crew knew the necessity for making some sort of contact with the natives.
Mura did not even nod, but squeezed by the Salarik and pressed the lock.
There was a sign of air, and the crisp smell of growing things, lacking
the languorous perfumes of the world outside, puffed into the faces.

The cub remained where he was, his head up, his wide nostrils visibly
drinking in that smell. Then he moved with the silent, uncanny speed
which was the heritage of his race, darting down the narrow aisle toward
a mass of greenery at the far end.

Sinbad kicked and growled. This was his private hunting ground--the
preserve he kept free of invaders. Dane put the cat down. The Salarik had
found what he was seeking. He stood on tiptoe to sniff at a plant, his
yellow eyes half closed, his whole stance spelling ecstasy. Dane looked
to the steward for enlightenment.

"What's he so interested in, Frank?"

"Catnip."

"Catnip?" Dane repeated. The word meant nothing to him, but Mura had a
habit of picking up strange plants and cultivating them for study. "What
is it?"

"One of the Terran mints--an herb," Mura gave a short explanation as he
moved down the aisle toward the alien. He broke off a leaf and crushed it
between his fingers.

Dane, his sense of smell largely deadened by the pungency with which he
had been surrounded by most of that day, could distinguish no new odor.