d achieve a
Class I status. However, a Class II planet had some advantages. What it
lacked in conveniences it made up in opportunities and elbow room.

A normal Betan would have despised this world, but Kennon wasn't 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
Outworld Enterprises Incorporated and bring this letter and suitable
identifications?" Kennon chuckled. Would he? There was no question about
it. The address, 200 Central Avenue, was only a few blocks away. In
fact, he could see the building from his window, a tall functional block
of durilium and plastic, soaring above the others on the street, the
sunlight gleaming off its clean square lines. He eyed it curiously,
wondering what he would find inside.

* * *

The receptionist took his I.D. and the letter, scanned them briefly,
and slipped them into one of the message tubes beside her desk. "It will
only be a moment, Doctor," she said impersonally. "Would you care to sit
down? '"

"Thank you