Harkaway's color came back twofold. "He's already been around half a _thubb_," he pointed out. "Over two weeks."
"Well, the thing _is_ bigger than a Terrestrial butterfly," Iversen conceded, "so you have to make some allowances for size. On the other hand--"
Laughing madly, the zkoort swooped down on him. Iversen beat it away with a snarl.
"Playful little fellow, isn't he?" the first officer said, with thoroughly annoying fondness.
"He likes you, Skipper," Harkaway explained. "_Urg'h n gurg'h_--or, to give it the crude Terran equivalent, living is loving. He can tell that beneath that grizzled and seemingly harsh exterior of yours, Captain--"
But, with a scream of rage, Iversen had locked himself into his cabin. Outside, he could hear the zkoort beating its wings against the door and wailing disappointedly.
Some days later, a pair of rapidly dulling wings were found on the floor of the hydroponics chamber. But of the zkoort's little body, there was no sign. An air of gloom and despondency hung over the _Herringbone_ and even Iversen felt a pang, though he would never admit it without brainwashing.
During the next week, the men, seeking to forget their loss, plunged themselves into _mpoola_ with real fanaticism. Harkaway took to wearing some sort of ecclesiastical robes which he whipped up out of the recreation room curtains. Iversen had neither the heart nor the courage to stop him, though this, too, was against regulations. Everyone except Iversen gave up eating fish and eggs in addition to meat.
Then, suddenly, one day a roly-poly blue animal appeared at the officers mess, claiming everyone as an old friend with loud squeals of joy. This time, Iversen was the only one who was glad to see him--really glad.
"Aren't you happy to see your little friend again, Harkaway?" he asked, scratching the delighted animal between the ears.
"Why, sure," Harkaway said, putting his fork down and leaving his vegetable _macédoine_ virtually untasted. "Sure. I'm very happy--" his voice broke--"very happy."
"Of course, it does kind of knock your theory of the transmigration of souls into a cocked hat," the captain grinned. "Because, in order for the soul to transmigrate, the previous body's got to be dead, and I'm afraid our little pal here was alive all the time."