"Boys and girls together! I think not!" Prima Travis was holding firm on that. "They'd become Abominations!"

"There are single-sex schools," Prima Bowie said. "Most are religious-"

"Not our religion!" Prima Travis sniffed again. "They're heathens, or worse."

"But-"

"We should never have come," Prima Travis said. "I-I was wrong to come. We should go back." Behind her, Waltraude saw several of the junior Travis wives nodding, but one pinched her mouth up and looked stubborn. Waltraude counted-third back, that was Tertia.

"The men lied to us," Prima Bowie said. "They killed mothers-"

"You said," replied Prima Travis. "I never saw that picture you said you saw."

"You heard Patience-Hazel," Prima Bowie said. "She's a good girl . . ."

"She is not a good girl; she is one of them. Prima Bowie, has your brains run out your ears, or what? She is one of them, an Abomination. She runs around wearing men's pants, messing about with machines-"

"I'll bet she has an implant," sneered Secunda Travis. Prima Travis whirled and slapped her on the mouth.

"Don't you be saying those bad words, girl!"

"I just-"

"And don't you be arguin' with me! You see what it comes to, Prima Bowie? We left our rightful place, and now we have this-this arguin' and usin' bad language."

"We can't go back," Prima Bowie said. "They'd kill us-"

"And so they should," Prima Travis said. "Our children to grow up no proper way-"

"So you think we should just go back, die, let our children be orphans?"

"No, but we got to find a right way to live. Not hived up like bees with nowhere to gather honey."

Having delivered this, Prima Travis led her family out of the common room, back to their own little hive. More stingers than honey, the way Waltraude saw it.

Waltraude shut off the recorder and waited until the remaining women were seated, back at their endless handwork.

"Prima-"

"Call me Ruth Ann," Prima said. "I'm not a first wife anymore. Mitch is dead, and that boy won't actually marry me-I see that now."

"Ruth Ann, fine. Listen-where do you think you would be happy?"

"I won't be." The woman's broad, rounded face contracted in a scowl. "Not in this kind of world."

"There are many worlds in the Familias," Waltraude said. "What sort of place, can you tell me? A city? A smaller town?"

"Hazel said there was, but how can we go there? We can't just up and ask some spaceship to take us, even if I knew. If I can't be home . . . I guess I'd like a quiet place. There's always noise here, machine noise. I'd like it where it's quiet. Open. Maybe where I could see the fields. I always missed that, after Mitch moved us to the city, not having the fields outside. The garden just wasn't the same, big as it was. Someplace where people didn't laugh at me for not being schooled, someplace where what I can do is worth something. But I doubt you got anyplace like that in your fancy confederation or whatever it is."

Waltraude grinned. "Oh, but we do, Ruth Ann. What you need first of all is to be on a planet, not on a station in space. And then you need the kind of world where the basic skills you have are desperately needed. Your gardening, weaving, sewing, cooking . . . and tell me, do your boys know anything of tools?"

"The older ones do. Boys make most of the furniture in a house-they're so rough on it, they have to learn to fix it and make it."

"Your world had trees, didn't it? Wood for manufacture?"

"Yes, of course." Ruth Ann paused, brow wrinkled. "Are there worlds without trees?"

"Nearly without, yes. Ruth Ann . . . the Familias has hundreds of populated worlds, and is opening new ones to colonization all the time. And the colony worlds need pioneers. As you pointed out so succinctly today, most of us can't boil water without a computer. You know how to build fires. You know how to make bread from wheat-and I'll bet some of your older boys know how to make a mill."

"Of course they do," Ruth Ann said. Waltraude could almost feel the slow smile working its way out of her confused heart, and just as she expected, it finally smoothed out the ridged brow. "You really believe we could get to such a place? How? We have no money. . . ."

"I know someone who does," Waltraude said. "And they owe you a lot. The only problem is making the connection. But that's what scholars do."

"Make connections?"

"Yes. It's our job, though most people don't think it is. They think of us in terms of collecting information-silly, anyone can do that. What we do is notice which bits make new connections."

"You will help us? Why? You think we're ignorant . . ."

"Of history, yes. Of life, no. And of course I'll help you. Any decent person helps others; it's one of the things people are for."

"What . . . religion are you?"

"You wouldn't recognize it, and it would only bother you." Waltraude picked up her bag.

"Prima-Ruth Ann, I'm going to be gone for several weeks; I've been asked to escort a diplomat from the Lone Star Confederation back to Castle Rock. But let me just show you-" She took out some hardcopy ads for colony worlds. "See this? You might like something-"

"But what would our protector say? He'd have to say it was all right-"

Waltraude thought of the scuttlebutt she'd heard about young Barin Serrano and his problems with the women. "I think he'd be delighted if you found a place you could be happy."

"And living the right way," the woman said, the scowl returning for a moment. "Happiness isn't everything. Just because our men did wrong things doesn't mean they was wrong about everything. I want my children to grow up to be good, Godfearin' men and women."

"I'm sure there's a place, Ruth Ann," Waltraude said. "When I get back, I'll help."

Rockhouse Major had everything that two young officers in love could want, Esmay knew . . . if she could only get there. It should have been simple to get from the R.S.S. Shrike, over in Sector Seven, to Sector Seven HQ, and from there to the Castle Rock system. She had finally heard from Barin; Castle Rock was the one place they could reasonably meet, since Gyrfalcon would be there several days. Castle Rock lay on her route to her new duty station, and was admirably provided with shipping and passenger lines. But one thing after another had delayed her. She imagined Barin, on Gyrfalcon, making an effortless smooth transit . . . only to wait around wondering if she was even going to show up. He might even leave before she arrived, if this miserable tub of a ship didn't get a move on.

Barin saw Esmay just a moment before she saw him: saw her face with that harder edge, that warier expression. Then their eyes met, and she grinned.

"How long do you have?" she asked, as they settled at an empty table in the concourse.

"Four hours," Barin said, angry all over again. "It was supposed to be forty-eight hours on station, minimum, but all of a sudden-"

"Same with us," Esmay said. "I should have been here three days ago, but the blasted ship had a pressure-lock problem; we hung around for hours and hours at SecSev HQ, then they transferred us to old Bowfin, without time to send any messages, and then she couldn't generate more than seventy- two percent of her normal power, and we just came limping in . . . I was afraid you'd have left already."

"So was I. I left a message for you at the mail drop already, just in case." Barin put his head to one side and grinned. "Surely, all this scramble can't be just to keep us apart," he said. "That's an expensive abuse of Fleet resources."

"Whatever it is, it's a nuisance. Is your family still against us?"

"Yes. They think we should wait until the NewTex women are all taken care of. How am I supposed to do that? It could be years. What about you?"