"Because they'd never been activated," Doc said. "You can't blow a fuse if it isn't screwed in. Skipper, I've seen about all my stomach can stand for now. I suppose I'm a hell of a queasy sawbones, but these--things--are too much like human beings for me to take much more of them at the moment." "Come on back," the skipper said. "I don't feel too sturdy myself." * * * * * Ernest Hotaling was writing verse in his cabin when the lieutenant intercommed him. He had just written, in free translation: _A girl is scarcely long for the road If passion'd arms make her corrode._ Ernest wasn't entirely satisfied with the rhyme, though he felt he'd captured the sense of it. The lieutenant's call interrupted his polishing. He touched the 'com and said: "Hotaling." "Patrol's back, Mister Hotaling. You'll want to see what they found." "Another heap of false starts? No, thanks." "Not this time. They found some people. Two live people." "Alive! Be right there." He raced down, then fretted as he waited for Doc to fumigate the people as they came through the airlock. Ernest saw them dimly through the thick glass. They were quite human-looking. But how had they survived whatever had turned thousands of their fellows to dust? Or were these--a man and a woman, elderly and fragile-looking--the rulers who had dusted the others? "How much longer, Doc?" he asked. Doc grinned. "In about two quatrains and a jingle, Ernest." * * * * * They brought the couple to the main lounge and set them down at a long table. The skipper took a seat at the far end. Apparently he planned to listen but not take part in the questioning. That would be up to Ernest Hotaling, if he could establish communication. He'd mastered the language to the extent that he'd been able to transcribe the record-coils and understand the robot, but whether he could speak it intelligibly enough so that these living--he almost thought "breathing"--people would understand him was a question. Doc Braddon took a seat next to the couple. Rosco was on the other side of them and Ernest opposite them, across the table. Up close, it was obvious that they were androids. But they had been remarkably made. They had none of the jerkiness of movement or blankness of expression that had characterized Earth's attempts along the same lines. Ernest explained his doubts about his ability to make himself understood and asked his shipmates to be patient with him. He smiled at the couple and said to them in English: "Welcome to our ship." Then he repeated it in their humming language. They returned his smile and the old woman said something to the man. Rosco looked inquiringly at Ernest, who shook his head. Ernest made a face. "I forgot to put it in verse. I'll try again." This time the response was immediate. Both man and woman spoke at once. Then the woman smiled and nodded to the man to talk for both of them.