But that was for later. First it was time to take a sonic shower, throw on some clean clothes, and make his way into the kitchen where his mother was preparing dinner. Karol Raynor’s ebony hair was streaked with gray, and wrinkles had started to appear around her green eyes, but she was still a beautiful woman. And smart too—she had been selected to attend the agricultural school in Smithson on a scholarship and was, as Trace liked to put it, “the brains of the family.”

Karol kept up with all of the most recent developments in farming technology and constantly looked for ways to stretch the family’s finances, including negotiating with creditors, a task Trace lacked the temperament for. She was a first-class cook, and thanks to her carefully sheltered vegetable garden, plus the fairly steady supply of meat provided by the local ranchers, the Raynors always had something to eat. Something Jim was especially good at. “Hi, Mom,” the teenager said, as he entered the kitchen and paused to kiss his mother’s cheek. “What’s for dinner? I’m hungry.”

Karol turned, opened her mouth to reply, and paused. “What happened to your eye?”

“Nothin’ much,” Jim replied evasively. “I got into a scuffle, that’s all.”

“A scuffle, huh?” Karol said cynically. “You know how I feel about fighting. We’ll discuss it at dinner. And put some ice on that thing.”

Once the family was seated around the kitchen table and everybody had been served, Jim had to tell his mother about the fight with the Harnack boy, and listen to a lecture about the importance of settling disputes with words rather than fists.

“Your mother’s right, Jim,” Trace put in. “Fighting’s not the answer. But it’s important to stand up for yourself, especially when it comes to bullies. The key is knowing when to get involved and when to walk away, because you never know what kind of mess you’re getting into until you’re up to your neck in it.”