The following morning I was lying blissfully on the grass near the ship, talking to Alaree. Ketteridge came to me, and by the tightness of his lips I knew he was in trouble.

I brushed some antlike blue insects off my trousers and rose to a sitting position, leaning against the tall, tough-barked tree behind me. “What’s the matter, Ketteridge? How’s the feed network?”

He glanced uneasily at Alaree for a moment before speaking. “I’m stuck, sir. I’ll have to admit I was wrong. I can’t fix it by myself.”

I stood up and put my hand on his shoulder. “That’s a noble thing to say, Ketteridge. It takes a big man to admit he’s been a fool. Will you work with Willendorf now?”

“If he’ll work with me, sir,” Ketteridge said miserably.

“I think he will,” I said. Ketteridge saluted and turned away, and I felt a burst of satisfaction. I’d met the crisis in the only way possible; if I had ordered them to cooperate, I would have gotten no place. The psychological situation no longer allowed for unbending military discipline.

After Ketteridge had gone, Alaree, who had been silent all this time, looked up at me in puzzlement. “We do not understand,” he said.

“Not we,” I corrected. “I. You’re only one person. We means many people.”

“We are only one person?” Alaree said tentatively.

“No. I am only one person. Get it?”

He worried the thought around for a few moments; I could see his browless forehead contract in deep concentration.

“Look,” I said. “I’m one person. Ketteridge is another person. Willendorf is another. Each one of them is an independent individual—an I.”

“And together you make We?” Alaree asked brightly.

“Yes and no,” I said. “We is composed of many I’s—but we still remain I.”