with grotesque thoughtfulness. “But let me point out to you,
Captain, that being already able to do a thing doesn’t aid you
in thinking of it as something that needs to be perfected. Oh,
I’ve seen races like the one you describe, tooraces with
polymorphism, sexual alteration of generation, metamorphosis
of the insect life-history type, and so on. There’s a planet
named Lithia, about forty light years from here, where the
dominant race undergoes complete evolutionary recapitulation
after birthnot before it, as men do. But why should any of
them think of form-changing as something extraordinary, and
to be striven for? It’s one of the commonplaces of their lives,
after all.”
A small bell chimed in the greenhouse. Hoqqueah got up at
once, his movements precise and almost graceful despite his
tubbiness. “Thus endeth the day,” he said cheerfully. “Thank
you for your courtesy, Captain.”
He waddled out. He would, of course, be back tomorrow.
And the day after that.
And the next dayunless the crewmen hadn’t tarred and
feathered the whole bunch by then.
If only, Gorbel thought distractedly, if only the damned
Adapts weren’t so quick to abuse their privileges! As a dele-
gate of the Colonization Council, Hoqqueah was a person of
some importance, and could not be barred from entering the
greenhouse except in an emergency. But didn’t the man know
that he shouldn’t use the privilege each and every day, on a
ship manned by basic-form human beings most of whom
could not enter the greenhouse at all without a direct order?