Gregg, Murphy reflected, looked as if he had been taken apart and put together again. There were lines in his face: not lines that came from facial muscles, but the clean-cut lines of a surgeon's scalpel--lines that divided his face into small sections. And the flesh from his forehead to his chin did not change shade gradually. Each section was a slightly different shade than the section next to it. Not a hideous effect, but noticeable when you looked at him closely. Gregg was evidently conscious of his appearance, for he stayed in the shadows as much as possible. Gregg glanced around the room and grinned. "How do you like your quarters? Fancy, huh?" "Great," Murphy said. "Almost as good as the Ritz. Are we the only passengers?" Gregg nodded his head affirmatively. "We had to leave in a hurry. We were scheduled to take more men back, but the Antarians were about to take over that port. We were lucky to get out when we did." Gregg hesitated, then went on, "You guys are going to have a tough job when you get back. Not as easy as you might think. I know. I was in the infantry for a while--in a training outfit. Hard work." He placed some papers on the table. "Here's your homework." "Homework?" Hank repeated. "It's the newest thing," Gregg explained. "They figure that men who've been in combat with the Antarians can train recruits better than men back on Earth who've never even seen the Antarians. The plan is to train men like yourselves on the way back to Earth. No time wasted. That is, they plan to teach you how to train others. We have a colonel and a couple lieutenants aboard. You fill out those papers and they'll judge your knowledge of military procedure. Then they'll know exactly how much they'll have to teach you." When Gregg left, Murphy examined the papers. As Gregg said, the papers were a test of their knowledge of military procedure. There were yes and no questions: questions such as _Describe procedure to infiltrate enemy lines_, _Describe procedure for establishing night patrols_, _Describe alternate code system_. Hundreds of questions. And an aerial map. The question: _Give the approximate location of Fort Johnson._ And in small print at the bottom, the notation that this was a test of memory and ability to judge distance. "Look at this, Hank." Hank studied the map and question. "That's easy," he said. "I was stationed at Fort Johnson. There's Salt Lake. See? Fort Johnson is about--" "I said _look_, not _talk_!" Murphy rose and glared at Hank. "You're stupid," he added. "What's the matter with you?" Hank inquired, his jaw sagging.