“Purser? A dirty job. There’s nothing to do except when you’re in port, and then there’s so much to do that you never get to see the planet. I don’t recommend it, Ross.”
Ross grunted, thinking. If even the purser’s berth was no way out, what was left for him? Sixty more years of waiting for a starship and scheming how to make a profit from its contents? Sixty more years watching Ghost Town grow by nibbles on Halsey City, watching the traders wax in savagery as they battled for the ever-diminishing pool of consumers, watching obscene comedies like Lurline of the Old Landowners graciously consenting to wed Marconi of the New Nobodies? He said wearily: “Then what shall I do, Captain? Rot here with the rest of the planet?”
Delafield shrugged, suprisingly gentle. “You feel it too, Ross? I’m g
