he was the famous brody carmical, and rumor had it he was worth a million credits for each of the many richly mounted heads.

"so you're fresh out of school with a degree in extra-terrestrial zoology," carmical grumbled. "am i supposed to turn cartwheels?"

steve cleared his throat. "the placement service thought you might have a job—"

"i do, i do. that doesn't mean any young pup who comes along can fill it. ever been off the earth, mr. stedman?"

"no."

"ever been off the north american continent?"

"no."

"but you want to go galavanting around the solar system in search of big game. tell me—do you think they have a harvard club on every stinking satellite you'll visit? do you think you can eat beefsteak and drink martinis in every frontier-world dive? let me tell you, mr. stedman, the answer is no."

"try me, sir. that's all i ask—try me."

"we're not running a school, mr. stedman. either a man's got it or he hasn't. you haven't. come back in ten years. ship out around the solar system the hard way, and maybe we can use you then—if you still remember what you learned about extra-terrestrial zoology. what in space ever made you study extra-zoo, anyway?"

"i found it interesting," steve said lamely.

"interesting? as a hobby, it's interesting. but as business, it's hard work, a lot of sweat, a lot of danger, squirming around on your soft belly in the muck and mud of a dozen worlds, that's what it is. just how do you think carmical enterprises got where they are? sweat and grief, mr. stedman." carmical yawned hugely and popped a glob of chocolate into his mouth. his fat lips worked for a moment, then his adam's apple bobbed up and down.

steve got up, paced back and forth in front of the desk. "i won't take no for an answer, mr. carmical."

"eh? what's that? i could have you thrown out of here."

"you won't," steve told him calmly. "maybe i'm just what the doctor ordered, but you'll never know until you try me. so—"

"so nothing! i said this isn't a school."

"they tell me the gordak leaves on a ten-world junket tomorrow. all i ask is this: let me ship along as the zoology man. then, if you're not satisfied, you can leave me at your first port-of-call—without pay."

carmical smiled triumphantly. "you know where we space out for first, mr. stedman? mercury, that's where. i'd love to see a sassy young pup like you set loose on mercury in one of the twilight cities."

"is it a deal?"

"it sure is, stedman. it sure is! but i warn you, we'll expect perfection. you'll not have a chance to profit from your own mistakes. you won't have a chance to make mistakes. one slip and you've had it, is that understood?"

"yes."

"i'm not going, of course," carmical said, patting his great paunch and saying with the action that he was too old and too fat for space. "but i'll hear all about the way you were stranded on mercury, among a lot of merkies and—"

steve smiled grimly, said: "no you won't. next time you see me will be after the ten-world junket. whom do i ask for on the gordak?"

carmical dialed for a bromo, watched it fizz in the glass, drank it, belched. "t. j. moore's in charge," he told steve. "old t. j.'s a mighty rough taskmaster, stedman. don't say you weren't warned."

"thanks."

"well, i'll hear about how you were stranded on mercury," carmical predicted.

"you'll see me after the ten-world junket," said steve, and closed the door softly behind him.