esson when that shipload from Altair came in bearing a plague."

The medic produced a small camera and focused it on Alan. He pressed a
button; a droning sort of hum came from the machine. Alan felt a curious
glow of warmth.

"Just a routine check," the medic apologized again. He flipped a lever
in the back of the camera. Abruptly the droning stopped and a tape
unravelled out of the side of the machine. The medic studied it.

"Any trouble?" Alan asked anxiously.

"Looks okay to me. But you might get that cavity in your upper right
wisdom tooth taken care of. Otherwise you seem in good shape."

He rolled up the tape. "Don't you starmen ever get time for a fluorine
treatment? Some of you have the worst teeth I've ever seen."

"We haven't had a chance for fluorination yet. Our ship was built before
they started fluorinating the water supplies, and somehow we never find
time to take the treatment while we're on Earth. But is that all that's
wrong with me?"

"All that I can spot just by examining the diagnostic tape. We'll have
to wait for the full lab report to come through before I can pass you
out of quarantine, of course." Then he noticed Rat perched in the
corner. "How about that? I'll have to examine it, too."

"I'm not an _it_," Rat remarked with icy dignity. "I'm an intelligent
extra-terrestrial entity, native of Bellatrix VII. And I'm not carrying
any particular diseases that would interest you."

"A talking rat!" The medic was amazed. "Next thing we'll have sentient
amebas!" He aimed the camera at Rat. "I suppose I'll have to record you
as a member of the crew," he said, as the camera began to hum.

After the medic had gone, Alan tried to freshen up at the washstand,
having suddenly recalled that a dance was on tap for this evening.

As he wearily went through the motions of scrubbing his face clean, it
occurred to him that he had not even bothered to speak to one of the
seven or eight Crew girls he had considered inviting.

He sensed a curious disturbed feeling growing inside him. He felt
depressed. Was this, he wondered, what Steve had gone through? The wish
to get out of this tin can of a ship and really see the universe?

"Tell me, Rat. If you were me----"

"If I were you I'd get dressed for that dance," Rat said sharply. "If
you've got a date, that is."

"That's just the point. I _don't_ have a date. I mean, I didn't bother
to make one. I know all those girls so well. Why bother?"

"So you're