d Tom.

"Yeah, but--" whined Bush.

"I'm sorry," said Tom, standing up. "Your application has been
rejected."

Bush stood up and snatched the application from Tom. His mouth began to
twitch furiously. "Why, you little--"

"That's enough, Bush!" snapped Vidac, who had suddenly entered the room.
"Leave your application on the desk and get out!"

Bush turned and looked at Vidac, nodded, and glared at Tom before
stalking from the room. Vidac smiled at Tom's questioning look and
walked over. He sat on the edge of Tom's desk and picked up Bush's
application.

"Funny thing about Bush, Tom," Vidac mused.

"What, sir?" asked Tom.

"Notice the nervous twitch he has on the side of his face?"

"Yes, sir," said Tom.

"I've known Bush a long time. Many years. He used to be the happiest
little space joker in the system, singing all the time, playing a
concertina. And then he lost that credit pouch. It bothered him real
bad."

"I guess it would, sir," said Tom.

"And then he got caught blasting off with false papers and of course
that made him a marked man. He developed the nervous twitch right after
that. He's a good man, Tom. And I think we ought to give him another
chance."

[Illustration]

Tom gasped. "But, sir, he's broken the space code!"

Vidac looked at Tom and smiled. "I know, Tom, and it's a serious thing.
But I think he deserves another chance."

"We've refused people for a lot less than that, sir," said Tom
emphatically, "before you came."

Vidac's face hardened. "I said we were going to give him another
chance!"

Tom met the lieutenant governor's eyes coolly. "Yes, sir." He stamped
the application and handed it to Vidac.

"It's pretty easy to sit in judgment of others, Tom," said Vidac,
smiling again. "If there are any more--ah--questionable applicants, I
suggest you send them to me. And if I want to give them another chance,
you will, of course, follow orders."

"Very well, sir," replied Tom, tight-lipped. "If you say so."

Vidac's eyes hardened. "_I say so_, Corbett!" He turned and walked from
the room.

Tom sat down weakly. As he was about to buzz for the next applicant, the
door burst open and Roger came into the room. The blond-haired cadet's
lips were pulled tight in a grim line.

"There's something rocket-blasting screwy around here, Tom!" he
exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"I just rejected a real low-down space crawler--a guy named Tad
Winters."

"Yes?" Tom was ale