“And does that mean,” Varella burst out, “that Melina should have to pretend? Conceal? Live a lie just to make Colt happy? A gulden boy? Who cares what he thinks, anyway?”

Right; she was entirely right; and even if Colt loathed Melina’s arrangements, who had appointed him judge of her actions? And yet it seemed to Nolan that if peace between races was to be maintained, some circumspection might be called for on both sides. In this, his training warred with his ingrained desire to avoid strife. Why should an indigo woman have to make concessions to a gulden man? He was not the philosopher who could answer that.

“Talk to Pakt,” he said again. “I’ll go tell him you don’t need a doctor.”

So that little incident had set the tone for the rest of the day and, naturally, none of them could talk of anything else. And—naturally—conversation broke down entirely along racial lines, the gulden gathering together in Colt’s office, the blueskins in Melina’s or Varella’s labs. The albinos stayed in their own rooms, working without recourse to gossip. Normally, there was an easy camaraderie among all three races in the Biolab. They shared with each other a knowledge so esoteric that anyone else who understood it became an instant kinsman. This had made them comrades if not actual friends—though the relationships seldom extended beyond the confines of the building.

And this unsettling disturbance was likely to make them strangers to each other for a day or two within the familiar walls.

Nolan, Hiram, Sochin, and another blueskin named Felder all left for a late lunch together when the indigo women declined to join them. At a nearby restaurant, they sat at a table near the window and watched the city walk by.

“I’ll tell you, though, something should be done about Colt,” Sochin said. He was the newest member of their group, a fine-featured, dark-skinned, high-caste thirty-year-old who had never spent an hour in the presence of a guldman until he walked into Biolab eight months ago. “A man like that shouldn’t even be allowed to speak to a woman like Melina.”

“Well,” said Nolan, but Felder overrode him. Felder had been a city man a little longer than Nolan had, but he still bore the unmistakable stamp of in-country aristocracy.

“I hope Melina plans to talk to Cerisa about this,” Felder said warmly. “Because you can’t count on Pakt to do it, and she ought to know.”

“A blow like that! He should be arrested,” Sochin said.

“At least fired,” Hiram agreed.

“She hit him first,” Nolan reminded them. Three pairs of unfriendly eyes swung his way. “Well, she did.”

“Because he said something unpardonable,” Felder said in a starchy voice.

“Did you hear him?” Nolan asked mildly. “What did he say?”

“If she considered it unpardonable, that’s good enough for me,” Sochin said. The other two agreed.