He was. He had an empty glass before him. Nordenfeld sat down and dialed for a drink. He had an indefinite feeling that something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. There are always things going wrong for a ship's doctor, though. There are so many demands on his patience that he is usually short of it. Jensen watched him sip at his drink. "A bad day?" he asked. He'd gotten over his own tension. * * * * * Nordenfeld shrugged, but his scowl deepened. "There are a lot of new passengers." He realized that he was trying to explain his feelings to himself. "They'll come to me feeling miserable. I have to tell each one that if they feel heavy and depressed, it may be the gravity-constant of the ship, which is greater than their home planet. If they feel light-headed and giddy, it may be because the gravity-constant of the ship is less than they're used to. But it doesn't make them feel better, so they come back for a second assurance. I'll be overwhelmed with such complaints within two hours." Jensen waited. Then he said casually--too casually, "Does anybody ever suspect chlorophage?" "No," said Nordenfeld shortly. Jensen fidgeted. He sipped. Then he said, "What's the news from Kamerun, anyhow?" "There isn't any," said Nordenfeld. "Naturally! Why ask?" "I just wondered," said Jensen. After a moment: "What was the last news?" "There hasn't been a message from Kamerun in two years," said Nordenfeld curtly. "There's no sign of anything green anywhere on the planet. It's considered to be--uninhabited." Jensen licked his lips. "That's what I understood. Yes."