Chapter 12

In the Officers’ Club on Earth, someone said, “What’s the latest report?”

Commander Breckenridge of Operations said, “Last detected by the station at Last Gasp, Ross 780, and going like hell wouldn’t have them.”

Commander Hughes of the Bureau of Justice said, “They’re going at it rather early, aren’t they?”

Scholar Ross of the Department of Domestic Tranquility waved at his comparison microscope and its data cards. “It would be hard to find two people better suited to one another.” He looked at his watch and smiled. “I’d say that by now they’ve both forgotten completely that they were ever strangers.”

Commander Briggs of the Bureau of Research refilled the glasses with the finest nonsynthetic vintage champagne that the cellar of the Officers’ Club could provide. He held his glass high and said, “I toast the bride and groom and the ultimate colonization of the Galaxy—by subterfuge!”

But Scholar Ross pulled the hand down. With a shake of his head, he held his own glass high. “Sorry, Briggs. But this time we toast the reactionaries, the die-hards and the rule-ridden old guard who have to work like the very devil to pair off a deserving young couple, and then force them into finding a home of their own—on some other planet.

“Gentlemen. To the Troublemakers!

“Ourselves!“