the constellation of Cassiopeia. When it was well away from the surface, it began to accelerate, dwindling rapidly. Magnus watched as his last contact with home diminished, feeling suddenly very much alone. Just before the ship shrank from sight, Magnus murmured, “Farewell, companion of my youth. You shall ever be with me.”

“You may be sure of that, Magnus,” Fess answered. “Farewell.”