ew people to go out and drown themselves, right now." He
grinned ruefully.

"Only one trouble. I can't. Probably just a lot of rumor, anyway."

But there was something behind those stories of the Special Corps, he
was sure. They didn't get official publicity, but there were pages of
history that seemed somehow incomplete. There must have been someone
around with a lot more than the usual ability to get things done, but
whoever he had been, he was never mentioned.

He shrugged and turned away from the washstand.

"Hope that bell rings pretty soon," he told himself. "I'd better get
chow and go to work before I really go nuts."

[Illustration]

A demonstrator had the back off from one of the big Lambert-Howell
sprayers. As the man started to point out a feed assembly, another
prisoner stepped directly in front of Graham.

Stan shook his head impatiently and moved aside. Again, the man was in
front of him, blocking his view. Again, Stan moved.

The third time the man blocked his view, Stan touched his shoulder.

"Hey, Chum," he said mildly, "how about holding still a while. The
rest of us would sort of like to see, too."

For several seconds, the other froze. Then he whirled, to present a
scowling face.

"Who you pushing around, little rat? Keep your greasy paws to
yourself, see." He turned again, then took a sudden, heavy step back.

Stan moved his foot aside and the man's heel banged down on the stone
floor. For a heartbeat, Stan regarded the fellow consideringly, then
he shook his head.

"Stay in orbit, remember?" he told himself. He moved aside, going to
the other side of the group around the fabricator.

Now he remembered the man. Val Vernay had been working on the
fabricators when Stan had come to the shop.

Somehow, he had never run an acceptable program, but he hung around
the demonstrations, unable to comprehend the explanations--resentful
of those who showed aptitude.

He glanced aside as Stan moved, then pushed his way across until he
was again in front of the smaller man. Stan sighed resignedly.

Again, the heavy foot crashed toward the rear. This time, the
temptation was too great. Deftly, Stan swung his toe through a small
arc, sweeping Vernay's ankle aside and putting the man off balance.

He moved quickly away, further trapping the ankle and getting clear of
the flailing arms.

For a breathless instant, Vernay tried to hop on one foot, his arms
windmilling as he fought to regain his b