"Some. Only some."

"Are there many in the galaxy like you?"

"Twice I met another like myself. Far had they come, far had they yet to go, for there are many stars and times to swim. I had not swum so far as they, nor will I, for I am done."

"You are not done," said the native in a firm, cheerful way. "Not yet. You're still quite alive and getting better. Are you very old?"

There was a pause, as a mountain range eroded toward a plain.

"Old? No, I'm not old." The newcomer hummed for a time, as a machine might hum, searching for information. "I could have lived the lifespan of a star. There is no limit to my life, unless I die like this."

"I wish you would not not speak of dying. I do not allow dying here. Is this usual? Do all your people end themselves this way?" speak of dying. I do not allow dying here. Is this usual? Do all your people end themselves this way?"

"Of the two I met, one was young, one old. The young one knew no more of life than I. The older one told me beware, beware the call. That one told me to deafen all my ears against the call. I wish I had believed."

"Only two of your own kind? But, surely you began somewhere? Somehow?"

The newcomer searched memory. "I remember sh.e.l.l, close all around. I do remember kin along with me, warm turning close within each other's wings. I would have lingered there, but kin cried out. Somewhere a great lamenting. Then the flame. Away kin burst, we burst, fire trailing us, then something broke the sh.e.l.l. Kin went swiftly away. I called. No answer, just s.p.a.ce and distant stars. I went out, too, unfurling wrinkled wings to catch starwind. Behind me, falling far, the sh.e.l.l that held us, burning as it flew."

"Two of you in the egg," mused the first. "That explains a lot."

The newcomer puzzled over this. "What does it say?"

"It says that you have kin."

"Kin? What good is kin! Kin left me there," the newcomer cried in anguish. "Long time I flew among the burning stars. I searched for kin. I longed for kin, nestwarm, wing-close. When kin called me, I came."

"You came here, to this system," agreed the native.

"Here's where kin was: grown great and terrible." The newcomer trembled.

"You grieve because you think the one that did this was your kin," said the native. "But maybe that isn't true."

An island chain thrust itself above the waves.

"Kin was like me, yet different from me. Kin was the only one I've ever known that was like me yet different from me. Who else could that have been?"

"I am different from you."

"But you are different from everything."

"None like me on other worlds?" the native said with surprise.

"I have seen none like you. I have seen life before, but none built up like you, acc.u.mulant, piled life on life on life...."

"Ah," said the native, surprised. "How strange. I had a.s.sumed no world could exist without at least one like me. Who governs them? Who designs? Who rules?"

"I was not interested in governance."

"You say you saw two others just like you. Perhaps they, too, were born as you were born. With kin who cried to get out?"

Long silence, during which several races of trees evolved and died. "I never thought of that."

"So it's possible the one who called to you was their kin instead of your kin?"

A long, long pause, then, doubtfully, "Even if true, it makes no difference. Am I not shackled here, no matter who?"

A continent came into being, floated halfway around the world, then sank beneath the waves.

"I don't think it was your kin who did this to you, though your kin will probably do it to someone."

"Will my kin do this thing? Oh, sad, so sad."

"Why should this be the way?"

A long silence, then a whisper, "Perhaps there is no other way to be."

The native detected great sadness and felt guilt at having caused such pain through mere curiosity. The native deputized a sizeable segment of itself to see to the comfort of the newcomer. Bringing comfort was very complicated. It took a long time.

"Are you more comfortable now?" the native asked eagerly, when the time was past.

"More comfortable," sighed the second. "Yes. I am more comfortable now."

"Are you getting enough nourishment?" The native worried about this. Now that the newcomer was truly settled, the native didn't want anything to happen to it.

"Oh, yes, thank you."

"And are they amusing you?"

"Yes. Yes? Well, I think they are amusing me. Sometimes I feel such joy. When they dance for me, I have such pleasure. I do not want to die."

"I told you! You needn't die!"

"I'm still dying."

"No. You're not. I'll figure something out. Can you go back to sleep now?"

"I think I will. Just a little nap."

"A few thousand revolutions, maybe."

"Maybe."

Silence then, on the part of the newcomer, though the native talked to itself. The native always talked to itself, now let me see, I-we-that need to do this, I-we-that need to send a hand there, a foot there, I-we need to spin off some teeth to chew over that matter, and, oh, yes, how is the newcomer? Asleep, good. Poor thing.

Poor thing. I see no reason why it should have to be that way. I will make it happy here. If it has had a difficult time, it deserves happiness. All my creatures deserve happiness.

9.

Amatory Arts: Fitting into the Family.

Certain of my lectures will be repeated annually during your training," said Madame. "They cover subjects which I know to be important but which you will think dull and irrelevant. This information is indeed pointless and dull, until the moment you need it, at which point it becomes vital. Therefore, I repeat myself at intervals to be sure you will have the information when you need it.

