Ancient emotions stirred within him, his mind and heart boiling with conflict. He could save injudicious Sakuntala youth from assault by intervening Commonwealth forces and protect the paramouncy of his kind in the eyes of the Commonwealth government. All he had to do was kill his two companions. Masurathoo would be easy. Jemunu-jah knew he could take the Deyzara apart with his bare hands. Seeing to the demise of the feral human would be more difficult but should still be achievable. Only one thing held him back.
He was supposed to be civilized now.
Murdering his companions would not be the civilized thing to do. So what if the humans interceded to stop the misguided uprising of the radicals among his own kind? Did he not seek the same end? Few, if any, of those involved were likely to be of his own clan. That realization, at least, placed his simmering thoughts well within tradition. Let the humans shoot a few wild-eyed members of opposing clans. From the standpoint of custom, that would be all to the good.
As to his people suffering a lessening of importance in the eyes of the Commonwealth while it strove to understand and assist the pannula, where was the harm in that? Would it not be offset by the increased aid and attention the Commonwealth would bring to Fluva?
He was torn. His heart told him to kill, his mind to participate. Maybe the destiny of the Sakuntala did not rest in his hands, but their immediate prospects did. It was a responsibility he had not asked for and did not want.