As the days aboard Envoy mounted to weeks, her crew settled into their various ways of filling their abundant free time. You could share sports, games, recorded shows of every kind; you could pursue hobbies, studies, even research; you could teach two or three interested shipmates something you were knowledgeable about, such as a skill or a language; you could help arrange live entertainment, a play or a concert or whatever; you could think about questions that were not trivial but for which there had always somehow been too many distractions; you could simply talk with someone, long conversations, perhaps over a drink or two, and get to know that person better.

It did not work perfectly for anyone, and did not work as well as it should for certain ones. Then the temptation was to seek the pseudolife of an interactive virtual-reality program. Every cabin was equipped. But you rationed yourself pretty strictly; prudence and unspoken social pressure remained powerful.

A popular, productive activity was the improvement and decoration of the interior. Individuals or teams contributed according to talent and inclination, after general agreement had been reached on what to do in a given area. One daywatch about three ship months after departure, Mokoena and Brent met in the common room for this purpose.

With the two of them alone there, it felt cavernous. Kilbirnie, Dayan, and Zeyd had painted the bulkheads and overhead in cheerful colors, with flourishes. A wall screen showed a mural composed by Yu: black-and-white scene of mountains and river, house and bamboo grove, a poem of Li Bo inscribed in the upper right. She was programming a second picture. Mokoena thought the place also needed something dynamic, but something that was solid, touchable, not an engineered mirage. Nobody objected.

Brent hunkered at the base of an aluminum framework. It suggested a miniature fir tree stripped bare, with intricately curved boughs and subbranchings. Motor-driven, they could undulate, twirl, and interweave, swiftly, randomly. He had built it in the machine shop according to her design and today, with strength and skill she lacked, secured it to the deck and made sure it operated properly. As it whirled back to quietude, he rose. "There," he said. "Seems okay. Will it do?"

She beamed, a flash of whiteness in the dark face. "Splendid. I can't wait to put on the ornaments." Mirrors, jewels, shining fractals — her creations; they should move and gleam and glitter endlessly variable, almost alive. "Would you like to help with that, too?"

"No, I'm not the artistic type."

"Well, then, thank you twice as much."

"No trouble. I had nothing else to do. With my hands, anyway."

Mokoena's smile dissolved. "Yes, I have thought that must be difficult for you, Al."

Resentment broke abruptly loose. "Yu Wenji's just-in-case backup."

"Why, you stand your watches, you have your jobs —"

"Busywork. Nothing a robot couldn't do as well or better. Keep the clod occupied, because if you don't he might stir up trouble for lack of any other interests."

She frowned, straight into his eyes. "Now, that's nonsense. In the first place, you knew full well what the situation would be en route —"

"Oh, yes. In theory. Practice turns out to be harder. Don't worry, I'll last out the monotony, hoping we'll find What'll make it worth going through."

"In the second place, Al, we all know you are not an oaf or a monomaniac, and you know we know it. We've heard you mention pieces of history we never learned, and snatches of the music you play for yourself, and on Christmas Eve," celebrating a date that existed only in the ship's calendar, "over the cognac, when you fell to talking about —" She stopped. Abashed, she had to ask: "What was his name? The composer."

"Beethoven."

"Yes. I'd like to know more about him and his music."

His countenance brightened, his voice lightened. "You would?" Bitterness returned. "You'd be damn near unique. How many give a politician's promise any longer about the heritage?" The last word he used quite without self-consciousness.

"Times change," she answered. "Ideas, tastes, ways of doing and saying things, even thinking and feeling."

"Not necessarily for the better." He grew earnest. "That's one reason I came along. So that somebody would remember what Western civilization was, and bring it back again to Earth."

Surprised, she said, "You never made that dear to us, Al."

"I didn't expect anybody would understand. Well, Tim Cleland, a little. And Nansen, maybe, except he's given up on it. He hugs his traditions to himself and just tries to be the perfect captain, the perfect robot."

"You're being unfair. Speaking for myself, I admit I don't know much about this. We had other things to think about in Africa, including our own traditions. But I'd be happy to learn."

"Really?" Brent stood motionless. When he spoke again, it was warmly. "Why, that's wonderful, Mam."

"I'm not sure how —"

"We'll find our way forward. Look, let me put these tools away and then we'll go off by ourselves and begin."

He edged closer. She retreated a step. "That may not be wise, Al."

He halted. "Huh? You —"

"I think I see what you have in mind. No, I'm not angry. It's very natural." She trilled a laugh. "A compliment, actually. Thank you."

He stiffened anew. "But you won't."

"Not so suddenly."

"You and Lajos Ruszek are open enough about what's between you."

"Our business."

"And Tim, lately —"

"Hold on!" she snapped. "For your information —" She paused. "Do you mean you didn't know? I thought, as often as you two have been talking  —  Well, he is a private person. He's having a thorny time. I'm trying to help him through it. I do not want to make matters worse."

He reddened. "Instead, you're serious about that Ruszek hooligan? Because if you're just screwing for fun —"

"I told you, mind your own business!" she shouted. "And keep a civil tongue in your head, fellow."

He gulped and glowered.

She relaxed, bit by bit. "Oh, I understand," she said after a while. "You're overstressed." Less stable than we believed, she did not add. "Please come see me at my medical office. There are plenty of helpful pharmaceuticals. And I don't gossip about my patients, Al."

"I don't need that kind of help."

"Well, I can't compel you," she sighed. "Only remember, do, it's always available and you're always welcome. Meanwhile, shall we forget this incident?"

"All right." He sounded half strangled. Collecting the tools, he stalked off.

In his cabin he selected a program, made the bioelectronic connections, lay back, and went questing through the wilderness with Daniel Boone. The native women were very hospitable.