Carmen Miranda's ghost is haunting Space Station Three. Half the staff has seen her, plus the Portmaster and me. And if you think we've had too much of Cookie's homemade rum, Just tell me where those basket-hats of fruit keep coming from.

Don't go down to the cargo-bay when there's no ship in dock. You just might hear maracas clack and get a nasty shock And if you hear a rumba-beat, don't pass the messroom door; You just might see a tangerine come rolling down the floor.

We sometimes catch a glimpse of her, by station night or day, But when we try to catch her, she just laughs and fades away. The station's chief headshrinker takes his notes and drains his cup. We get rotated often, but she still keeps showing up.

We don't know why we're haunted here, or why it's her that haunts. We've got a betting-pool for all who wonder what she wants. The best odds say she likes the rhythm of the station's drive; They didn't have phase-generators while she was alive.

Carmen Miranda's ghost is haunting Space Station Three. Not that we're complaining, since the fresh fruit all comes free. But now and then we wonder what it means for the human race That ghosts of generations past are taking off for space.

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