embered one year when
Jacovik had gotten panicky and put up his shelters, and the storm had
been a gentle thing that only lasted a few minutes before it blew over.
Anketam had held off, ready to make his men work in the rain if
necessary, and when the harvest had come, he'd beaten Jacovik hands
down.

* * * * *

Anketam pulled his hat down again and turned to walk toward his house in
the little village that he and his crew called home. He had warned his
wife to have supper ready early. "I figure on being finished by
sundown," he'd said. "You can tell the other women I said so. But don't
say anything to them till after we've gone to the fields. I don't want
those boys thinking about the fishing they're going to do tomorrow and
then get behind in their work because they're daydreaming."

The other men were already gone; they'd headed back to the village as
fast as they could move as soon as he'd told them the job was finished.
Only he had stayed to look at the fields and see them all finished, each
shoot casting long shadows in the ruddy light of the setting sun. He'd
wanted to stand there, all by himself feeling the glow of pride and
satisfaction that came over him, knowing that he was better than any
other supervisor on The Chief's vast acreage.

His own shadow grew long ahead of him as he walked back, his steps still
brisk and springy, in spite of the day's hard work.

The sun had set and twilight had come by the time he reached his own
home. He had glanced again toward the north, and had been relieved to
see that the stars were visible near the horizon. The clouds couldn't be
very thick.

Overhead, the great, glowing cloud of the Dragon Nebula shed its soft
light. That's what made it possible to work after sundown in the
spring; at that time of year, the Dragon Nebula was at its brightest
during the early part of the evening. The tail of it didn't vanish
beneath the horizon until well after midnight. In the autumn, it wasn't
visible at all, and the nights were dark except for the stars.

Anketam pushed open the door of his home and noted with satisfaction
that the warm smells of cooking filled the air, laving his nostrils and
palate with fine promises. He stopped and frowned as he heard a man's
voice speaking in low tones in the kitchen.

Then Memi's voice called out: "Is that you, Ank?"

"Yeah," he said, walking toward the kitchen. "It's me."

"We've got company," she said.