"Nuts to you," he said. He opened the door. He opened his mouth.
He stood frozen, his mouth wide, his eyes staring, his fingers still on the knob.
The wub watched him. Presently it padded out of the room, edging past the Captain. It went down the hall, deep in meditation.
The room was quiet.
"So you see," the wub said, "we have a common myth. Your mind contains many familiar myth symbols. Ishtar, Odysseus—"
Peterson sat silently, staring at the floor. He shifted in his chair.
"Go on," he said. "Please go on."
"I find in your Odysseus a figure common to the mythology of most self-conscious races. As I interpret it, Odysseus wanders as an individual, aware of himself as such. This is the idea of separation, of separation from family and country. The process of individuation."
"But Odysseus returns to his home." Peterson looked out the port window, at the stars, endless stars, burning intently in the empty universe. "Finally he goes home."