When it went back to the refrigerator, the Captain managed to deflect his left hand so that it drew out a can of beer instead of a grapefruit. A vague hope arose in the Captain's brain as his hands clumsily punched a hole in the can. The thing filled a glass and knelt before Spencer.

Drink it, drink it, drink it, the Captain's brain shouted.

Spencer stared at the Captain's face for a long time as though he was trying to read something there. Then he opened his lips and gulped the beer.

When the thing sat the Captain down at the table, he noticed the grenade lying between the screw driver and the artichoke. So near but yet so far, if he could only pull the pin. But his hands moved past the grenade to the screw driver. The screw driver was the thing's beer can punch. Using the wrench for a hammer, it raised a geyser of beer. Of its own free will it raised the can to the Captain's lips.

The beer was bitter, stinging pleasure, cold in the throat, warm in the belly. He put it away fast and reached for another can. After a slight hesitation it freed his hands to punch the holes, one to take the gush of beer, one to keep it flowing. It fizzed in his mouth and bubbled out of the corners and over his chin. A cold stream crept down his neck to his collar bone. The third can he drank more daintily. With the fourth he felt the thing relax. Its weight sagged a bit as though it was feeling the effects of the alcohol in his bloodstream, and it let his hands relax upon the table.

Gently he glided his left hand toward the grenade, but the hand froze, then curled back for another can of beer. His right hand was a trifle unsteady as it raised the can to his lips. On the next can he forgot to punch the second hole and gulped the golden pleasure in erratic jets until he was sucking an empty can. Both he and it were game for another. He could feel the beer bubbling and trying to come back up. He could feel the tautness of his grinning lips, the limpness of the weight upon his neck. Gradually he edged his left hand toward the grenade, but the thing curled it back for another can.

Opening this can was troublesome and he forgot about the grenade. His wife smiled at him across the table. Soon they were floating down through blue warmth toward Earth so green and soft beneath.

"S' bedtime," he mumbled. The sound of his own voice sat him up straight. He remembered where he was and his smile went away. Then he felt it coming back again with his 

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