"excuse me, please," ben starbuck said, tapping the junior officer on the epaulet.

"get away from me, scum," the lieutenant said conversationally, his eyes on the clipboard in his hands.

starbuck rocked back on his heels and set his spacebag down on the loading platform. he angled his head up at the spire of the inter-atmosphere ship, the gorgon. this was only a sample of what he could expect once he canted into that hull. it would be rough. but he had made up his mind to take it.

all tight little groups, like the crew of a spaceship, always resented the intrusion of a newcomer. the initiations sometimes made it a test to see whether a man would live over them, and the probation period, the time of discipline and deference to old members of the group could be a memorably nasty experience. he didn't have direct knowledge of such customs in the rather shadowy, enigmatic space service, but it was basic sociology.

starbuck knew he would have an even rougher time of it since he wasn't a spaceman—not even a cadet, properly. he was only a fledgling ethnologist on his field trip to gather material for his master's thesis. the university and the government had arranged for his berth on the gorgon.

an exploration ship, he thought acidly. that meant he might come back in a few months, or ten years, or never. all because he had the bad luck to be born in a cultural cycle that demanded hard standards of education from professional men. thirty years before or after, he could have cribbed all the information he needed out of a book.

he stood with his hands clasped behind him, waiting for the lieutenant or somebody to deign to notice him. somebody would have to pay some attention to him sooner or later.

or would they?

wouldn't it be just like the old timers to let him stand around and let the ship take off without him, all because he hadn't followed the proper procedure—a procedure he couldn't know? all he had been instructed to do was "report to the gorgon." how do you report to a spaceship? say, "hello, spaceship?" speak to the captain? the first mate? and where did he find them?

starbuck felt a moment of panic. he could see himself standing on the platform while the gorgon blasted off, carrying with it his swabber's rating, his master's degree and his future.

the lieutenant's back, in uniform black, loomed up before him. he would have to try approaching him again. it might mean solitary confinement for a month or two where no member of the crew would speak to him. it might even mean a flogging. nobody knew much about what went on on board an exploration ship, despite all the stories. but starbuck knew he would have to risk it.

he marched up behind the officer. "sir," he said. "i'm the new man."

the lieutenant whirled. "the new man!"

for the first time, starbuck noticed that the junior officer carried a swagger stick under his left arm, black, about a foot and a half long, tipped with silver at both ends. quite possibly it was standard procedure to rap a man with it three times sharply across the mouth for speaking out of turn, during his probationary period. cautiously, he filled a little pocket of air between his lips and his teeth to try to keep them from being knocked loose.

the lieutenant dropped his clipboard and swagger stick on the platform. "why didn't you say so! new man, eh?" he gripped starbuck by the shoulders of his new, store-bought uniform. "let me look at you, son. got some muscles there, haven't you? ha, ha. don't expect you'll need them too much on board. we don't work our men too hard. my name's sam frawley. call me sam. come on, let me show you around."

sam frawley scooped up his stick and board with one hand and draped the other arm around starbuck's shoulders, leading him towards a hoist.

it was not quite what starbuck had expected for a reception.

the spaceship was big, bigger than starbuck had expected or realized. he had known some well-fixed people who had visited mars and venus and talked knowingly of an older culture, but he had never been off of earth himself. he had been thinking in terms of an airliner or a submarine. the gorgon was more like an ocean liner. or like an ocean.

his and the lieutenant's footsteps echoed and bounced around the huge corridor. "they haven't got the mats down yet," sam frawley explained.

"sure."

"well, what would you like to see first? the brain?"

"you mean the captain?"

sam slapped him on the back. "bless you, son, no. i mean the electronic brain. the cybernetic calculator."

"you've got one of those things?" starbuck asked in unconcealed surprise.

"you know what the trouble with the human race is, ben? we're all still living in the ellisonian age."

"oh, i don't know. i think most of us are pretty sophisticated and modern," starbuck said.

"not on your life. most people still think leisure is a sin. hard work and more hard work, that's the ticket. don't let a calculator solve a problem for you; do it yourself with a slipstick. otherwise it's immoral."

"that's silly," ben said awkwardly. "it's just a throwback to a time of protest against the automational revolution. it has nothing to do with us today."

"you say that, but you don't really believe it. the old morality is too deeply ingrained. that's why cybernetics have so long been out of fashion. this one is new to us on the gorgon. but we like new things. we're for progress. all spacemen are like that, son."

"have you had this machine long?" starbuck asked his progressive officer.

"they installed it on the trip in. we've never really had a chance to use it."

"what's it supposed to do?"

