Pembun's expression had changed from boredom to surprise, to shock, to incredulous surmise. Now he looked at Spangler as if he had never seen him before. "Go awn," he said softly.
"Instead of staying on Manhaven, where you belonged, you've been bumbling about the Empire, trying to hold together a structure that needed only one push in the right place to bring it down… You've been as wrong as I was. Both of us have been wasting our lives.
"Now see what's happened. Earth is finished as a major power. The Empire is dead this minute, though it may not begin to stink for another century. The Outworlds have got to stand alone. If like measures produce like ends, then that's the way it will be, whether you like it or not—but history never repeats itself, Pembun."
"Jawj," said the little man.
"—Jawj. Incidentally, I know you dislike apologies—"
"You don't owe me any," said Pembun. They smiled at each other with the embarrassment of men who have discovered a liking for each other. Then Spangler thrust out his hand and Pembun took it.
"Thorne, what are you going to do?" Joanna asked.
He looked at her. "Resign tomorrow, get a visa as soon as I can, and ship Out. If I can find a place that will take me."
"There's a place for you on Man'aven," said Pembun. "If there isn't, we'll make one."
Joanna looked from one to the other, and said nothing.
"Jawj," said Spangler, "wait for us outside a few minutes, will you?"
The little man grinned happily, sketched a bow, and walked out. His voice floated back: "I'll be with Miss O'Shaughnessy w'en you wawnt me."
Spangler sat down beside Joanna. She looked at him with an expression compounded equally of bewilderment, pain and submissiveness.
"Miss O'Shaughnessy?" she asked.
"One of the tri-D's across the corridor. I wonder if he has any idea of what he's getting into." He paused. "I have something else to say to you, Joanna."
"Thorne, if it's an apology—"
"It isn't. If Pembun told you anything about the last few days, then perhaps you understand part of the reason for— what I did."
"Yes."
"But that's nothing. What I have to tell you is that I made up my mind to marry you three months ago… not because you're Joanna… but because you're a Planter."
"I knew that."
Spangler stared at her. "You what?"
"Why else do you think I wouldn't?" she demanded, meeting his gaze.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittering with the remnants of tears. The aloof, icy mask was gone. She looked, Spangler discovered, nothing whatever like a statue of Aristocracy.
"Will you come with me?"
She looked down. "Will you go without me, if I don't?"
"… Yes," said Spangler. "I've got a lot to do, and a lot to make up for. Thirty years. I can't do it here."
"In that case," Joanna said, "—you'll have to persuade me, won't you?"