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it sigh out.

    "Of course I named him yos'Galan," she said, very quietly. "It is the custom, on my homeworld, to give a child his father's surname. I meant no—insult—to you, Er Thom. If I have insulted you, only tell me how, and I will mend it."

    "It is improper to have named this child yos'Galan. How could you have thought it was anything else? There was no contract—"

    Anne bowed her head, raised a hand to smooth the boy's bright hair. "I see." She looked up. "It's an easy matter to change a name. There's no reason why he shouldn't be Shan Davis. I'll make the application to—"

    "No!" His vehemence surprised them both, and this time it was Er Thom who went back a step. "Anne—" He cut himself off, took a moment to concentrate, then tried again, schooling his voice to calmness. "Why did you not—you sent no word? You thought I had no reason to know that there was born a yos'Galan?"

    She moved her hands; he was uncertain of the meaning, the purpose, of the gesture. The child stayed pressed against her legs, quiet as stone.

    "I wanted a child," she said, slowly. "I had decided to have a child—entirely my own choice, made before I met you. And then, I did meet you, who became my friend and who I—" Again, that shapeless gesture. "I thought, 'why shouldn't I have the child of my friend, instead of the child of someone I don't know, who only happened to donate his seed to the clinic'?" She moved her head in a sharp shake.

    "Er Thom, you were leaving! We had been so happy and—is it wrong, that I wanted something to remind me of joy and the friend who had shared it? I never thought I'd see you again—the universe is wide, my brother says. So many things can happen . . .  It was only for my joy, my—comfort. Should I have pin-beamed a message to Liad? How many yos'Galans are there? I didn't think—I didn't think you'd care, Er Thom—or only enough to be happy you'd given me so—so fine a gift . . . " She bent her head, but not before he'd seen the tears spill over and shine down her cheeks.

    Pity filled him, and remorse. He reached out. "Anne . . . "

    She shook her head, refusing to look at him, and Shan gave a sudden gasp, which quickly became a wail as he turned to bury his face against her legs. She bent and picked him up, making soothing sounds and stroking his hair.

    Er Thom came another step forward, close enough to touch her wet cheek, to lay his hand on the child's thin shoulder.

    "Peace, my son," he murmured in Liaden while his mind was busy, trying to adjust to these new facts, to a trade that became entirely altered. He thought of the proposed contract-marriage that must somehow be put off until he had done duty by this child— his child—a half-bred child, gods—whatever would he say to his mother?

    "No!" Anne jerked back, holding the sobbing child tightly against her. Her face was ashen, her eyes shadowed with some dire terror.

    "Anne?"

    "Er Thom, he is my son! He is a Terran citizen, registered on University. My son, of whom your clan was never told—for whom your clan doesn't care!"

    Harsh words, almost enough to strike him to anger again. But there, Terrans knew nothing of clans.

    "The clan knows," he said softly, telling her only the truth, "because I know; cares because I care. We are all children of the clan; ears, eyes and heart of the clan."

    The fear in her eyes grew, he saw her arms tighten about Shan, who put out renewed cries.

    Whirling, Anne carried him into the bedroom.

     

    SHE STAYED IN the bedroom a long time, soothing Shan and convincing him to lie down in his little pull-out bed. She sat by him until he fell asleep, the tears dried to sticky tracks on his cheeks.

    When she knew he was sleeping deeply, she rose and pulled the tangled blankets straight on her own bed. She strained her ears for a sound—any sound—from the next room. The apartment was filled with silence.

    Go away! she thought fiercely and almost at once: Don't go! She shook her