The Conclave President raised one slender, down-covered arm. Then she began to croon and sway. One by one, the other Roost Masters joined in, and soon the crowd of blue, amber, and crimson forms was rocking with her. From the royal assemblage there rose a low, atonal moaning.

“Zoooon …”

“Since time immemorial,” the President chirped in formal Galactic Three. “Since before our glory, since before our patronhood, since before even our Uplift into sentience, it has been our way to seek balance.”

The assembly chanted in counter rhythm. 

“Balance on the ground’s brown seams, Balance in the rough air streams, Balance in our greatest schemes.”

 “Back when our ancestors were still pre-sentient beasts, back before our Gooksyu patrons found us and uplifted us to knowledge, back before we even spoke or knew tools, we had already learned this wisdom, this way of coining to decision, this way of coming to consensus, this way of making love.”

“Zoooon …”

“As half-animals, our ancestors still knew that we must… must choose… must choose three.”

“One to hunt and strike with daring, for glory and for territory! One to seek the righteous bearing, for purity and propriety! One to warn of danger looming, for our eggs’ security!”

 The bureaucrat of Cost and Caution sensed the other two candidates on either side and knew they were just as electrically aware, just as caught up in tense expectation. There was no greater honor than to be chosen as the three of them had been.

Of course all young Gubru were taught that this way was best, for what other species so beautifully combined politics and philosophy with lovemaking and reproduction? The system had served their race and clan well for ages. It had brought them to the heights of power in Galactic society.