Guy smiled vaguely. He made one last prayer that he could look as starved for company as a man would after a year in that tiny ship. He didn't stop to wonder why they'd asked him to dive. He merely prayed that his story would be acted as convincingly as his forged diary read. He'd partially committed that to memory; certain lapses would be expected. It was good and it contained several references to ideas for equipment which would help explain his sudden inventive streak. He hugged the volume to him and dived out of the open space lock. Once free of the ship, Guy turned the tiny driving fin on and he stood upright on the soles of the spacesuit shoes. And minutes later the destroyer arrowed silently past and a silent, invisible tractor reached out and caught him in the focal area. It stretched like a thin elastomer cord, invisible, and it accelerated him gently as the destroyed sped on. He caught up with the destroyer and was taken aboard just as the soundless gout of flame far below marked the end of the lifeship. "Why?" he asked patiently, shortly and tersely. "Didn't care to leave any evidence for the Marties." "Sort of got attached to it," said Guy. "Could be, but one sight of that anywhere in the Solar System would mean trouble. Evidence from the _Mardinex_, you know. Forget it, Maynard. You're far more important. What happened, and how, and why?" Maynard looked pained. "Forget it, Guy. Obviously you had a tough time. Take your time about telling us. What do you want most?" Guy smiled shyly. "I thought about that a lot," he said slowly. "I wanted steak and potatoes. I wanted cigarettes. I even thought of Laura Greggor. I wanted.... Ben, I want everything, and in mass-production lots." "Steak and potatoes we can give you. Cigarettes we have in plenty. A shower and a shave and a soft, well-made man-sized bed. Books and pictures and a dollop of liquor, too. Candy, cigars, chewing gum, et cetera. But the only female we have on board is cooky's pet hen. Like a fresh egg?" "Anything as long as it is not lonely," said Guy. "My throat is slightly lame." "I can imagine. Well, it's sick bay for you and we'll wait on you. And--Guy, there'll be plenty of company." Ben snapped the general communicator button and said: "Executive to crew: Junior Executive Guy Maynard is aboard. He is to be shown every consideration, and it is directed that each watch appoint three roving spacemen whose duties will be to replace crew members who will visit Maynard. His stay in sick bay is not quarantine." "Williamson, I'll take that shower now. And then the steak. Got a cigarette?"