He knew also, vaguely, the role of a Parental in a triad. Even as a child, he had whispered tales of melting.

When Tritt first appeared, when Odeen saw him first, everything changed. For the first time in his life, Odeen felt an inner warmth and began to think that there was something he wanted that was utterly divorced from thought. Even now, he could remember the sense of embarrassment that had accompanied this.

Tritt was not embarrassed, of course. Parentals were never embarrassed about the activities of the triad, and Emotionals were almost never embarrassed. Only Rationals had that problem.

“Too much thinking,” a Hard One had said when Odeen had discussed the problem with him and that left Odeen dissatisfied. In what way could thinking be “too much”?

Tritt was young when they first met, of course. He was still so childish as to be uncertain in his blockishness so that his reaction to the meeting was embarrassingly clear. He grew almost translucent along his edges.

Odeen said, hesitantly, “I haven’t seen you before, have I, right-fellow?”

Tritt said, “I have never been here. I have been brought here.”

They both knew exactly what had happened to them. The meeting had been arranged because someone (some Parental, Odeen had thought at the time, but later he knew it was some Hard One) thought they would suit each other, and the thought was correct.

There was no intellectual rapport between the two, of course. How could there be when Odeen wanted to learn with an intensity that superseded anything but the existence of the triad itself, and Tritt lacked the very concept of learning? What Tritt had to know, he knew beyond either learning or unlearning.

Odeen, out of the excitement of finding out about the world and its Sun; about the history and mechanism of life; about all the abouts in the Universe; sometimes (in those early days together) found himself spilling over to Tritt.

Tritt listened placidly, clearly understanding nothing, but content to be listening; while Odeen, transmitting nothing, was as clearly content to be lecturing.

It was Tritt who made the first move, driven by his special needs. Odeen was chattering about what he had learned that day after the brief midday meal. (Their thicker substance absorbed food so rapidly, they were satisfied with a simple walk in the Sun, while Emotionals basked for hours at a time, curling and thinning as though deliberately to lengthen the task.)

Odeen, who always ignored the Emotionals, was quite happy to be talking. Tritt, who stared wordlessly at them, day after day, was now visibly restless.

Abruptly, he came close to Odeen, formed an appendage so hastily as to clash most disagreeably on the other’s form-sense. He placed in upon a portion of Odeen’s upper ovoid where a slight shimmer was allowing a welcome draft of warm air as dessert. Tritt’s appendage thinned with a visible effort and sank into the superfices of Odeen’s skin before the latter darted away, horribly embarrassed.

Odeen had done such things as a baby, of course, but never since his adolescence. “Don’t do that, Tritt,” he said sharply.

Tritt’s appendage remained out, groping a little. “I want to.”

Odeen held himself as compactly as he could, striving to harden the surface to bar entry. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” said Tritt, urgently.

“There’s nothing wrong.” Odeen said the first thing that came into his mind. “It hurt.” (It didn’t really. Not physically. But the Hard Ones always avoided the touch of the Soft Ones. A careless interpenetration hurt them, but they were constructed differently from Soft Ones, completely differently.)

Tritt was not fooled by that. His instinct could not possibly mislead him in this respect. He said, “It didn’t hurt.”

“Well, it isn’t right this way. We need an Emotional.”

And Tritt could only say, stubbornly, “I want to, anyway.”

It was bound to continue happening, and Odeen was bound to give in. He always did; it was something that was sure to happen even to the most self-conscious Rational. As the old saying had it: Everyone either admitted doing it or lied about it.

Tritt was at him at each meeting after that; if not with an appendage, then rim to rim. And finally Odeen, seduced by the pleasure of it, began to help and tried to shine. He was better at that than Tritt was. Poor Tritt, infinitely more eager, huffed and strained, and could achieve only the barest shimmer here and there, patchily and raggedly.

Odeen, however, could run translucent all over his surface, and fought down his embarrassment in order to let himself flow against Tritt. There was skin-deep penetration and Odeen could feel the pulsing of Tritt’s hard surface under the skin. There was enjoyment, riddled with guilt.

Tritt, as often as not, was tired and vaguely angry when it was all over.

Odeen said, “Now, Tritt, I’ve told you we need an Emotional to do this properly. You can’t be angry at something that just is.”

And Tritt said, “Let’s get an Emotional.”

Let’s get an Emotional! Tritt’s simple drives never led him to anything but direct action. Odeen was not sure he could explain the complexities of life to the other. “It’s not that easy, right-ling,” he began gently.

Tritt said abruptly. “The Hard Ones can do it. You’re friendly with them. Ask them.”

Odeen was horrified. “I can’t ask. The time,” he continued, unconsciously falling into his lecturing voice, “is not yet come, or I would certainly know it. Until such time—” Tritt was not listening. He said, “I’ll ask.”

“No,” said Odeen, horrified. “You stay out of it. I tell you it’s not time. I have an education to worry about. It’s very easy to be a Parental and not to have to know anything but—”

He was sorry the instant he had said it and it was a lie anyway. He just didn’t want to do anything at all that might offend the Hard Ones and impede his useful relationship with them. Tritt, however, showed no signs of minding and it occurred to Odeen that the other saw no point or merit in knowing anything he did not already know and would not consider the statement of the fact an insult.

The problem of the Emotional kept coming up, though. Occasionally, they tried interpenetration. In fact, the impulse grew stronger with time. It was never truly satisfying though it had its pleasure and each time Tritt would demand an Emotional. Each time, Odeen threw himself deeper into his studies, almost as a defense against the problem.

Yet at times, he was almost tempted to speak to Losten about it.

Losten was the Hard One he knew best; the one who took the greatest personal interest in him. There was a deadly sameness about the Hard Ones, because they did not change; they never changed; their form was fixed. Where there eyes were they always were, and always in the same place for all of them. Their skin was not exactly hard, but it was always opaque, never shimmered, never vague, never penetrable by another skin of its own type.

They were not larger in size, particularly, than the Soft Ones, but they were heavier. Their substance was much denser and they had to be careful about the yielding tissues of the Soft Ones.

Once when he had been little, really little and his body had flowed almost as freely as his sister’s, he had been approached by a Hard One. He had never known which one it was, but he learned in later life that they were all of them curious about baby-Rationals. Odeen had reached up for the Hard One, out of nothing but curiosity. The Hard One had sprung backward and later Odeen’s Parental had scolded him for offering to touch a Hard One.

The scolding had been harsh enough for Odeen never to forget. When he was older he learned that the close-packed atoms of the Hard One’s tissues felt pain on the forcible penetration of others. Odeen wondered if the Soft One felt pain, too. Another young Rational once told him that he had stumbled against a Hard One and the Hard One had doubled up but that he himself had felt nothing —but Odeen wasn’t sure this was not just a melodramatic boast.