Pollard smiled. "I think you come here because this is one place where you can hold your own with another man who can hold his own with you," he observed.
"Well," admitted Majors, "you don't understand theoretical physics as well as I do and psychology is over my head. Anyway, what do you make of this?"
The photograph was of a patch of sky. Pollard shook his head.
"Is this a test question?" he asked. "Remember, I'm the psychiatrist and I'm supposed to hand the patient strange items and ask them what they see in them."
Majors laughed. "This is a section of Boötes."
"Boötees," murmured Pollard irrelevantly, "are knitted gadgets you put on babies' feet."
"All right, I'll leave quietly," chuckled Majors. "Seriously, though, look at this." He pointed out a tiny smudge among the myriad of stars.
"Well?" asked the doctor.
"It shouldn't be."
"Maybe a flaw?"