Skid Row Pilot By Randall Garrett Flunking a physical was the greatest worry a space pilot had. It was the one worry Kendall never bothered about--until he landed on Mars.... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy August 1957 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Ted Kendall waited with thinly-concealed impatience in the unheated outer office of Mars' branch of Space Service, cursing the red tape that kept him anchored on this cold, miserable pebble of a planet. "We'll have that analysis in just a moment, Pilot Kendall," came the voice from the inner office. "Please be patient." "I'll try," Kendall growled bitterly. Actually, he thought, it was his own fault. A spacepilot had to have a reflex checkup every six months, to determine whether or not he was still capable of the myriad split-second decisions that had to be made during the course of the Earth-Mars run. Kendall's six-month exam had been scheduled to fall due about four days after he left Earth for his present run. A midflight due-date of this sort gave him an option: he could take the test four days early, on Earth, or he could wait till the journey was completed and be tested at the Mars end of the run. He had chosen Mars, since otherwise he would have had to give up his assignment on the _Queen Alexandra_ and wait to draw another. He was in good health, his reflexes were fine, and he didn't expect to hit any snags on the Mars end. _Not much_, he thought. He rose and walked toward the door. "How's that machine of yours coming?" "We're still computing your curve, Pilot Kendall. It'll take just another moment or two." Frowning, he took his seat again. He hadn't looked for this sort of trouble on Mars. The Martian branch of Space Service didn't work with the same smooth efficiency as the Earth office. There, you walked in, let the computer run you over, and in ten minutes your license was stamped for another six-month extension. Here things worked differently. It had taken him two days just to get an appointment--two days in which he wandered through Mars City, lonely and bitter, shuddering in the biting cold and feeling homesick for Earth and Kathy and good warm air with some oxygen in it. Then he had his exam--and, unaccountably, they requested him to return the next day for a re-test. A re-test? What the devil for? When Kendall had returned, he had been shivering not only with the cold of Mars but with apprehension. He looked at his hands. They seemed to be steady. Were his reflexes wearing out? Was he washed-up as a spacepilot? He didn't know. The machine was going to tell him that soon enough.