I wouldn’t be interested.”      

       “A spaceman’s ticket is a good thing to have,” Alexander said idly. “It’s a useful ace in the hole. Besides, you have had three other job offers—all of which are good even though they don’t pay fifteen Ems a year.”      

       Kennon did a quick double take. Alexander’s investigative staff was better than good. It was uncanny.     

       “But seriously, Dr. Kennon, I am pleased that you do not like that contract. Frankly, I wouldn’t consider employing you if you did.”      

       “Sir?”      

       “That contract is a screen. It weeds out the careless, the fools, and the unfit in one operation. A man who would sign a thing like that has no place in my organization.” Alexander chuckled at Kennon’s blank expression. “I see you have had no experience with screening contracts.”      

       “I haven’t,” Kennon admitted. “On Beta the tests are formal. The Medico-Psych Division supervises them.”      

       “Different worlds, different methods,” Alexander observed. “But they’re all directed toward the same goal. Here we aren’t so civilized. We depend more on personal judgment.” He took another contract from one of the drawers of his desk. “Take a look at this. I think you’ll be more satisfied.”      

       “If you don’t mind, I’ll read it now,” Kennon said.     

       Alexander nodded.     

       * * *     

       “It’s fair enough,” Kennon said, “except for Article Twelve.”      

       “The personal privilege section?     

       “Yes.”      

       “Well, that’s the contract. You can take it or leave it.”      

       “I’ll leave it,” Kennon said. “Thank you for your time.” He rose to his feet, smiled at Alexander, and turned to the door. “Don’t bother to call your receptionist,” he said. “I can find my way out.”      

       “Just a minute, Doctor,” Alexander said. He was standing behind the desk, holding out his hand.     

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