Back on Home, rigid was a term of praise. It had been a term of praise when the conquest fleet came to Tosev 3, too. No more. Males of the Race who stayed too rigid stood not a chance of understanding the Big Uglies. By the standards of Home, the males of the conquest fleet-those who still survived-had grown dreadfully flighty.

Males… Atvar said, “It will be good to have females in range of the scent receptors on my tongue once more. When they come into season and I smell their pheromones, I will have an excuse for not thinking about this accursed world for a while. I look forward to having the excuse, you understand, not to the breeding itself.”

“Of course, Exalted Fleetlord,” Kirel said primly. “You are no Big Ugly, to have such matters always on your mind.”

“I should hope not!” Atvar exclaimed. Like any other member of the Race, he viewed Tosevite sexuality with a sort of horrified fascination. Intellectually, he grasped how the Big Uglies’ year-round interest in mating colored every aspect of their behavior. But he had no feel for the subtleties, or indeed for what the Big Uglies no doubt viewed as broad strokes. Despite intensive research, few males of the Race did, any more than the Tosevites could understand the Race’s dispassionate view of such matters.

Pshing, Atvar’s adjutant, came into the chamber. One side of his body was painted in a pattern that matched the fleetlord’s; the other showed his own, far lower, rank. He bent his forward-sloping torso into the posture of respect and waited to be noticed.

“Speak,” Atvar said. “Give forth.”

“I thank you, Exalted Fleetlord,” Pshing said. “I beg leave to report that the lead ships of the colonization fleet have passed within the orbit of Tosev 4, the planet the Big Uglies call Mars. Very soon now, those ships will seek to circle and land on this world.”