normal, although to the casual eye he was a typical
representative of the Medico-Technological Civilization, long
legged, fair haired, and short bodied with the typical Betan
squint that left his eyes mere slits behind thick lashes and
heavy brows. The difference was internal rather than external.

Possibly it was due to the fact that his father was the commander
of a Shortliner and most of his formative years had been spent in
space. To Kennon, accustomed to the timeless horror of hyper
space, all planets were good, broad open places where a man could
breathe unfiltered air and look for miles across distances
unbroken by dually bulk heads and safety shields. On a planet
there were spaciousness and freedom and after the claustrophobic
confinement of a hyper ship any world was paradise. Kennon
sighed, finished his letters, and placed them in the mail chute.
Perhaps, this time, there would be a favorable reply.

CHAPTER II

Kennon was startled by the speed with which his letters were
answered. Accustomed to the slower pace of Beta he had expected a
week would elapse before the first reply, but within twenty-four
hours nine of his twelve inquiries were returned. Five expressed
the expected "Thank you but I feel that your asking salary is a
bit high in view of your lack of experience." Three were frankly
interested and requested a personal interview. And the last was
the letter, outstanding in its quietly ostentatious folder-the
reply from Box V-9.

"Would Dr. Kennon call at 10 A.M. tomorrow at the offices of