A man's voice from behind said, "You're both confined to quarters!"

The twins whirled, stuck out their tongues, and marched off. A large man, large without fat, entered. He was wearing a dress.

"Good day, sir. I'm Commodore Sheffield, owner of the space yacht "Dora." Those were my twin...sisters. I apologize for their behavior. May I ask your name?" And he stuck out his hand.

He took it. "I'm sorry, I don't usually give my name. But in this case I shall. Shephard. Thomas Shephard, formerly of Kansas City, Missouri."

The Commodore looked thunderstruck, a look that was obviously strange to a face that had seen and done much.

"Tom Shephard? Tommy Shephard? Did you once..." and he bent over and whispered in the Shephard's ear.

Shephard goggled, then smiled broadly. "Only one person in the world would know that," he said. "Woody Smith, how come you're traveling under an assumed name? And why are you wearing a dress?"

The Commodore sighed, then smiled broadly. "It's a very long story, Tom. And it's a kilt, not a dress. If you're up to it, and Doc Ishtar says you are, put on your pants and come down to the Commodore's Lounge, which is also known as the Hellfire Hotel, and you can spin your tale and I'll spin mine and neither of us will believe the other. We'll drink ship's beer, which isn't all that bad, and tell lies and pinch some pretty girls."

He saw the question in Shephard's eyes and said quietly, "Pack your gun if you want to, Tom. There's no need for it here, but do what makes you feel comfortable. Hazel, let the man get dressed and then bring him to my suite, please."

And they both left. Shephard slowly got up, a bit unsteadily, and put on his clothes, now clean and smelling of being dried in fresh air and sunshine. He looked at the Colt, but put the knife on his belt instead, looked around for the door.

A woman's voice said, "Just walk straight at the wall where Hazel and Laz walked out. The door opens automatically. Hazel is waiting for you in the hall. I'D guide you, but HE said to let Hazel do so."

"Who are you?" he asked, his mind rapidly trying to assimilate more data than he'd had to work with since he'd left his Ph.D. work behind and got out of town, fast.

"Oh. I'm Dora. I'm the ship. If you need anything, just ask and I'll fetch it."

"Okay," he said slowly. "I learned long ago to believe a dozen impossible things before breakfast. I guess I can up that number a bit." And he walked through the wall.