valuable, genetically transmitted talents which make them much more
valuable than mere companions or pets.

Calhoun got a light-reading for the banded sun. It could hardly be an
accurate measure of distance, but it was a guide.

"Hold on to something, Murgatroyd!" he said.

Murgatroyd watched. He saw Calhoun make certain gestures which
presaged discomfort. He popped back into his cubbyhole. Calhoun threw
the overdrive switch and the Med Ship flicked back into that
questionable state of being in which velocities of hundreds of times
that of light are possible. The sensation of going into overdrive was
unpleasant. A moment later, the sensation of coming out was no less
so. Calhoun had experienced it often enough, and still didn't like it.

The sun Weald burned huge and terrible in space. It was close, now.
Its disk covered half a degree of arc.

"Very neat," observed Calhoun. "Weald Three is our port, Murgatroyd.
The plane of the ecliptic would be ... Hm...."

He swung the outside electron telescope, picked up a nearby bright
object, enlarged its image to show details, and checked it against the
local star-pilot. He calculated a moment. The distance was too short
for even the briefest of overdrive hops, but it would take time to get
there on solar-system drive.

He thumbed down the communicator button and spoke into a microphone.