could understand. If a problem here eluded him, he could study it out
until he had mastered it. The hours he spent here were a welcome retreat
from the confusing complexities of getting along with Jack and Tiger.

These long study periods were boring for Fuzzy who wasn't much
interested in the oxygen-exchange mechanism of the intelligent beetles
of Aldebaran VI. Frequently Dal would leave him to swing on his platform
or explore about the control cabin while he spent an hour or two at
the tape-reader. Today Dal had been working for over an hour,
deeply immersed in a review of the intermediary metabolism of
chlorine-breathing mammals, when something abruptly wrenched his
attention from the tape.

It was as though a light had snapped off in his mind, or a door slammed
shut. There was no sound, no warning; yet, suddenly, he felt dreadfully,
frighteningly alone, as if in a split second something inside him had
been torn away. He sat bolt upright, staring, and he felt his skin crawl
and his fingers tremble as he listened, trying to spot the source of the
trouble.

And then, almost instinctively, he knew what was wrong. He leaped to
his feet, tore open the door to the cubicle and dashed down the hallway
toward the control room. "Fuzzy!" he shouted. "Fuzzy, _where are you?_"

Tiger and Jack were both at the control panel dictating records for
filing. They looked up in surprise as the Red Doctor burst into the
room. Fuzzy's platform was hanging empty, gently swaying back and forth.
Dal peered frantically around the room. There was no sign of the small
pink creature.