Monroe-Alpha Clifford did not think so.
Hamilton fixed him with a finger. “The trouble with you, my fine foolish friend, is that you are bothering your head with things you don’t understand. Your planners told you that they had done their level best to eliminate from you the thing which caused your great grandfather Whiffenpoof to raise garter snakes in his hat. There is a long chance that they failed, but why assume that they did?”
“My great grandfathers did nothing of the sort. A slight strain of anhedonism, a tendency to — ”
“Then why act like they had to be walked on a leash? You make me tired. You’ve got a cleaner pedigree than ninety-nine out of a hundred, and a chromosome chart that’s as neat and orderly as a checker board. Yet you’re yiping about it. How would you like to be a control natural? How would you like to have to wear lenses against your eyeballs? How would you like to be subject to a dozen filthy diseases? Or have your teeth fall out, and have to chew your meals with false choppers?”
“Of course, nobody would want to be a control natural, ” Monroe-Alpha said reflectively, ‘but the ones I’ve known seemed to be happy enough.”
“All the more reason for you to snap out of your funk. What do you know of pain and sickness? You can’t appreciate it any more than a fish appreciates water. You have three times the income you can spend, a respected position, and work of your own choosing. What more do you want out of life?”
“I don’t know, Felix. I don’t know, but I know I’m not getting it. Don’t ride me about it.”
“Sorry. Eat your dinner.”
The fish stew contained several large crab legs; Hamilton ladled one into his guest’s trencher. Monroe-Alpha stared at it uneasily. “Don’t be so suspicious, ” Hamilton advised. “Go ahead. Eat it.”
“How?”
“Pick it up in your fingers, and crack the shell.” Monroe-Alpha attempted to comply, somewhat clumsily, but the greasy, hard surface skidded between his fingers. He attempted to recover and knocked it over the edge of the balcony rail at his elbow.
He started to rise; Hamilton put a hand on his forearm. “My fault, ” he said. “I will repair it.” He stood up and looked down at the table directly beneath their booth.
He did not see the stray bit of seafood at once, but he had no difficulty in telling approximately where it had landed. Seated at the table was a party of eight. Two of them were elderly men who wore the brassards-of-peace. Four women alternated with the males around the table. One of them, quite young and pretty, was dabbing at something which seemed to have stained her gown. The wayward crab leg was floating in a crystal bell of purple liquid directly in front of her; cause and effect were easy to infer.
The two remaining men were both armed, both standing, and staring up at the balcony. The younger, a slender youth in bright scarlet promenade dress, resting his right hand on the grip of his sidearm, seemed about to speak. The older man turned coldly dangerous eyes from Hamilton to his youthful companion. “My privilege, Cyril, ” he said quietly, “if you please.”
The young brave was clearly annoyed and reluctant to comply; nevertheless he bowed stiffly and sat down. His elder returned the bow punctiliously and turned back to Hamilton. The lace of his cuff brushed his holster, but he had not touched his weapon-as yet.
Hamilton leaned over the balcony, both his hands spread and plainly visible on the rail. “Sir, my clumsiness has disturbed the pleasure of your meal and invaded your privacy. I am deeply sorry.”
“I have your assurance that it was accidental, sir?” The man’s eyes were still frosty, but he made no move to draw. But he did not sit down.
“You have indeed, sir, and with it my humble apology. Will you graciously permit me to make reparation?”
The other glanced down, not at the youth, but at the girl whose gown had been splashed. She shrugged. He answered Hamilton, “The thought is taken for the deed, sir.”