“No,” Tapi said. But he was holding something back. He knew the present status of his parents’ relationship; he would not carry tales.

“I’m concerned about him.”

“So am I.”

“Should I be more concerned?”

“I don’t know,” Tapi said, honestly. “He tells me very little.”

Ram Kikura set her mind on the task at hand, finished examining the deleted adjuncts, and embraced her son. “All right,” she said. “I think you’re ready.”

“Your approval?” he asked, an eagerness in his voice that belied his previous complaining.

“Registered already,” she said. She did not go through the age-old formula, as Olmy had; she resisted that kind of traditionalism.

“Have you decided where you’re going to be born?”

“Yes,” he said. “On Thistledown.”

Olmy had been born within the asteroid; she had been born on Axis City. Still, she knew Tapi was not slighting her.

Tapi arranged his personal space to hide the discarded adjuncts. “Do you approve of my plans once I’m born?”

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove. You’ll be independent.”

“Yes, but I appreciate your opinion.”

“My opinion is,” she said, “like father, like son. Olmy’s part in you is very strong. Mine seems subdued at the moment. But I have no doubt you’ll make us both proud.”

Tapi literally beamed, filling the space with light. He embraced her again. “You’re as much a soldier as Father,” he said. “You just fight different battles.”

Olmy felt more in control among his fellows, and less strained by the circumstances than he had thought. Still, it was good to be alone, if only for a few hours. He missed the isolation of the fourth chamber forest.

He did not return to the Thistledown City apartment; instead, he had accepted temporary quarters beneath the Nexus dome. Whoever so desired could spy on him all they wished; he was certain they could not discover what he carried in his implants.

There was a strong temptation to simply lie still and study what his partial was sending to him; he resisted that temptation and went through the intricate steps of the Frants’ relsoso dance, taught to him over a century ago on Timbl, the Frant homeworld. He stretched out his arms and lifted his legs, twisting smoothly from corner to corner of the small quarters. Frant anatomy was inherently more subtle and flexible than human; Olmy had to refashion some of the basic movements. Still, the relsoso did its job. He felt more relaxed and stronger afterward.

“Now I’ll sit and vegetate,” he announced out loud, squatting in the middle of the blank, unfashioned parlor and its white furniture-forms.

The exchange with the Jart mentality was proceeding smoothly, according to his partial; in a few more hours, more information would be passed through the barriers.