The wub grunted and wheezed, squeezing up the passageway.
"Come on," Jones grated, pulling at the rope. The wub twisted, rubbing its skin off on the smooth chrome walls. It burst into the ante-room, tumbling down in a heap. The men leaped up.
"Good Lord," French said. "What is it?"
"Peterson says it's a wub," Jones said. "It belongs to him." He kicked at the wub. The wub stood up unsteadily, panting.
"What's the matter with it?" French came over. "Is it going to be sick?"
They watched. The wub rolled its eyes mournfully. It gazed around at the men.
"I think it's thirsty," Peterson said. He went to get some water. French shook his head.
"No wonder we had so much trouble taking off. I had to reset all my ballast calculations."
Peterson came back with the water. The wub began to lap gratefully, splashing the men.
Captain Franco appeared at the door.