"Each shall choose the one she wants," Steve advised her, "then win him as she can. Thus, also, it was in the old days."
Beth looked at Jon and wrinkled her nose. She gazed through a portal of the Mother's hoam and studied a spindling pet male peering inquisitively in at the meeting, and sniffed contemptuously. She frowned.
She said, "And you—O Dwain? Did you not claim to be a Man?"
"That is right."
"Very well, then," said the priestess. "I will make my choice of mates now. I choose you!"
"N-now, wait a minute—" began Steve.
"Shall I come to your hoam tonight?" asked the dust-gold maid with alarming ingenuousness, "Or will you attend me in mine? I do not understand these matters so well, O Dwain. But one of the breeding-mothers can teach me the Rites—"
Lafferty stole a sidelong glance at Steve's suddenly flaming cheeks, and chuckled, "Okay, buster. Let's hear you talk your way out of this one!" Steve coughed nervously and changed the subject.
"You—er—you must not be so hasty, priestess," he said. "There are other—er—more important matters. About the Daans, for instance. Though we gain unity ourselves, yet we are a conquered people. Before we can rebuild humankind's lost civilization, we must first hurl the invader from Earth. To do this, we need force.