'That's considerate of you, sir.

'Dr. Tennyson, the captain said, 'please go ahead and drink. You have not touched the bottle to your lips. It makes me nervous to see you sit there and merely fondle it.

'I'm sorry, Captain. I didn't mean to make you nervous. Tennyson tipped the bottle, took a generous swallow, then lowered it again.

'Marvelous, he said. 'What is it?

'It's a concoction called Scotch, the captain told him. 'It first was brewed on Mother Earth.

'You mean Old Earth?

'That's right, the captain said. 'The home planet of us humans.

'I have a great curiosity about Old Earth. Have you ever been there?

The captain shook his head. 'Few humans have ever set foot upon its sacred soil. We are scattered far and thin in space, and few of us go on that pilgrimage we always promise ourselves that someday we will make.

'Ah, well, said Tennyson. He tilted the bottle once again.

'To get back to our arrangement, the captain said. 'I fear I have to tell you that I have no place for you. The cabins, the few that I have, are filled. Even my own quarters are rented out to a horde of scaly horrors who are pilgriming to End of Nothing. At the end of the voyage, I shall have to fumigate the place before I can move back in, and it may be years before I am rid of the stench of them.

'Why let them have it, then?

'Because of money, said the captain. 'This particular band of scum is filthy rich and they must have my best accommodations without regard to cost. So that is how it is. I charged each of the bastards a triple fare. Although I think now I may live to regret my greed. The mate and I are sharing his quarters, turn and turn about. The mate is a devoted garlic eater. Thinks it keeps him healthy. Only dire necessity forces me to crawl into his bunk.

'The mate is the only other human?