, and
spacemen. That would have included you, Captain Hunter, but you say
you've left the service."

Hunter gritted his teeth. It had been like this for as long as he
could remember. Whenever he returned from a long flight there was
always a new form of regimentation to adjust to. And always for the
same reason--to stop the steadily rising incidence of psychotic
maladjustment.

"How does the law define an executive?" Hunter asked.

"Job bracket with one of the cartels," the clerk replied. "Or the
total credits held on deposit with a recognized fund."

The captain flung his savings book on the counter. The clerk glanced
at the balance and X'ed out the last word he had typed on the customs
form.

"You qualify, sir--with a thousand credits to spare. I'll give you a
city-wide clearance as an executive. But I can only make it
temporary. You'll have to check once each week with the U.F.W. office.
If your balance drops below ninety-five thousand, you'll be
reclassified."

The clerk ran another celluloid card--this time it was blue--through
the stamping machine and passed it across to Hunter. Captain Hunter
picked up his bag and entered the customs booth, which by that time
was empty. The probe lights glowed from the walls and ceiling,
efficiently X-raying his bag and his clothing for any prohibited
imports. Within seconds the alarm bell clanged and the metal doors
banged shut, imprisoning Hunter in the booth.

Now what? he asked himself. What regulation had he violated this time?
In his mind he inventoried the contents of his bag. It contained only
a handful of personal belongings, and the tools of trade which he had
needed as a captain of a fighting ship. Everything was legitimate and
above-board. Hunter hadn't even brought Ann a souvenir from the
frontier.

* * * * *

After a time, the booth door swung open. A senior inspector, carrying
a blaster, crowded into the cubicle.

"Open your bag!" The inspector commanded, motioning with his weapon.

Hunter saw that the blaster dial was set to fire the death charge, not
the weaker dispersal charge which produced only an hour's paralysis.

Hunter thumbed the photocell lock. It responded to the individual
pattern of his thumbprint, and the bag fell open. The inspector picked
up the worn blaster which lay under Hunter's shipboard uniform.

"Smuggling firearms, Captain, is a violation of the city code. The
fine is--"

"Smuggling?" Hunte