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bit louder, "I got a new star on the readout."
    Doolittle had produced a well-worn deck of cards. He was playing solitaire. Doolittle was very good at solitaire. He didn't lose often because he cheated.
    "What kind?" he asked without looking up.
    Pinback checked the instruments again. "Red dwarf. It's a complete unknown, sir, not even listed on the 'possibles' charts, from what I can see."
    Doolittle put a black queen on a red king, then a black jack on the queen. "Any planets?"
    "Around a red dwarf, sir? Even if there were any the chances of them being inhabi—"
    "I asked you if it had any planets, Sergeant."
    "Oh, all right." Pinback checked the readout again. His expression bulged. "Wow, yeah—it says eight probables here! How about that!"
    "Any of 'em good?"
    "Well," Pinback guessed, "it's kind of hard to tell at this distance, but there might be. Boy, wouldn't that be something? Around a red dwarf?"
    "I mean, are any of 'em bad," Doolittle corrected, putting an ace up.
    "Oh." Pinback sounded depressed, reluctantly checked his readouts again. "Naw, all stable."
    Doolittle just grunted.
    "I suppose that means we aren't going to map them out?" No reply. "Geez, Lieutenant, a red dwarf with eight possible planets—I mean, we at least ought to make an equatorial survey."
    "Not our job," Doolittle said quietly.
    "But couldn't we in this case make one teeny weeny little exception?"
    "No." Black ten on red jack.
    There was peace in the control room for a while, except for the gentle click-clacking of cards flicking down on the computation board. Pinback stared at Doolittle until he was quite certain that the lieutenant had nothing further to say on the subject of the strange new system.
    "Ah," he said finally, "what are you gonna name it?"
    Doolittle hesitated, spoke without looking up again. "What?"
    "Ah, you know . . . that star," Pinback continued anxiously. "What are you gonna name it?"
    "Who cares?" Doolittle responded irritably. "I'm busy, Pinback . . . don't bother me, huh?"
    "But it's a whole new star, Lieutenant. With planets. Eight of 'em. Only a handful of human beings ever got to name a tiny, insignificant thing like maybe a river or a mountain or a sea. A few luckier ones got to name features on the surface of the Moon and Mars and the other planets. You can name a whole star system, Lieutenant."
    Doolittle spared him a quick glance. "Look, don't bother me, please, Pinback? I've almost got this game played out. Leave me alone, hmmm?"
    "Commander Powell would name it," Pinback finished, with the ultimate argument. He folded his arms firmly.
    "Commander Powell's dead," reminded Doolittle for the thousandth time, putting a deuce up on the ace.
    "Well then . . ." Pinback suddenly beamed. "That's it—'Don't Bother Me.' We'll name it 'Don't Bother Me.' " He hunted hurriedly under his station for the small semi-official log he'd been keeping ever since Doolittle had lost interest in making regular entries in the ship's printed log.
    The pencil that was clipped to it was worn to a stub now, and he had to strain to write neatly with it.
    "There," he said after an hour's dedicated scribbling. "All nice and official, with coordinates and everything. 'Don't Bother Me' . . . eight planets." He finished with a flourish. "Congratulations, Lieutenant."
    Doolittle started to shout again, but he turned up the last card he needed to play out and was feeling instantly generous. After all, why pick on poor Pinback just because he was a mite overzealous in his job?
    "Thanks, Sergeant. If any intelligent beings do live there, maybe they'll thank you someday. I know I wouldn't want myself to be visited by anything like me."
    "Uh, Lieutenant," Pinback replied, his face twisted in uncertainty, "I'm not sure I know what you mean by—"
    Boiler's deep tones broke in over him. "Hey, Doolittle, I got a goodie. Definitely unstable. Eighty-five-percent probability of an unstable planet in star system P-one-thirty-eight. Indication of habitable