IT WAS CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK who had ordered the Sacker ship out of orbit.
Their first view of the Sacker bridge, glimpsed through the opening doors of the turbolift, had been an awe-inspiring and unsettling one. The bridge was about twice the size of the Enterprise's, and it had four turbolifts as well as more manned stations. In the time they'd been on the ship, Kirk, Uhura, and Chekov had never seen so many Sackers gathered together in one place; the sight was enough to disconcert even the most stalwart of hearts. Their captors were cloaked and wearing translator devices, but a bulging green forehead here and a decayed-looking hand there were unnecessary reminders of what lay under those cloaks. All the Sackers had turned and were staring at the three helmeted humans standing uncertainly in the lift.
"This is it," Kirk muttered. "Let's go."
He strode out on to the bridge as if he owned it, but Uhura and Chekov followed a little less enthusiastically. "Commander Babe!" Kirk said in his best imperious manner. "I am ready to assume command."
"The command is yours, Captain," the red Sacker replied, and indicated a brown Sacker standing near her. "This one is to be my second-in-command and will learn with me." She moved slowly along the upper deck to where six Sackers were waiting. "These three are to learn communications. And these three, navigation."
Kirk acknowledged the entire student body and issued his first order. "Stations, please." He waited until Sackers and humans alike had positioned themselves and began a tour of his new bridge, trailed by the red commander and her brown companion. The temperature was uncomfortably high, but bearable.
Avoiding looking at his three trainees, Chekov slid uneasily into the navigator's seat. His station was all too close to that of the helmsman, an enormous blue Sacker who was staring at him with what Chekov hoped was ordinary curiosity. "Hello," he said faintly.
"Greetings," the Sacker's translator boomed. "You are the Chekov?"
"I am the Chekov," the navigator squeaked. He almost asked the blue Sacker's name but remembered in time. He gulped and said, "Nice ship."
"We like it."
Chekov's three trainees hovered behind him. Two were black and one was orange, a fitting Hallowe'en combination. Chekov turned to his navigator's board and started calling up various sets of data. He pointed to one display and asked the orange Sacker, "Do you know vhat this is?"
"No. Please instruct us." And the lesson began.
Captain Kirk had stopped by the science officer's station. An almost pure white officer stood at the Sacker equivalent of attention. "Status report," Kirk ordered.
"We're still in orbit around Holox, sir."
"That's no way to give a status report!" Kirk snapped. "I want specifics, and I want 'em fast, mister!"
"Mister?"
Kirk's eyebrows went up. "Ma'am?"
"Misterma'am?"
"Whatever."
The Sacker's head waggled back and forth. "Thank you, Captain!" He or she started reading off figures from the screen until Kirk called a halt. "Very good. Carry on."
He walked on out of range of the Sacker's hearing and turned to the commander. "Why did the science officer just thank me?"
"Because you paid him the honor of naming him, Captain."
"Naming him? I didn't name him."
"Is not Misterma'am a name?"
"I guess it is now," Kirk muttered. "Okay, so I named him. Babe, you're going to have to explain to me about this naming business. Why do you take any name we give you?"
She turned and consulted with her brown shadow before she answered. "It is permitted for you to know this custom. To give another a name is a sign of respect, or sometimes affection. When that name comes from one who is not of our race, the honor is doubled. It is our way of cementing loyalties."
"I see. So I just made a buddy for life back there?"
"Misterma'am will respect and honor you as long as you are with us."
That was a two-edged answer if ever he heard one, but Kirk decided not to pursue it. "As long as we're talking about names, what's the name of this ship?"
The commander seemed to hesitate. "This vessel has not yet been blessed with a name."
"Oh? Well, don't you think it's about time you gave it one?"
"It is not for us to provide the name."
"It isn't? Well, if not you, who?" Then it hit him. "You mean me?"
"That would be deemed appropriate, Captain." Both Sackers watched him, waiting.
So they want me to name their ship for them, do they? Kirk thought. He started considering appropriate names such as Sacker Slaughterhouse and Zirgos's Folly—but then stopped himself. If giving a name was a sign of respect, wouldn't withholding a name be an equal sign of disrespect? Was this a weapon he could use?
"I'll think about it," he said, and resumed his tour.
