dn't like you the first time
I saw you, and you haven't done a thing to change that first
impression.

"Thought you had something funny about you, the way you've always
coddled the workmen. Looked as though you were running some sort of
popularity contest." Again, he punched his palm.

"And then, there were those suggestions of yours. Smart words--always
pushing the wrong people off balance, like other staffmen." The smile
became one-sided.

"You know, you haven't made yourself too popular around here. Not with
the people that count. I've been getting complaints.

"A good staffman doesn't act the way you do. Good man sees to it the
workers work. They don't have to like him--they just get on the job
when he's around. Know what'll happen if they slack off.

"And a good staffman leaves the thinking to guys that get paid to do
it. He follows established procedure."

He leaned close to Stan, frowning.

"What are you? Some kind of Federation plant?"

Abruptly, his right hand flashed out, to crash against Stan's cheek. A
heavy finger trailed across one eye, bringing a sudden spurt of tears.
The hand moved back, poised for a more solid blow.

Stan's head bounced back against the chair, then forward again.

[Illustration]

And the diffuse fury in him coalesced and burst into novalike flame.
It had a single target. It focused. He glared at the big man.

"Those hands," he snapped. "Get them to your side!

"Now, get over into that corner. Move when I tell you!"

For an instant, Wizow stood immobile. The frown faded, leaving the
heavy face empty.

He tried to raise his hand again, then gave a little sob of hopeless
rage and moved back, one slow, reluctant step at a time, until he was
wedged into a corner of the room.

"That's good," Stan told him. "Now stay there. And keep quiet."

He turned toward Mauson.

"You. Turn off that gravito unit. Then sit still."

He pushed himself out of the chair as the constraining force was
removed.

"Now," he growled, "you can kick it in again. Give it a little power,
too, while you're at it." He wheeled around.

"All right," he snapped at Wizow, "turn around. Get into that chair."

He watched as the big body was pressed into the cushions. Wizow's face
showed strain. Stan went around Mauson's desk.

"I said a little power." He reached down and gave the gravito control
an abrupt twist.

Wizow's mouth popped open, agony showing in his eyes. Stan grinned
tightly and eased