"I see." He turned to Captain Smith, but his words were obviously meant for di Vino. "Don't speak to Smith until I've spoken to you in Oassish. What I want to know is, how many unfertile clutches of eggs has your wife produced so far, and how long is the production cycle?"
Captain Smith nodded. "Tell me, what am I supposed to do?"
"Just look at the Shanni and smile, then smile very benignly on the Shannil."
While that was going on, Newhouse turned pleasantly to di Vino. "And how are you and your wife, Your Eminence?"
"Quite well, thank you," said di Vino suavely. "We expect to have a family before long, you know."
"Indeed? I hope your attempts will be successful."
"We all do," said the Shannil in a smooth voice. Looking at her, Newhouse could see why, in spite of her alienness, she had been the cause of di Vino's troubles.
There was a momentary silence around the room.
Then di Vino looked at Smith and said casually: "I don't know who you are, Lieutenant, but if you can get me out of this mess, you can have my right arm. To answer your question, my—uh—wife produces an egg every sixty-five days or thereabouts. The fertilization has to take place about twenty days before the cycle is completed. Since I've been here, she's produced two. If the next one isn't fertile, I'll end up in the family mausoleum, accompanied by much lamentation." He paused and smiled at Captain Smith expectantly.
Smith smiled back. "I have a question, if you two don't mind. If that's the case, it seems to me that these people could have a child every sixty-five days. They'd have overrun the planet centuries ago."