," he said. The minute, reflected, could easily be an hour. But
she was right. It was only a minute until the message tube clicked
and popped a capsule onto the girl's desk. She opened it, and removed
Kennon's I.D. and a small yellow plastic rectangle. Her eyes widened at
the sight of the plastic card.

"Here you are, Doctor. Take shaft number one. Slip the card into the
scanner slot and you'll be taken to the correct floor. The offices you
want will be at the end of the corridor to the left. You'll find any
other data you may need on the card in case you get lost." She looked at
him with a curious mixture of surprise and respect as she handed him the
contents of the message tube.

Kennon murmured an acknowledgment, took the card and his I.D., and
entered the grav-shaft. There was the usual moment of heaviness as
the shaft whisked him upward and deposited him in front of a thickly
carpeted corridor.

Executive level, Kennon thought as he followed the receptionist's
directions. No wonder she had looked respectful. But what was he doing
here? The employment of a veterinarian wasn't important enough to demand
the attention of a senior executive. The personnel section could handle
the details of his application as well as not. He shrugged. Perhaps
veterinarians were more important on Kardon. He didn't know a thing
about this world's customs.

He opened the unmarked door at the end of the corridor, entered a small
reception room, smiled uncertainly at the woman behind the desk, and
received an answering smile in return.

Come right in, Dr. Kennon. Mr. Alexander is waiting for you.

Alexander! The entrepreneur himself! Why? Numb with surprise Kennon
watched the woman open the intercom on her desk.

"Sir, Dr. Kennon is here," she said.

"Bring him in," a smooth voice replied from the speaker. Alexander X. M.
Alexander, President of Outsold Enterprises--a lean, dark, wolfish man
in his early sixties--eyed Kennon with a flat predatory intentness that
was oddly disquieting. His stare combined the analytical inspection
of the pathologist, the probing curiosity of the psychiatrist, and the
weighing appraisal of the butcher. Kennon's thoughts about Alexander's
youth vanished that instant. Those eyes belonged to a leader on the
battlefield of galactic business.

Kennon felt the conditioned respect for authority surge through him in
a smothering wave. Grimly he fought it down, knowing it was a sign of
weakness that would do