Pendarvis smiled. "Perhaps you're right, Gus. I want them to hurry up and cut the cake so the dancing can start. I 'm dying to get out on that floor and see if the old body is still up to the Shesha-slide and the tryex-trot."

"Too strenuous for me," Jack said. "The last dance I learned was the bob-slop.

That seems like a thousand years ago."

Rainsford fiddled with his pipe and harumphed. "It probably was, too."

A number of men had gravitated to the conversation group around Juan Jimenez-since most of the women had gravitated there first.

A number of Fuzzies had joined the group as well-the intellectual elements, led by Little Fuzzy and Diamond.

"That's a pretty ambitious project you and Gerd are talking about," Lieutenant Commander Pancho Ybarra said. He was the Navy psychologist who had first cracked the problem of Fuzzy sapience. And, he was Liaison Officer between the Navy and the CZC Native Affairs Commission, and anyone else who was active in issues pertaining to Fuzzies. "A permanent building for Fuzzy Institute,expanded medical research and educational programs.

Where do you think you're going to get the money?"

"From the Fuzzies, if they approve of our plans," Gerd said.

Pancho snorted. "From the Fuzzies? Fuzzies are about as interested in money as a Khooghra is in Sunday."

"That's perfectly true," Juan said, "but you're forgetting one thing. That rich sunstone strike on the Fuzzy Reservation has been leased back to the CZC, who are paying a royalty of four hundred fifty sols per carat for the privilege of working the diggings."

"And they aren 't going to piddle along cracking a ton or two of flint a day, like an independent," Gerd chimed in. "We figure that in a year the Native Affairs Commission and the ZNPF, and Fuzzy Institute will all be paying their own way, without any handouts from the Government."

"That must make Governor Rainsford happy," someone said.

"He's overjoyed," Gerd said. "According to the CZC staff study, we figure we'll be able to continue expanding our research into the NFMp problem and still break ground for Fuzzy Institute in a year and a half to two years from now." "I'm still convinced that you can't crack the NFMp problem," Ernst Mallin said. "I've looked at the whole ton of studies, experiments, and conclusions drawn and I throw in with the camp that says NFMp production evolved in Fuzzies to meet some long since disappeared genetic requirement- and, once developed, couldn't be un-developed. It left them in a genetic dead end with a negative population growth. There's ample precedent already proven on several planets, Terra included. Fuzzies are going to become extinct, and that's that."

Little Fuzzy drew thoughtfully on the tiny pipe he liked to smoke, and frowned. At least, it looked like a frown. Juan Jimenez couldn't be sure of it, because he'd never seen a Fuzzy make that kind of face before. Diamond was doing it, too.

Partly to inject his own opinion as a mammologist against Mallin's as a psychologist, and partly to not sound so gloomy in front of the few Fuzzies present, Juan dove into the technical conversation pool. "Ernst," he said, "don't be such a doom-croaker. Your field is psychosciences, anyway."

"I still have an M.D.," Mallin chided.

"Yes, yes," Juan said. "I 'm not questioning your schooling. Oh, I even used to agree with that theory. I've seen what Gerd and Ruth and Lynne have been doing since then, though. They're making steady gains on isolating the NFMp hormone and pinpointing its function in Fuzzy metabolism. When you can get that kind of information about anything produced in a mammal's body, you can find a way to chemically counteract it."

Diamond was tugging at Juan's sleeve. "Unka Won," he said. "What's a mam'a'?"

Juan explained the taxonomic class Mammalia to him. Diamond nodded.

"Thank you," he said. He propped his chin on a tiny fist and looked serious, as though inviting Juan to continue.

' "That's why I 'm one hundred percent behind Gerd's plans for a real Fuzzy Institute. They've been able to accomplish wonders over at Holloway Stationunder much less than optimum laboratory standards. Ruth said it best: a tiny spot of light-what we really know about Fuzzies-surrounded by a twilight zone of what we think, mostly erroneous, probably. Beyond that, the dark of ignorance, full of surprises.