In the meantime, Uhura was trying to get used to the sight of three Sacker trainees hovering over her. She'd groaned inwardly when she saw the communications station. Touch pads. Uhura hated touch pads. She liked the feel of keys and switches clicking under her fingers, telling her that what she wanted done was in fact being done. With touch pads she always had to worry about whether she was pressing hard enough. Or, contrarily, pressing too hard; some of the pads were so sensitive that she had to be careful not even to breathe on them. At one time the entire bridge of the Enterprise had been refitted with touch pads, but everyone had complained so much they'd gone back to keys and switches.
Uhura's three trainees were yellow, lavender, and dusty pink. Like garden flowers, she thought sarcastically. They crowded around to watch as she began to familiarize herself with the board.
"The outgoing message channels are blocked," Uhura said in surprise.
The three Sackers exchanged looks. Finally the yellow one said, "We hope the Uhura will not be offended, but outgoing channels are controlled by the science officer."
"Oh. I see. Tell me, is there anything else I'm not to be trusted with?" She made no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice.
"It was done by order of Commander Babe," the Sacker said unhappily. "All other functions remain."
"I'll Babe her," Uhura muttered under her breath. "All right, suppose you three show me how much you know about this board. What's the procedure for recording a ship-to-ship message?"
She was answered with a stream of gibberish that disoriented her until she realized the three trainees had switched off their translators and were consulting among themselves in their own language. She listened carefully, and heard a number of sounds that just might correspond to the words the translator had thrown up on the Enterprise screen. There was the word for channel, and for playback, and for display. They were trying to find an answer to her question.
Uhura turned her head away so they wouldn't see the look of elation she suspected had appeared on her face. She could learn this language! All she had to do was keep her mouth shut and listen. She got her face under control and turned back to do just that.
Finally the three Sackers switched their translators back to English, and the lavender one said, pointing, "You press there."
"Right. And next?"
Silence.
"And next?" Uhura repeated firmly.
The lavender one made a noise that might have been a Sackerian clearing of the throat. "You ask for help?"
She stared at them a moment. "I think you need a lot of help." Captain Kirk had said these would be people trying to work outside their own fields, but Uhura had expected them to know a simple thing like how to record an incoming message. How was she ever going to teach them the intricacies of rewiring a board?
First things first. "Pay attention, now. I'm going to show you one step at a time how to do this."
They got to work.
Captain Kirk had completed his inspection of the bridge. "Let's see how she handles," he said to Babe. He seated himself in the command chair, much larger than the one he was used to and made of the same material as the furniture in their quarters. Probably heat-resistant, he surmised. "You, there, Blue! Helmsman!"
The big blue Sacker seated next to Chekov swiveled to look at Kirk. "You call me Blue?"
Damn, thought Kirk, I've done it again. Bluff it out. "Yes, I call you Blue. Everyone who sits at the helm of a starship should be named, because the helm is a seat of honor. In battle, it is the helmsman who frequently means the difference between victory and defeat. Are you worthy of the post, Blue? Are you worthy of the name?"
"I hope so, sir."
"Let's find out. Take her out of orbit, helmsman."
The Sacker ship left orbit, rather slowly but without incident. Blue had obviously had some training, but Kirk responded by groaning and covering his eyes with his hands.
"Is something wrong, Captain?" Babe asked.
Kirk didn't answer her. He heaved himself out of the command chair and ponderously walked around to stand in front of the helmsman. "Blue," he said heavily, "that was pitiful."
"Sir?"
"That was the raggediest, bumpiest, slowest exit from orbit it's ever been my misfortune to witness!" He placed his hands on the helm and leaned his weight on his arms; his face was little more than a meter away from the Sacker's. "You want to be helmsman of this vessel? You want to guide this ship through battles and ion storms? You want to evade tractor beams and unfriendly sensor probes? You? I don't know, Blue, I just don't know. You're going to have to do much, much better than that!"
"I … I'm sorry, sir."
"Much better," Kirk repeated, a sinister gleam in his eye.
Ensign Chekov lay stretched out on one of the mattresses in their quarters, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Captain Kirk was at the console, studying the ship's schematics again. He thought he had a pretty good idea of the layout of the ship by now, but pretty good wasn't good enough; he had to be sure.
The door opened and Scotty came in. He took off his helmet and said, "Where's Uhura?"
