"I was just wondering that myself." He turned as he spoke, finding himself face to face with a young Lhari in the unadorned cloak of a spaceman without official rank. He knew the Lhari was young because his crest was still white. The young Lhari extended his claws in the closed-fist, hidden-claw gesture of Lhari greeting. "Shall we take a chance? Ringg son of Rahan greets you." "Bartol son of Berihun." "I don't remember seeing you in the port, Bartol." "I've mostly worked on the Polaris run." "Way off there?" Ringg son of Rahan sounded startled and impressed. "You really get around, don't you? Shall we sit here?" They sat on triangular chairs at a three-cornered table. Bart waited for Ringg to order, and ordered what he did. When it came, it was a sort of egg-and-fish casserole which Bart found extremely tasty, and he dug into it with pleasure. Allowing for the claws, Lhari table manners were not so much different from human--_and remember, their customs differ as much as ours do. If you do something differently, they'll just think you're from another planet with a different culture._ "Have you been here long?" "A day or so. I'm off the _Swiftwing_." Bart decided to hazard his luck. "I was told there's a vacancy on the _Swiftwing_." Ringg looked at him curiously. "There is," he said, "but I'd like to know how you found it out. Captain Vorongil said that anyone who talked about it would be sent to Kleeto for three cycles. But what happened to you? Miss your ship?" "No, I've just been laying off--traveling, sight-seeing, bumming around," Bart said. "But I'm tired of it, and now I'd like to sign out again." "Well, we could use another man. This is the long run we're making, out to Antares and then home, and if everybody has to work extra shifts, it's no fun. But if old Vorongil knows that there's been talk in the port about Klanerol jumping ship, or whatever happened to him, we'll all have to walk wide of his temper." Bart was beginning to relax a little; Ringg apparently accepted him without scrutiny. At this close range Ringg did not seem a monster, but just a young fellow like himself, hearty, good-natured--in fact, not unlike Tommy. Bart chased the thought away as soon as it sneaked into his brain--one of those _things_, like _Tommy_? Then, rather grimly, he reminded himself, _I'm one of those things_. He said irritably, "So how do I account for asking your captain for the place?" Ringg cocked his fluffy crest to one side. "I know," he said, "_I_ told you. I'll say you're an old friend of mine. You don't know what Vorongil's like when he gets mad. But what he doesn't know, he won't shout about." He shoved back the triangular chair. "Who _did_ tell you, anyway?" This was the first real hurdle, and Bart's brain raced desperately, but Ringg was not listening for an answer. "I suppose somebody gossiped, or one of those fool Mentorians picked it up. Got your papers? What rating?" "Astrogator first class."