“There is. Nothing is forcing you to do this.” She spaced each click and whistle deliberately.

“I’ll contact you as soon as I can,” he said again. Then he was out the exitway and into the cool night corridor beyond.

Fal stood in the center of the front room, stunned. It had happened so fast: he’d read the message, there’d been some excitement, a little talk, and then he was gone. On the way to far Hivehom and perhaps also to insanity. She was too fond of him to allow it. There was too much to throw away. She walked rapidly to the console.

The Servitors met him halfway to the transport terminal, holding themselves a little more stiffly than was normal. They were not dispensing aid to the aged or collecting garbage now.

“Good evening,” Ryo said, executing a hasty gesture of greeting.

“Good eve to you, citizen,” said the leader of the group. There were four of them, all bigger than Ryo. Soldier throwbacks, he thought. He tried to step around them. They shifted to block his way.

“Is something the matter?” he inquired of the leader.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. We act on a request from your clanmother and family.”

“I don’t understand,” he said as they turned him bodily about, a foothand on each of his own. “I’ve committed no crime. What does this mean?”

“We are not certain ourselves,” the leader told him. “Only that our action has been sanctioned by the hive-mother as well. I am sorry,” he added apologetically, and seemed to mean it. “You are aware of the customs. Such a request must be carried out.”

Request. Ryo turned the word over bitterly in his thoughts as he stood in the clan meeting hall. It was very late. The four Servitors had departed, still apologizing.

Seated before him were at least a dozen Ryo recognized. Fal was there … that surprised him, though it shouldn’t have. His sire and dame. Two of his three sisters … the other had moved away to Zirenba. Several clan elders.

“My free movement as a citizen has been interfered with,” he said. His gaze settled on Fal. She looked away from him, nervously cleaning one eye with a damp truhand.

“I am sorry, Ryo. I thought this necessary, best for you as well as me. You have your responsibilities.”

“We’re not mated,” he said, more bluntly than he intended. She ceased her cleaning.

“I am aware of that. What I have done was done out of my feelings for you, whatever you may feel for me. You must believe that.” Her whistle was painfully plaintive.

“Come here, Ryozenzuzex.” It was a command, but a gentle one. He stepped forward until he was standing before a Thranx he’d met only twice before.

Twenty-five hundred members of the Zu clan lived in Paszex, and Ilvenzuteck was their spiritual if not legal head. The clanmother was very old. Her chiton had faded to deep purple, was nearly black in places. Her antennae drooped and her eyes were dull as death, but there was nothing corpselike about her speech. Her gestures were minimal but lucid, her whistles properly pitched, the clicks sharp and devoid of any suggestion of uncertainty.