"Yes, Skipper. They did. Somebody back where they came from needed that mneurium-4 real bad. Somebody had guts and sweat and brains enough to get ships into space looking for it. And in their own way, somebody had faith enough to think they'd get it if it was to be found. Only, as you say—"
"Liked it here, I suppose. Liked it better than anything they'd ever seen before—and that can of theirs had a thumping set of drives, so they'd seen plenty."
There was silence for a moment. And then Sam said, "Well, Nicholas, there it is. The psychology of the thing is obvious enough, isn't it?" Carruthers gave him a meaningful look, and Joel's nerves rebelled at it.
"All right, I get your point!" A big fist slammed down on the desktop. "So somebody didn't get their mneurium-4! Somebody probably ornery enough to keep on living anyway. What do you want to bet they're still going strong, who or wherever they are out in that black hell up there? What do you want to bet, Sam?"
The surgeon's thin lips smiled gently. "I'd bet right along with you, Nicholas. They're probably still going strong. I imagine they made out."
"But K'hall-i-k'hall—"
"Is proprietor of a very pleasant world. A world of very nice people, Nicholas, who enjoy living in their way, and get a kick out of seeing other people enjoy it. They think a little differently than a lot of folks."
"That makes 'em bad, I suppose?"
"No."
Joel looked into the thin face, the intent, dark eyes. The look was in them.