Then the older man had become a forbidding stranger. Stan had never been able to think of a reason for that. Maybe it was because of the decline in his academic work. Maybe he'd done something to offend. Maybe-- He shook the thoughts away, walked to a cell door, and stood waiting till the guard touched the release button. * * * * * As Stan tossed his books on his bunk, Jak Holme raised his head and looked across the cell. "More of them books?" "Yeah." Stan nodded. "Still trying to find out about this planet." "You trying to be some kinda big politician when you get out?" Holme snorted. "Tell you, be better you try mixing with the guys, 'stead of pushing 'em around with that fancy talk, making 'em jump now and then, see. You get along with 'em, you'll see. They'll tell you all you need. Be working with some of 'em, too, remember?" "Oh, I don't try to push anybody around." Stan perched on his bunk. "Doesn't hurt anyone to study, though." "Oh, sure." Holme grimaced. "Do you a lot of good, too. Guy's working on some production run, it helps a lot he knows why all them big guys in the history books did them things, huh?" He laughed derisively. "Sure it does! What they want, you should make that fabricator spit out nice parts, see?" He swelled his chest. "Now me, I got my mind on my business, see. I get out of here, I oughta make out pretty good." He looked around the cell. "Didn't get no parole, see, so I get all the training. Real good trained machinist now, and I'm gonna walk out of here clean. Get a job down at the space-yards. "Machinist helper, see? Then, soon's I been there a while, I'll get my papers and go contract machinist. Real good money. Maybe you'd do better, you try that." * * * * * From the lower bunk, Big Carl Marlo laughed softly. "Sure, kid, sure. You got it all made, huh? Pretty quick, you own Janzel Equipment, huh? Hah! Know what happens, you go outside? "Sure, they give you a job. Like you said, helper. They pay enough you get a pad and slop to keep you alive. That's all you get." "Aw, now listen!" Holme started up. Marlo wagged his head. "You go for papers, see? Naw! Got no papers for jailbirds. Staffman'll give you the word. He gets through pushing you around, you go back, 'counta you don't know nothing else." He laughed shortly. "Gopher, that's you. You go fer this, and you go fer that. Slop and a pad you get." He swung out of his bunk. "Oh, sure, maybe they put you on a fabricator. Even let you set it up for 'em. But that don't get you no extra pins." Holme shook his head. "Councilor gave me the word," he said stubbornly. "They need good machinists." "Yeah." Marlo nodded. "Sure, they want graduates down at Talburg. But they ain't paying 'em for no contract machinist when they can keep 'em as helpers." He turned. "Ain't that right, Pete?" Karzer looked up from a bag he was packing.