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The loudest sound at that second was Doonira taking a sudden sharp intake of breath, followed immediately by the clapping of her hand to her mouth. By contrast, Bragrum was delighted, even jubilant. "I was trying to tell you," he cried, practically dancing a jig on the spot, "The Old Ones live and die like everything and everybody else." Doonira was enough of a scientist to know how to give in gracefully when her argument was demolished. Or at least unwilling to be further embarrassed in this company. "And so you breed your young to take their place in your society, in the course of time," she said slowly, thoughtfully. The Old One looked on impassively at this exchange, its - her - head swinging from side to side minutely as she followed the conversation. "All this is true," Madonna said, "Surely you could not really have thought otherwise?" Doonira was still stunned, frantically rearranging her mental world view to take into account what she had so suddenly been presented with. She didn't answer immediately. My own reaction, unvoiced at this point, was one of frustration with my client. The Old One had been keeping things from me. Really important things. Things that would have made a difference. He must have known Madonna's gender. All he had to do was use the feminine personal pronoun, just once. But the thing I was really uncertain about was: whether it was an accidental oversight - maybe these things are not very important to the Old Ones - or perhaps it was deliberate. And, if it was the latter, then somebody was playing games. Just another thing I would have to work out eventually. After a minute or so, Doonira's curiosity, something I knew she had in abundance, came once again to the fore. Even under Madonna's calm gaze, watching our various reactions with keen intelligence and the wisdom of experience measured in aeons, Doonira managed to formulate her thoughts into a question, one which was also about to percolate out of my head and, I suspected, Bragrum's as well. "Madame Madonna, with your permission, could we see your eggs?" she asked, her eyes shining with emotion. The Old One brought her head down level with Doonira, who stepped back half a pace. Madonna's nostrils quivered inches from Doctor Quaig's face. "My clutch," Madonna said slowly, "Are as precious to me as life itself. And I will protect them with every power I have at my disposal. Are you still sure you want to see them?" Doonira held up her chin defiantly. "I do," she replied, "Quite definitely. As a scientist, I would very much like the opportunity to study your clutch, from a suitable distance, of course." "As would I," said Bragrum respectfully, standing up straight and suddenly looking sober and serious. I just nodded, not trusting myself to say anything just at the moment. Apparently satisfied, Madonna swivelled her head to look directly at the great eggshell-white hemisphere next to her roost. She said nothing, made no movement or gesture that I could detect, but the opaque surface of the dome suddenly faded to almost transparent, with just a few reflected highlights to show that some protective enclosure was still present. What was visible inside the transparent dome was utterly astonishing.
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Part 30