"On the bridge, finishing up something she'd started her trainees on," Kirk answered. "I wasn't sure about leaving her alone among all those Sackers." He laughed. "But she's taken this stern schoolmarmish attitude toward her Sackers—she's got all three of them jumping. So, Scotty, have you got any news for me?"
"Aye, sir, that I do. I canna stay long—Mr. Green's waitin' for me in the corridor. I told him I had to have a break. I think he thinks that's some kind of medicine." Scotty pulled up a chair and sat down. "Anyway, I diddled with the bleeder valves an' the piston boosters. The engines'll respond, but they'll be so sluggish ye'll have time for a round o' golf afore they'll be doin' what ye want 'em to do. An' when you give the order to go into warp drive, just be sure you're holdin' on to something, sir. Not that I'm sayin' the vibrations will be bad—but it would be best to be in a safe place just the same."
"That's perfect, Scotty," Kirk grinned. "I've already got the helmsman suspecting he's an incompetent boob. And that worries Babe. Anything that worries Babe can only help us. I left them to practice some simple maneuvers—quarter turn, full reverse, things like that."
"The engines'll handle that all right. They just won't be breakin' any speed records, that's all."
"What about trickier stuff, battle maneuvers?"
"Even slower still."
"Good! That's what we'll try next." He jerked a thumb toward Chekov. "Sleeping Beauty over there gave his Sackers some navigational problems to solve. When everybody's ready, we'll give it a go." Kirk paused a moment, and then said: "Scotty, this Mr. Green of yours—how does he treat you? Is he polite?"
"Polite! He could write the book, Captain. Me own men on the Enterprise don't treat me with that much courtesy, an' they're not a bad-mannered bunch at all. Mr. Green isna the only one, either. All the engineering Sackers are soooooo polite."
"It's not just the Sackers in engineering, Scotty. They're all like that, every one of them on this ship. They treat us as if we were honored guests instead of four people they've kidnapped. You notice they never get on the turbolifts with us? Oh, they have somebody send us off and somebody else waiting to meet us. But we always ride alone. They know being in such close quarters with them would distress us—so they go out of their way to save us that little bit of discomfort."
"Aye, now that you mention it … we do ride alone, don't we? One horrendous purple beastie workin' in the intermix chamber told me he was honored to be instructed by the chief engineer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. At the time I thought it was so much fish oil, but maybe he meant it."
"He probably did." Kirk thought a moment. "There's something else. They don't seem to know very much about human beings. The Sackers have visited a lot of Federation worlds and they've come into contact with humans frequently, but these Sackers seem uncertain about the simplest things. Such as correct form of address. And the first time we met Babe, she had to ask Uhura if she was female. Scotty, they're acting as if they've never seen human beings before—and we know they have!"
"They know what kind o' food to serve us."
"Their computer could have told them that. But that means sometime in the past somebody knew enough about humans to put that information into the computer in the first place."
Scotty scowled. "The ones who were killed in the bridge accident?"
"Must be. But why is the commander of this ship so ignorant about humans that she's not sure of a female when she sees one?"
"Beats me, Captain. Maybe they restrict contact with humans—only certain Sackers are allowed that privilege, if it is a privilege."
"But why?"
"Dunno. But Captain, did you know Babe was female before she told you she was?"
Kirk looked startled. "We knew from the computer voice she'd chosen for her translator—it was decidedly female. But you've got a point. I can't tell a male Sacker from a female just by looking."
"Well, then."
The door opened and Uhura walked in—backwards. "Scotty, there's a big green thing outside the door that wants you to come out."
"Aye, I best be goin'. Any further instructions?"
"Just make sure your sabotage can't be uncovered," Kirk said.
"Already taken care of, sir." He palmed the switch that opened the door. "Well, now, Mr. Green—time to be gettin' back to work." He left.
Uhura removed her helmet and dropped down in the chair vacated by Scotty. "Whew! I have had enough Sacker to last me the rest of my life."
"How's it going?" Kirk asked. "Are your trainees any good?"
She grinned mischievously. "They're hopeless."
"Wonderful! Don't explain things too clearly."
"I won't. Rose is the only one who seems determined to learn. The other two are just sort of there."
"Rose? You've named them?"
"They got mixed up when I just pointed and said 'You!'—so I pretty much had to give them names. They're such delicate little creatures that I called them Rose, Jonquil, and Iris."
