The Tomingan official punched buttons, gabbled briefly, and listened. “Oh, yes. Excellent! The health, sanitation, and exit requirements of Chickladoria are approved by the Galactic Medical Society. We welcome you. You all may pass.” They left the building and boarded a copter for their hotel. “. . . and part of its name is ‘Forget-me-not’! Isn’t that a dilly of a name for a hotel?” Vesta, who had been telepathing busily with Nadine, was giggling sunnily. Suddenly, however, she stopped laughing and, eyes slitted, leaped for the door. Too late: the craft was already in the air. “Do you know what that . . . that _clunker_ back there _really_ thought of us?” she flared. “That we’re weak, skinny, insipid, under-developed little _runts_! By Zevz and Tlazz and Jadkptn, I’ll show him—I’ll take a tail-wrap around his neck and. . . .” “Pipe down, Vesta—listen!” Cloud broke in, sharply. “You’re smart enough to know better than to explode that way. For instance, you’re stronger than I am, and faster—admitted. So what? I’m still your boss. And Tommie isn’t, even though, as you ought to know by this time, she could pull your tail out by the roots and beat you to death with the butt end of it in thirty seconds flat.” “Huh?” Vesta’s towering rage subsided miraculously into surprised curiosity. “But you’re _admitting_ it!” she marvelled. “Even that _I_ am stronger and faster than _you_ are!” “Certainly. Why not? Servos are faster still, and ordinary derricks are stronger. It’s _brains_ that count. I’d much rather have your linguistic ability than the speed and strength of a Valerian.” “So would I, really,” Vesta purred. “You’re the _nicest_ man!” “So watch yourself, young lady,” Cloud went on evenly, “and behave yourself. If you don’t, important as you are to this project, I’ll send you back to the ship in irons. That’s a promise.” “P-f-z-t-k!” Vesta fairly spat the expletive. Her first thought was sheer defiance, but under the Blaster’s level stare she changed her mind visibly. “I’ll behave myself, Captain Neelcloud.” “Thanks, Vesta. You’ll be worth a whole platoon of Tomingans if you do.” The copter landed on the flat roof of the hotel. The guests were registered and shown to their rooms. The Forget-Me-Not’s air was hot and humid, and the visitors wore the only clothing to be seen. Nevertheless, Cloud was too squeamish to go all the way, so he still wore shorts and sandals, as well as the side-arm of his rank, when he went back up to the lobby to meet his crew.