“Never mind,” Banner said. “It could be worse. They could’ve saddled us with a Bean Brain. Come on. Let’s go to some bar and get sober. We’re leaving for freight duty at 1700.”
The Bean Brain met them at the air lock. “Name is Arnold. Here’s my orders.” Banner stared at Harcraft, Harcraft stared at Arnold.
“Get inside,” said Banner.
The Bean Brain smiled, “Er ... could you sort of lead the way? I’ve never been inside a ship before. If you got some kind of can, it would save a mess. I’ll probably vomit a while.”
They stopped calling him Bean Brain three days later. He was still sick, miserably spacesick, and neither Banner nor Harcraft had the heart to keep needling him. On the fourth day he managed to get up and around. They ate their first meal together that day. “Let’s get something straight right off the bat,” Banner said. “Neither Harcraft nor I got anything against you ’cept prejudice. That right, Harcraft?”
“Right,” Harcraft said.
“In short,” continued Banner, between puffs on a cigarette, “all we know is what we’ve heard.”
“And that’s not good,” said Harcraft.
“Item one,” said Banner, blowing smoke at the ceiling ventilator. “Patrol Command came up with the Bean Brain idea about six months ago. Patrol Command, in its infinite wisdom, has never seen fit to explain why Bean Brains are sometimes assigned, evidently at random, to small patrol vessels such as this. The orders always state that the ‘passenger’ will accompany pilot and co-pilot throughout the entire trip, will obey orders, yet is equal in rank to the ship’s commanding officer. The Bean Brain has no duties aboard. This seems to make sense, at least, since Bean Brains aren’t trained for anything and can’t do anything.”