He laughed. "Nice."
"But then I found out two of them are male. I didn't have any trouble shortening Jonquil to Jon, but when I told Iris I wanted to call him Irving instead—he objected. He likes Iris!"
Kirk thought of what he and Scotty had been talking about and asked, "How did you know they were male?"
"I eavesdropped. Captain, I can understand some of what they're saying! My three chatter in their own language a lot—and while I don't get all of it, I do pick up bits here and there. If I just had a little time …"
"Unfortunately, that's something that's in short supply just now." Kirk rubbed his eyes. "I found an escape chute during my tour of the bridge. It's located directly under the damage control monitors. Keep it in mind—we may need it."
"Yes, sir. Does Chekov know?"
"I told him right before he crashed. Uhura, I think we'd do well to follow Chekov's example. We may not have time to sleep later."
"That's not exactly a cheering thought."
"I know. But things are going to start heating up soon. We'd better be ready when they do."
Mr. Spock was studying Lieutenant Uhura's programming of the Sacker language in the Enterprise computer and thinking she'd built up a good, workable vocabulary. He sincerely hoped it would be of use to her in her present circumstances.
"Oh, Mr. Spock," Dr. McCoy began in his lightest, softest manner, "I hate to presume, and I do so hope you won't think I'm trying to tell you how to do your job, but considering the conditions that prevail at the moment, don't you think we ought to DO SOMETHING?" Every eye on the bridge turned toward him.
"Doctor, we are doing something," Spock answered reasonably. "We are following the Sacker ship. That is all we can do at present, so long as their shields are up. But even if the shields were down, we could not fire upon the ship without endangering Captain Kirk and the others. We cannot beam an armed force aboard for the same reason."
"Seems to me the odds of an armed party taking them by surprise would be pretty good. And there's got to be a weak spot in those shields somewhere."
Spock was aware that all the other personnel on the bridge were listening for his answer. "The odds would be good, if we knew exactly where on the ship the captain was. If we beamed aboard the bridge, for instance, and he turned out not to be there—the Sackers might very well kill him before we could get to him. Do you really think that is a chance worth taking?"
"Good Lord no," McCoy said in an abashed manner. "I'm sorry, Spock, I didn't think of that. It's just that the thought of Jim surrounded by those … those …"
"I understand, Doctor. It would be a different matter if we had interior visuals," Spock went on. "But the Sacker ship has a special shielding that blocks our sensors. The Zirgosians did too good a job with their new design, unfortunately."
McCoy shook his head. "Those poor people. At least they never knew what their supership was going to be used for."
There was silence on the bridge for a while, as everyone stared at the Sacker ship on the main viewscreen and wondered what was happening on board. Then Sulu said, "They're reversing, Mr. Spock."
"Follow suit, Mr. Sulu."
McCoy moved over to the helm. "Haven't they done that before, Sulu?"
"This is the fifth time. They make four slow turns and then reverse. Four turns, reverse. Regular as clockwork."
"Why? What are they doing?"
"I can't tell. Maybe they're just having trouble making up their minds where they're going."
"Where are they going?" McCoy asked. "Spock?"
"I do not believe they are going anywhere, Doctor. If it were not for the elementary nature of the maneuvers being performed, I would assume that what we are seeing is something in the nature of a shakedown cruise. It is a new ship, remember, and there might be some aspects of it that are not functioning satisfactorily."
"They managed to get all the way here from Zirgos."
"And perhaps encountered problems on the way. Yet these are such basic maneuvers they are performing, I have to suspect that something else is behind them. Until we find out what that is, we shall continue to track them."
"They're making a starboard turn, Mr. Spock," Sulu said.
"Follow suit, Mr. Sulu."
"We do not understand why another inspection of the navigational unit is necessary," one of the Sackers said.
"A good navigator must know his tools," Chekov replied pedantically. "And thet includes all the ship's equipment connected vith the navigation system. Here you are, in training to be navigators, and you still do not know the vorkings of the unit that sends you your readings! Disgraceful!"
The Sacker fell silent, chastened. They were in a corridor of the ship, Chekov flanked by the two black Sackers assigned to him while the orange one dragged along disconsolately in the rear. Sackers didn't move very fast, a fact that Chekov took advantage of by looking through every open door and hatchway they passed. He'd told his trainees that he needed to familiarize himself with the ship's layout; they saw nothing unusual in this, and consequently they took a different route every time they went to study the navigational unit.
