And the way Barn had been “primed”: for one whole week Pirx made sure the nightly bull sessions were devoted exclusively to “extraterrestrial beings.” Pirx—nobody’s fool—was shrewd enough to cast people in different roles—some telling horror stories, others acting as skeptics—so Barn wouldn’t be the wiser. Except for occasionally sneering at the partisans of the “beyond,” Barn kept aloof from these metaphysical debates. But, man, what a sight he made, barrel-assing out of his room at midnight, bellowing like a water buffalo with a tiger on its tail! The flame, as planned, had sneaked under the door, snaked three times around the room, and—whamo!—exploded under the table, toppling books and starting a small fire. A couple of buckets of tap water took care of it, but it left a nice hole in the floor, not to mention the lingering stench of cordite. The operation, though technically flawless, proved a flop: Barn still refused to believe in spirits. Yep, Operation Zombie it was. Pirx got up early, slipped on a fresh shirt, took one last peek into his Flight Book and Basic Navigation—just to be on the safe side—and went to face the music.

The commandant’s office was a dream come true. For Pirx it was, at any rate. Walls totally obscured by celestial maps, constellations like golden-brown drops of honey against a navy-blue field. A small blank Moon globe on the desk; books and degrees galore on the walls; another globe against the wall—only this one bigger, more elaborate. The second one was a real marvel of technological splendor: press the right button and bingo! the orbital path of any artificial satellite was immediately simulated, from the latest to the oldest—those pioneering satellites dating from the fifties.

Practically any other day Pirx would have been enthralled by such a globe, but not today.