He wavered; physically. Maintaining his position in this world was a process that demanded constant attention from the segment of his mind devoted to it. For a moment, even that small group of brain cells almost became involved in his reaction. It was that which snapped him back into functioning logically. MTR was Mother. Mother was: _Tall_ _Thin_ _White_ _Biped_ _"In Heaven's name, Doctor, when will this thing be over?"_ BL was Riya. Riya was: _Big brown beast, looming large, looking lonely._ _BL=MTR_ _Equation not meaningful, not valid._ * * * * * Almost resolved, only a few traces of the initial conflict remained. Phildee put the tips of his right fingers to his mouth. He dug his toe into the ground, gouged a semicircular furrow, and smoothed it over with his sole. Riya continued to look at him from where she was standing, two or three feet away. Haltingly, she reached out her mind again--hesitating not because of fear of another such reaction on Phildee's part, for that had been far beyond her capacity to understand, but because even the slightest rebuff on the part of a child to a gesture as instinctive as a Terrestrial mother's caress was something that none of the people had ever encountered before. While her left-behind intellectual capacity still struggled to reconcile the feel of childhood with a visual image of complete unfamiliarity, the warm mind-caress went gently forth again. Phildee made up his mind. Ordinarily, he was immune to the small emotional problems that beclouded less rational intellects. He was unused to functioning in other than a cause/effect universe. Mothers were usually--though sometimes not--matronly women who spent the greater part of roughly twenty years per child in conscious pre-occupation with, and/or subconscious or conscious rejection of, their offspring. In his special case, Mother was a warm place, a frantic, hysteric voice, the pressure of the spasmodically contractile musculature linked to her hyperthyroid metabolism. Mother was a thing from before birth. Riya--Riya bore a strong resemblance to an intelligent cow. In any physiological sense, she could no more be his mother than-- The second caress found him not unaccustomed to it. It enfolded his consciousness, tenderly, protectingly, empathetic. Phildee gave way to instinct. * * * * * The fur along the ridge of Riya's spine prickled with a well-remembered happiness as she felt the hesitant answering surge in Phildee's mind. Moving surely forward, she nuzzled his face. Phildee grinned. He ran his fingers through the thick fur at the base of her short neck. _Big warm wall of brown fur._ _Cool, happy nose._ _Happy, happy, eyes._