His look was dubious. After a while, he sighed. “All right.
Tell them I’m your cousin or something.”
Thanks to Derek’s nocturnal meanders, we’d slept in until well past nine. We were prepared to leave without breakfast but the housekeeper insisted on feeding us a simple meal that grew into a gargantuan feast.
I was eyeing the last of my coffee when Harmon Branstead looked in. “Where do you go from here, boys?”
“North, toward Carr. Maybe beyond.”
“Stop at Hopewell if you have time. Their automated mill and elevator is astonishing.”
“Thank you.” I glanced at my watch. I could imagine nothing less interesting.
Derek pushed back his chair. “Ready, Mr. Seafort?”
“Yes.” I got to my feet. “Drive the car around. I’ll get our duffels.”
“Thanks for your hospitality, sir.” Derek hurried out. I headed for the stairs.
“Just a moment,” said Branstead then to a farmhand, “Randall, get their bags.” When we were alone, he eyed me with distaste.
“Sir?”
His face was cold. “In Hope Nation, hospitality is a matter of tradition, not law. In that tradition, I opened my home to you. I sat you at dinner with my own children.”
“Yes, sir?”
He shot, “Who are you?”
“Nick. Nick Rog--” My voice faltered.
“Seafort, I believe he called you. I don’t know why you chose to lie, but it’s despicable. You were a guest! Get out, and don’t come back!”
My face flamed. “I’m sor--”
“Out!”
“Yes, sir.” I headed for the door with as much dignity as I could muster. Beyond, in the haze, Father glowered his disapproval.
My hand on the latch, I hesitated. “Mr. Branstead, please... “ I glanced at his face, saw no opening. “I was wrong. Forgive me. My name is Nick Seafort. I--”
“Are you really from Hibernia?’“Yes.”
His skepticism was evident. “You don’t look like the sailors we see hereabouts.”
“We’re officers.”
“Why should I believe that?”
I took out my wallet, handed him my ID.
His glance went to my face and back. “A midshipman.”
“Not anymore. It’s an old card.”
“They wouldn’t have you?”
“They had no choice. I’m, ah, Captain now.”
“You’re the one!” He studied me. “Everyone’s heard, but I don’t think they said the name... Why lie about it, for heaven’s sake?” His tone had eased to one of curiosity.
I had to do something to make amends. “My friend Derek.”
“Yes?”
“Derek Carr.”
“Is he related-- Oh!” He sat.
Gratefully, I did the same; my knees were weak. “He’s a midshipman now, and he’ll sail with us. Before we left he wanted to see... “I found it hard to raise my eyes. “Mr.
Branstead, I’m ashamed.”
“Well, there are worse things than deceit.” His voice was gruff. “You’re going on to Carr, then?”
“Yes. He’s very nervous about it. What will the manager--Plumwell, you said--do if he visits?”
His fingers drummed the table. “All our plantations are family owned. There’s never been a case where the owner isn’t in residence. Until now. Will Derek come back to stay?”
“Count on it.”
“Winston wasn’t well, the last few years. He relied heavily on Plumwell. If it weren’t for Andy, they could have lost most everything when credit was so tight. Plumwell may have saved the estate.” A pause. “So if he’s come to think of it as his own... “
I waited.
“He feels strongly about it. They’ve petitioned Governor Williams for a regulation granting rights to resident managers, though that change could take years. If an heir showed up now... “He glanced at me, as if deciding. “Yes, perhaps it’s best to use another name.”
“Is it safe to go?”
“Mr., ah, Seafort... Hope Nation is far from Earth; settlers have handled their own affairs for years. We have a certain spirit of independence that’s hard for you visitors to understand. When a problem gets in the way... we remove it.”“Would he--”
“I don’t know. I won’t mention you if I run into Plumwell.” Branstead stood.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I deceived you. I see now there was no need.”
“You couldn’t know that.” Branstead, somewhat mollified, walked me to the door. “Tell me, has the Navy ever had a Captain your age? How exactly did it come about?”
I owed him that, and whatever else he asked. I forced a strained smile. “Well, it happened this way... “
Early that afternoon, rain turned ruts and chuckholes into small ponds. Secure in our watertight electricar we hummed along past thousands of acres of cultivation. Branstead gave way to Volksteader, then Palabee. Derek asked nervously, “Sir, what will you do?”
“Don’t worry.” I’d decided not to tell Derek about Branstead’s warning, for fear of making him even more nervous.
He would be my cousin. I was practicing how to introduce him when a new mark appeared on the wooden signposts. A few miles beyond, we came to the entrance road, marked with a painted metal sign. “Carr Plantation. Hope Nation’s Best.”
He slowed. “Wouldn’t you rather head back? We’ll have more time for the Ventur--”
“Oh, please.” I pointed to the service road.
It was a long drive, past herds of cattle grazing in lush green pastures, heads bowed away from the rain. Then, endless fields of corn along both sides of the road. Finally a dip revealed an impressive complex of buildings about half a mile ahead.
We came to a stop at a guardhouse with a lowered rail.
The guard leaned into the window. “You fellas looking for something?”
“We’re on a trip up the coast road. Can we stay the night?” He nodded reluctantly. “There’s guest privileges. Every place has them. But why stop here?”
I grinned. “Back in Haulers’ Rest they told us whatever else we missed we had to see Carr Plantation, ‘cause it’s the best and biggest on Hope Nation.”
He snorted but looked mollified. “Not the biggest. Not yet, anyway. Go on in, I’11 ring and tell them you’re coming.”
I waved and we purred off down the road. The rain had stopped, and a shaft of yellow sunlight gleamed through the clouds. Derek hunched grimly in his seat.
“Your middle name’s Anthony?” I asked as a hand sauntered out of the house.
Derek gaped. “Yes, of course. Why--”
The two wings of the huge, pillared plantation house stretched along a manicured gravel drive edged by a low white picket fence. Beds of unfamiliar flowers were interspersed among clean, strong grasses mowed short.
“You the two travelers?” The ranch hand.
I stepped out of the car. “That’s right. Nick Ewing.” I put out a hand. Well, I’d told the truth. At least some of it.
He broke into a grin. “Fenn Willny. We don’t get many come through here anymore, the word’s got out the boss doesn’t like it. He’s soft on joeykids, though. Hasn’t got any of his own.” He gestured to the mansion. “We tore down the guest house last spring. Travelers stay upstairs. You eat in the kitchen. Come on, I’ll take you to the boss.”
We followed him inside. The mansion was built on the grand scale. Polished hardwoods with intricate carving decorated the doorways, bespeaking intensive labor at huge cost.
The furniture in the hallway was elegant, expensive, and tasteful. Fenn Willny led us to a large office on a corridor between a dining room and a sitting room furnished with “Swedish Modern” terrestrial antiques that must have cost a fortune.
The manager’s eyes were cold and appraising. He made no move to welcome us. I glanced at Derek, my stomach churning. What if the manager asked some question I couldn’t answer? Why had I ever agreed Derek was a cousin? “Mr. Plumwell, these are the two travelers, Nick and...”
“My cousin Anthony.” I grabbed Derek’s arm and propelled him forward. “Say hello to Mr. Plumwell, Anthony.”
I jostled his arm.
Derek shot me a furious glance. “Hello, sir,” he mumbled.
I leaned forward confidentially, speaking just loud enough for Derek to hear. “You’ll have to pardon Anthony. He’s a little slow. I look after him.” Derek’s biceps rippled.