They were approaching large double doors that were not only closed but guarded, by two armed Sackers who lifted their weapons slightly when they saw Chekov. "Vhat is this place?" he wanted to know.
"Ship maintenance section," he was told.
"Vhy is it guarded?"
Neither black Sacker said anything, but the orange one spoke up eagerly from behind them. "That is where the baryon reverter is kept!"
"Silence!" one of the black Sackers ordered. The orange one dropped back a few steps.
"Vhat kind of rewerter?" Chekov asked innocently.
"It has nothing to do with navigation."
Chekov went on asking questions and sometimes even listening to the answers. He already had the answer he wanted: ship maintenance. They reached the navigational unit, and Chekov forgot all about Sackers and burning universes in his fascination with this new substitute for the traditional deflector dish. An hour later they were ready to go back to the bridge.
But the orange Sacker blocked the hatchway. "Request permission to speak to the Chekov privately."
"Granted." He waved the two black Sackers back and followed the orange one into the corridor. The orange Sacker was the only female among Chekov's trainees, and right then she was trying hard to work up the courage to say something. "Vhat is it?" Chekov nudged.
She twitched once or twice and started to speak. "The Chekov has been instructing us in the arts of navigation for eight days. I wish to ask whether my work has been satisfactory or not."
Chekov chose his words carefully. "I think you are doing the best you can."
"Do I not heed every word you speak?"
"You pay attention, yes."
"Do I not follow your orders without question?"
"Quite so."
"Do I not solve all the navigational problems you give us?"
"Yes, yes you do."
"Then why," she wailed, "why have you given the other two names—but not me?"
"Ah, vell, ve must not rush these things," Chekov answered smoothly. "Do not despair. You may yet be named. It is something for you to vork toward." He turned his back and walked away down the corridor, grinning from ear to ear.
Divide and conquer.
Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott was roused out of a deep sleep by a smell that would have spoiled anyone's dreams. He opened one eye and saw a green nightmare standing in the doorway of the quarters the four from the Enterprise shared.
Scotty reached for his helmet and said, "What's the trouble, Mr. Green?"
"I apologize for disturbing the Scott's rest period," the Sacker said in what was almost a humble manner, "but the piston-booster power supply is slow in feeding through. It approaches critical."
Scotty was instantly awake; he'd been half expecting this. "Let's have us a look."
They made their way to the engine room, Mr. Green explaining along the way how he'd checked all the valves and the wiring but could find nothing wrong. I certainly hope not, Scotty thought.
The control panel for the piston boosters was on the upper level of the engine room overlooking the intermix chamber. The Sacker pointed to a dial; the needle was hovering just outside the red zone.
"Ah, now, wasn't it smart o' ye to notice that!" Too smart, Scott thought. "But y'need not worry, Mr. Green. I lowered the power feed meself. Keeps the mix purer, don't ye know."
"But … but if the helm should need power in a hurry …?"
"Then the plasmicophic ferangulator kicks in. Nae need to worry."
"The plasmi …?"
"Plasmicophic ferangulator. It wasna even hooked up when I first came aboard but it's workin' all right now. Come along—I'll show ye." He led the puzzled Sacker to a Rube Goldberg contraption he'd rigged a few days earlier. Scotty touched a finger to a button; the contraption started clicking and whirring, and rows of pretty lights began to blink on and off. "Y'see," Scotty explained, "the frammistan redirects the betagams through an ion-free calcimogrifying chamber, where they're mixed by the glockenspiel to regurgitate with zeta-minor demi-prostulances. Then the new mix spurts through the Fallopian tube into the Loch Lomond antimasticator—and ye know what that means, don't ye?"
Mr. Green was all agog. "What?"
Scotty threw up both arms and beamed. "Instant power! As much as y'want and as fast as y'want it! Ah, the ferangulator is a lovely instrument, it is! Saves energy and increases efficiency—what more could y'ask?" He lowered his arms and his face fell. "There's only one thing the matter with it."
"What's that?"
"It canna be serviced while operatin'. Y'take off any of the panels to get at the innards and—zap!"
"Zap?"
