adventure. She really was incredible, his Kate.
The meanness of their habitation had prevented the accumulation of much, but their luggage was still considerable. There were Kate’s oil paints and brushes, her sketchbooks and charcoals, Amaury’s collection of Rennian warrior figures, and two of Terése’s rather ragged dolls, as well as a volume of clothing entirely unsuited to Darkover’s climate. The dreadful synthetics they wore in the ever-warm rooms of Terra were no protection against the sharp bite of wind around them. There were holos of Katherine’s enormous family on Renney, and even his own collection of tiny ceramics, little bowls and vases no larger than his thumb. It was a foolish thing to bring, but he had found he could not leave the precious objects behind. Besides, a few of the pieces were rather valuable, and he could not see any purpose in letting them either molder in some warehouse, or be sold on the block for the profit of the Federation.
What there was not were any of the technological gewgaws of the Federation—no communicators, computers, recorders, or broadcasters. These were forbidden by Darkovan statutes, and the only contraband in the bags was a tiny box of lumens, little light-emitting dots that could be applied to any surface. Herm was fond of reading in bed, and the lumens allowed him to do so without disturbing his wife. He spent a moment wondering how the children would react when they finally realized how different Darkover was from what they were accustomed to. All their young lives they had been surrounded with access to enormous amounts of data at the touch of a finger, and instant reports of the planets in the far-flung Federation. He wasn’t sure that he was going to be comfortable himself anymore, without mediafeeds. He shrugged the thought away.
Katherine had managed to collect her hair now, twisting it into a roll at the back of her head. He never failed to be amazed at the cleverness of her fingers. Fortunately, the collar of her Terran tunic came up high on her neck, so she would not seem immodest. After so many years of seeing women wearing low-cut dresses, with their napes exposed in a way which had shocked him when he first came to the Federation, he had almost forgotten that particular custom of Darkovan clothing. With a slight start Herm wondered if he would adjust to things he no longer thought were important—hiding the back of the neck for women or wearing a sword for men. Was he still enough of a Darkovan to survive?
They trudged across the tarnac, heading for the archway that separated the spaceport from the portion of Thendara called the Trade City. It was not a great distance, but they were all thoroughly chilled by the time they reached it. He nodded lazily at the black-clad Terran guards, and flashed his papers and documents, refusing to allow himself to show the slightest hesitation.
Herm had forced Katherine and the children to remain in the small cabin during most of the tedious journey. They only ventured out to get their meals in the first class dining area. Despite its grand title, it was only a narrow galley with plastic tables anchored to the floor, disposable plates and cutlery, and a very limited menu in the food dispensors. The food had been nearly tasteless, although nourishing, he supposed, and he allowed himself to look forward to some real Darkovan cuisine.
When they had gone to Renney almost nine years before, to present Terése to her great-grandmother, there had still been a semblance of amenities on the ships they had traveled on. But the austerity measures that were now commonplace within the Federation had made themselves present on the ship. It seemed to Hermes symptomatic of all that was amiss in the Federation, and he had been vastly relieved to climb down the curving passageway, through second and third class, and out into the port building half an hour before.
The other passengers in first class had been bureaucrats and
The meanness of their habitation had prevented the accumulation of much, but their luggage was still considerable. There were Kate’s oil paints and brushes, her sketchbooks and charcoals, Amaury’s collection of Rennian warrior figures, and two of Terése’s rather ragged dolls, as well as a volume of clothing entirely unsuited to Darkover’s climate. The dreadful synthetics they wore in the ever-warm rooms of Terra were no protection against the sharp bite of wind around them. There were holos of Katherine’s enormous family on Renney, and even his own collection of tiny ceramics, little bowls and vases no larger than his thumb. It was a foolish thing to bring, but he had found he could not leave the precious objects behind. Besides, a few of the pieces were rather valuable, and he could not see any purpose in letting them either molder in some warehouse, or be sold on the block for the profit of the Federation.
What there was not were any of the technological gewgaws of the Federation—no communicators, computers, recorders, or broadcasters. These were forbidden by Darkovan statutes, and the only contraband in the bags was a tiny box of lumens, little light-emitting dots that could be applied to any surface. Herm was fond of reading in bed, and the lumens allowed him to do so without disturbing his wife. He spent a moment wondering how the children would react when they finally realized how different Darkover was from what they were accustomed to. All their young lives they had been surrounded with access to enormous amounts of data at the touch of a finger, and instant reports of the planets in the far-flung Federation. He wasn’t sure that he was going to be comfortable himself anymore, without mediafeeds. He shrugged the thought away.
Katherine had managed to collect her hair now, twisting it into a roll at the back of her head. He never failed to be amazed at the cleverness of her fingers. Fortunately, the collar of her Terran tunic came up high on her neck, so she would not seem immodest. After so many years of seeing women wearing low-cut dresses, with their napes exposed in a way which had shocked him when he first came to the Federation, he had almost forgotten that particular custom of Darkovan clothing. With a slight start Herm wondered if he would adjust to things he no longer thought were important—hiding the back of the neck for women or wearing a sword for men. Was he still enough of a Darkovan to survive?
They trudged across the tarnac, heading for the archway that separated the spaceport from the portion of Thendara called the Trade City. It was not a great distance, but they were all thoroughly chilled by the time they reached it. He nodded lazily at the black-clad Terran guards, and flashed his papers and documents, refusing to allow himself to show the slightest hesitation.
Herm had forced Katherine and the children to remain in the small cabin during most of the tedious journey. They only ventured out to get their meals in the first class dining area. Despite its grand title, it was only a narrow galley with plastic tables anchored to the floor, disposable plates and cutlery, and a very limited menu in the food dispensors. The food had been nearly tasteless, although nourishing, he supposed, and he allowed himself to look forward to some real Darkovan cuisine.
When they had gone to Renney almost nine years before, to present Terése to her great-grandmother, there had still been a semblance of amenities on the ships they had traveled on. But the austerity measures that were now commonplace within the Federation had made themselves present on the ship. It seemed to Hermes symptomatic of all that was amiss in the Federation, and he had been vastly relieved to climb down the curving passageway, through second and third class, and out into the port building half an hour before.
The other passengers in first class had been bureaucrats and
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