each other, Banner and Warcraft speculated bitterly and
endlessly about their passenger. Theories to explain his presence--most
of them propounded by Warcraft--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 Warcraft, "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 Warcraft.

"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," Warcraft 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."

"Anyway," Warcraft said, making a small adjustment on the screen, "you
and countless other atavisms are reacting in a very predictable way.
Since you can't reconcile the naked Ankorbades and their superior
technology, and since they are alien to point of showing no interest
whatsoever in our elaborate art, institutions, rituals--"

"And since," piped up Arnold, startling both men, "the human
unconscious can't help but equate nakedness with savagery, we have
armed our mighty planet to the teeth, convinced that Armageddon is
around the corner."

"Well," said the surprised Warcraft.

"Where'd you pick that up," asked Banner.

"From Captain Slatkin," said Arnold, smiling. "I