"Astronomy says some stars are variable," Crifer offered, but Rikud knew his lame-footed companion understood the word no better than he did.
Over on Rikud's right, Chuls began to dress. "Variability," he told them, "is a contradictory term. Nothing is variable. It can't be."
"I'm only saying what I read in the book," Crifer protested mildly.
"Well, it's wrong. Variability and change are two words without meaning."
"People grow old," Rikud suggested.
A buzzer signified that his fifteen minutes under the rays were up, and Chuls said, "It's almost time for me to eat."
Rikud frowned. Chuls hadn't even seen the connection between the two concepts, yet it was so clear. Or was it? He had had it a moment ago, but now it faded, and change and old were just two words.
His own buzzer sounded a moment later, and it was with a strange feeling of elation that he dressed and made his way back to the viewport. When he passed the door which led to the women's half of the world, however, he paused. He wanted to open that door and see a woman. He had been told about them and he had seen pictures, and he dimly remembered his childhood among women. But his feelings had changed; this was different. Again there were inexplicable feelings—strange channelings of Rikud's energy in new and confusing directions.
He shrugged and reserved the thought for later. He wanted to see the stars again.