Kennon chuckled wryly. He'd better get the job before he started
spending the money he didn't have. He had 231 credits plus a few
halves, tenths, and hundredths, a diploma in veterinary medicine,
some textbooks, a few instruments, and a first-class spaceman's
ticket. By watching his expenses he had enough money to live here
for a month and if nothing came of his efforts to find a job on
this planet, there was always his spaceman's ticket and another
world.

Another world! There were over six thousand planets in the
Brotherhood of Man. At two months per planet, not figuring
transit time, it would take more than a thousand Galactic
Standard years to visit them all, and a man could look forward to
scarcely more than five hundred at best. The habitat of Man had
become too large. There wasn't time to explore every possibility.

But a man could have certain standards, and look until he found a
position that fitted. The trouble was - if the standards were too
high the jobs were too scarce. Despite the chronic shortage of
veterinarians throughout the Brotherhood, there was a peculiar
reluctance on the part of established practitioners to welcome
recent graduates. Most of the ads in the professional journals
read "State salary desired," which was nothing more than economic
blackmail - a bald-faced attempt to get as much for as little as
possible. Kennon grimaced wryly. He'd be damned if he'd sell his
training for six thousand a year. Slave labor, that's what it
was. There were a dozen ads like that in the Journal. Well, he'd
give them a trial, but he'd ask eight thousand and full GEA
benefits. Eight years of school and two more as an intern were
worth at least that.