Milky Way and the local Cepheid marker-stars were seen from an
unaccustomed angle and a not-yet-commonplace pattern of varying
magnitudes.

But Calhoun grunted in satisfaction. There was a banded sun off to
port, which was good. A breakout at no more than sixty light-hours
from one's destination wasn't bad, in a strange sector of the galaxy
and after three light-years of journeying blind.

"Arise and shine, Murgatroyd," said Calhoun. "Comb your whiskers. Get
set to astonish the natives!"

A sleepy, small, shrill voice said: "_Chee!_"

Murgatroyd the _tormal_ came crawling out of the small cubbyhole which
was his own. He blinked at Calhoun.

"We're due to land shortly," Calhoun observed. "You will impress the
local inhabitants. I will get unpopular. According to the records,
there's been no Med Ship inspection here for twelve standard years.
And that was practically no inspection, to judge by the report."

Murgatroyd said: "_Chee-chee!_"

He began to make his toilet, first licking his right-hand whiskers and
then his left. Then he stood up and shook himself and looked
interestedly at Calhoun. _Tormals_ are companionable small animals.
They are charmed when somebody speaks to them. They find great, deep
satisfaction in imitating the actions of humans, as parrots and
mynahs and parakeets imitate human speech. But _tormals_ have certain