Episode 4

When all the sandkings had finished their Kress-faces, he turned off the holograph and decided that it was time to have a party. His

friends would be impressed. He could even stage a war for them, he thought. Humming happily to himself, he began to draw up a

guest list.

* * * *

The party was a wild success.

Kress invited thirty people: a handful of close friends who shared his amusements, a few former lovers, and a collection of business

and social rivals who could not afford to ignore his summons. He knew some of them would be discomfited and even offended by his

sandkings. He counted on it. Simon Kress customarily considered his parties a failure unless at least one guest walked out in high

dudgeon.

On impulse he added Jala Wo's name to his list. “Bring Shade if you like,” he added when dictating her invitation.

Her acceptance surprised him just a bit. “Shade, alas, will be unable to attend. He does not go to social functions,” Wo added. “As for

myself, I look forward to the chance to see how your sandkings are doing.”

Kress ordered them up a sumptuous meal. And when at last the conversation had died down, and most of his guests had gotten silly on

wine and joy-sticks, he shocked them by personally scraping their table leavings into a large bowl. “Come, all of you,” he told them.

“I want to introduce you to my newest pets.” Carrying the bowl, he conducted them into his living room.

The sandkings lived up to his fondest expectations. He had starved them for two days in preparation, and they were in a fighting

mood. While the guests ringed the tank, looking through the magnifying glasses Kress had thoughtfully provided, the sandkings

waged a glorious battle over the scraps. He counted almost sixty dead mobiles when the struggle was over. The reds and whites, who

had recently formed an alliance, emerged with most of the food.

“Kress, you're disgusting,” Cath m'Lane told him. She had lived with him for a short time two years before, until her soppy

sentimentality almost drove him mad. “I was a fool to come back here. I thought perhaps you'd changed, wanted to apologize.” She

had never forgiven him for the time his shambler had eaten an excessively cute puppy of which she had been fond. “Don't ever invite

me here again, Simon.” She strode out, accompanied by her current lover and a chorus of laughter.

His other guests were full of questions.

Where did the sandkings come from?, they wanted to know. “From Wo and Shade, Importers,” he replied, with a polite gesture

towards Jala Wo, who had remained quiet and apart through most of the evening.

Why did they decorate their castles with his likeness? “Because I am the source of all good things. Surely you know that?” That

brought a round of chuckles.

Will they fight again? “Of course, but not tonight. Don't worry. There will be other parties.” Jad Rakkis, who was an amateur

xenologist, began talking about other social insects and the wars they fought. “These sandkings are amusing, but nothing really. You

ought to read about Terran soldier ants, for instance.”

“Sandkings are not insects,” Jala Wo said sharply, but Jad was off and running, and no one paid her the slightest attention. Kress

smiled at her and shrugged.

Malada Blane suggested a betting pool the next time they got together to watch a war, and everyone was taken with the idea. An

animated discussion about rules and odds ensued. It lasted for almost an hour. Finally the guests began to take their leave.

Jala Wo was the last to depart. “So,” Kress said to her when they were alone, “it appears my sandkings are a hit.”

“They are doing well,” Wo said. “Already they are larger than my own.”

“Yes,” Kress said, “except for the oranges.”

“I had noticed that,” Wo replied. “They seem few in number, and their castle is shabby.”

“Well, someone must lose,” Kress said. “The oranges were late to emerge and get established. They have suffered for it.”

“Pardon,” said Wo, “but might I ask if you are feeding your sandkings sufficiently?”

Kress shrugged. “They diet from time to time. It makes them fiercer.”

She frowned. “There is no need to starve them. Let them war in their own time, for their own reasons. It is their nature, and you will

witness conflicts that are delightfully subtle and complex. The constant war brought on by hunger is artless and degrading.” Simon

Kress repaid Wo's frown with interest. “You are in my house, Wo, and here I am the judge of what is degrading. I fed the sandkings as

you advised, and they did not fight.”

“You must have patience.”

“No,” Kress said. “I am their master and their god, after all. Why should I wait on their impulses? They did not war often enough to

suit me. I corrected the situation.”

“I see,” said Wo. “I will discuss the matter with Shade.”

“It is none of your concern, or his,” Kress snapped.

“I must bid you good night, then,” Wo said with resignation. But as she slipped into her coat to depart, she fixed him with a final

disapproving stare. “Look to your faces, Simon Kress,” she warned him. “Look to your faces.”

Puzzled, he wandered back to the tank and stared at the castles after she had taken her departure. His faces were still there, as ever.

Except—he snatched up his magnifying goggles and slipped them on. Even then it was hard to make out. But it seemed to him that the

expression on the face of his images had changed slightly, that his smile was somehow twisted so that it seemed a touch malicious.

But it was a very subtle change, if it was a change at all. Kress finally put it down to his suggestibility, and resolved not to invite Jala

Wo to any more of his gatherings.

* * * *

Over the next few months, Kress and about a dozen of his favorites got together weekly for what he liked to call his “war games.”

Now that his initial fascination with the sandkings was past, Kress spent less time around his tank and more on his business affairs and...

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