ack twofold. "He's already been around half a
_thubb_," he pointed out. "Over two weeks."

"Well, the thing _is_ bigger than a Terrestrial butterfly," Iversen
conceded, "so you have to make some allowances for size. On the other
hand--"

Laughing madly, the zkoort swooped down on him. Iversen beat it away
with a snarl.

"Playful little fellow, isn't he?" the first officer said, with
thoroughly annoying fondness.

"He likes you, Skipper," Harkaway explained. "_Urg'h n gurg'h_--or, to
give it the crude Terran equivalent, living is loving. He can tell that
beneath that grizzled and seemingly harsh exterior of yours, Captain--"

But, with a scream of rage, Iversen had locked himself into his cabin.
Outside, he could hear the zkoort beating its wings against the door and
wailing disappointedly.

* * * * *

Some days later, a pair of rapidly dulling wings were found on the floor
of the hydroponics chamber. But of the zkoort's little body, there was
no sign. An air of gloom and despondency hung over the _Herringbone_ and
even Iversen felt a pang, though he would never admit it without
brainwashing.

During the next week, the men, seeking to forget their loss, plunged
themselves into _mpoola_ with real fanaticism. Harkaway took to wearing
some sort of ecclesiastical robes which he whipped up out of the
recreation room curtains. Iversen had neither the heart nor the courage
to stop him, though this, too, was against regulations. Everyone except
Iversen gave up eating fish and eggs in addition to meat.

Then, suddenly, one day a roly-poly blue animal appeared at the officers
mess, claiming everyone as an old friend with loud squeals of joy. This
time, Iversen was the only one who was glad to see him--really glad.

"Aren't you happy to see your little friend again, Harkaway?" he asked,
scratching the delighted animal between the ears.

"Why, sure," Harkaway said, putting his fork down and leaving his
vegetable _macedoine_ virtually untasted. "Sure. I'm very happy--" his
voice broke--"very happy."

"Of course, it does kind of knock your theory of the transmigration of
souls into a cocked hat," the captain grinned. "Because, in order for
the soul to transmigrate, the previous body's got to be dead, and I'm
afraid our little pal here was alive all the time."

"Looks it, doesn't it?" muttered Harkaway.

"I rather think," Iversen went on, tickling the creature under the chin
until it squ