"Nevertheless, it bothered them. I don't know whether it's simply their mutual neurosis or represents something in the structure of the cat mind itself—not wanting to do what you are told. I know that it wouldn't matter to me or to my species at large, and you Graylons are even said to make a virtue of it—"
I turned and looked into her eyes.
"Oops," she said.
I nodded.
"'Graylon' was one of the words Ursula used about me," I said.
"It means 'human' but there are certain other connotations."
"What are they?"
"You must first understand that a standard model human being such as yourself is quite rare in the last—that is, distant—future. The ones who have struggled to retain this form are racial purists of the highest sort."
"It would seem as if you cat and snake and mongoose and fox people would have to be pretty much the same way. If you can't interbreed you've got racial purity whether you want it or not."
"True. But with the Graylon—who worked so long at preserving it and enhancing it—there's an ideological component as well. That is, the original human form is considered the best. Others are deemed inferior."
I smiled. "... And of course we can't conceive of snakes, cats, mongooses, foxes—whatever—thinking that way about themselves."
She was silent for several moments, then, "Certain individuals of any race are always going to believe that," she said.
"Only when the Graylon do it, it's bad," I said, "because they're probably the devils in your mythology—the dictatorial creators from whom you had to win your freedom. Pride in anything has to be a vice if they've got it."
"They've done everything they can in the way of gene manipulation, cloning, and specialized training to turn themselves into a super-race, one that really is superior to all of the others. The last true humans are self-designed monuments to the notion of superiority."
I laughed.
"How is this so different from you guys winnowing, breeding, selecting, tailoring to produce your Kaleideion? Sounds as if you might even have stolen the notion from those who wanted to see their entire race that way—a fully democratic end within a people. But a Kaleideion? Seems as if they'd like to have everybody goose-stepping—pardon me, pussyfooting—before him. Seems a lot more dangerous than the Graylons' self-improvement program."
"You must all be programmed to think that way!"
"I'm not even willing to admit that I'm one of those guys! I'm just trying to apply a little reason to the claims I'm hearing."
". . . And it's so deeply ingrained that it functions without your even being aware of it."
"I hope you realize you're setting up a no-win scenario for me, no matter what I say."
"What are the highest virtues of a civilized people?" she said suddenly. "Respect for the law? The arts? Devotion to high cultural ends? A dedication to learning the will of the people and promulgating it for the greatest good?"
"I'd be willing to bet it differs from species to species," I said.
"Fair enough. I was drawing generalities from several of them. What do you think the Graylons' ideal might be?"
I shrugged.
"They reasoned that humanity started out as a band of predators, and in one fashion or another remained so throughout history. Therefore, since this was the virtue that made them great, they would enhance it. And they did. No matter what their final individual goals in life, the basic breeding, conditioning, and training of a Graylon is for the hunt. Yours is a race of hunters, Alf."
"So is yours, Glory, or it wouldn't have survived to be perpetuated in your delightful person. All of the species had to be predators in order to survive. That's no big deal. And the cats even throw in a touch of sadism in dealing with their prey. No, you've told me nothing I consider morally objectionable about the Graylon. Is what bothers you the fact that they make open avowals concerning their basic nature?"
"No," she said. "But they send their youths off to hunt the most dangerous beasts in the universe. This is how their career choices are made. And those who show a flair for it become their real hunters."
"The custodians?"
"'Colosodians.' They are the professional hunters, the ones to whom all others turn when there is hunting to be done. They range up and down space-time after whatever they have been hired to pursue. Their prowess is legendary, as is their record of achievement. Pay them enough, and they'll bring back whatever you want, dead or alive."
"The universe has to have its cops," I said.
"A Graylon colosodian is more like a bounty hunter."
"Them, too, " I said.
"That's your conditioning talking."
"Or yours. So let's call it even for now. All of this came out of Adam and Prandy's story, which I still haven't heard."
She nodded. "After they quarreled and he departed on this job, she spent a long time trying to figure where he had gone."
"So this is a secret project, outside the quadratic fraternity?"
"Because Adam is the Kaleideion, it was kept very quiet."
"How'd she find him, then?"
She turned onto her side, facing away from me. She reached out and stroked a former self upon the wall. Below, the caterwauling sounds had died away, to be replaced by something softer and steadier.
Finally, she said, "I get the impression she hired a colosodian to track him through time, since they are the best and have their own ways of traveling through it."
I managed to stifle my laugh, turned it into an "Oy!"
"And one day, back in Etruria, she turned up on the doorstep. There was a joyous, tear-filled reconciliation, and they lived happily ever after for a number of years."
"Till they quarreled again?" I asked.
"That's right. She went away then and he was sad for a long while."
"Till she came back."
"Yes."
"And later they quarreled and she left again."
"Yes."
"And this pattern was to be repeated down the centuries."
"Yes."
"It almost sounds like a special mating ritual—taking time off to become a somewhat different person when things grow stale, returning in a new avatar."
From downstairs the new avatars began to wail.
Glory turned back and she was smiling.
"You have a lot of odd insights for one of your kind," she said. "Too bad you're also a bloodthirsty bastard out to kill us for money."
I covered my face with my hands and heaved my shoulders a few times. "I weep," I said. "I weep at all this misunderstanding."
She drew nearer. "You do not," she said. "It's entirely phony. You're not crying."
"No, I'm not very good at it. But at least I'm going through the motions on your behalf—which is totally Confucian and full of respect."
She touched my neck. "Weirdest damned hunter I ever heard of," she said.
"I refuse to be your self-fulfilling prophecy," I stated. "So now what do we have to look forward to from Adam and Prandy? A period of domestic bliss? The lover's inadvertent lobotomizing of a customer when he meant only to remove the quality of perfect pitch?"
"Yes, silly little things like that," she said. "But I've a feeling it won't last. For ages, I've kept track of these things, and this reconciliation is way ahead of schedule. So I made it a point for once to listen carefully to what she was saying."
"'For once'? Are you the mother-in-law figure in the poor girl's existence?"
She hissed long and hard. Then, "Do you want to hear this story or don't you?" she asked.
"Please. Go on."
"She came back," she said, "because of the discovery of a fragment of an ancient historical document which actually mentions this place."
"Got nostalgic, huh?"
"No. But the document indicated that we go out of business about now."