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something mattress-like which he had been carrying. The woman helped him straighten it on the ground. Lork’s scalp began to prickle. Surely they weren’t about to—
    But at this range he could clearly see that the woman wasn’t pregnant. Indeed, by Ipewell standards she was skinny. The man, on the other hand, was a fine specimen such as any mother would have trouble keeping to herself. It was an odd pairing, in his view; still, perhaps the starfolk had compulsory arrangements about fatherhood. Lork understood vaguelythat the way of life the visitors followed differed from what he was accustomed to, but he had no experience to help him imagine how.
    The man turned to the woman and put out his arms. They embraced.
    “Oh, no!” Lork exploded, and leapt to his feet.
    The man and woman sprang apart, snatching at their waists. Two powerful lights—seeming to the terrified Lork at least as brilliant as the Day Eye-transfixed him and Jeckin. Miserably the latter too stood up, muttering curses.
    After a pause, the man spoke in Ipewell dialect He said, “So! A couple of peeping janes!”
    “No… uh…
no!
” “Lork babbled, and realised for the first time that there wasn’t a respectful form of address for male superiors in Ipewell usage. Men, being unable to reproduce, were by definition inferior. Yet it seemed wrong to speak to a man from the stars as an equal. “We just wanted to—uh..”
    How to hammer into words the impulse that had driven them to defy the personal order of Mother Uskia, forbidding all males to approach the starship?
    He was saved the trouble. The woman spoke up, and reflex made him answer instantly.
    “Who are you, anyway?”
    Shaking, he gave their names.
    “Jeckin (Fabia-eighth-boy)?” the woman repeated. “I’ve heard about your family. Life must be pretty fair hell for you and your brothers, isn’t it?”
    Well, that wasn’t the sort of remark you’d ordinarily expect from a woman! Encouraged, Jeckin burst out, “Yes—yes! For my mother-in-fact has eleven children, which should bring her great honour, but we are all male, all of us, and she is past bearing now and the shame of having no daughters stains the family!”
    Jeckin squeezed his friend’s arm reassuringly. He knew very well how unbearable Fabia made life forher children because of their sex. But what sort of woman could share the same point of view?
    The two boys stood silent for a while, listening but not understanding as the couple from the ship exchanged some half-audible remarks. What snatches reached their ears made little sense: something about restoration of the genetic balance, male infanticide and relative hormone probability.
    At last the man turned with a smile and spoke in a friendly voice.
    “Well, now you’re here, you’d best explain what you came for. Sit down—no, over here on the mattress; it’s plenty big enough. Let’s hear your story.”
    Timidly, they complied.
    Fay Logan paid attention as best she could. This was not quite how she had meant to spend this evening… She and her companion had extinguished their lanterns, and now it was barely possible to make out the boys’ features, but she could tell they were good-looking—dark-haired, probably rather dark-skinned like most of Ipewell’s people, and about the same age, fifteen or sixteen. And intelligent. And frustrated.
    Then her mind wandered and she found she was staring at Hans Demetrios. He sat cross-legged, head cocked to one side, absolutely taut with concentration. A pang went through her.
    This was where his interest lay. Not in her. Not in any human being, not even himself—only in the pattern of problems which the human race was creating as it fumbled its way across the universe.
    Half-jokingly they said there was a new humanity evolving and Hans Demetrios belonged to it, and Jacob Chen, and a handful of others: as though a racial subconscious were reacting over generations to ensure that people would continue to outstrip