"Thank you, Father. Good morning, Captain, sir."
"Sit down, my son. Now, Captain, as I was saying: no segregation. It's contrary to the spirit, if not the wording, of the Jarcon."
"But Father! A crewman! In the officers' corridor! Think!"
"Before the Prophet, we are all equal. I'm sorry, Captain. Now on Koltah, we practiced it with very good results, and...."
"I say, really—"
"Father?" said the crewman who had just entered.
"Yes, my son. In one moment. Now, Captain. As I have been explaining: The arena method has advantages. In Koltah we always used it. But here—due to the—ah—exigencies of deep space—I feel convinced that a departure from normal procedure is warranted. It is not without precedent. Such things were fairly common, in astoli tavoro, up until centralization, three hundred years before Allth. Indeed, in my home city—Koltah—in the year of the seventh plague, a most unusual expedient was adopted. It seems...."
"You're perfectly correct, of course," the captain said.
"That's just what I wanted to see you about, Father," the crewman said. "Now, in my city state of Ni, for the Festivals, we...."
"Shut up," said the captain softly.