"Doctor Constantine, I checked up on you after we met in Colorado Springs," I admitted, "and from what I've read, you are one of the truly brilliant minds of the twenty first century." I conceded. The guy had started college at MIT when he was fourteen years old, and he'd already won several major scientific prizes before that. I couldn't even comprehend the title of papers he'd written, let alone grasp the content. His face beamed with a smile before I could crush his hopes. "Unfortunately, your colleagues think you are also one of the great assholes of the twenty first century. You rub everyone you work with the wrong way." He'd been fired from, forced out of, or invited to leave, top scientific institutions around the planet. In a field that had to generate as many titanic egos as brilliant scientific breakthroughs, how big of an asshole did you have to be to stand out, to the point where supremely talented people couldn't work with you? "You are correct that I need to have the most qualified crew, under my command." I emphasized the last part. "I'll be responsible for seventy people, on a dangerous mission away from Earth for up to two and a half years." Two and a half years, that is, if we got lucky. "People on this mission must not only be among the best in their field, they also must get along with other people, in close quarters. That leaves you off the list."

"Your other problem is," Skippy added gleefully, "your only qualification for the mission is that you're, meh, slightly smarter than the average monkey. Which, compared to me, is worthless. Doctor, you think too much of yourself. The only difference between Joe and you, is that Joe is like the dog looking through the windshield, and you’re the dog hanging your head out the window. You’ll get a slightly better view, but you’re not going to understand it any better.”

“I wouldn’t advise hanging your head out the window anyway.” I added. “There’s no breeze in space.”

“Joe has a good point.” Skippy concluded. “Also, if there was a breeze, you’d get drool all over the ship behind you.”

Constantine looked to me, as if species solidarity was going to make me plead his case. What he didn’t realize, is the universal concept in effect was that a jerk is a jerk, no matter the species.

“I’ll make sure to send you a postcard.” I offered. “It will say ‘Having a great time, glad you’re not here.'"