“I hear you, Dad,” Jim said, “And I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned to Karol and manufactured a smile. “So, Mom, how was your day?”

Jim knew it was obvious that he was making a blatant attempt to change the subject, but felt relieved when his mother seemed pleased to end the discussion. She launched into what amounted to a local news report. Apparently, a new strain of drought-resistant triticale-wheat was about to become available, the Laughlins weren’t getting a divorce after all, and the sonic clothes cleaner was acting up again.

Eventually the conversation came around to the recruiter and his goliath. Jim and Trace split the story between them. Once it was over, Karol shook her head. “Gosh, they’re really getting aggressive, aren’t they? They’re saying everything’s going fine out there, and the minute Jim’s eligible to enlist they send a recruiter to our doorstep. What about your friends? Is anyone else getting targeted like that?”

“I don’t know,” Jim replied honestly. “But Tom Omer’s shipping out right after graduation.”

“I hope he knows what he’s getting himself into,” Trace said. “The military is not something to take lightly.”

“No, he’s really serious. And … I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it lately, too, what it would be like to join up. I mean, I’ve never been off planet, and the signing bonus might be enough to pay our taxes down. Who knows? Maybe you could fix up the farm, sell out, and move to Smithson. Then, when I get out of the Marine Corps, I could go to that university on Korhal like Mom wants me to.”

His enthusiastic speech was greeted with utter silence. He didn’t know what to expect; he’d been rehearsing it in his head ever since Farley’s mention of the signing bonus, but that didn’t make the notion any less shocking to his parents.

“No way,” Trace finally put in. “The taxes are our problem, not yours… . Besides, the wars with the Kel-Morians is none of our business. Let the people who care about it fight it—”