"What's that?" It came from the sound track, but it was Merrol's voice.
"Those are lepidoptera." Another voice, also his, though of different pitch and timbre—his, because he was the only one there to speak. "I've always dreamed of discovering a new species and at last I have, since these can fly through space. What strange adaptations they have made. Aren't they beautiful?"
He answered. "They won't be when I plow through them. The rockets will fry them."
"Turn aside!" shouted the lepidopterist. "You can't destroy them."
"I'm going to act as if this were not happening," said a cultured voice. "Bang-bang!"
"This is upsetting," said a different person. "Since I have no instrument, I'll listen with my memory to a Bach concerto. Unfortunately, it ends in the middle of the third movement, as though it has been sliced through with a knife that separated one note cleanly from the next. Still, it's better to have this than nothing."
"Your computers are awfully slow," said the fifth. "I'll figure out a new course for us."
"Gimme the controls," said the wrestler. "I'll turn the ship, if I hafta do it with my bare hands."
The examiner snapped off the sound and busied himself with things that may have been necessary. "You don't have to sit there," he said after a while. "Wait outside." He glanced down, "Be careful when you move, the control column will fall off. Didn't know it could be broken."
As he got out of the seat, the examiner slapped his back. "Tell you what, fellow—don't wait—go now to the Compensation Board and see about retirement."