specialize in any certain kind of work. One
year they'll be fascinated by sub-nucleonics, the next by horse racing.
Very erratic. Can't keep attention on any one thing. Heard of one once who
engaged in fishing and alcohol drinking. Brilliant mathematician, too. But
he'd only take a call once every three years or so."

"For a half million credits a crack, eh? You could live pretty well for
three years on that."

"Strangely enough," the navigator said thoughtfully, "they don't really
have any interest in money. If you'd ever met one, you'd know that the high
fee is sort of a penalty they mete out to everyone else for being so dumb."

"Well, one thing for sure," Hansen said, "if Bullard and Quemos are the
cream of the crop, I'm on the side of the Gypsies."

"Ah, youth!" the navigator said, "I, too, once had such dreams--"

* * * * *

"We'll see about the dreams," Hansen said, almost menacingly, "I didn't
spend six years in that damn school just to sit around in a pretty uniform
for the rest of my life."

"Oh, you'll get used to it. In fact, you'll like it after a while. The home
leaves. The fuss your friends will make over you when you step off the
ship. The regular and automatic promotions in grade with the extra gold
band added to your sleeve; the move from one outpost to an always larger
installation. You'll never do much, of course, but why should you? After
all, there aren't any moving parts."

* * * * *

Hansen cut the communicator off. He stood there for a moment, feeling
depressed and betrayed. Automatically he reached down and flicked imaginary
dust from his blue sleeve with its narrow solitary gold band. Ten minutes
later the Gypsy's ship signaled for landing.

The man who walked into Hansen's control room was hardly the ogre he had
been prepared for. He looked, Hansen was later to reflect, like Santa Claus
with muscles in place of the fat. Wearing an almost unheard of beard and
dressed in rough clothes, he walked across the room and made short work of
the usual formalities. "Name's Candle," said the man. "Where's those two
phonies I'm supposed to replace?"

"You'll have to go suit up and go back through the airlock," Hansen said,
motioning to the door. "They're in their ship. It's the one next to yours.
Want me to tell them you're on your way over?"

"Hell, no," said Candle, grinning, "I'll surprise 'em. Now, suppose you and
me sit down