"I have but one objection to hiring a man like you," said Jerimick. "You'll prove an excellent worker--and in forty days you'll tire of it and go to wandering again." "I can't answer that." "I can. You've never had a woman thrown your way. Some day one will come along and tie you down, and the whole planet will be better off for it. You're the type that we worry about." "Why?" asked Maynard innocently. "You--and all your kind--are restless. You are always searching for something you can not find. I don't know what it is, but what you seek does not exist." "You mean we're looking for something nonexistent?" "I do." "That's strange. After all, I've met my kind. They all seem intelligent. No intelligent man would search the world over for something that did not exist. Or is my logic false?" "Sounds reasonable. Yet you explain it. I know your type. I've dealt with people for ten kilodays. I've consulted the brainiest psychiatrists on Ertene, and they agree with me. Your type," said Jerimick, "is restless. You are quick of mind, and sure of yourselves save for this unrest. You can turn your hands to any trade, and prosper, yet no trade offers you the outlet you seek. I'll wager my income for the next kiloday that you'll repair my instruments in record time--and wager the next kiloday's income that you have never seen their like before. You have an ability to visualize hidden details of operation and apply a sort of rule-thumb logic to them and make them work. And when you've discovered that your logic is good, you seek a more complex problem. "I'm going to make a serious admission, Gomanar. I believe that your kind of man would be better off if Ertene joined Sol's System." That stunned Guy. "I'd keep that idea beneath my skull," said Maynard. "I know. I shall. It was merely hypothetical. I'm certain that it will go no farther. Besides, such a rash move would most certainly be bad for the great majority of us, though your kind might prosper." "I'd really hate to see such a thing happen," said Guy. "And that statement, I believe, is the voice of education, of training, of conditioning. I doubt that you really know what is good for you!" "We'll never know," said Maynard. "No, please God," said Jerimick, fervently. "But both of us have work to do." He scribbled on a printed form, filling out less than one quarter of the spaces, and handed it to Guy. "Through that door and to your right. The medical examiner will O.K. you first, and then you'll be sent direct to your job. Luck, Gomanar." "Thank you," replied Guy, worrying slightly about the examiner. He discovered that the examination was as sketchy as the filled-in hiring-form. Within an hour he was seated at a bench with tools and equipment before him, and was whistling a cheery but tuneless melody as he delved into the insides of a small traffic-control that must be intended for local flier-traffic. And so Guy Maynard came to Ertene. XVI.