Avery Leone la Platt stood contemplating the outstanding view from the western battlement of his holding. It overlooked the estate's grove of Chestnut and Walnut trees, surrounded by the square 15 acre cultivated fields of grape arbors. There were also fields of wheat and alfalfa that were grown in a two season rotation, a rote progression unchanged in the last ten years.

Avery Leone wasn't here for the scenery however. This was where he came to think, to ponder current events, and digest his supper. Today he was looking up. Outlined against the horizon was the chromalloy dome of the St. Croix development facility, a stadium-sized geodesic structure surrounded by eight or nine blocky concrete and steel single story buildings of little, if any, architectural interest. That part of the complex was completely obscured by the intervening landscape, but Sir Leone knew it to be there. Avery watched as descending columns of fire lit the sky over the cold modernity of the St Croix facility.

"Uncle! Mama says you have a call from someone at the big Dome...a Gregor, Gregory St. Crow or something? Will you take the call?" Avery blinked, and then nodded.

"Yes, thank your mother for me. Run! I will follow shortly." Avery spared one more glance at the St. Croix complex, and then turned to follow his young nephew. Leone's grandparents had come into this landscape seventy-five years ago. His grandfather, then twenty-five, had come towing his new wife, land grant in one hand and a development capital grant in the other, directly from his native France. He had just completed his PhD in agriculture. Like many from the over crowded cities of earth, he had been eager to take advantage of the blossoming great expansion. His dream, which lay under Avery's gaze, was an idyllic balance of life tied to the land, and a lack of what he considered modern inconvenience.

The holding, Avery knew, was patterned after a place called Lorraine during a certain historical period. Avery himself had never been off the planet.

Behind him, to what roughly was the southeast, lay acre after acre of grape vineyards. The grapes were used to make the wine which, sold exclusively to the development Grantor's distributor, provided the export balance that supported the estate.

Faintly from down below the oak staircase, the high pitched voice of his sister Lucille called out.

"Avery! The phone!"

"Yes, yes - phone, I know. Coming!"

Vega III, renamed Avon by its colonists, was a virgin world with no sapient native population, a lush wilderness as his grandfather first saw it, with its own pyramid of life, including a few successful carnivores. While these were no overawing threat to armed and equipped colonists, most landholders developed their properties to include some form of protective stockade for the main work, storage and living quarters.

Even today less than one-fifth of the useful landmass of Avon was developed. Most of the estate owners, unless of a mind to clear far more land then they actually used, also fenced or walled their fields. Avery's fields were not fenced. His father had instead cleared away the native plant life, in some areas by as much as several hundred feet, from the working field and building perimeters. He had replanted the gaps with engineered ground moss from a catalog, along with occasional rooted cuttings from existing trees already established on the estate. The effect was very pretty, cost little if anything to maintain, and offered no cover for local animal life. It was the last major change ever made to the holding, perhaps the last major change that ever would be made.

Gregory St. Croix was, as Avery viewed such things, a late addition to Avon. Agents had purchased the land grant from a deceased investor about 15 years ago, but had let the tract lay fallow for almost another five years.

Then later, a swarm of off-world construction crews rushed in and erected the current complex in a flurry of activity in less than three months. Since then, he had seen the owner personally only three times, once at a Landholder's meeting where Gregory had treated the assembly as if it were a welcome wagon held for his benefit, which was not the case. Gregory had also appeared twice as a guest at the Avery estate when his father was still alive

His father had seemed impressed with the man and the extent of his off-planet life. Avery, three generations away from direct contact with the federated planetary community, was less impressed. Still, Gregory was a neighbor, albeit usually absent, and a friend of sorts to his deceased father. To Gregory's credit, Avery could not remember an instance when Gregory had appeared on planet and failed to make a visit.

Lucille, Avery's brown-eyed and extremely petite sister, hovered about just outside the modest office where the radiophone was installed. The door was open, and the green light from the receiver was lit and blinking, awaiting his attention. Avery hugged her in passing and murmured his thanks again before attending to the phone.

"Mr. St. Croix? This is Avery la Platt; how fine of you to call."

"Avery, yes, this is Gregory. I am back again for a while. Your sister told me about your father's passing, two years ago? Seems like I was just talking to him, sorry to hear about it. I had hoped to speak with him again. I trust I am still welcome at your estate?"

"Of course, Mr. St.Croix, thank you for your sentiments. My father always welcomed you here. I could certainly do no less. How may I help you?"

"Well, I have been thinking about the fine table you set, and hoping for an invitation to talk with you. I am here with my ward, Sienna."

Avery's brow wrinkled. "I don't remember you mentioning you had a ward. Something new? Of course my invitation extends to your ward as well."

"Quite right, she is a new addition, from your viewpoint. I am embarrassed to say so, but she is my ward by way of court mandate. I must tell you that she is not pleased with the arrangement, but she is a very bright and pretty girl nonetheless. I will tell you directly that she is held in bond while her father works out a debt. Such things happen. You know what I am talking about, yes?"

Avery did indeed know, since Vega was one of a few systems where maintaining a human bond against performance was still an accepted practice. The independent Holdings often still used the tradition to guarantee contract arrangements associated with land issues such as property development, or land transfers where payment was to be made by exchanges of crops yet to be harvested. Such arrangements often resulted in marriages, and other socially beneficial outcomes. Being designated as a ward was not considered a form of punishment, although it was not an unusual outcome that a ward was personally 'displeased' with a particular instance of the practice.

"When would you be able to see us?"

"Why not this evening, if that's not inconvenient? If it is, I would leave it up to you."

"No, no that would be no inconvenience. My table will not, I warn you, be of guest quality on such short notice."

"It is settled then. If I remember correctly, I would be wise to be at your gates within the hour if I want to sit at table with you. Is that still true?"

Avery smiled and nodded. "Yes, you remember us quite well. I look forward to your company."

Lucille, still fidgeting at the office door, squeaked as Avery terminated the call, and ran off to the kitchen to see to the extra settings at table. Finally seating himself at the moderate desk, Avery pulled open his inventory ledger and reviewed the latest stock entries. Then he sat back, letting his eyes roam the far wall of the office, where an imported cherry wood rifle cabinet stood.

On the floor, next to the cabinet, two hunting bags, always filled and ready, sagged against each other. One belonged to him, the other to his deceased father. He remembered the days when his Dad would just get up from the desk, look at him and grin, and they would both grab up their bags and be gone, days sometimes, into the forested wilderness that backed, indeed surrounded, the estate. Good days. He had never, somehow, gotten around to removing his father's bag, and always checked it to be sure it was ready to go when he inspected his own. He had not hunted for a good while now, he reflected.