Mute by Piers Anthony

me continues until separation or sleep; then it fades. Everyone on this ship should remember me until the voyage ends, with some lacunae for those who nap.
    “If I had a girl like that,” the other passenger continued, “I’d kiss her too.”
    “Be my guest,” Knot said. Finesse made an angry squeak of protest.
    “Oh come on,” Knot told her. “You’re highly kissable, and there is nothing wrong with normals.”
    Naughty man! came the weasel’s familiar thought.
    “You rascal, you!” the man said.
    “You complete oaf!” Finesse swore.
    “Normals have feelings too,” Knot reminded her. “Prick them, and they bleed. Green blood.”
    “Blue blood,” the man behind corrected him.
    “I don’t kiss strange men!” Her color was rising again.
    “You kissed me, and I’m as strange as they come.”
    “That’s for sure!” she cried. But she was unable to maintain her anger.
    You’re fun! Hermine thought.
    The Captain formed in holo again, in the front of the compartment. “Hello, passengers; long time no see. I am required to remind you that this is a trans-galactic disk voyage. Males are subject to temporary mutation of their sperm that may affect their offspring conceived within thirty standard Earth days of their return to planetary residence, possibly even longer. Any males who wish to avoid this complication should not make this voyage, and may return now to the shuttle.” He paused.
    “I thought it was ninety days,” Knot said.
    “We have improved the shielding,” the Captain said. “Beyond thirty Earth-days, the chances are prohibitively minor. Any other questions?” He paused again. “’Sokay, now let’s have the precog’s formality.”
    There was a longer pause. Then the Captain looked startled. “Uh oh, folks. We have a technicality.”
    “Oh, no,” the passenger behind Knot lamented.
    “I have been called many things,” Knot said. “But this is the first time I’ve been called a technicality.”
    The holo-Captain smiled. “Character, yes. Technicality, no. In this case, it seems our precog foresees a problem.”
    There was a general murmur of alarm.
    “Now take it easy,” the Captain said. “It merely means there will be a delay until we get a clear reading. No ship ever takes off on a trans-disk voyage without proper precog clearance. If it isn’t safe, we don’t go, period. All we have to do is hold off until we know it is safe. So there is absolutely no risk, just inconvenience. Could be a random meteorite scheduled to knock out our guidance mechanism. A few minutes delay will abate that.”
    “Doesn’t your precog know what the threat is?” Knot asked.
    “No, unfortunately. Distance precognition is not very specific on details. All we know is that we can’t afford to head into deep space right now. Meanwhile, we’ll call in the clairvoyant for a routine check.”
    “We’re going to crash in space!” a woman cried.
    “A manifest impossibility,” the holo-Captain snapped. “There is precious little to crash into, in space. That’s one reason we travel outside the galactic disk; by definition, deep space is virtually empty. We could have a drive failure, however, or decompression.”
    “Oh!” the woman cried × “I’m going to be sick!”
    “Save it for the decompression,” the oldster said. “Easier to puke, then.” There was a thud as the harridan kicked his leg.
    “But we won’t do any of these things,” the Captain continued firmly. “Because, as I said, we are able to read ahead. We do have excellent distance precogs, and if our voyage is slated for trouble, we simply won’t go. There is no danger.”
    “Now I wonder about that,” Knot said. “A precog told me I was going to do something, once, and I swore I wouldn’t—but I think it came to pass anyway. If this ship is fated for trouble—”
    “Oh!” the woman repeated, horrified.
    “There’s a bag on the seat ahead of you,” the oldster said. “My grandpa called them barf—”