The Durandal was two weeks late getting back to the Foundation.
The delay made Jr. irritable. The evening reports to Gaignun, often a highlight of his day, became short and terse. There was something on his mind.
Gaignun had his own concerns. While the Durandal was still three days out he asked, "Did you have anything special planned for the four hundred square meters of mylar, sixty Atalyan dancing robots and three crates of rock sugar you ordered two months ago?"
Jr. grimaced. "Doesn't matter. Too late to do anything with them now."
He promised: next year would be different.