"I'll bet," said Laura, who had never been to Earth before and had therefore never experienced anything but the constant 22 degrees Celsius of the artificial environment.

"Do you have a few minutes?" Jackson asked her. "Maybe we can go over to the mess hall and scrounge up a cup of coffee or something."

Laura sensed that his offer entailed a little bit more than simply catching up on old times. However, it did not seem that renewing their romance seemed to be his goal. That could only mean that he had news for her; news that she might not otherwise hear. Never one to shun a potential source of information, she agreed to join him.

They talked of inconsequential things as they wandered through the calisthenics area and to the large mess tent Herald had shown her earlier. It was still empty of soldiers and still filled with the aroma of cooking meat spiced with onions. Jackson led her to a mess table in the center of the room, within easy sight of the entrances, and bade her to sit. She did so and he disappeared behind the serving counter, reemerging a few minutes later with two steaming metal cups. He rejoined her and they sipped the strong brew as they appraised each other.

"So how do you find the political life, Laura?" Jackson asked her, seemingly lightly but obviously very interested in her answer.

Laura hesitated before answering him. During their past friendship they had been as close as two people could be. They had spent many a night sharing their views of the solar system over coffee or beer or marijuana. Jackson was one of the few people in existence she had discussed her peculiar ideas about an ideal government with. Was that what he was thinking about now? Was he trying to equate Laura Whiting, the idealistic realist, with Laura Whiting the politician? "I find it," she told him carefully, "pretty much as I always expected it would be back in college."