“Possibly a wedding party,” she replied. “But the ship floated the colors, which signals some great personage aboard. Banners are hoisted only upon national fête days. This ship carried the flag of Centauri. Odd this particular ship should stray aside just as we pass to nearly collide with us.”
She gazed perplexedly into the darkness and silently, thoughtfully, studied the starry horizon, then with a murmured “Good-night” and gentle hand-clasp she left me.
Suddenly our ship blazed with lights and the Centauri banners were hoisted. We cut sharply across the heavens separating entirely from the speeding sightseers, our lights only distinguishable. No one dreamed Alpha Centauri was returning to Centur.
“It is three hours on the new day, why do you not retire?” a deep voice rumbled close to my ear.
With a start I turned and confronted the Literary Man.
“Why don’t you seek rest yourself?” I snapped.
“I have rested too long. I am far in arrears with my work, but have put everything aside to complete an Ode upon the joyful emotions Alpha Centauri is supposed to entertain when beholding Centur once again.”
His eyes twinkled and he chuckled without smiling.
“You are humorous,” I told him. “Do you doubt the joyful emotions?”
“I never answer questions,” he replied. “They always lead to argument and time is too limited for that. An argument should last at least a month, both sides talking all the time. How very young, inexperienced, you must be, Virgillius; you still have to discover that women have no emotions. The Centaurians are all humorists, tragedy is an obliterated evil; and, Virgillius, we reach Centur at sunrise. I must go and finish my Ode to Joy. We will meet again.”