“Like I said, I’ve never been told anything. They tested me for a lot of things, then gave me my orders and told me to come along. And if you’re wondering, I flunked the ESP tests, so there’s nothing there. You want to consider me dead weight? O.K., your privilege. Leave me alone if you want to, I’ll do the same. Be friendly, I’ll be friendly. Ask me to help. I’ll do my best.” Then he got up and went back to his bunk. During the next six weeks, Arnold spent most of the time in his bunk, scanning tapes from the ship’s micro-library on an overhead viewer. At meal times he was polite, offering no further information about himself, yet entering into any conversation that centered around such trivia as terrestrial sports, taxes, money, liquor, food, government agencies. By mutual, if silent, agreement, neither women nor work were discussed. Working in the ship’s control room, sometimes together, sometimes spelling each other, Banner and Harcraft speculated bitterly and endlessly about their passenger. Theories to explain his presence—most of them propounded by Harcraft—were created, torn apart, modified, exploded, in giant sequences of effort which left both men finally exhausted and tired of the whole business. On the second day of the seventh week out, their ennui vanished. A ship was picked up by the spec-spanner, and at their delight at the break in routine, they summoned Arnold up to the cabin. “Take a good look,” said Banner, “it’s an Ankorbadian ship. Probably the first and last you’ll ever see.” Arnold watched as Banner’s finger tracked a slowly moving point of light across a recessed ceiling screen. “Yes, sir,” said Harcraft, “you are looking at the representatives of mankind’s only sibling. The noble Ankorbades.” Then he recited in a singsong voice: “A simple race the Ankorbades They wear no clothes and live in caves But out in space they do in minutes What our ships do at speeds infinite.” “Cultural paranoia,” added Harcraft. “Huh?” “I mean just what I said. You and a million others recite that ditty, or variations of it every day of the week. It all adds up to the fact that the world is full of small-egged animals who for ten years have done nothing but just scream that we’re about to be attacked by the savage Ankorbades.” “_Tch, tch_,” said Banner, “treason, my lieutenant, treason. Of you I had expected at least a show of chauvinism.” “Stop _tch-tch_ing me,” Harcraft said irritably. “You’ve known how I felt about this mess for a long time.” “Yes, indeed,” said Banner, yawning, “ever since you took that micro-course in culturology you have insights into the situation denied to the rest of the race.”