to hear another word about _mpoola_ or about Flimbot!"
Iversen yelled. "Get out of here! And stay away from the library!"

"I have already exhausted its painfully limited resources, sir."
Harkaway saluted with grace and withdrew to his cabin, wearing the
greech like an affectionate lei about his neck.

* * * * *

Iverson heard no more about _mpoola_ from Harkaway--who, though he did
not remain confined to his cabin when he had pursuits to pursue in other
parts of the ship, at least had the tact to keep out of the captain's
way as much as possible--but the rest of his men seemed able to talk of
nothing else. The voyage back from a star system was always longer in
relative terms than the voyage out, because the thrill of new worlds to
explore was gone; already anticipating boredom, the men were ripe for
almost any distraction.

On one return voyage, the whole crew had set itself to the study of
Hittite with very creditable results. On another, they had all devoted
themselves to the ancient art of alchemy, and, after nearly blowing up
the ship, had come up with an elixir which, although not the
quintessence--as they had, in their initial enthusiasm, alleged--proved
to be an effective cure for hiccups. Patented under the name of
Herringbone Hiccup Shoo, it brought each one of them an income which
would have been enough to support them in more than modest comfort for
the rest of their lives.

However, the adventurous life seemed to exert an irresistible lure upon
them and they all shipped upon the _Herringbone_ again--much to the
captain's dismay, for he had hoped for a fresh start with a new crew
and there seemed to be no way of getting rid of them short of reaching
retirement age.

The men weren't quite ready to accept _mpoola_ as a practical
religion--Harkaway hadn't finished his book yet--but as something very
close to it. The concept of reincarnation had always been very appealing
to the human mind, which would rather have envisaged itself perpetuated
in the body of a cockroach than vanishing completely into nothingness.

"It's all so logical, sir," the first officer told Iversen. "The
individuality or the soul or the psyche--however you want to look at
it--starts the essentially simple cycle of life as a greech--"

"Why as a greech?" Iversen asked, humoring him for the moment. "There
are lower life-forms on Flimbot."

"I don't know." The first officer sounded almost testy. "Tha