When their tutor ChinTekki-tho at last waddled toward them, he took one look at Sandy and asked, “What’s the matter with him?”
The cohort knew at once what the Senior meant, because all of them had noticed his gloomy mood. “It’s MyThara-tok,” Obie volunteered. “She has to take her physical.”
“Sandy doesn’t want her terminated,” Helen added. Polly finished spitefully, “He wants her to stay alive because he likes her better than any of us.”
ChinTekki-tho waggled his tongue in deprecation. “It is good to love one another,” he told Sandy, “but Thara-tok is getting old. She passed her eighteen-twelves of twelve-twelves of days long ago,”—it would have been the Earthly equivalent of fifty years or so—“and so she gets examined every twelve-twelves; that’s the rule, Lysander.”
“I know that,” Sandy said sulkily.
“She may well pass,” ChinTekki-tho pointed out. “I myself have passed five termination examinations. Many Hakh’hli pass as many as eight or nine of them; look at the Major Seniors.”
“Major Seniors always pass,” Tanya put in.
“They don’t always pass,” ChinTekki-tho corrected. “They usually pass, because, after all, they are Major Seniors; that’s all.”
“MyThara doesn’t think she will,” Sandy said. “I can tell.”
The teacher inclined his head. “Then that is that, isn’t it? It’s nothing to be sad about. It happens to us all, sooner or later; otherwise the ship would be too full and everyone would die. And if the old and weak do not go, how would we ever take more eggs out of the freezer to start new lives?”
“And then where would any of us be?” Polly demanded. “You just don’t think, Sandy.”
The tutor reproved her. “Of course he thinks. Lysander is a fully intelligent being, even if he isn’t Hakh’hli. He knows that MyThara-tok has many, many eggs in the freezer, and sooner or later some of them will be allowed to hatch and she will live again in them. He also knows that it is the Major Seniors who have made these decisions. He doesn’t question the Major Seniors. Do you, Lysander?”
Lysander was shocked into a response. “Oh, no! Not at all! Only—” He bit his lip. “Perhaps special exceptions might be made for people as valuable as MyThara.”
“And isn’t that a decision for the Major Seniors, too?” the tutor asked kindly.
Sandy shrugged self-consciously. He was tired of this discussion, which had been going on ever since they woke up. “We’re going to be late for shipwork,” he said, evading the question.
ChinTekki-tho accepted the change of subject. “Well,” he said, “that’s why I’m here this morning. What’s your shipwork for this morning?”
“Tending the food animals, ChinTekki-tho,” Bottom said respectfully. “The hoo’hik are cubbing.”
“Yes,” the tutor said thoughtfully. “Well, the herder will be a little short-handed today. I have a new instruction for you from the Major Seniors.”
The cohort all raised themselves slightly on their hind legs with interest. The tutor gazed at them benignly. “As you know,” he said, “Obie’s season came upon him yesterday and it interrupted our meeting with the Major Seniors.”
“We know that, all right,” Polly said cuttingly, glaring at Obie.
“The Major Seniors have recognized that if this were to occur during your Earth mission it might increase the risk. Suppose Bottom or Demetrius did it while you were in the middle of some important negotiation?”
Polly gasped. “Oh, ChinTekki-tho! You aren’t saying that you’ll give the boys something to keep them from entering a sexual phase?”
“No, nothing like that,” said the tutor, amiably crossing his legs. “The very opposite, in fact. The Major Seniors have directed that we bring on the male season now and get it over with. Then it will be six or twelve twelves of days before the problem comes up again.”
“Really?” Bottom cried. “You mean we’re going to do it now?”
The whole cohort was glowing until Polly cried, “But Obie just did it!”
“Of course,” ChinTekki-tho agreed. “Naturally we don’t want to do him again. One of you would probably get a reduced number of sperm cells, and you don’t want infertile eggs, do you? So we will excuse Oberon today.”
Obie looked downcast. All the females look horrified. Tanya gasped, “But then there’s only two males and three of us—”
“We thought of that,” the tutor said indulgently. “So I will accept a shot myself and join you.”
Amid the shouts of joy Obie wailed, “But what about me?”
“You’ll carry out regular shipwork, of course. Lysander, too. And, hear me, Lysander, when one is dejected for any reason it is good to work with the animals. I found that very soothing when I was cheth.”
If Genetics had been full of smells, the food-animal pens absolutely reeked. Sandy didn’t find it soothing at all. To get to the hoo’hik pens they had to pass the capped tanks filled with writhing, copulating, eating titch’hik, and that was not only unsoothing, it was hardly bearable. (What was it they were eating now—or whom? And what might they be eating a few days from now?) Sandy averted his eyes as he saw that other shipwork crews were respectfully lowering the two Hakh’hli corpses that were the day’s crop into the tanks even as they passed.
Sandy shuddered. At least he could take some comfort in the fact that this time he and Obie weren’t assigned to work with the bones or with the titch’hik. They didn’t have to swamp out the hoo’hik pens, either, because four of the females had littered a few twelfth-days earlier, and it was time to pith the cubs.
“You,” said the herder, grinning at Lysander. “You get the cubs out. No, don’t worry,” she added kindly. “The mothers won’t hurt you. Just let them smell you first, pat them, don’t get them upset. And bring me the cubs, one at a time.”
Lysander peered down into the nearest pen. He had done this before, but he still felt uncertain about it.
The cow hoo’hik didn’t shrink away as he approached. She only gazed mildly up at him, her forepaws protectively pressing two of the cubs to her teats. They were sucking away vigorously.
“Don’t be all twelfth-day,” the herder called irritably.
“Which one shall I get first?” Lysander asked.
“Any one! Hurry up, will you? I’ve got forty of them to do, and then there’s all the milking—”
Lysander took a deep breath and reached down under the cow hoo’hik’s belly, where the other half dozen cubs were squirming blindly around, impatient for their turn. He picked one up at random, a wobbly little thing the size of his head that mewed and gasped worriedly as it felt his hands grasp it. He carried it over to the herder. “Turn it over,” she ordered, picking up a thing like a huge needle. The handle of it was shaped to fit her hand, and it had a dial and a button. She checked the dial and waited impatiently for Lysander to hold the squirming body still. Then with one hand the herder grasped the cub’s head, not roughly but firmly, and with the needle searched out a point at the base of the cub’s skull, just where it joined the neck.
“Did you see that Earth movie last night?” she asked, making conversation as she worked. Sandy shook his head, wishing she would get on with it. “It was called A Bridge Too Far, and it was all about fighting and not being at peace. Oh, Lysander, you must be careful when you go there—”
Then she grunted with satisfaction. “There,” she said. When she pressed the button there was a tiny, almost inaudible bleep of sound. The cub squawked and stiffened, and then relaxed.