"When you are purchased by a patroness, you will become a member of her family. Who is included in that family will depend upon her preference and your good sense. Probably it will include at least the younger children of your patroness. It may include certain of her servants and a chatron or two. It may also include her husband. Her children and her servants will accept you to the degree you are helpful and amusing without in any sense attempting to supplant any of them in your patroness's life. To the children, and to the servants, you will say such things as, 'She is so fortunate to have you. She is so proud of you. I don't know what she would do without you.' Note, never say, what I would do without you. They are not your children, not your servants. Your relationship to them is reflected through her, as in a mirror. We will expand on this later; your conversation mistress will help you with the variations that may arise.

"Now, as to the husband. It is important that you consider the personality of your patroness's husband, for though she has the right to a Consort of her own choosing, husbands accommodate that right in various ways. It is essential that you a.n.a.lyze the degree and type of accommodation and make every effort to meet it more than halfway.

"For example, the husband of your patroness may be complacent, in which case honest civility will be all that's required. He takes first place. At functions where husband and wife must appear together, you do not appear at all. At functions planned for patronesses and Consorts, at the theater, at restaurants, at fetes and jollities, he does not appear.

"He may be envious, in which case you will speak to to him of how highly his wife speaks him of how highly his wife speaks of of him. You will use a variation of the same technique used on servants and children. 'She is so lucky to be married to you. She says so, all the time.' him. You will use a variation of the same technique used on servants and children. 'She is so lucky to be married to you. She says so, all the time.'

"Occasionally, however, you will meet a husband who is given over to an amorphous rage, which may or may not direct itself at you. Some people, more often men, spend their entire lives awash in bitterness. They rage against injustices done to their forefathers, perhaps centuries in the past. They rage against injustices done to their countrymen, their families. They rage against people who are unlike themselves, who, by virtue of their difference, must be up to no good. They rage against people who are like themselves who do not share their views. They rage against their parents, their wives, their children, and against anyone who is sympathetic to any of these. Their rage is a screen between them and the world, behind which they huddle over their egos, like a caveman over his fire, unable to see out through the smoke.

"Even some apes display this characteristic. Such fury may begin as a matter of status, as resentment against the dominant male. It may begin out of frustration of desires. It may begin with an unhappy nature that is born depressed and uses anger to fuel itself into action. It may begin in mystery, and it may end in tragedy. However or whyever it begins, it is essential that your patroness be protected from it. Your duty to your patroness is to give her joy and keep her from harm. She selected you. She places her happiness and her trust in you. She is your responsibility. If you injure a husband in protecting your patroness, you are exempt from any damages or judgments, even if the entire Executive Council of the Men of Business rises in wrath. This is one of the reasons you are taught hand-to-hand combat.

"Anger is our most destructive emotion. The most difficult part of your job is to deal with anger, your own or others'. We need anger to defend ourselves, so we cannot breed it out or teach ourselves not to feel it, but when we let the anger well up without a proper object, it floods our minds and renders us helpless. We all know men who are angry at everything, simply because they prefer to be angry at everything. Often, they self-destruct, and sometimes they take other people with them."

10.

Three Angry Men.

Settlers had spread outward from Naibah along the sh.o.r.es of the Jellied Sea, so called for the semi-annual hatch of Purse fish whose translucent egg sacs rose from the pelagic ooze in uncounted millions, turning the sea for that brief period into an oceanic aspic. There were good-sized communities as far as several days' sail east or west, and small struggling settlements more distant than that. These places were supplied by ships from Gilesmarsh, the port at the mouth of the river, a place well equipped with doss houses, gambling dens, taverns, and stews built on tall pilings above the tidal ooze. Naibah was actually a bit inland from the delta, away from the stink of the mud flats and on high enough land to avoid both five-moon tides and the occasional tsunami resulting from sub-oceanic seisms.

Most boats docking at Gilesmarsh tried to do so at middle high tide, so their pa.s.sengers could take one of the wind taxis upstream to Naibah and Water Street. There the transvest.i.tes were younger, prettier, and more agile than the old swabs at the port; the drink was of less lethal quality; and a man in his cups was less likely to end up dead, providing he kept his veils straight. Though there were few women of good repute to be offended on Water Street, there were alert Haggers everywhere.

One of the Water Street taverns was called the Septo-pod's Eye, and in addition to more-regular customers the place was patronized quarterly, more or less, by a group of odd fellows who came into Naibah from different directions, looked considerably different from the usual run, and smelled different from (and worse than) any living thing. One of them was called the Machinist, and another went by the name of Ashes, and the third one called himself Mooly. Whenever the barman (who despite his profession was a respected family man, ent.i.tled to a g' and a c.o.c.kade) caught sight of any of the three, he summoned several bulky Haggers to sit about and look menacing and made sure his wife and daughters were up in the family quarters behind locked doors.

The three odd fellows never seemed to notice these arrangements. Each time they came, they sat at the same table and they drank the same brew, and they left at the same hour--just before the night boat sailed for Nehbe. Every time they came, any patron they spoke to was offended, and every man who got close enough to smell them was offended, and all in all, the barman was thankful they only showed up three or four times a year.