"you know our job is exploration, finding new worlds," sam explained. "not just any world the human race hasn't landed upon, but a world that is a significantly different type than we've ever touched before. we're really the advance guard of humanity, you see. well, the brain is programmed with information on all the worlds man has explored. it compares a prospective landing site with what it knows about all the rest, and rejects all but the really different, unique planets. it loves the unknown. its pleasure circuits get a real jolt out of finding an unknown quantity."

"that brain is really inhuman," starbuck said. "a basic factor of human psychology is that all men fear and dislike the unknown."

sam rubbed his chin. "i suppose so, but—you asked about the captain. this is him."

a tall, iron-haired man was coming down the corridor. he was holding the ankle of his right foot in his hand, and hopping along on his left leg, whistling some little sing-song through his teeth.

he stopped whistling when he saw them and said, "good afternoon, men."

frawley framed a sloppy salute. "'afternoon, sir. may i present the new man, swabber ben starbuck, sir."

the captain stood on both feet and rocked back and forth. "i see, i see. new man, eh? we see so few new faces, cooped up on this old ship with the same men, you know. we appreciate a stranger, starbuck. if you ever need help, ben, i want you to look upon me not as your commanding officer, but, well, a father. will you do that?"

"yes, sir," ben murmured, feeling a little giddy.

frawley cleared his throat. "i was about to show young ben the brain, captain birdsel."

"good idea," the commanding officer said. "but i'll show ben around myself, lieutenant frawley. you may return to checking the manifest."

frawley glowered. "one of these days, one of these days...."

the captain snapped very erect. "one of these days what?"

the junior officer shrugged. "one of these days, there may be a dark night, captain."

the iron-haired man reached out a manicured hand and twisted frawley's tunic at the collar. he brought his face level with the second-in-command. "one of these times, there may be charges of mutiny, lieutenant. and guess who will play jack ketch personally?"

frawley assumed an at-attention pose, and blinked. "aye, sir. there may be a mutiny and somebody may get hung."

birdsel shoved frawley away from him and wiped his hand elaborately down his side. "that will be all, mister frawley."

frawley constructed the same excuse for a salute, turned smartly and marched away.

starbuck developed a definite suspicion that there were currents of tension aboard which he didn't understand.

"this is the brain," the captain said, with a gesture.

the brain was less than awe-inspiring. the mustard-seed cryotron relays were comfortably housed in a steel and aluminum hide no roomier than a pair of earthside bureaus. it looked a bit like a home clothing processor to starbuck.

birdsel crossed to the machine and ran a hand along its metal side. "magnificent, isn't it, ben? i've never seen anything like it before in my long career in the space service."

"it's certainly nice," starbuck ventured.

metallic chattering burst out.

"it's saying something, ben! this is the first time it's talked since the second day after it was installed!"

the message was clearly legible, spelled out in a pattern of dots on a central screen.

who is the new one?

"give it the information," the captain said hastily. "we feed it all the information it asks for."

"how?" starbuck blurted. "is there a keyboard or something?"

"yes, yes, but it has audio scanners. just talk. or move your lips. send signals. tap out morse. anything."

"i'm benjamin starbuck," he said.

the screen rearranged. meaningless communication. insufficient data.

"quick," birdsel said, "do you have your idq file on you?"

starbuck fished in his pocket for the microfilm slide. "yes—aye, aye, sir. i had it ready to give to you, sir."

"never mind me. give it to the brain!"

starbuck approached the machine, saw a likely looking slot and shoved.

the brain ruminated with some theatrical racket. insufficient data.

"what do you want to know?" starbuck swallowed, saying.

many things.

"remember i'm a human being," he said respectfully. "i have to eat and sleep. i can't answer questions for two or three days straight."

i am aware of human limitations, and their effects, swabber starbuck.

"sorry."

captain birdsel looked vaguely distressed. "you should try to co-operate with the brain, my boy."

"i have nothing against cybernetic calculators," ben said. "after all, we aren't still in the ellisonian age. but i'd like to, uh, stow my spacebag and get settled, sir."

no further questions at this time. return here at this time tomorrow.

"he's interested in you, ben," the captain said enthusiastically. "this is the first time he's asked about anybody since the second day. yes, interested!"

with an excess of enthusiasm, captain birdsel clapped his hands, then put them flat on the deck and stood on his head, kicking his heels in the air.

he straightened up with a scarlet face. "ah. that really gets the kinks out of you, ben."

starbuck tried not to stare. "aye, sir."

the captain took a step and grabbed the small of his back. "haven't done it in some time, though. ought to do it more often, eh, ben?"

"i suppose so, sir."

"well," birdsel said, clapping his hands together.

my god, starbuck thought, he's not going to do it again.

"well," the captain continued, still on both feet, "i'd better show you to your quarters, my boy. mind if i lean on your shoulder a bit like this?"

"not at all, captain."

"this way, ben, this way."