r membership. As a result, they become rather nasty about this
exclusion, and devote themselves to warring against any Federation ship
that comes within range. You'd call them pirates, I think. Anyway, the
Federation Patrol keeps them pretty well in hand, but occasionally, the
Blues--that's our nickname for them since all their ships are blue--do
manage to waylay a ship or raid a Federation planet. So naturally,
every ship must carry suitable armament; the standard equipment is an
R-37ax computor missile--even more complicated for an applicant to
manufacture than the reactor fuel. Therefore we provide a sample
missile along with our blessings. The rest is up to the applicant.

_Humper:_ And the last part of the test?

_Keeter:_ Oh, that's genetic. We require a specimen, a woman from the
applicant's world. She's taken to a Federation laboratory, evaluated
genetically, physiologically, psychologically. Our people are able to
extrapolate the future racial--and to some degree cultural--development
of the entire planet after about two weeks works. Needless to say, the
entire process of testing is painless; the subject is made as
comfortable as possible. And after the test period, the specimen is
returned as quickly as possible to her home world.

_Humper:_ Well, now, don't you think--after what you've seen of
us--that we might possibly qualify, at least qualify to take the test?
I'm sure you'll be surprised--

_Keeter:_ Oh, no you don't! I've fulfilled whatever obligation I had by
answering your questions. That was the agreement, remember? Information
in exchange for the transistors. Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me--

Keeter allowed himself to be delivered back to the ship in a staff car.
Beemish and several others were on hand to see him off. He shook hands
all around--a custom which amused him immensely, since the same act
meant something tremendously different in most other parts of the
universe.

Back in the ship, he walked to his cabin, stripped off his clothes,
showered, ate, dressed again. Going into the control room, he checked a
number of detectors, found no evidence that any Blues were hunting for
him, left the control room and walked back to a supply room.

Here, he selected a plastic vacuum solenoid from a rack, hefted it in
one hand for a moment, then deliberately let it drop to the floor. He
picked it up, squinted at it, then walked out to the airlock.

General Beemish was delighted. Everyone wa