Jala Wo was the last to depart. "So," Kress said to her when they were alone, "it appears my sandkings are a hit."
"They are doing well," Wo said. "Already they are larger than my own."
"Yes," Kress said, "except for the oranges."
"I had noticed that," Wo replied. "They seem few in number, and their castle is shabby."
"Well, someone must lose," Kress said. "The oranges were late to emerge and get established. They have suffered for it."
"Pardon," said Wo, "but might I ask if you are feeding your sandking sufficiently?"
Kress shrugged. "They diet from time to time. It makes them fiercer."
She frowned. "There is no need to starve them. Let them war in their own time, for their own reasons. It is their nature, and you will witness conflicts that are delightfully subtle and complex. The constant war brought on by hunger is artless and degrading."
Kress repaid Wo's frown with interest. "You are in my house, Wo, and here I am the judge of what is degrading. I fed the sandkings as you advised, and they did not fight."
"You must have patience."
"No," Kress said. "I am their master and their god, after all. Why should I wait on their impulses? They did not war often enough to suit me. I have corrected the situation."
"I see," said Wo. "I will discuss the matter with Shade."
"It is none of your concern, or his," Kress _ snapped.
"I must bid you good-night, then." Wo said with resignation. But as she slipped into her coat to leave, she fixed him with a final, disapproving stare. "Look to your faces, Simon Kress," she warned him. "Look to your faces." And she departed.
Puzzled, he wandered back to-the tank and stared at the castles. His faces were still there, as ever. Except-he snatched up his magnifying goggles and slipped them on. He studied the faces for long moments. Even then exactly what it was, was hard to make out. But it seemed to