. He
would usually watch the coffee-maker with bright, interested eyes. He'd
even tried to imitate Calhoun's motions with it, once, and had scorched
his paws in the attempt. This time he did not move.

Calhoun turned his head. Murgatroyd sat on the floor, his long tail
coiled reflectively about a chair-leg. He watched the door of the Med
Ship's sleeping-cabin.

"Murgatroyd," said Calhoun. "I mentioned coffee!"

"_Chee!_" shrilled Murgatroyd.

But he continued to look at the door. The temperature was kept lower in
the other cabin, and the look of things was different from the
control-compartment. The difference was part of the means by which a man
was able to be alone for weeks on end--alone save for his
_tormal_--without becoming ship-happy. There were other carefully
thought out items in the ship with the same purpose. But none of them
should cause Murgatroyd to stare fixedly and fascinatedly at the
sleeping-cabin door. Not when coffee was in the making!

Calhoun considered. He became angry at the immediate suspicion that
occurred to him. As a Med Service man, he was duty-bound to be
impartial. To be impartial might mean not to side absolutely with Weald
in its enmity to blueskins. The people of Weald had refused to help Dara
in a time of famine; they'd blockaded that pariah world for years
afterward; they had other reasons for hating the people they'd treated
badly. It was entirely reasonable for some fanatic on Weald to consider
that Calhoun must be killed lest he be of help to the blueskins Weald
abhorred.

In fact, it was quite possible that somebody had stowed away on the Med
Ship to murder Calhoun, so that there would be no danger of any report
favorable to Dara ever being presented anywhere. If so, such a stowaway
would be in the sleeping-cabin now, waiting for Calhoun to walk
unsuspiciously in to be shot dead.

So Calhoun made coffee. He slipped a blaster into a pocket where it
would be handy. He filled a small cup for Murgatroyd and a large one for
himself, and then a second large one.

He tapped on the sleeping-cabin door, standing aside lest a blaster-bolt
came through it.

"Coffee's ready," he said sardonically. "Come out and join us."

There was a long pause. Calhoun rapped again.

"You've a seat at the captain's table," he said more sardonically still.
"It's not polite to keep me waiting!"

* * * * *

He listened, alert for a rush which would be a fanatic's