In amazement I asked, "You use inert projectiles on unknown game?" "Certainly. Oh, I've had a few close ones, but I learned my lesson in Africa. I got over my impulse to gut-shoot everything that ran at me." He showed me a wrinkled red scar on one shoulder at the base of his bull-neck. "You never want to gut-shoot a lion. He keeps coming. Lead has plenty of impact, but it mushes up and loses its shocking effect in the entrails. You got to break a bone to be sure on these fast beasties. Same thing's true with most of these Wampuses." "Wampuses?" I asked. "It's what I call any fast moving game that wears its skeleton on the inside," he explained. "Some on every planet. Carnivorous. Teeth, claws and a hell of an appetite's about all they have in common. Come in all shapes, but main thing is they come at you fast. A lion covers a hundred yards in a little more than three seconds. Some of these extra-t's do better than that." I tried to look casual, but the truth was that I had never fired at a living target in my life. "Never gut-shoot a wampus," he repeated. "Break a bone. That gives you time to finish him off." Our sanguinary conversation ended with the appearance of a circular tray loaded with food. It slid in silently, supported from a silvery, over-head trestle. When it reached us it lowered to the pillowed deck, and the Major fell to with both hands. He had eaten only a few bites when the uncomfortable plummeting of the food down his gullet reminded him of the heavy pull of acceleration. He threw back his head and roared into the concealed microphone over-head, "Ease off to one gee, captain. A man can't enjoy his food." After a brief pause a man's voice answered, "We'll have to replot the orbit, and it will cost us several days at lower acceleration, Major." "Ease off while we eat, then pick it up again," Daphne snapped, oblivious to the work he was creating for the navigator. "And don't make me heave when you do it, either!" The pressure gradually diminished to normal earth gravity. Daphne belched with relief. "That's better." Annellica was back. She and the girls joined Daphne, nibbling at the platters of meats and swallowing copious quantities of a golden, low-alcohol fluid they sucked from collapsible containers. "Better eat, Frost," Daphne insisted. "Be in free flight for a bit, and you want to keep up your strength. I can't eat well in free flight. Makes me gassy." I forced down a few mouthfuls of the exotic rations, wondering why a steward hadn't served us instead of Annellica. After the meal the girls began to perform for us--three of them, singing, dancing and producing weird music on tiny instruments they inserted in their mouths. The other three, Daphne told me, were strictly free flight artists from low gee planets.