course, but Iversen knew when not to crowd his
fragile authority.

"I should have known there was some material basis for the spiritual
doctrine of _mpoola_," Harkaway declared with tears in his eyes as he
regarded the dormant form of his little pet. "Was it not the
transformation of the caterpillar into the butterfly that first showed
us on Earth how the soul might emerge winged and beautiful from its vile
house of clay? Gentlemen," he said, in a voice choked with emotion, "our
little greech is about to become a zkoort. Praised be the Impersonal
Being who has allowed such a miracle to take place before our very eyes.
_J'goona lo mpoona_."

"Amen," said the first officer reverently.

All those in the control room bowed their heads except Iversen. And even
he didn't quite have the nerve to tell them that the cocoon was pushing
the _Herringbone_ two points off course.

* * * * *

"Take that thing away before I lose my temper and clobber it," Iversen
said impatiently as the zkoort dived low to buzz him, then whizzed just
out of its reach on its huge, brilliant wings, giggling raucously.

[Illustration]

"He was just having his bit of fun," the first officer said with
reproach. "Have you no tolerance, Captain, no appreciation of the joys
of golden youth?"

"A spaceship is no place for a butterfly," Iversen said, "especially a
four-foot butterfly."

"How can you say that?" Harkaway retorted. "The _Herringbone_ is the
only spaceship that ever had one, to my knowledge. And I think I can
safely say our lives are all a bit brighter and better and _m'poo'p_
for having a zkoort among us. Thanks be to the Divine Nonentity for--"

"Poor little butterfly," Dr. Smullyan declared sonorously, "living out
his brief life span so far from the fresh air, the sunshine, the pretty
flowers--"

"Oh, I don't know that it's as bad as all that," the first officer said.
"He hangs around hydroponics a lot and he gets a daily ration of
vitamins." Then he paled. "But that's right--a butterfly does live only
a day, doesn't it?"

"It's different with a zkoort," Harkaway maintained stoutly, though he
also, Iversen noted, lost his ruddy color. "After all, he isn't really a
butterfly, merely an analogous life-form."

"My, my! In four weeks, you've mastered their entomology as well as
their theology and language," Iversen jeered. "Is there no end to your
accomplishments, Lieutenant?"

Harkaway's color came b