"Yon, old friend," said Hale when he had been admitted to that worthy's august presence, "we are, I think, ready to do business."
"Business?" asked the new Commander.
"In the matter of your spaceship," Hale reminded him.
They were sitting in the same modest stone house that Yon had always lived in; he had not yet had time to build a larger, more sumptuous home—a home fit for a Commander.
Caryl, her eyes demurely lowered, served them cups of the purple ferment as they sat at the stone table.
"Oh, yes; the spaceship. Are your people ready to go back to the stars, then?" Yon asked shrewdly.
"As a matter of fact, no," Hale said. "Actually, we've grown used to Cardigan's Green in the past twelve years. We've decided to stay. Now that we have medicines which will stop the Plague, we feel we should move to the mainland—under your benevolent Commandership, of course."
Yon looked pleased for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. "But what about the spaceship?"
"Oh, you'll get that, naturally. But it will have to be paid for in Crystals." He named a figure.
Yon's eyes grew wide. "But that's almost half of my total wealth!"