The door opened. A white-smocked computer technician wearing the comet-insignia of Space Service came out, frowning uneasily and riffling a sheaf of papers. Kendall stood up. "It's about time; I'd like to get going on my return run. Where's my license?" The technician stared at him strangely for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kendall. I can't give you your license. The computer shows that you're no longer fit to pilot a spacegoing vessel." * * * * * For an instant Kendall didn't react. Then it hit him. The technician had called him _Mr._ Kendall instead of _Pilot_ Kendall. That meant only one thing. He blinked and shook his head. "You're kidding. This is some kind of joke. I never felt better in my life." "I'm just doing my job, Mr. Kendall. The computer says no--and I can't argue. I'll have to refuse you an extension of your certificate." "But that means--hell, man, the _Alexandra's_ due to blast off for Earth tonight! How--" "We've already alerted an off-duty pilot to take your place, Mr. Kendall." Numbly he said, "And how do I get back to Earth then? Hitchhike?" "There's room on the passenger list of the _Queen Alexandra_, Mr. Kendall. The fee is--let me see--eight thousand dollars." "Eight thous--" He stopped. As a cashiered-out spaceman he was entitled to a fat pension: five thousand a year for the rest of his life. But eight thousand right now would wipe out his savings, would-- No. Sudden rage surged through him. "Dammit, let me see those papers! This is a fake! Somebody wants me out of the Service, that's all! Six months ago I had a perfect test!" The clerk smoothly put the papers behind his back. "I'm sorry, regulations forbid--" "To hell with regulations! I'm going to be thrown out, do you understand? I want to see those test results!" "It's imposs--" Kendall leaped. The clerk went wide-eyed in astonishment as the burly spaceman sprang for him. He jumped back, and Kendall landed just before him. Kendall ripped a fist up from his knees and smashed it into the man's jaw, taking out all his fury and resentment on the harmless clerk. The pale man crumpled and sagged backward, mouthing stunned syllables. Kendall hit him again and he fell. "I want those papers!" He jumped forward atop the man, tried to turn him over, get the computer reports still clutched in the technician's hand. Blind rage swept over him. The clerk, dazed and near unconsciousness, hung on to them grimly. Kendall felt hands dig into his shoulderblades. "Get off him," someone growled. A knee thudded against his back, sending showers of sparks before his eyes. "Get up!" He was dragged to his feet. Three powerful-looking Martian policemen stood over him, fingering heavy wooden truncheons ominously. "What's the trouble here?" one of them asked. He was a blueskin nearly seven feet tall. He must have weighed three hundred pounds, and it was all muscle. "Someone's trying to swindle me--" Kendall began.