"_These are your permanent quarters. You will occupy them immediately. Then, if you believe the location is wasteful of your time, you must petition the appropriate committee. This department cannot accept such a petition._" * * * * * "_Your petition to be permitted to purchase a private means of conveyance is hereby denied._" * * * * * The big man leaned far back in the battered desk chair. It creaked at worn joints, but touched the wall without sliding from under its enormous load. The man was silent through Craig's long, confused speech. By turns he examined his fingernails, picked at yellowed teeth, and stared above his head at the discolored ceiling. "... but you can get all this from ISS, maybe even from Import, if they'll release my file," Craig argued. "Uh-huh," the big man said between closed lips. "I just made a mistake, that's all. You don't hear much about Terra out there. It was different in my father's day. It must have been different." "Yeah." "I haven't any character references on Terra, but I can post a good-sized bond if they'll release my ISS units." The space-freight agent glanced up at Craig at the remark. "Anyway, I can get my units anywhere ISS has a base," Craig continued. "I can handle anything up to 15 Gs acceleration without a new license. I can go heavier if I get a check ride." The fat man leaned forward in the protesting chair. "You got everything, but you can't go. I can't hire you." "Why not?" "Look, kid--Craig, is it?--how long you been in?" "Four days. I'm still working on my work clearances." "Four days. You tried Intergalactic to see if they'd take you back?" "Yes. Their hands are tied by my Terran contract." "And ours aren't, eh?" The man rose from the desk and walked to a water tap. He popped a pill into his gaping mouth and drank from a tin cup. Then he returned to the inadequate chair. "So you're a spaceman. Flight officer--_ex_-flight officer. You know how to navigate through four star zones and the asteroid belt thrown in. You got a license for 15 Gs, could get five more. You got enough brains to pass Import's senior router's exam. "Still, you ain't got enough sense to come in out of the rain!" Craig sat upright in his chair. "We get guys like you two, three a day. You're hot. You're big. You're rarin' to go. But you ain't goin' nowhere!" Craig glared at the big man. "I don't know how you got here, Craig. It ain't none of my business. Maybe you did quit honorable. Quit to follow your daddy's footsteps. Or maybe you went and burned up a colony somewhere!" "That would be in my records, wouldn't it?" Craig challenged.