“Come in, Lors! Come in!” Zark’s voice was a bellow of pleasure.
The heavy door swung open and Lors stepped into the room to click his heels and slap his right hand against the black holster before the Commander’s desk.
“Firstspacer Lors reporting, sir,” he said, as Zark got up from the chair and came toward him.
“Lors, Lors, my son! How are you?”
They grabbed each other by the shoulders and laughed like children. Lors, despite his love for Beth Danson and the trouble that was undoubtedly coming up, was happy as a Terran child at Christmas to see the older man.
“Lors! Let me look at you! It’s been eons since Thista! Jela’s fair dying to get her hands on you [p110] again.” He winked at Lors. “And I imagine you are, too.”
“She’s here?” A ray of panic touched him and he hoped that it didn’t show.
“Not that I know of, unless a ship came in. The last I heard, she was waiting for a ship to take her off the base on Mars. She swears she’ll get you this time, or she’s going back home to find an old mushshell gatherer.”
Lors laughed with Zark, who released him to pull a flask of wine from his desk. As he poured two tumblers of the milk-white wine, he winked at the young spacer.
“From the home planet,” he grinned. “Mallowine. I’ll wager you haven’t tasted it in a long time.”