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spaceships. She used to look at men, too, but that had stopped shortly after she’d left Dean. A psychiatrist of the old school might have said that there was some symbolic connection between her fascination with spacecraft and her lack of interest in men, but Andromeda knew that there was a simpler explanation: a broken heart, not for her husband, but rather for their son.
    She watched the shuttle as it traced a long, hyperbolic curve that gradually faded from view, and once she’d heard its sonic boom, she turned back to her guest. “Sorry, Ted. You were saying something about retirement?”
    If Harker noticed the ironic undercurrent of her question, he was careful not to let on. “Rumor around the spaceport pubs has it that you’re thinking about getting out. Announcing your retirement, then sticking around only long enough to train your successor. That true?”
    Andromeda hid her expression by picking up her glass again and taking another sip of wine. She tried to be ladylike about it, but she was tempted to chug the fine Midland merlot as if it were cheap ale. Oh, hell, she thought, who talked? Probably one of her crew; they were the only people with whom she confided anymore. Jason, her first officer, knew better than to reveal his captain’s secrets, but someone else might have had their lips loosened by drink. Rolf, perhaps, or maybe Zeus. . .
    â€œOnly rumor,” she replied. “Is that why you asked how I’m feeling these days?”
    â€œSort of.” Harker bent forward as if to get some more wine, then seemed to think better of it and withdrew his hand, shaking his head when Andromeda silently pointed to the bottle. “Y’know, no one would blame you if you decided to cash in. You’ve been at this for... what, twenty-five years now?”
    â€œThirty-four, if you count the time I spent grounded after Black Anael.” Andromeda knew he wouldn’t. No one in the Federation Navy, its merchant marine, or Coyote’s few private space companies included in their logbooks the nine Earth-years—three by local reckoning—that most of their spacecraft had been grounded following the destruction of Starbridge Coyote. The hyperspace bridge was eventually rebuilt with the assistance of the hjadd , but until then, only a few ships had lifted off from New Brighton, and then only to other places in the 47 Ursae Majoris system. “But no one counts nine years of gardening as flight time.”
    â€œBut such a lovely garden.” Harker glanced at the well-tended flower beds surrounding the deck. “I’m just surprised you’ve had time to look after it, considering how often you’ve been away. . .”
    â€œI don’t. My housekeeper takes care of it when I’m gone. My son, too, when he uses the house.” Which is the only time Sean visits anymore, she thought, although that was something Harker didn’t have to know.
    â€œBut you could be spending so much more time with it. Are you. . .?”
    â€œWhat are you trying to get at, Ted?” Andromeda put away the rest of her wine in a single gulp, then firmly planted the glass on the table. “You call to ask if you can drop by for a chat, and when you show up, you ask me how I’m feeling lately and whether I’m thinking about retirement. Yes, I feel fine. No, I’m not planning to retire anytime soon.” The second was a lie, but she wasn’t about to tell him the truth, at least not here and now. “Any other questions, or would you like to trade gardening tips instead?”
    Theodore Harker didn’t respond at once but instead merely regarded her with expressionless eyes. Andromeda regretted her flash of impatience; she should have stopped drinking when he did, but instead, she’d let the wine get the better of her. But she and Harker had known each other for years, and if not for the fifty-six years he’d spent in an emergency