' "There's a whole new science here, just about Fuzzies. In acquiring that body of knowledge, I'm convinced we'll also whip the NFMp problem along the way."

"I agree with you, Juan," Liana Bell said. "From what little I know, it seems that there must also be a ton of things we can teach Fuzzies."

"That's right," Juan said. "Why, within twenty years, you'll see Fuzzies graduating from Terran universities."

"Oh, piddle!" Mallin snapped.

"And why not?" Liana said, rather abruptly, surprised at herself for disagreeing with her superior.

"Thorans are doing the same thing. They aren't as intelligent as Fuzzies, so far as I know. And, our studies indicate they have adapted very well to Terran social conventions and attitudes."

"With one exception," someone said.

Liana laughed, rather musically, Juan thought. "That's true," she said,"but it's a minor point. The Thorans believe in Great Ghu the Grandfather God the same way I believe in environment-conditioned responses."

"There's a summary tape on my desk right now," Juan said, "from the Xeno-Sciences Institute. It draws qualitative comparisons between all eight extraterrestrial races. It says Fuzzies are the most intelligent-hands down.

It goes on to suggest that they may be more intelligent than we are."

That idea sharply divided everyone into two camps.

"That can't be true! They have no technology!"

"Maybe they don't want any."

"Right! Just because we're machine-crazy doesn't make that attribute a pre-condition of intelligence."

' "They may just be at a different stage of development and evolution."

"-Or evolving at a more leisurely rate."

"The odds would favor something along those lines. In five hundred years this is the eighth sapient race we've encountered, and they are all behind us in general intelligence and development."

"From the Yggdrasil Khooghra at one end to the Thorans at the other," someone else added.

"Sure," the strawberry blonde said, picking it up. "I think it's about time we ran across a race that's more advanced than we are. Maybe they could teach me how to run a vocowriter by just thinking at it-save wearing out my voice."

Everyone laughed. The argument was over.The musicians came back from their break. Several people drifted away from the group toward the dance floor- including Juan Jimenez and Liana Bell.

Presently, everyone was gone from around the big lawn table except the strawberry blonde-and Diamond and Little Fuzzy, sitting on the edge of the table.

Little Fuzzy knocked out his pipe on the edge of the table, then blew air through the stem, just the way he had seen Pappy Jack do it.

The young woman was looking up at the stars. She didn't notice Little Fuzzy put the pipe away in his shodda-bag and walk across the table top. When he touched her hair with his tiny hand, it startled her.

He studied her with his wide, appealing eyes. "Shu hassa," he said. "No hu'ttsu. Are you amam'a', too?"

She smiled at him. "Yes, I'm a mammal, too."

Diamond joined them, with his hands clasped behind his back, and studied her intensely. "You got funny fur," he said. "A'most same as Auntie Sand'a.

Why is?"

For a moment, she was flustered. This was her first close meeting with Fuzzies. It took a moment for her to realize Diamond was asking about her hair-almost the same color as Sandra's, but more pale.

"Hair," she said.

"We call it hair."

Diamond, too, reached out to feel the texture of her hair. "Fuzzies' fur all same color," he said. "Why Hagga have all different colors?"

You know, she thought, they may be smarter than we are. There's certainly nothing wrong with their curiosity about things. "Well, you see," she said, "it's like this. You've noticed we have different-color eyes, too?"

They both nodded solemnly.

"It depends on what color hair and eyes your parents had-and your grandparents . . .".

It was getting on into the evening. Victor Grego had long since shed his swallowtail coat and loosened his neckcloth. He was circulating among the guests in his shirtsleeves and vest, urging them to polish off anything and everything that was left to eat or drink.

He stopped short when just within earshot of the table where Diamond and Little Fuzzy were now sitting crosslegged and listening with rapt attention.

Then, he spun on his heel and bustled back into the penthouse, where Ahmed and Sandra were exchanging pleasantries with some departing guests.

