Considering the fact that its cells were direct derivations of his own, Kworn thought grimly, it was surprising how hard it was to establish control. The youngster had developed a surprising amount of individuality in its few xals of free existence. He felt a surge of thankfulness to the old Ul Kworn as the youngster yielded to his firm projection. His precursor had always sought compliant germ plasm to produce what he had called "discipline and order." It was, in fact, weakness. It was detrimental to survival. But right now that weakness was essential.
Under the probing lash of his projection the infant extruded a thick mass of tissue that met and interlocked with a similar mass of his own. As soon as the contact firmed, Kworn began flowing toward his eye, which was still in the half-open hole in the side of the tank.
The outside cold struck his sense centers with spicules of ice as he flowed to the outside, clinging to his offspring's gradually extending pseudopod. Slowly he dropped below the cylinder. The infant was frantic. It disliked the cold and struggled to break free, but Kworn clung limpetlike to his offspring's flesh as it twisted and writhed in an effort to return to the warmth and comfort into which it was born.
"Let go!" his offspring screamed. "I don't like this place."
"In a moment," Kworn said as he turned the vague writhings into a swinging pendulum motion. "Help me move back and forth."
"I can't. I'm cold. I hurt. Let me go!"
"Help me," Kworn ordered grimly, "or hang out here and freeze."
His offspring shuddered and twitched. The momentum of the swing increased. Kworn tightened his grip.
"You promised to let go!" his offspring wailed. "You prom—"