There were other things he could not do. He liked rubbing against the walls of the cavern. There was a pleasant, warm feeling when he allowed himself to penetrate rock. Babies always did it, but it got harder to do as he grew older. Still, he could do it skin-deep and he liked it, but his Parental found him doing it and scolded him. He objected that his sister did it all the time; he had seen her.

“That’s different,” said the Parental. “She’s an Emotional.”

At another time, when Odeen was absorbing a recording—he was older then—he had idly formed a couple of projections and made the tips so thin, he could pass one through the other. He began to do it regularly when he listened. There was a pleasant tickling sensation that made it easier to listen and made him nicely sleepy afterward.

And his Parental caught him at that, too, and what he had said still made Odeen uncomfortable in remembering it.

No one really told him about melting in those days. They fed him knowledge and educated him about everything except what the triad was all about. Tritt had never been told, either, but he was a Parental so he knew without being told. Of course, when Dua came at last, all was clear, even though she seemed to know less about it even than Odeen.

But she didn’t come to them because of anything Odeen did. It was Tritt who broached the matter; Tritt, who ordinarily feared the Hard Ones and avoided them mutely; Tritt, who lacked Odeen’s self-assurance, in all but this respect; Tritt, who on this one subject was driven; Tritt—Tritt—Tritt—

Odeen signed. Tritt was invading his thoughts, because Tritt was coming. He could feel him, harsh, demanding, always demanding. Odeen had so little time to himself these days, just when he felt that he needed to think more than ever, to straighten out all the thoughts—

“Yes, Tritt,” he said.

1c

Tritt was conscious of his blockiness. He didn’t think it ugly. He didn’t think about it at all. If he did, he would consider it beautiful. His body was designed for a purpose and designed well.

He said, “Odeen, where is Dua?”

“Outside somewhere,” mumbled Odeen, almost as though he didn’t care. It annoyed Tritt to have the triad made so little of. Dua was so difficult and Odeen didn’t care.

“Why do you let her go?”

“How can I stop her, Tritt? And what harm does it do?”

“You know the harm. We have two babies. We need a third. It is so hard to make a little-mid these days. Dua must be well fed for it to be made. Now she is wandering about at Sunset again. How can she feed properly at Sunset?”

“She’s just not a great feeder.”

“And we just don’t have a little-mid. Odeen,” Tritt’s voice was caressing, “how can I love you properly without Dua?”

“Now, then,” mumbled Odeen, and Tritt felt himself once more puzzled by the other’s clear embarrassment at the simplest statement of fact.

Tritt said, “Remember, I was the one who first got Dua.” Did Odeen remember that? Did Odeen ever think of the triad and what it meant? Sometimes Tritt felt so frustrated he could—he could— Actually, he didn’t know what to do, but he knew he felt frustrated. As in those old days when he wanted an Emotional and Odeen would do nothing.

Tritt knew he didn’t have the trick of talking in big, elaborate sentences. But if Parentals didn’t talk, they thought. They thought about important things. Odeen always talked about atoms and energy. Who cared about atoms and energy? Tritt thought about the triad and the babies.

Odeen had once told him that the numbers of Soft Ones were gradually growing fewer. Didn’t he care? Didn’t the Hard Ones care? Did anyone care but the Parentals?

Only two forms of life on all the world, the Soft Ones and the Hard Ones. And food shining down on them.

Odeen had once told him the Sun was cooling off. There was less food, he said, so there were less people. Tritt didn’t believe it. The Sun felt no cooler than it had when he was a baby. It was just that people weren’t worrying about the triads any more. Too many absorbed Rationals; too many silly Emotionals.

What the Soft Ones must do was concentrate on the important things of life. Tritt did. He tended to the business of the triad. The baby-left came, then the baby-right. They were growing and flourishing. They had to have a baby-mid, though. That was the hardest to get started and without a baby-mid there would be no new triad.

What made Dua as she was? She had always been difficult, but she was growing worse.

Tritt felt an obscure anger against Odeen. Odeen always talked with all those hard words. And Dua listened. Odeen would talk to Dua endlessly till they were almost two Rationals. That was bad for the triad.

Odeen should know better.

It was always Tritt who had to care. It was always Tritt who had to do what had to be done. Odeen was the friend of the Hard Ones and yet he said nothing. They needed an Emotional and yet Odeen would say nothing. Odeen talked to them of energy and not of the needs of the triad.

It had been Tritt who had turned the scale. Tritt remembered that proudly. He had seen Odeen talking to a Hard One and he had approached. Without a shake in his voice, he had interrupted and said, “We need an Emotional.”

The Hard One turned to look at him. Tritt had never been so close to a Hard One. He was all of a piece. Every part of him had to turn when one part did. He had some projections that could move by themselves, but they never changed in shape. They never flowed and were irregular and unlovely. They didn’t like to be touched.

The Hard One said, “Is this so, Odeen?” He did not talk to Tritt.

Odeen flattened. He flattened close to the ground; more flattened than Tritt had ever seen. He said, “My right-ling is over-zealous. My right-ling is—is—” He stuttered and puffed and could not speak.

Tritt could speak. He said, “We cannot melt without one.”

Tritt knew that Odeen was embarrassed into speech-lessness but he didn’t care. It was time.

“Well, left-dear,” said the Hard One to Odeen, “do you feel the same way about it?” Hard Ones spoke as the Soft Ones did, but more harshly and with fewer overtones. They were hard to listen to. Tritt found them hard, anyway, though Odeen seemed used to it.

“Yes,” said Odeen, finally.

The Hard One turned at last to Tritt. “Remind me, young-right. How long have you and Odeen been together?”

“Long enough,” said Tritt, “to deserve an Emotional.” He kept his shape firmly at angles. He did not allow himself to be frightened. This was too important. He said, “And my name is Tritt.”

The Hard One seemed amused. “Yes, the choice was good. You and Odeen go well together, but it makes the choice of an Emotional difficult. We have almost made up our minds. Or at least I have long since made up my mind, but the others must be convinced. Be patient, Tritt.”

“I am tired of patience.”

“I know, but be patient, anyway.” He was amused again.

When he was quite gone, Odeen uplifted himself and thinned out angrily. He said, “How could you do that, Tritt? Do you know who he was?”

“He was a Hard One.”

“He was Losten. He is my special teacher. I don’t want him angry with me.”

“Why should he be angry? I was polite.”

“Well, never mind.” Odeen was settling into normal shape. That meant he wasn’t angry any more. (That relieved Tritt though he tried not to show it.) “It’s very embarrassing to have my dumb-right come up and speak out to my Hard One.”

“Why didn’t you do it, then?”

“There’s such a thing as the right time.”

“But never’s the right time to you.”

But then they rubbed surfaces and stopped arguing and it wasn’t long after that that Dua came.

It was Losten that brought her. Tritt didn’t know that; he didn’t look at the Hard One. Only at Dua. But Odeen told him afterward that it was Losten that brought her.