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He pushed the thought out of his mind. Rain or no rain, there was nothing could be done about it except put up shelters over the rows of plants. He’d just have to keep an eye on the northern horizon and hope for the best. He didn’t want to put up the shelters unless he absolutely had to, because the seedlings were invariably bruised in the process and that would cut the leaf yield way down. He remembered 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. “Guess who.”

“I don’t claim to be much good at guessing,” said Anketam. “I’ll have to peek.”

He stopped at the door of the kitchen and grinned widely when he saw who the man was. “Russat! Well, by heaven, it’s good to see you!”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then a minute or two of handshaking and backslapping as the two brothers both tried to speak at the same time. Anketam heard himself repeating: “Yessir! By heaven, it’s good to see you! Real good!”

And Russat was saying: “Same here, Ank! And, gee, you’re looking great. I mean, real great! Tough as ever, eh, Ank?”

“Yeah, sure, tough as ever. Sit down, boy. Memi! Pour us something hot and get that bottle out of the cupboard!”