Murgatroyd said "_Chee?_" The Med Ship was badly crowded with six
humans and Murgatroyd in a space intended for Calhoun and Murgatroyd
alone. The little _tormal_ had spent most of his time in his
cubbyhole, watching with beady eyes as so many people moved about on
what had been a spacious ship before.

"No coffee for you, Murgatroyd," said Calhoun. "You didn't do your
lessons. This is for the graduating class only."

Murgatroyd came out of his miniature den. He found his little cup and
offered it insistently, saying, "_Chee! Chee! Chee!_"

"No!" said Calhoun firmly. He regarded his class of four young men
with their blueskin markings. "Drink it down!" he commanded. "That's
the last order I'll give you. You're graduate pilots, now!"

They drank the coffee with a flourish. There was not one who did not
admire Calhoun for having made them admire themselves. They were,
actually, almost as much better pilots as they believed.

"And now," said Calhoun, "I suppose you'll tell me the truth about
those boxes you brought on board. You said they were rations, but
they haven't been opened in six days. I have an idea what they mean,
but you tell me."

The four looked uncomfortable. There was a long pause.

"They could be," said Calhoun detachedly, "cultures to be dumped on
Weald. Weald is making plans to wipe out Dara. So some fool has
decided to get Weald too busy fighting a plague of its own to bother