We Few

"How badly has Mother been injured?" Roger asked angrily.

"Quite badly, unfortunately," the Phaenur replied. "Calm yourself, please. Your emotions are distressing in the extreme. It is why we have not brought up the full measure of damage before."

"I'll... try," Roger said, as calmly as he could, and inhaled deeply. Then he looked directly at his host. "How damaged?"

"The nature of the reports on her condition we have received—their very existence—means that maintaining security to protect our source is... difficult," Sreeetoth replied. "We have been able to clear only one specialist in human psychology and physiology to take a look at them, but she is among the best the Alliance can offer in her speciality, and I have read her analysis. It would appear that the... methods being used are likely to cause irreparable long-term damage. It will not kill her, but she will no longer be... at the top of her form. A form of senility is likely."

Roger closed his eyes, and one jaw muscle worked furiously.

"I apologize for my current... feelings," he said after a moment in a voice like hammered steel.

"They are quite bloody," Sreeetoth told him.

"We'll handle it," Despreaux said, laying a hand on his arm. "We'll handle it, Roger."

"Yes." Roger let out a long, hissing breath. "We'll handle it."

He touched the hand on his arm very lightly for just an instant, then returned his attention to Sreeetoth.

"Let's talk about something else. I love your house. You don't have neighbors?"

"Phaenurs tend to separate their dwellings," his host said. "It is quite impossible to fully shield one's feelings and thoughts. We learn, early on, to control them to a degree, but being in crowds is something like being at a large party for a human. All the thoughts of other Phaenurs are like a gabble of speech from dozens of people at once. All the emotions of others are like the constant roar of the sea."

"Must be interesting working in customs," Despreaux observed.

"It is one of the reasons so much of the direct contact work is handled by humans and Althari males," Sreeetoth agreed. "Alas, that has been somewhat less successful than we had hoped. Your reports on Caravazan penetration have caused a rather unpleasant stir, with some serious political and social implications."

"Why?" Roger asked. "I mean, you're an honest society, but everyone has a few bad apples."

"Humans have been a part of the Alphane Alliance since its inception," Sreeetoth explained. "But they have generally been—not a lower class, but something of the sort. Few of them reach the highest levels of Alphane government, which has not sat well with many of them. They know that Altharis and Phaenurs are simply more trustworthy than their own species, but that is not a pleasant admission for them, and whatever the cause, or whatever the justification, for their exclusion, the fact remains that they do not enjoy the full range of rights and opportunity available to Altharis or Phaenurs.

"Althari males, however, most definitely are a lower class. Althari females, until recently, considered them almost subsentient, useful only for breeding and as servants."

"Barefoot and... well, I guess not pregnant," Despreaux said dryly, and grimaced. "Great."

"It is humans who have pushed for more rights for Althari males, and over the last few generations they have attained most of those rights. But it was humans and Althari males, and a single Phaenur who was supposed to be keeping an eye on them, who were corrupted by the Saints. I have already seen the level of distrust of the males growing in the females who work with them, those who know of their betrayal. Such a betrayal on the part of a female Althari would be considered even worse, and might shake their world view... and their prejudices. But, alas, only males were involved. And humans."

"So now both groups are under a cloud," Roger said. "Yes, I can see the problem."

"It is damaging work which has taken a generation to take hold," Sreeetoth said. "Most distressing. Admiral Ral has reinstituted communications restrictions on the males in her household, since you are staying there. That, in itself, is a measure of the degree of distrust which has arisen. She has lost faith in the honor of the males of her own household."

"Lots of fun," Roger said, and grimaced. "I almost wish we hadn't given you the information."

"Well, I ca

"Sorry," Roger said with a frown.

"I am not," Sreeetoth said. "It helps me to ensure that the affairs of my department are in order. But you do seem to bring chaos wherever you go, young Prince. It is something to beware of."

"I don't mean to," Roger protested, thinking of the trail of bodies, Mardukan and human, the company had left behind on Marduk.

"You appear simply to be responding to your surroundings and the threats you encounter," Sreeetoth said, "not seeking to become a force of destruction. But be careful. However justified your responses, you thrive on chaos. That is not an insult; I do the same. To be in customs, it is a necessity."

"I think that was a joke," Roger said.

"You humans would consider it so, yes—an ironic reality," it replied. "There are those who manage chaos well. You are one; I am another. There are others who ca

"The danger for those who manage chaos well, though, is that they seek what they thrive upon. And if they do not have it in their environment, they may seek to create it. I have found such tendencies in myself; they were pointed out to me early on, by one of my superiors. Since then I have striven, against my nature, to create placidness in my department. To find those who thrive on eliminating chaos. I have many subordinates, humans, Altharis, and Phaenurs, who also thrive on chaos—but those who ca

"Hopefully eliminate it," Roger said.

"That is to be desired."

They ate, then, from a smorgasbordlike selection of the Phaenur foods that were consumable by humans, with several small servings of multiple dishes rather than one main entrée. Conversation concentrated on their travels on Marduk, the things they'd seen, the foods they'd eaten. Roger couldn't entirely avoid reminiscing about the dead—there were too many of them. And whenever he had a fine repast, and this was one such, it brought back memories of Kostas and the remarkable meals he had produced from such scanty, unpromising material.

When the meal was done, they departed, walking out of the grove to the waiting shuttle. It was the Phaenur custom, not a case of "eating and ru

Roger thought it was rather a good custom. There was never the human problem of figuring out when the party was over.