Rule c—They are all alike.
"Come," Juba said, turning, "We are not far from the cottages."
She watched, during the meal, to see how he impressed the sisters and the mother. The little sisters—all bouncy blond curls and silly with laughter—their reaction to everything was excitement. And the mother—how could she seem so different from her daughters when they were so completely of her? They had no genes but her genes. And yet, there she sat, so dignified, offering a generous hospitality, but so cold Juba could feel it at the other end of the table. So cold—but the Man would not know, could not read the thin line of her taut lips and the faint lift at the edges of her eyes.
Juba brought him back to the ship that night, knowing he would not leave the planet.
"Mother," Juba said, kneeling before the mother and clasping her knees in supplication. "Mother ... isn't he ... different?"
"Juba," the mother said, "there is blood on his hands. He has killed. Can't you see it in his eyes?"
"Yes. He has a gun and he has used it. But mother—there is a gentleness in him. Could he not change? Perhaps I, myself...."
"Beware," the mother said sternly, "that you do not fall into your own traps."
"But you have never really known a man, have you? I mean, except for servants?"