"They're only obvious when you know what you're looking for," Sims said gently. "Personally, I think you did an excellent job, considering the handicaps you have faced. And the discovery of the vorkum was masterly." Lanceford blushed. "I hate to admit it, but Kron literally shoved the stuff down my throat." "I didn't mean the _method_ by which you learned that vorkum was the stuff we've been searching for," Sims said. "I meant the _results_ you obtained. Results are what count in this business. Call it luck if you wish, but there is more to it than that. Some people are just naturally lucky and those are the sort we need here. They're survival types. A lot is going to depend on having those so-called lucky people in the right places when we settle Niobe's status in the Confederation." He paused as the message tube beside his desk burped a faint hiss of compressed air and a carrier dropped out into the receiving basket. "Somehow I think that this is your membership card to the club," he said. He read it, smiled, and passed the sheet to Lanceford. "And now, Arthur, before I appoint you as a Niobe Staff member, I'd like to know one thing." "What is that, sir?" "Just why in the name of hell did you bring that pack in here with you? I've just realized where that smell is coming from!" "I didn't dare leave it anywhere," Lanceford said. "Someone might have thrown it down a disposal chute." "I wouldn't blame them. That's vorkum you have in there, isn't it?" Lanceford nodded. "Yes, sir. I didn't want to lose it." "Why not? We can always get more from the natives if we need it." "I know that, sir. _We_ can, but this is all _I'll_ get for the next six months, and if I ration myself carefully, it might last that long. You see, sir, it's mildly habit-forming--like cigarettes--and one gets accustomed to it. And besides, you really don't know what flavor is until you've tried vorkum on chocolate." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Survival Type, by J.F. Bone