Sir Isaac whistled mournfully; Don answered him. The spaceman looked at him. "You savvy that stuff?"
"Some."
"Well, tell him to use his squawk box. I don't!"
Don said, "Sir Isaac-use your voder." The Venerian tried to comply. His tentacles hunted around, ' found the keys of the artificial voice box, and touched them. No sounds came out. The dragon turned an eye at Don and whistled a series of phrases.
"He regrets to say that its spirit has departed," Don interpreted.
The ship's officer sighed. "I wonder why I ever left the grocery business? Well, if we can get it unlatched from him, I'll see if 'Sparks' can fix it."
"Let me," said Don and squirmed into the space between the dragon's head and the deck plates. The voder case, he found, was secured to four rings riveted to the Venerian's skin plates. He could not seem to find the combination; the dragon's tendrils fluttered over his hands, moved them gently out of the way, unfastened the box, and handed it to him. He wiggled out and gave it to the man. "Looks like he kind of slept on it," he commented.
"A mess," the other agreed. "Well, tell him I'll have them fix it if possible and that I'm glad he wasn't hurt."
"Tell him yourself; he understands English."
"Eh? Oh, of course, of course." He faced the Venerian who immediately set up a long shrilling. "What's he say?"
Don listened. "He says he appreciates your good wishes but that he is sorry to have to disagree; he is unwell. He says that he urgently requires" Don stopped and looked puzzled, then whistled the Venerian equivalent of "Say that again, please?"
Sir Isaac answered him; Don went on, "He says he's just got to have some sugar syrup."
"Huh?"
"That's what he says."
"I'll be - How much?"
There was another exchange of whistles; Don answered, -Uh, he says he needs at least a quarter of a-there isn't any word for it; it's an amount about equal to half a barrel, I'd say."
"You mean he wants half a barrel of waffle juice?"
"No, no, a quarter of that-an eighth of a barrel. What would that come to in gallons?"
"I wouldn't attempt it without a slipstick; I'm confused. I don't even know that we have any on board." Sir Isaac set up more frantic whistling. "But if we don't, I'll have the cook whip up some. Tell him to hold everything and take it easy." He scowled at the dragon, then left quite suddenly.
Don attached himself to one of the steel straps and asked, "How are you feeling now?"
The dragon replied apologetically to the effect that he needed to return to the egg for the moment. Don shut up and waited.
The captain himself showed up to attend the sick passenger. The ship, being in free trajectory for the satellite space station, would not require his presence in the control room until well past noon, New Chicago time; he was free to move around the ship. He arrived in company with the ship's doctor and followed by a man herding a metal tank.
The two conferred over the dragon, at first ignoring Don's presence. However neither of them knew the piping speech of the dragon tribe; they were forced to turn to Don. Through him Sir Isaac again insisted that he required sugar solution, as a stimulant. The captain looked worried. "I've read somewhere that sugar gets them drunk the same as alcohol does us."
Don again translated for the Venerian; what he had asked for was simply a medicinal dose.
The captain turned to the medical officer. "How about it, surgeon?"
The doctor stared at the bulkhead. "Captain, this is as far outside my duties as tap dancing."
"Confound it, man, I asked for your official opinion!"
The medical officer faced him. "Very well, sir-I would say that if this passenger should die, you having refused him something he had asked for, it would look very, very bad indeed."
The captain bit his lip. "As you say, sir. But I'll be switched if I want several tons of intoxicated dragon banging around in my ship. Administer the dose."
"Me, sir?"
"You, sir."
The ship being in free fall it was quite impossible to pour out the syrup and let the Venerian lick it up, nor was he physically equipped to use the "baby bottle" drinking bladder used by humans when weightless. But that had been anticipated; the tank containing the syrup was a type used in the galley to handle soup or coffee in free fall. It had a hand pump and an attachable hose.
It was decided, Sir Isaac concurring, to place the end of the hose well down the dragon's throat. But nobody seemed to want the job. Granted that Draco Veneris Wilsonii is a civilized race, to stick one's head and shoulders between those rows of teeth seemed to be inviting a breach in foreign relations.
Don volunteered for the job and was sorry when they took him up on it. He trusted Sir Isaac but recalled times when Lazy had stepped on his foot quite unintentionally. He hoped that the dragon had no unfortunate involuntary reflexes; apologies are no use to a corpse.
While he kept the end of the hose firmly in place he held his breath and was glad that he had taken that anti-nausea injection. Sir Isaac did not have halitosis, as dragons go, but dragons go rather far in that direction. The job done, he was happy to back out.
Sir Isaac thanked them all, via Don, and assured them that he would now recover rapidly. He seemed to fall asleep in the midst of whistling. The ship's doctor peeled one eyestalk and shined a hand torch at it. "The stuff has hit him, I think. We'll let him be and hope for the best."
They all left. Don looked his friend over, decided that there was no point in sitting up with him, and followed them. The compartment had no view port; he wanted at least one good look at Earth while they were still close by. He found what he sought three decks forward.
They were still only fifteen thousand miles out; Don had to crowd in close to the view port to see all of Earth at one time. It was, he had to admit, a mighty pretty planet; he was a little bit sorry to be leaving it. Hanging there against velvet black and pinpoint stars, drenched in sunlight so bright it hurt your eyes, it almost took your breath away.
The sunrise line had swung far into the Pacific past Hawaii, and North America was spread out to his gaze. Storm blanketed the Pacific Northwest, but the Midwest was fairly clear and the Southwest was sharp. He could make out where New Chicago was with ease; he could see the' Grand Can on and from it he could almost figure out where the range had to be. He was sure that with a small telescope he could have spotted it.
He gave up his place at last. He was soaking in the pleasant melancholy of mild homesickness and the comments of some of the other passengers were beginning to annoy him, not the cheerful inanities of tourists but the know-it-all remarks of self-appointed old timers, making their second trip out. He headed back to his own compartment.
He was startled to hear his name called. He turned and the ship's officer he bad met before floated up to him. He had with him Sir Isaac's voder. "You seem to be chummy with that over-educated crocodile you're bunking with; how about taking this to him?"
"Why, certainly."
"The radio officer says it needs an overhaul but at least it's working again." Don accepted it and went aft. The dragon seemed to be sleeping, then one eye waved at him and Sir Isaac whistled a salutation.
"I've got your voice box," Don told him. "Want me to fasten it on for you?"
Sir Isaac politely refused. Don handed the instrument to the fidgeting tendrils and the dragon arranged it to suit him. He then ran over the keys as a check, producing sounds like frightened ducks. Satisfied, he began to speak in English: "I am enriched by the debt you have placed upon me."