"Don't sass me. I thought you might want to know how to stop that poor boy from running around."
The commander sat down. "What young man?" he asked calculatingly.
"Don't know his name," said Amantha. "He ran out of the ship before we could ask him."
"So you're the poisoner," said the commander coldly. "If he dies, neither your age nor your sex will make any difference."
"Just canalberries," Amantha assured him. "Reckon you wouldn't know about them."
"What are you talking about?"
"Canalberries. Used to be lots of them. Males, men and animals, just can't help eating them. Don't bother women or any other kind of females. Biologists used to tell us it was a seed-scattering device. Guess so. Won't hurt him none. Try bicarb and vinegar. It'll fix him up."
"For your sake, I hope it will!" said the commander. "He's in a bad way." He stabbed a pencil at her and his voice became stern. "If you follow directions, I'm sure I can get you off lightly."
"Think we will?" said Amantha.
The commander hurried on. "It's hard to find a ship in space. Stay where you are or, if you can, turn around and come back—slowly. We'll send a ship up and transfer a competent pilot to bring you down. Do you hear?"