o the side, a little aft.

I didn't see any indications of cabinets or fixed storage spaces of any
kinds, but somehow stuck to the walls here and there were quite a few
smooth blobby packages, mostly dull silver too, some large, some
small--valises and handbags, you might say.

All in all, it was a lovely cabin and, more than that, it seemed lived
in. It looked as if it had been shaped for, and maybe by one man. It had
a personality you could feel, a strong but warm personality of its own.

Then I realized whose personality it was. I almost got sick--so close to
it I started telling myself it must be something antigravity did to your
stomach.

But it was all too interesting to let you get sick right away. Pop was
poking into two of the large mound-shaped cases that were sitting loose
and open on the right-hand seat, as if ready for emergency use. One had
a folded something with straps on it that was probably a parachute. The
second had I judged a thousand or more of the inch cubes such as I'd
pried out of the Pilot's hand, all neatly stacked in a cubical box
inside the soft outer bag. You could see the one-cube gap where he'd
taken the one.

I decided to take the rest of the bags off the walls and open them, if I
could figure out how. The others had the same idea, but Alice had to
take off her hook and put on her pliers, before she could make progress.
Pop helped her. There was room enough for us to do these things without
crowding each other too closely.

By the time Alice was set to go I'd discovered the trick of getting the
bags off. You couldn't pull them away from the wall no matter what force
you used, at least I couldn't, and you couldn't even slide them straight
along the walls, but if you just gave them a gentle counterclockwise
twist they came off like nothing. Twisting them clockwise glued them
back on. It was very strange, but I told myself that if these boys could
generate antigravity fields they could create screwy fields of other
sorts.

It also occurred to me to wonder if "these boys" came from Earth. The
Pilot had looked human enough, but these accomplishments didn't--not by
my standards for human achievement in the Age of the Deaders. At any
rate I had to admit to myself that my pet term "cultural queer" did not
describe to my own satisfaction members of a culture which could create
things like this cabin. Not that I liked making the admission. It's hard
to admit an exception to a pet gripe aga