Scotty lowered his voice. "Y'get hit with all those nasty doubloons. By-products o' particle decay. Lethal nine times out o' ten. I wouldna be mentionin' it to the others, if I were ye—nae need to alarm them. But we're all safe as houses … as long as those panels stay in place." He was gratified to see the Sacker nodding soberly. "Well, if y'have nae more questions, Mr. Green, I'd like to finish me nap."
Mr. Green ordered another Sacker to escort the Scott back to his quarters, while he himself stayed to study the plasmicophic ferangulator.
"Too slow, Blue," Captain Kirk said wearily. "Much too slow."
"I initiated the turn the minute you gave the command!" Blue protested.
"You have to learn to anticipate these things, Blue. You have to develop a feel for the helm. Mr. Sulu would have had the Enterprise halfway to the next star system by the time you started your turn."
Blue twitched. For days the captain had been throwing the name of Sulu at him. The Sulu was evidently some sort of magician who could get the Enterprise to do anything he wanted just by wishing for it; Blue had to do it the hard way.
Kirk motioned the red commander closer. "Babe," he said in a voice just loud enough for Blue to hear, "you're going to have to do something about that helmsman. He's just not cutting it."
"I am sure he is doing the best he can, Captain." The voice coming out of her translator sounded worried.
"Maybe he'll take orders from you better than he does from me. Here, you try it." He slipped out of the command chair and stood to one side.
Babe lowered herself into the chair and the brown Sacker moved in closer. "Prepare for port turn with increase to mark two," she said.
"Preparing for turn," Blue said. "On your signal."
Kirk watched carefully until Babe was about to speak and then yelled, "Now!" Both Sackers twitched, as did the three standing around Chekov. "Too late!" Kirk cried, and threw up a hand in annoyance. "Babe, you're as slow as he is! You're quite a pair, you are."
"I was about to—"
"'About to' isn't fast enough, Babe. I've told you that before. You have to think at least five minutes ahead. You're not doing that. Are you?"
"I try to—"
"Try, try, try. Don't just try. Do it!" He glanced over to Communications and saw Uhura making a little signal with her hand. She had something! He gave her a barely perceptible nod.
Uhura stood up and said, "Captain, permission to leave the bridge."
"Granted."
"One moment please," Babe said. "Why do you wish to leave the bridge?"
"I have a slight headache. I'd like to go to our quarters and lie down for a few minutes."
"Do you require medical attention?"
"No, it's not that serious. If I can just get my feet up for ten or fifteen minutes, I'll be all right."
Babe consulted with the brown Sacker. "Permission granted."
Uhura left, and one of her trainees called down to have another Sacker meet the turbolift when it stopped. Kirk killed some time by finding ways to criticize Babe's performance. Actually, the red Sacker showed signs of developing into a fairly decent starship captain if given half a chance. Kirk was determined not to give it to her.
When he estimated ten minutes had passed, he too requested permission to leave the bridge.
"For what purpose?" Babe wanted to know.
"I have a personal matter to attend to in my quarters." That excuse had gotten him off the bridge once before.
Again Babe consulted with the brown Sacker. The consultation went on longer than usual.
Finally Kirk grew impatient. "Well? What does Brownie have to say?"
"Brownie?"
It was the first time he'd heard the brown Sacker speak. But now that he had … "I name you Brownie," Kirk pronounced solemnly.
Brownie wagged his head back and forth, which Kirk knew by now was a sign of acceptance and/or happiness. "I thank you, Captain."
"Don't mention it," he answered dryly.
More consulting.
Finally Babe turned to Kirk and said, "Do you wish to join the Uhura in your quarters for mating purposes?"
Of all the things she could have said, that was one which Kirk was in no way prepared for. "Well, uh, ah, umm," he mumbled. Which answer would get him off the bridge? Chekov seemed to be having a coughing fit.
Babe prodded for an answer. "We understand the human reproductive impulse is neither cyclical nor regimented to control population numbers. Is it true the urge to mate comes upon you without warning, at any time of the day or night?"
"Well, uh, yes, that's true," Kirk floundered.
"And is this urge upon you now?" Babe persisted.
Dammit. "Yes, it is!" he said loudly.
"Very well, you have permission to leave the bridge."
Kirk stepped into the turbolift and turned to see every one of the Sackers watching him. He hoped he didn't look as big a fool as he felt.