The Suzerain of Cost and Caution was worried. All signs pointed to a molting, and the direction things appeared to be going was not to its liking.

Across the pavilion, the Suzerain of Beam and Talon paced in front of its aides, looking more erect and stately than ever. Beneath the shaggy outer feathers there was a faint reddish sheen to the military commander’s underplumage. Not a single Gubru present could help but notice even a trace of that color. Soon, perhaps within only a twelve-day, the process would have progressed beyond the point of no return.

The occupation force would have a new queen.

The Suzerain of Cost and Caution contemplated the unfairness of it all as it preened its own feathers. They, too, were starting to dry out, but there were still no discernible signs of a final color.

First it had been elevated to the status of candidate and chief bureaucrat after the death of its predecessor. It had dreamed of such a destiny, but not to be plunged into the midst of an already mature Triumvirate! Its peers were already well on the way toward sexuality by that time. It had been forced to try to catch up.

At first that had seemed to matter little. To the surprise of all, it had won many points from the start. Discovering the foolishness the other two had been up to during the interregnum had enabled the Suzerain of Cost and Caution to make great leaps forward.

Then a new equilibrium was reached. The admiral and the priest had proven brilliant and imaginative in the defense of their political positions.

But the molting was supposed to be decided by correctness of policy! The prize was supposed to go to the leader whose wisdom had proven most sage. It was the way!

And yet, the bureaucrat knew that these matters were as often decided by happenstance, or by quirks of metabolism.

Or by alliance of two against the third, it reminded itself. The Suzerain of Cost and Caution wondered if it had been wise to support the military against Propriety, these last few weeks, giving the admiral by now an almost unassailable advantage.

But there had been no choice! The priest had to be opposed, for the Suzerain of Propriety appeared to have lost all control!

First had come that nonsense about “Garthlings.” If the bureaucrat’s predecessor had lived, perhaps the extravagance might have been kept down. As it was, however, vast amounts had been squandered… bringing in a new Planetary Branch Library, sending expeditions into the dangerous mountains, building a hyperspace shunt for a Ceremony of Adoption — before there was any confirmation that anything existed to adopt!

Then there was the matter of ecological management. The Suzerain of Propriety insisted that it was essential to restore the Earthlings’ program on Garth to at least a minimal level. But the Suzerain of Beam and Talon had adamantly refused to allow any humans to leave the islands. So, at great cost, help was sent for off-planet. A shipload of Linten gardeners, neutrals in the present crisis, were on the way. And the Great Egg only knew how they were to pay for them!

Now that the hyperspace shunt was nearing completion, both the Suzerain of Propriety and the Suzerain of Beam and Talon were ready to admit that the rumors of “Garthlings” were just a Tymbrimi trick. But would they allow construction to be stopped?

No. Each, it seemed, had its reasons for wanting completion. If the bureaucrat had agreed it would have made a consensus, a step toward the policy so much desired by the Roost Masters. But how could it agree with such nonsense!

The Suzerain of Cost and Caution chirped in frustration. The Suzerain of Propriety was late for yet another colloquy.

Its passion for rectitude did not extend, it seemed, to courtesy to its peers.

By this point, theoretically, the initial competitiveness among the candidates should have begun transforming into respect, and then affection, and finally true mating. But here they were, on the verge of a Molt, still dancing a dance of mutual loathing.

The Suzerain of Cost and Caution was not happy about how things were turning out, but at least there would be one satisfaction if things went on in the direction they seemed headed — when Propriety was brought down from its haughty perch at last.

One of the chief bureaucrats’ aides approached, and the Suzerain took its proffered message slab. After picting its contents, it stood in thought.

Outside there was a commotion … no doubt the third peer arriving at last. But for a moment the Suzerain of Cost and Caution still considered the message it had received from its spies.

Soon, yes soon. Very soon we will penetrate secret plans, plans which may not be good policy. Then perhaps we shall see a change, a change in sexuality… soon.

His head ached.

Back when he had been a student at the University he had also been forced to study hour after hour, days at a stretch, cramming for tests. Fiben had never thought of himself as a scholar, and sometimes examinations used to make him sick in anticipation.

But at least back then there were also extracurricular activities, trips home, breathing spells, when a chen could cut loose and have some fun!

And back at the University Fiben had liked some of his professors. Right at this moment, though, he had had just about as much as he could take of Gailet Jones.

“So you think Galactic Sociology’s stuffy and tedious?” Gailet accused him after he threw down the books in disgust and stalked off to pace in the farthest corner of the room. “Well, I’m sorry Planetary Ecology isn’t the subject, instead,” she said. “Then, maybe, you’d be the teacher and I’d be the student.”

Fiben snorted. “Thanks for allowing for the possibility. I was beginning to think you already knew everything.”

“That’s not fair!” Gailet put aside the heavy book on her lap. “You know the ceremony’s only weeks away. At that point you and I may be called upon to act as spokesmen for our entire race! Shouldn’t we try to be as prepared as possible beforehand?”

“And you’re so certain you know what knowledge will be relevant? What’s to say that Planetary Ecology won’t be crucial then, hm?”

Gailet shrugged. “It might very well be.”

“Or mechanics, or space piloting, or … or beer-swilling, or sexual aptitude, for Goodall’s sake!”

“In that case, our race will be fortunate you were selected as one of its representatives, won’t it?” Gailet snapped back. There was a long, tense silence as they glared at each other. Finally, Gailet lifted a hand. “Fiben. I’m sorry. I know this is frustrating for you. But I didn’t ask to be put in this position either, you know.”

No. But that doesn’t matter, he thought. You were designed for it. Neo-chimpdom couldn’t hope for a chimmie better suited to be rational, collected, and oh, so cool when the time comes.

“As for Galactic Sociology, Fiben, you know there are several reasons why it’s the essential topic.”

There it was again, that look in Gailet’s eyes. Fiben knew it meant that there were levels and levels in her words.

Superficially, she meant that the two chim representatives would have to know the right protocols, and pass certain stringent tests, during the Rituals of Acceptance, or the qfficials of the Institute of Uplift would declare the ceremonies null and void.

The Suzerain of Propriety had made it abundantly clear that the outcome would be most unpleasant if that happened.

But there was another reason Gailet wanted him to know as much as possible. Sometime soon we pass the point of no return… when we can no longer change our minds about cooperating with the Suzerain. Gailet and I cannot discuss it openly, not with the Gubru probably listening in all the time. We’ll have to act in consensus, and to her that means I’ve got to be educated.