It went on like this for several more days. Hansen, at first amused, was now alarmed and completely convinced that both Quemos and Bullard were thoroughly useless. The messages were his only source of information, since both "experts" were too immersed in their work to talk with him. As his alarm grew, he decided that he might at least try to strike up a friendship with someone on board Captain Fromer's sealed ship--someone who might have something comforting to report. He called up the ship's navigator. "This is Hansen. How're things going up there?" "Ha!" "What's that mean? Good or bad?" "It means," the navigator said, while yawning, "that things are falling apart rapidly. In fact, in a day or two I don't think it'll make much difference whether or not they open that damn door." "You, er, care to fill me in?" "Why not?" said the navigator, with the voice of a man who knows that it is too late for anything to matter. "The members of the crew are divided into two factions. It appears that our physician has rallied half the crew to support his medical contention that our exhalted passenger belongs in the refrigerator. The good captain, with some justice, one must admit, thinks that he is in command of the ship, and prefers to believe that R'thagna Bar belongs out of the refrigerator." "Who seems to be winning the argument?" "Argument? There's no argument, old man--it's open warfare. No weapons aboard, of course, but the two teams are grappling up and down the corridors and shuttling our exhalted passenger in and out of the ice box about four times each hour. Quite a sight, really. Right now he's _in_ the refrigerator, but the other team--" "Let me know who's ahead from time to time, will you?" Hansen heard himself say. "Glad to oblige," the navigator said, yawning again. "Oh, incidentally, have they sent for help yet?" * * * * * Hansen said with some surprise, "Why, as a matter of fact, Sector Headquarters is sending some help. How did you know?" "Bound to happen sooner or later, old man. When the going really gets tough they always get around to sending a Gypsy. Only way to get anything done, you know." "I don't know," Hansen said reluctantly. "Why is it that everyone knows except me? What, please, is a Gypsy?" "You're too young to know everything, old man," the navigator said. "You're especially too young to know about one of the Federation's best kept secrets. But you might as well, I suppose. The fact is that a Gypsy is a generally vagrant, dirty, thieving, clever scoundrel who will not work, who has absolutely no respect for order or authority, who believes that our institutions are effete and--" "But then why--"