“For taking you away from a potential replacement for Klast.”

“No one can replace Klast,” snapped Ponter. “No one.”

“Of course not,” said Selgan quickly, lifting his hands, palms out. “Forgive me. But, still, it appealed to you—to some part of you—to flirt with Daklar, the woman who had almost had Adikor castrated in your absence. Your subconscious wanted to punish him, no? To make him pay for having torn you back from that other world?”

“You’re wrong,” said Ponter.

“Ah,” said Selgan lightly. “Well, I often am, of course…”

Two had finally ceased being One, and Ponter and Adikor had returned with the other males to the Rim. Ponter hadn’t said anything about his time with Daklar while they were commuting back home on the hover-bus. Not that Adikor would have been upset that Ponter was spending time with a woman; to be jealous of your man-mate’s involvements with those of the opposite sex was the height of gaucherie.

But Daklar wasn’t just any woman.

No sooner had Ponter and Adikor gotten off the hover-bus outside their house than Pabo, Ponter’s large reddish brown dog, came rushing out the front door to greet them. Sometimes Pabo came into the Center with Ponter and Adikor, but this time they’d left the old girl at home; she had no trouble hunting her own food while Ponter and Adikor were away.

They all entered the house, and Ponter took a seat in the living area. It was normally his job to prepare the evening meal, and he usually got to that as soon as they came home, but today he wanted to talk to Adikor first.

Adikor made a trip to the bathroom, and Ponter waited, fidgeting. At last he heard the sound of the plumbing jets. Adikor emerged and noted Ponter on one of the couches; he raised his eyebrow at Ponter.

“Sit down,” said Ponter.

Adikor did so, mounting a saddle-seat facing Ponter.

“I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from anyone else,” Ponter said.

Adikor could have prodded him to go on, Ponter thought, but instead he just looked at him expectantly.

“I spent most of Two becoming One with Daklar.”

Adikor visibly sagged in the saddle-seat, his splayed legs hanging loosely at his sides. “Daklar?” he repeated, then, as if there could be another: “Daklar Bolbay?”

Ponter nodded.

“After what she did to me?”

“She wants forgiveness,” said Ponter. “From you, and from me.”

“She tried to have me castrated!”

“I know,” said Ponter, softly. “I know. But she didn’t succeed.”

“No blade, no injury,” snapped Adikor. “Is that it?”

Ponter was quiet for a long time, composing his thoughts. He’d rehearsed this all in his head during the hover-bus ride back from the Center, but, as was always the case in such matters, reality had already diverged widely from the planned script. “Look, there are my children to think of. It won’t do for their father and the woman they live with to be at odds.”

“I do care about Megameg and Jasmel,” said Adikor. “But it was not me who created this conflict.”

Ponter nodded slowly. “Granted. But, still…they have been through so much in the last two ten months.”

“I know,” said Adikor. “I am so very sorry that Klast died, but, again, it was not me who created the conflict here. It was Daklar Bolbay.”

“I understand that,” said Ponter. “But…but forgiveness isn’t only of benefit to the person who is being forgiven. It’s also of benefit to the person doing the forgiving. To carry hate and anger around inside you…” Ponter shook his head. “It’s far better to let it go, totally and completely.”

Adikor seemed to consider this, and, after a few moments, he said, “Two-hundred-odd months ago, I did you an injury.”

Ponter felt his mouth go tight. They never spoke of this—never. That was part of what had made it possible to go on.

“And,” continued Adikor, “you forgave me.”

Ponter was impassive.

“You’ve never asked me for anything in return,” said Adikor, “and I know that is not what you are doing now, but…”

Pabo, evidently disturbed by the break from routine—it was time to make dinner!—came into the living area and nuzzled Ponter’s legs. He reached down and scratched the top of the dog’s head.

“Daklar does want forgiveness,” said Ponter.

Adikor looked at the moss-covered floor. Ponter knew what he was thinking. Emasculation was the highest degree of punishment allowed under law, and Daklar had sought it when no crime had existed. Her own unfortunate circumstances provided the motive, if not the excuse, for her behavior.

“Are you going to bond with her?” asked Adikor, without looking up. As it happened, Ponter himself quite liked Adikor’s woman-mate, the chemist Lurt, but there was certainly no law that said you had to get along with your mate’s other mate.

“It’s premature to even think about that,” said Ponter. “But I did spend four enjoyable days with her.”

“Did you have sex?”

Ponter wasn’t offended by the question; it was normal enough for two mated men to discuss their intimate encounters with women—indeed, it was a common way of dealing with the difficult-to-express notions of what each man found pleasing.

“No,” said Ponter. He shrugged. “I might have, if a real opportunity had presented itself, but we spent most of our time with Jasmel and Megameg.”

Adikor nodded, as if Ponter were revealing a vast conspiracy. “The way to win a man’s love is by paying attention to his children.”

“She is their tabant, you know. They are her children in a way, too.”

Adikor made no reply.

“So,” said Ponter, at last, “will you forgive her?”

Adikor looked up at the painting on the room’s ceiling for a time, then: “Ironic, isn’t it? This issue between you and me now exists only because of your kindness to me all those ten-months ago. If you had made a public accusation after what I did to you, I would have been castrated back then. Had that been done, I would have had no testicles for Daklar to come after in your absence.” He lifted his shoulders. “I have no choice but to forgive her, since you wish it.”

“You have a choice,” said Ponter.

“As did you, all those months ago.” Adikor nodded. “I will forgive her.”

“You are a good man,” said Ponter.

Adikor frowned, as if contemplating the platitude. “No,” he said. “No, I am an adequate man. But you, my friend…”

Ponter smiled and rose to his feet. “It’s time I got to work on dinner.”

Even though Two had just ceased being One, Ponter and Adikor headed back In, back to the Council chamber. The High Grays had announced that they were ready to make a decision about reopening the portal.

The Council chamber was packed with spectators of both sexes. Adikor looked rather uneasy, and it took Ponter a moment to figure out why. The last time Adikor had seen this chamber when it had been crowded like this, it was being used for the dooslarm basadlarm. But Adikor said nothing about his discomfort—after all, to do so would be to again bring up the matter of his unfortunate history with Daklar—and Ponter loved him all the more for that.

There were eleven Exhibitionists in the audience, dressed in silver. Ponter had never quite gotten used to the Gliksin idea of “news:” a constant reporting—some channels devoted ten tenths a day to it—of bad things happening all over the world. The Companion implants, which had ensured the safety of citizens here for almost a thousand months now, had all but put an end to theft and murder and assault. Still, humans here were equally hungry for information—Ponter had read that gossiping served the same purpose in people as grooming pelts for insects did in other primates, binding them together. And so some citizens made their contribution by allowing the transmissions from their implants to be publicly received by anyone who wished; people tuned their Voyeurs to whichever Exhibitionist they preferred to watch.