"Excuse me," he said. "Sandra, come over here to the terrace doors a moment."

Sandra Khadra excused herself and went to stand with him.

"You see that young lady over there?" he asked. "The one talking to Diamond and Little Fuzzy?" Sandra nodded affirmatively.

"Does she work for the Company? I've never seen her before, but there are a lot of people who work for me who I wouldn't know now if I met them coming down the esplanada."

Sandra peered across the softly-lit terrace. "Well, I don't know her. At least, not from this distance."

Grego looked about hastily. "Where's Myra? Has she left yet? She'11 know."

"Mr. Grego! What's this all about?" Grego made a gesture of impatience. "Now that the wedding has been committed, you can call me 'Daddy,' " he said.

"Would you help me look for Myra, please? I'll look on the south terrace and meet you back here."

A few moments later, he came huffing back to the terrace doors.

"Notthere,"he said. "Oh, there you are. You found her. Good, good."

"What's the matter, Mr. Grego?" Myra echoed. "It's some big mystery he's concocted," Sandra said. "Faugh!" Grego snapped. "Myra, who's that young lady over there talking to Diamond and Little Fuzzy? Does she work for the Company?"

Myra squinted; then a look of recognition came over her face. "Why, Mr.

Grego," she said. "That's the assistant I hired to help with the plans for the wedding. I was thinking about putting her on the reception desk, now. She seems to be very good with people, and-"

Grego cut her short. "Thank you, Myra. I'll explain tomorrow. Sandra, come with me, please."

He led Sandra across the terrace-out of sight of the three at the big table.

As they neared the group, he put his finger to his lips and touched his ear.

Sandra was exasperated by now, but she kept quiet and listened.

"... So, you see, guys, that both my parents and Sandra's parents had a recessive gene for red hair, but my parents had a dominant gene for blonde hair and hers had a dominant for either brown or black. Do you see how that works, now?"

Both Fuzzies nodded.

"And, who was it, again, who first formulated the scientific law that all genetics is based on?"

"Geggo Menda," Diamond said quickly.

"Right," she said. "Mendel. First century, Pre-Atomic. Now, how long was it before any really significant research was done in genetics?" She pointed to Little Fuzzy.

"Many-many," he said.

"Come on, now, Little Fuzzy," she chided gently. "I explained how Hagga measure time. Now, how many years?"

Little Fuzzy screwed up his face for a moment. Number concepts were still pretty mysterious to him."Hundedd-fifty yiss," he finally said."Do you hear that?" Grego whispered to Sandra. "She's teaching them genetics."

"So?" Sandra said.

Grego grimaced. "They're getting it. They're getting it. They understand the theory. She's explained it so it's understandable to a Fuzzy."

He took Sandra by the hand and led her out into the light. "Good evening," he said.

"Heyo, Pappy Vic," Diamond said enthusiastically. He jumped up and took a step toward the strawberry blonde, then put his little hand on her shoulder.

"She teach us why Fuzzy-fur always same color and Hagga-fur different colors."

"Hair," she corrected.

"Yes-heh-yeh," Little Fuzzy said. "Hair," she said again, attempting to correct the pronunciation.

"That's what I said-" Little Fuzzy blustered. Heh- yeh."

"She's nHoksu-Hagga," Diamond said. Wonderful Big One.

"I think you're right, Diamond," Grego said. "Young woman, I understand you work for the Charterless Zarathustra Company."

She nodded.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked. "Of course," she replied. "You're Mr.

Grego, the Manager-in-Chief."

"Precisely," he said. "Mrs. Khadra, here, used to be my Fuzzy-Sitter-in-Chief- until she allowed herself to be dragged away by something as piffling as matrimony." Sandra snorted derisively.

"However," Grego continued, "my philosphy is that in every disaster is the seed of its resolution and improvement."

The strawberry blonde frowned and pursed her lips. "I don't think I'm following you, Mr. Grego."