Irik's face darkened. "What is your aunt's name?" This time everyone looked surprised. The question itself was not too out-of-the-way, but his tone decidedly was. "She's a great-grandmother," Clarey said. "She would be too old for you. And I assure you it's difficult to part her from her money. I've tried." Everybody laughed. Irik was furious. "I understand that your aunt lives very close to Earth Headquarters!" Somebody must have followed him on one or more of his trips to Barshwat, Clarey realized. "If the Earthmen chose to establish themselves in the best residential section of Barshwat, then probably my aunt does live near them. She's not the type to leave a comfortable dome simply because foreigners move into the neighborhood." "Perhaps she has more than neighborhood in common with Earthmen." The room was suddenly very quiet again. "She does sometimes go to sleep at concerts," Clarey conceded. Irik opened his mouth. Malesor held up a hand. "Before you say anything more against the Earthmen, Irik," he advised, "you oughta find out more about them. Their cars move faster and higher than ours. Maybe their catapults do, too." No one looked at Clarey. Malesor had averted a showdown, he knew, but this was the beginning of the end. And he had a suspicion who was responsible--innocently perhaps, perhaps not. Love does not always imply trust. And when he told Embelsira what had happened in the Furbush, she, too, couldn't meet his eye. "That Irik," she said, "I never liked him." "I wonder how he knows so much about me." "Rini writes him very often," she babbled. "He must have told him you were responsible for the new music. That would make him hate you. Rini likes to irritate Irik, because he's always been jealous of him. But the whole thing's silly. How could you possibly make over the world's music, even if you were--" Her voice ran down. "An Earthman?" he finished coldly. "I suppose you went around telling everybody your suspicions, and Rini wrote that to Irik, too?" * * * * * "I didn't tell anybody!" she protested indignantly. "Not a soul!" She met his eye. "Except Mother, of course." "Your mother! You might as well have published it in the District Bulletin!" "You have no right to speak of Mother like that, even if it's true!" Embelsira began to sob. "I had to tell her, Balt--she kept asking why there weren't any young ones." "You could've told her to mind her own business!" he snapped, before he could catch himself. Five years, and he still made slips. It was her business. On Damorlan, it was a woman's duty not only to have children but to see that her children had children and their children had children. He made himself look grave and self-reproachful. "I have a confession to make, Belsir. I should have told you when I married you. I can't have children." "I never heard of such a thing! Everybody has children--unless they're not married, of course," she added primly.