By this time the first man was chafing to take a second turn.  Calhoun gave each of them a second gruelling lesson.  He gave them, in fact, a highly condensed but very sound course in the art of travel in space.  His young students took command in four-hour watches, with at least one breakout from overdrive in each watch.

He built up enthusiasm in them.  They ignored the discomfort of being hungry—­though there had been no reason for them to stint on food on Orede—­in growing pride in what they came to know.

When Weald was a first-magnitude star, the four were not highly qualified astrogators, to be sure, but they were vastly better spacemen than at the beginning.  Inevitably, their attitude toward Calhoun was respectful.  He’d been irritable and right.  To the young, the combination is impressive.

Maril had served as passenger only.  In theory she was to compare Calhoun’s lessons with his practise when alone.  But he did nothing on this journey which, teaching considered, was different from the two interstellar journeys Maril had made with him.

She occupied the sleeping cabin during two of the six watches of each ship-day.  She operated the food-readier, which was almost completely emptied of its original store of food, it having been confiscated by the government of Dara.  That amount of food would make no difference to the planet, but it was wise for everyone on Dara to be equally ill-fed.

On the sixth day out from Dara, the sun of Weald had a magnitude of minus five-tenths.  The electron telescope could detect its larger planets, especially a gas-giant fifth-orbit world of high albedo.  Calhoun had his four students estimate its distance again, pointing out the difference that could be made in breakout position if the Med Ship were mis-aimed by as much as one second of arc.

“And now,” he said briskly, “we’ll have coffee.  I’m going to graduate you as pilots.  Maril, four cups of coffee, please.”

Murgatroyd said “Chee?” The Med Ship was badly crowded with six humans and Murgatroyd in a space intended for Calhoun and Murgatroyd alone.  The little tormal had spent most of his time in his cubbyhole, watching with beady eyes as so many people moved about on what had been a spacious ship before.

“No coffee for you, Murgatroyd,” said Calhoun.  “You didn’t do your lessons.  This is for the graduating class only.”

Murgatroyd came out of his miniature den.  He found his little cup and offered it insistently, saying, “Chee!  Chee!  Chee!”

“No!” said Calhoun firmly.  He regarded his class of four young men with their blueskin markings.  “Drink it down!” he commanded.  “That’s the last order I’ll give you.  You’re graduate pilots, now!”

They drank the coffee with a flourish.  There was not one who did not admire Calhoun for having made them admire themselves.  They were, actually, almost as much better pilots as they believed.