I turned back to Brain One, checked the wiring on the denizen circuit and tried to get more information about possible inhabitants. No luck. Either there were none or they were so highly civilized they could block off our probing rays. That had happened before, and it usually meant a minor war. We always won, though we sometimes had to dig in and send for the Control Fleet from home. The Fleet was run by Combatmen, though no Homonorm had ever figured out how they eased into all the key positions. They were quite a race, all right. So I sat watching the Radarscreen and the planet, enlarging rapidly. It looked pretty good--about a quarter to a third land mass, I guessed--just like home. Combatman came back in the room, quietly. "Your pap-fed colonists are waking," he grunted. "Better go and wet-nurse them. They might catch cold." He sat down in the pilot's chair, much to my annoyance, and swilled away at his bottle. I noticed he'd replaced the original crock, and felt a moment's concern. After all, we depended for basic safety on his training, in the event of encountering hostility. He seemed utterly unconcerned as he lazily watched the screen. * * * * * The Homonorms were doing all right, complaining as usual about the cold and asking silly questions about where we were and what year it was--or would be at home. I ducked the questions, gave them their hypos and went back to Brain One and the control panel. One look at controls and I started boiling; this was the last straw. "Now, goddamit," I started, "you can boss me around, but when it comes to...." "Shut up!" "I will not shut up...." "Okay." He was calm, leisurely, even--but before I realized it he was rising, crossed the room and I had an arm behind me. It didn't hurt but I felt pretty helpless. Completely helpless, to be truthful. "Could it be," he appeared to be bored, "that you are tired of having two arms?" He twisted slightly and I got the idea so I shut up, for the second time. After a few seconds he sat down in my chair and had another drink. When I could talk without sputtering I worked up my mildest voice. "Would you tell me," I almost choked on the next word, "_Please_, what in hell is the idea of circling at twenty miles, then dropping to ten and circling some more? We're wasting tons of fuel which we may need for--" "Sure, brainy one, I'll tell you. I want to see what this place looks like and _I'm_ picking the landing site. Not you or that pile of rattling tin there." He gestured contemptuously at Brain One.