Free Between Planets by Robert A. Heinlein

what he had asked for was simply a medicinal dose.
    The captain turned to the medical officer. “How about it, surgeon?”
    The doctor stared at the bulkhead. “Captain, this is as far outside my duties as tap dancing.”
    “Confound it, man, I asked for your official opinion!”
    The medical officer faced him. “Very well, sir—I would say that if this passenger should die, you having refused him something he had asked for, it would look very, very bad indeed.”
    The captain bit his lip. “As you say, sir. But I’ll be switched if I want several tons of intoxicated dragon banging around in my ship. Administer the dose.”
    “Me, sir?”
    “ You , sir.”
    The ship being in free fall it was quite impossible to pour out the syrup and let the Venerian lick it up, nor was he physically equipped to use the “baby bottle” drinking bladder used by humans when weightless. But that had been anticipated; the tank containing the syrup was a type used in the galley to handle soup or coffee in free fall. It had a hand pump and an attachable hose.
    It was decided, Sir Isaac concurring, to place the end of the hose well down the dragon’s throat. But nobody seemed to want the job. Granted that Draco Veneris Wilsonii is a civilized race, to stick one’s head and shoulders between those rows of teeth seemed to be inviting a breach in foreign relations.
    Don volunteered for the job and was sorry when they took him up on it. He trusted Sir Isaac but recalled times when Lazy had stepped on his foot quite unintentionally. He hoped that the dragon had no unfortunate involuntary reflexes; apologies are no use to a corpse.
    While he kept the end of the hose firmly in place he held his breath and was glad that he had taken that anti-nausea injection. Sir Isaac did not have halitosis, as dragons go, but dragons go rather far in that direction. The job done, he was happy to back out.
    Sir Isaac thanked them all, via Don, and assured them that he would now recover rapidly. He seemed to fall asleep in the midst of whistling. The ship’s doctor peeled one eyestalk and shined a hand torch at it. “The stuff has hit him, I think. We’ll let him be and hope for the best.”
    They all left. Don looked his friend over, decided that there was no point in sitting up with him, and followed them. The compartment had no view port; he wanted at least one good look at Earth while they were still close by. He found what he sought three decks forward.
    They were still only fifteen thousand miles out; Don had to crowd in close to the view port to see all of Earth at one time. It was, he had to admit, a mighty pretty planet; he was a little bit sorry to be leaving it. Hanging there against velvet black and pinpoint stars, drenched in sunlight so bright it hurt your eyes, it almost took your breath away.
    The sunrise line had swung far into the Pacific past Hawaii, and North America was spread out to his gaze. Storm blanketed the Pacific Northwest, but the Midwest was fairly clear and the Southwest was sharp. He could make out where New Chicago was with ease; he could see the Grand Canyon and from it he could almost figure out where the range had to be. He was sure that with a small telescope he could have spotted it.
    He gave up his place at last. He was soaking in the pleasant melancholy of mild homesickness and the comments of some of the other passengers were beginning to annoy him—not the cheerful inanities of tourists but the know-it-all remarks of self-appointed old timers, making their second trip out. He headed back to his own compartment.
    He was startled to hear his name called. He turned and the ship’s officer he had met before floated up to him. He had with him Sir Isaac’s voder. “You seem to be chummy with that over-educated crocodile you’re bunking with; how about taking this to him?”
    “Why, certainly.”
    “The radio officer says it needs an overhaul but at least it’s working again.” Don accepted it and went aft. The