"So," said the one called Mooly to the one called Ashes, "you got your vengeance all underway, have you?"

"All moving along nicely." Ashes grinned ferociously and dipped his snout into his gla.s.s. "Machinist kind of helped me out. Now I'm waitin' for matters to ripen."

"You figure gettin' ridda her will change things, do you?" asked Mooly.

"Change my irritation some," Ashes growled. "Teach her a lesson. Woman had no right to go off like that. I shoulda had daughters! I shoulda had riches! Woulda had, but for her!"

"Still got no ship," murmured Mooly.

"We'll get the ship. No reason for hurry. Mountains are gonna roll, Mooly-boy. Mountains are gonna roll." He leaned back, opened his mouth and sang, "An' when they do, it's me and you, and devil take the hindmost."

Everyone in the place began talking of something, anything, to cover the sound of that song, for it held a horridly broken quality, as though it issued from the throat of something not quite complete.

"Well, we're we're ready," said Mooly, glaring at Ashes, his long yellow nails, ridged as washboards, making a dry tattoo upon the tabletop, like the rattling of bones. " ready," said Mooly, glaring at Ashes, his long yellow nails, ridged as washboards, making a dry tattoo upon the tabletop, like the rattling of bones. "Been ready some time." ready some time."

Ashes squirmed, perhaps uncomfortable at this challenge. "I know, I know. Gotta be patient. Gotta wait on events. You tell 'em Ashes said so. Wait on events."

"I done my part," whispered the Machinist. "Nothing new, here, Ashes. Why'd you need me here? I don't like coming here."

"Got to show the flag to the b.l.o.o.d.y Hag, Mah-cheeny. Got to come out in the open, ever now and then, listen to people talk, see 'em wander, figure 'em out."

"You're drunk," said Machinist, who drank nothing but water. "You're pickled."

"And if I am? Who's got more right? Never mind, Mah-cheeny, old boy. These little get-togethers keep us in touch. You over there near Nehbe. Mooly over the mountain with our folk. Me wanderin' around in Sendoph and Naibah, keepin track of this one and that one. Now you can go back to your con-st.i.t-you-encies and tell 'em what's goin' on."

"Got no const.i.tuency," grated Machinist. "Don't want none."

Ashes sneered, "You got one, whether you want it or not. There's still folks remember you well, Mah-cheeny. Folks that speak of you often. Shatter sends regards. So does old Crawley! Meetin' here keeps us all together, keeps us on track. Whatever happens, we're gonna be all together. No matter what happens."

"What happens better be what we planned to happen," said Machinist. "That's what'd better happen."

"Sure, sure," soothed Ashes. "All in good time."

"There's been too d.a.m.n much good time!"

"You want it sooner, you can lead it."

"Don't want to lead it," said Machinist. "Never did."

"Well then, don't be so impatient. It'll all come to pa.s.s. You can rely on that. It'll all come to pa.s.s. No more Hags. No more smart-a.s.s women dyin' when we do 'em. No more g'this and g'that. You relax, old boy. All's going just the way it should."

They drank, they muttered, and around them the air seemed to seethe with frustration, expressed and repressed, a kind of livid glow that exhausted the air, leaving it without sustenance. Not a moment too soon, they left, this time with no a.s.saults and no insults beyond the a.s.sault of their smell and the insult of their presence. Everyone in the room gasped with relief and those nearest the windows rose to throw them wide.

The barman propped the door ajar as well, then summoned two supernumes-of-all-work to scrub the table and chairs where the three had sat. He bought drinks for the house just to restore a little conviviality. Every time the trio descended on him, he swore it would be the last, but he still hadn't come up with a way to keep them out without insulting them, and somehow he didn't think insulting them was a good idea.

11.

On Old Earth: History House.

On Old Earth, History House #8739 (one of 10,000) glowed golden in dawn, shone rose-pink in sunset, a mountain of mirrored surfaces set like the facets of a gem. The interior ambience fulfilled the exterior promise; all was brilliance and luxury. Gilded columns towered, white faux marble stairs curved away to unseen marvels, while the tall mirrors on every wall expanded the interiors into infinite, though often fragmentary, s.p.a.ces. Carpets were thick and mattress-soft, and they led past fountains and sculptures and flowering trees, artificial but scented like real ones, to wide corridors that opened into the exhibits: Old Earth, 20th-century America; Old Earth, Asian Heritage; Old Earth, the Arts; Old Earth, Africa, Cradle of Man; Old Earth, the Primordial Fauna; Old Earth, Trees, Trees, Trees Old Earth, 20th-century America; Old Earth, Asian Heritage; Old Earth, the Arts; Old Earth, Africa, Cradle of Man; Old Earth, the Primordial Fauna; Old Earth, Trees, Trees, Trees. And so on, and so on.