Pandit caught the fanatic's wiry arm and brought it behind his scrawny
back in a hammerlock. "Leave her alone," he said. "If you try that
again, I'll break your arm."

The fanatic looked at Pandit with hate in his eyes, but stepped back and
stood to one side mouthing invective.

The girl, who was about twenty-five years old, had a livid mark on her
arm. She wore loin cloth and shawl, the usual garb. She was, Pandit
observed for the first time, quite pretty.

"Thank you," she said. "I--I'm not sure I like working for the
outworlders. But I need the money."

"Don't we all," Pandit told her. "But we're not hired yet. I am Pandit
Gandhi Menon."

"Sria Krishna," the girl said, smiling at him. "What sort of work is
it?"

"Don't you know, Sria Krishna?"

The girl shook her head and Pandit said: "Actually, I guess I don't
know, either. But there are rumors the outworlders want jet-pilots. Not
for rocketry. For jets. To fly to the Empty Places."

* * * * *

"The Empty Places? Why?"

Pandit shrugged. "Because they are empty, perhaps. Because they are too
dry and too arid to support life. Because Denebian Export can claim
whatever it found there, for free export. So go the rumors. But surely
you can't pilot a jet."

"Can you?"

"Yes," Pandit said promptly with a faint show of pride.

"My father taught me. I want to thank you for what--"

"Nothing. Anyone in my position would have done it. This rabble--"

The rabble was still noisy. Occasionally they hurled offal at the
stragglers joining the rear of the long line. But Pandit and Sria
Krishna stood in the forefront, and presently the door opened. In a few
minutes Pandit watched the girl disappear inside. He waited nervously,
licking dry lips with a parched tongue. It was early morning, but
already very hot. He needed the work. Any work. He needed the money
which outworlders could pay so abundantly for honest work. He wondered
if the fanatic gurus ever thought of that. Then the door in front of him
opened again and a fat, unctuous-looking Ophiuchan came out. He seemed
to be an official of sorts.

"One more!" he said. "Only one! The rest of you begone."

Behind Pandit there was a general press of bodies, but he was first in
line and did not surrender his position. The unctuous-looking man
admitted him, half-expecting a bribe. Pandit passed him by; he didn't
have a single copper.

He approached a desk. The crowd noise outside wa