"Ah, such a sadness. Such misconception," Webster murmured.
"What about the segmentation?" asked Bill.
Webster brightened and blinked his gentle eyes. "A most interesting phenomena," he began. "You recall the story about that warrior in ancient history—Napoleon. It is said that he had a mind like a file cabinet. He could open any drawer in his mind and think about what was in it to the exclusion of all else. Then, at will, he could shut off a particular thought just as one closes a drawer. The Uvans are like that. Their minds are segmented.
"Their faculty for thinking is as precise as a machine. All their thought efforts can concentrate in any one of the grape-like thought cells in their heads completely cutting out all other thoughts. That's why they're so absent-minded about little things. They have absolutely no administrative or practical ability. Administration required, not concentration, but spread."
"But how'd they get so bright?"
"Ah, just listen," said Webster. "Nature just happened to provide in this manner. However, the segmentation is a slow process. Uvans live to be about a hundred and fifty years old. After that, their resin bodies crystallize and flake away. They reach their age of thought at the age of one hundred and forty years which means they've only got about ten years for good active thinking. It's quite a problem. That's why the Interworld Government guards them so carefully.
"The young Uvans are nursed along through their first century and forty years of childhood as though they were gems. Very few get born and fewer attain their age of thought. The day of the final segmentation and solidifying of their brains is one of great celebration. The Uvans are a pleasant people. They love celebrations, particularly revolutionary ones."
Bill gulped on his liquor. "Caviar?" he gasped.
"Ah, caviar," Webster beamed. "You've heard of the caviar wars?"