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Next Kerrenhappuch Green, perturbed in his long jaw, pottered down to fetch the pinball which his daughter had forgotten when she came to help. Mrs. Glegg, who had lately lost her idiot son, Benje, gave a roll of soft flannel. Miss Panthea Potter contributed a jar of currant jam, three years sealed, and pretended that she was not moved.
"The the big one there, with the rings almost edge-on. I think they call it Alpha." "It's their planet," said Rugel. "I guess they can call it what they want to. How about another game?" Resolutely, Bart turned his back on the bewitching colors, and bent over the pinball machine. The first week in space was a nightmare of strain.
There were twelve officers and twelve crewmen of various ratings like himself and Ringg, but there seemed to be little social division between them, as there would have been on a human ship; officers and crew joked and argued without formality of any kind. None of them gave him a second look. Later, in the Recreation Lounge, Ringg challenged him to a game with one of the pinball machines.
What he feared was something subtler that the small items of everyday living, something as simple as a nail file, would betray him. On his way he looked into the Recreation Lounge, filled with comfortable seats, vision-screens, and what looked like simple pinball machines and mechanical games of skill. There were also stacks of tapereels and headsets for listening, not unlike those humans used.
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