The clock chimed 2300, and Rod, with a start, realized that Fess would be arriving at the spaceport with Rod's duffel bag. He gritted his teeth, forced a smile, and kept dancing, and the "Minute Waltz" seemed to last an hour. But it finally ended; he bowed to his partner. "Forgive me, milady, but I must attend to an urgent matter."

"Certainly not so urgent as all that!"

"Didn't you hear how they were playing? I'm sorry, but I really have to step out for a moment." He turned away, hurrying.

He almost made it to the door before an elbow-glove hooked out to snag him, with a hand inside it. The hand tightened, and Rod's eyes bulged; she'd hit a pressure point—accidentally, surely. He turned, forced a sickly grin. "It's been a wonderful ball, Lady Mulhearn."

"Oh, but it's scarcely begun!" Lady Mulhearn turned back toward the ballroom, keeping a firm hold on his arm. "Surely you can't leave yet. Your dear mother would think my soiree a crashing bore, if you were home before three."

"I wouldn't think of it! I'll find a quiet bistro."

"Excellent! I have one in the Florida room. Or perhaps you wish to join the gentlemen at cards."

Somehow, Rod wasn't in the mood for five-card draw. "Really, milady—I have to be in before midnight."

"Posh and poppycock! Your parents would be ashamed of you, if you didn't last past one!"

"But I have a headache. Absolutely splitting, I tell you. It's a sinus vacuum! It's a migraine! It's…"

"Stuff and nonsense!" Lady Mulhearn turned to the nearest robot. "An analgesic for the young gentleman, Fadey!"

The robot pressed a button at its waist; two pills fell into its hand. It held them out to Rod as it popped open its chestplate and pressed a button. Water gushed, then stopped, and it took out a foaming glass.

Rod gulped the pills and reached for the water. He almost spat it out; it wasn't water, it was a potion. "Lady Mulhearn, please…"

"You'll be right as rain in two shakes." To emphasize the point," Milady shook him. "Now, a mild card game in dim lighting, and you'll feel fine."

"But I have to run home! My cactus plant needs me!"

"What for?"

"I forgot to water it before I left…"

"No matter; you can call your robot and have him do it. Fadey!"

The robot snapped off its hand and held it out. The thumb held an earphone; the forefinger had a mike.

Rod waved away the handset, feeling a surge of panic at the reminder of Fess. "Lady Mulhearn, my deepest apologies, but I really must leave now! Any longer, and it'll be too late!"

"Too late?" the lady demanded. "Too late for what?"

"To find my glass slipper!" Rod cried, twisting his arm free and all but running for the door.

He gained the hatchway and stepped into his car with relief. Out with ignominy, maybe—but out!

He saw the freighter's lander alone, still joined to the terminal by the boarding tunnel. Well, not quite alone—just inside the clear plastic of the tunnel stood a solitary, gleaming figure, a duffel bag slung over its shoulder.

"Good old Fess! Faithful to the end!" Rod brought the car in right beside the old family robot, pressed the button that matched position and sealed lock to lock, then jumped to the hatch and pressed the pressure plate. The ramp checked for pressure and opened, and Rod leaped out. "Thanks, Fess!" He caught the duffel bag off the robot's shoulder.

"Lander for freighter Murray Rain will lift off in five," the nearest loudspeaker announced in a brazen voice.

Five what? Rod wondered, then noticed what Fess held on his other arm. He dropped the duffel, ripped off his coat and tossed it to Fess, followed by his frilled front. He grabbed the loose broadcloth shirt off Fess's other arm, tugged it on, and reached for the jacket—then froze, as he realized who was standing in the shadows just behind Fess.

The Viscount stepped forward into the light with a gentle smile. "You could at least have told me, son."

"Who did?" Rod snapped out of his trance with a glare at Fess.

"I must fulfill my duty to my master, Rod," the robot said, with a tone of apology.

"Yes, he really must; that's how he's made," the Viscount said. "Don't blame him, son; his prime loyalty is to me; he doesn't have any choice but to do as his program dictates, and he knew I'd want to know you were leaving."

"Fess, I can never trust you again!"

"Oh, of course you can, son—when you're his owner. Then, he'll be as fanatically loyal to you as he now is to me."

Rod tossed his head impatiently. "That's thirty years away, at least, Dad, and it's Dick who will inherit… Wait a minute. You said when I'm his owner!"

"As you will be, from this moment. Fess, I hereby give and bequeath you to my younger son, Rodney. Serve him as you have served me—and, from this day forth, obey no commands but his."

"But Dad, I can't take him along! I'm spacing!"

"Every crewman is allowed baggage, son, and you have only one small pack. I think you'll find that Fess masses no more than your allowed luggage. And he can fit into whatever kind of storage space they give you."

"I hate to ask him to fold up like that, but… Wait a minute! You're talking about him going with me on that freighter!"

"That is what I had in mind, yes. I know I have to let you go your own way—but I can at least make sure you're as well protected as possible."

"You're letting me go? You're not going to try to make me go back?"

"Make you go back? Son, you don't know how many times I've wished I'd jumped a freighter when I was your age! Oh, I'll miss you, and I'll miss you sorely—but I want you to go, while you're still young and still can! Godspeed!"

"And Godspeed to you, too, Dad." Rod threw his arms around his father in a bear hug. After a second, the older man returned it.

The lander hooted, and Rod stepped back, alarmed to see tears in his father's eyes.

"Go with God, son—and God go with you. May the wind be ever at your back, and may you find your heart's desire."

"Thanks, Dad," Rod husked. "And may yours find you. Stay well."

"I'm lifting," the lander squawked. "Through the hatch now or never, kid."

And, suddenly, Rod found he didn't want to go, after all—but his father turned him around, and walked with him, quick-step, toward the airlock. "Now, don't forget where your handkerchief is, and don't forget to write—and don't forget Fess."

"I won't, Dad—or you. Ever." Rod turned back to wave, but the hatch was closing, cutting off his view of his father, and of Maxima.

Fess stepped back beside him as the hatch closed. "You are my master now, boss Rod sahib. Command, and I will obey."

Rod stood very still, the reality of the situation coming home to him.

Then he turned, slowly, with a spreading grin. "Well, just for openers—stop calling me 'boss.' "

"And thou never hast since?" Cordelia asked.

"No, Cordelia, though I did call him 'milord' unless he specifically ordered me to do otherwise."

"It's not really legitimate," Rod growled, "or it wasn't, until Tuan ennobled me here."

"But it did remind you of your heritage, Rod, and of the conduct becoming your station."

Gregory frowned. "Yet thou dost not call him 'lord' now."

"No, Gregory. When we landed on Gramarye, your father gave his usual order to call him only by his name as long as we remained here—and as you can see, we have not yet left."

"Nor shalt thou." Gwen came over to latch on to Rod's arm.

"Not while you're here," Rod answered with a grin.

The children relaxed, almost imperceptibly, and Cordelia asked, "Hast thou enjoyed having Papa for a master, Fess?"

"Cordelia," the robot answered, "it has been a blast."