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fell in unexpectedly and—”
    “I’ll murder the lot of you some day, by the Iron Hammer,” said Cochevelou, and turning to Mary said in a very different voice, “Duty calls, my joy. Please drink up, but linger; I won’t be more than a minute or two sorting this out.”
    He climbed to his feet again and went stamping off after Evans, who had prudently retreated down the corridor. Mary rose and went into Cochevelou’s private lavatory, where she poured her drink down the reclamator. It was, by her count, the fifth time Cochevelou had proposed to her. She was thinking very hard about her answer when she returned to his parlor just as someone else entered the room by an interior hatch.
    “Dad,” said the boy.
    “He’s just seeing to something, Perrik,” said Mary, wondering, for the boy seldom spoke. He spotted her and quickly averted his eyes; then edged forward into the chamber.
    Cochevelou’s son was twenty-three by Earth years count, but looked twelve. He had his father’s light eyes but was otherwise a different creature entirely, small-boned and pale. A galaxy of golden motes circled his head slowly, throwing shifting lights across his face.
    Mary stood still, knowing that if she advanced on him he’d shrink away. She held up her empty glass and examined it ostentatiously, wondering if he’d come any closer. He did, sidling along until he stood within reach.
    “I’m glad it’s you,” he said. To her great delight, he reached forward and took her hand, Perrik who could hardly bear to be touched by anyone. “I was going to show my dad the new biis. But I’d like you to see them, too. Come have a look. Please?”
    Mary had seldom seen him so animated; there was a faint flush of color in his cheeks, and he was almost smiling as he glanced at her sidelong.
    “New biis, is it? I’d be happy to see them.” Mary followed him out of the chamber and into the room beyond. Perrik slept here, though his cot and trunk took up very little space. The rest of it was his workshop, spotlessly clean, with gleaming tools ranged along the wall and banksof electronics flashing lights. Components were arranged here and there on the tables, aligned perfectly in rows and in patterns that made sense only to Perrik. In one corner was a framework globe, mounted on a stand; the biis swarmed there principally, zipping in and out of the globe or hovering in the air above, so that the whole corner where it stood glowed as though with firelight. Mary turned her gaze there expectantly, but Perrik led her to a table on the far side of the room.
    “Extremely new biis,” said Perrik. “Programmed differently from the others.” He lifted a cover from a wire-framed box. Mary saw within four points of blue light, perhaps twice the size of the yellow ones. They circled at a slower speed, emitting a hum at a slightly deeper pitch.
    “And what do they do, dear?”
    “These will be the drones,” said Perrik. “Just like with real bees. But since there’s no queen, they have to have a different purpose. The yellow pollinators go from plant to plant now, and when they find a weed all they do at present is leave it be. But now they’ll send a signal to the drones. The drones will come and kill the weeds.”
    “How practical,” said Mary. “Inject them with herbicide or something?”
    “No! That would be wasteful. And dangerous. They’ll eat them.”
    “Eat them? But they’re little robots, dear.”
    “And each one has a chamber in him where the plant material is converted to a useful polymer. Then it’s excreted in pellets and dropped for the red ones.”
    “What red ones?”
    “Ah.” Perrik leaned down, smiling at his blue lights, and for a moment looked like a normal boy. “They’re next. They’re a surprise. It’s going to be a perfect society, you see? Members with different functions, all of them working together. Terrifically useful. I expect it will take me days to transmit the patent application.”
    “This