“Maybe you can. They can’t. Only you. I think I see that now. You may have to do it because you can’t survive without us.”

“That’s not the only reason,” Joshua said.

“What is it, then?”

“I can’t help it. .

“What?”

“My flock...”

“You’ve spooked yourself with too much history,” Justin said.

“No, it’s come to find me. You said it yourself: only I can do it.”

“You don’t have to, you know. Turn away. Let the cup pass and don’t drink from it. A moment ago you were just prattling about choices and crossroads.”

“I can’t help it. I have no choice. My flock will die without me.”

27

The Race of None

It was very uncharacteristic of Thaw Tint to break off a conversation and refuse to speak to anyone, even to a machine, for days at a time. For much of his life there had been no company except the silver crabs. Now there were these humans, who filled him with constant fascination but whom he suspected of looking down at him with pity and utter contempt. He knew now that it had been folly bordering on madness to tell them the truth about the crabs.

Jonathan and Hollis were sitting up late one “night,” discussing their situation, when Thaw Tint decided to break in on their conversation.

“I’ve seen enough octopi in my time,” Hollis was saying as she adjusted a white terrycloth robe around her shoulders. “Usually they’re quite cowardly.”

“That’s not quite accurate,” Thaw Tint interrupted. “Octopuses, to use the equally acceptable alternative plural, are considered merely shy.”

The alien had come back to them with its voice changed—new, but unexpectedly familiar. So, Jonathan thought, he’s been watching programs of rather more substance than “Star Trek” and “Sesame Street.” The new voice reminded him of Sydney Greenstreet talking to Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. It lacked personal identity, but it was duplicated with such virtuoso skill that Jonathan expected at any moment to be addressed as “My dear Ricky.”

“So,” Jonathan said, standing up to face the tank, “you’ve come out of your long sulk at last.”

“I hope you’ve noticed that your accommodations continue to improve.”

“Yes,” said Jonathan. Judging from one of these improvements, he suspected there would always be gaps in Thaw Tint’s understanding of his captives— or fellow captives, as the case might be. A convenience bar had been added, with a lock and key and card that gave instructions for reporting all purchases at checkout time. Thaw Tint or the crabs or both were either too literally familiar with human ways or were making a grim joke. The terrycloth robes weren’t bad—one large, one small—but they didn’t smell like terrycloth.

“The water isn’t warm enough in the shower,” Jonathan added with sarcasm. “And my favorite brand of chocolate isn’t in the convenience bar.”

“I’m sorry the accommodations are not quite perfect,” said Thaw Tint, but Jonathan was sure that the alien considered them perfect and was merely simulating politeness. “The water will be warmer.”