Captain Billy Enright took a deep breath and grinned. "No, gentlemen, my delay was legal, not technical. They slipped me eighteen months, by the time they'd finished adding up the charges. I was not gallivanting, I was doing time at what they please to call 'Educational Labor.'"

Everybody looked a bit slack-jawed. Commodore Hogan leaped in front of Billy Enright and waved a finger under his nose.

"Of all of the incredibly fantastic—" his voice failed. He took charge of himself. "You sent a radio message?" he asked calmly.

"Yes. The whole thing is coming in via radio."

"And you expect us to swallow this bucket of foul fish unsupported for the next fifteen years? I suggest that you spend the intervening time in jail so we'll know where to send our apologies."

"Won't be necessary," smiled Billy Enright. "I've proof here." He dipped into his hip pocket and took out a small plastic folder. He flipped it open to display an ornate metal shield that glowed with some inner light completely beyond Earth science. He showed it around the conference table and then said, "Gentlemen, what they call 'Educational Labor' means just that. Due to my incarceration for eighteen months, I have qualified for the position of Sector Patrolman. And so help me, the first man that tries deep space without qualifying for a license gets heaved into the clink. And whether or not this Human Race is going to be permitted to colonize our nearer stars depends only upon how fast we cotton to the idea of becoming a junior member of the Galactic Council.

"Good day, gentlemen."

Sector Patrolman Billy Enright walked out of the Board amid a stunned silence. Home had never looked so good.

 Prev. P 9/9