e hadn't been much to look at to begin with. And the mottled
purple of the distended veins and capillaries did little to improve his
looks.

But his ruined face was a badge of honor, and Kerry Brand knew the fact
as well as anyone.

Like St. Simon, Captain Brand was a professional anchor-setter. Most of
the men who put in the necessary two years went on to better jobs after
they had the required space experience. But there were some who liked
the job and stuck with it. It was only these men--the real experts among
the anchor-setting fraternity--who rated the title of "Captain". They
were free-lancers who ran things pretty much their own way.

"Just going to the checker?" St. Simon asked.

Kerry Brand shook his head. "I've already checked in, old sanctus. And
I'll give you three and one-seventh guesses who got a blue ticket."

St. Simon said nothing, but he pointed a finger at Brand's chest.

"A mild surmise, but a true one," said Brand. "You are, indeed, gazing
upon Professor Kerry Brand, B.A., M.A., Ph.D.--that is to say, Borer of
Asteroids, Master of Anchors, and Planetoid-hauler De-luxe. No, no;
don't look sorry for me. _Some_body has to teach the tadpoles How To
Survive In Space If You're Not Too Stupid To Live--a subject upon which
I am an expert."

"On Being Too Stupid To Live?" St. Simon asked gently.

"A touch! A distinct touch! You are developing a certain unexpected vein
of pawky humor, Watson, against which I must learn to guard myself." He
looked at the watch on his wrist. "Why don't you go ahead and check in,
and then we'll go pub-crawling. I have it on good authority that a few
thousand gallons of Danish ale were piped aboard Pallas yesterday, and
you and I should do our best to reduce the surplus."

"Sounds good to me," said St. Simon agreeably. They started on toward
the checker's office.

"Consider, my dear St. Simon," said Brand, "how fortunate we are to be
living in an age and a society where the dictum, 'Those who can, do;
those who can't, teach,' no longer holds true. It means that we weary,
work-hardened experts are called in every so often, handed our little
blue ticket, and given six months off--_with_ pay--if we will only do
the younger generation the favor of pounding a modicum of knowledge into
their heads. During that time, if we are very careful, we can try to
prevent our muscles from going to flab and our brains from corroding
with ennui, so that when we again debark into the inf