is find your way around."
"I have? Do you really think...."
"Sure. Look, there's a lot of antique big-timers around, see. Theseold guys figure they need some guy can push the mugs. Pay real good,too, and they couldn't care less you're a graduate. Maybe makes iteven better, see. You get in with one of those old guys, you got itmade. All legit, too. Oughta look into that, you get out."
Stan smiled. "The first day I was on this planet, they went through mybags while I was out looking over the town. They found a paper knifeand a couple of textbooks." He shrugged.
"So I came back to the hotel and someone hit me with a flasher. I cameto in a cell." He glanced around.
"Somebody finally told me they'd given me two to five years forcarrying a dangerous weapon and subversive literature. Now what wouldI get if I went out and really messed some guy up?"
Marlo waved a hand carelessly.
"Depends on who you work for," he declared. "You got the right boss,you get a bonus. Worse the guy's gaffed, the bigger the payoff, see?"
Stan reached for his bag of toilet articles.
"That's legitimate?"
"Sure." Mario smiled expansively. "Happens all the time. Even the bigoutfits need musclers. Staffmen, see? Sorta keep production up.
"Lot of guys get real big jobs that way. Start out, they're StaffAssistance Specialists, like they roust the mugs when they got to.Then pretty quick, they're all dressed up fancy, running things. Realgood deal." He shrugged.
"Need a heavy man once in a while, even in my business. Like maybesome guy's got a good pad, he doesn't want a lot of prowlers shakingup the neighbors. You know, gets the law too close, and a guy can'twork so good with a lot of joes hanging around. Might even decide tomake a search, then where'd you be?" He spread his hands.
"But there's some Johnny Raw, keeps coming around. And maybe this is apretty rough boy, you can't get on him personal, see. So the onlyanswer, you get some good heavy guy to teach this ape some ethics.Lotta staffmen pick up extra pins this way."
"I think I get the idea. But suppose the law gets into this deal?"
Marlo spread his hands. "Well, this is a civil case, see, so long asthe chump don't turn in his ticket. So, anything comes up, you put anambassador on the job. He talks to the determinators and the joesdon't worry you none. Just costs a little something, is all."
Pete looked up from his packing, a smile twisting his face.
"Only trouble, some of these big boys fall in love with their work.This can get real troublesome, like I pick up this five to ten thisway.
"See, they get this chump a couple too many. So, comes morning, he'sstill in the street. Real tough swinging a parole, too. I'm in heresince five years, remember? So I'm real careful where I get muscle anymore."
"Sounds interesting." Stan nodded thoughtfully.
"Great Space and all the little Nebulae," he said to himself. "Whatkind of a planet is this? Nothing in the histories about this sort ofthing." He walked over to the washstand.
"Some day," he promised himself, "I'm going to get out of here. Andwhen I do, I'll set up camp by Guard Headquarters. And I'll needlethose big brains till they do something about this."
There was, he remembered, one organization that should be able to domore than a little in a case like this. He smiled to himself ruefullyas he thought of the almost legendary stories he had heard about theFederation's Special Corps for Investigation.
As he remembered the stories, though, corpsmen seemed to appear fromnowhere when there was serious trouble. No one ever seemed to callthem in. No one even knew how to get in touch with them. He shrugged.
The men of the Special Corps, he remembered, were reputed to besomething in the superhuman line.
For a large part of his life, he had dreamed of working with them, buthe had been unable to find any way of so much as applying formembership in their select group. So, he'd done the next best thing.He'd gone into the Stellar Guard. And he'd lasted only a little morethan three years.
Somehow, he'd taken it from there. He was still a little hazy as tohow he'd managed to land in prison on Kell's planet. It had been amere stopover.
There had been no trial. Obviously, they had searched his luggage atthe hotel, but there had been no discussion. He'd simply been beamedinto unconsciousness.
After he'd gotten to Opertal, someone had told him the length of hissentence and they'd assigned him to the prison machine shop, to learna useful trade and the duties of a citizen of Kellonia.
He smiled wryly. They had taught him machinery. And they'd introducedhim to their culture. The trade was good. The culture--?
* * * * *
His memory slid back, past the prison--past the years in Kendall Hall,and beyond.
He was ten years old again.
It was a sunny day in a park and Billy Darfield was holding forth.
"Yeah," the boy was saying, "Dad told me about the time he met one ofthem. They look just like anyone else. Only, when things go wrong,there they are, just all at once. And when they tell you to dosomething, you've had it." He closed his eyes dreamily.
"Oh, boy," he said happily, "how I'd love to be like that! Wouldn't itbe fun to tell old Winant, 'go off some place and drown yourself'?"
Stan smiled incredulously. "Aw, I've heard a lot about the SpecialCorps, too. They've just got a lot of authority, that's all. They cancall in the whole Stellar Guard if they need 'em. Who's going to getwise with somebody that can do that?"
Billy shook his head positively. "Dad told me all about them, and heknows. He saw one of 'em chase a king right off his throne once.Wasn't anybody to help him, either. They've got all they need, all bythemselves. Just have to tell people, that's all."
* * * * *
With a jerk, Stan came to the present. He slopped water over hishands.
"Too bad I can't do something like that myself," he thought. "I'd liketo tell a few people to go out and drown themselves, right now." Hegrinned ruefully.
"Only one trouble. I can't. Probably just a lot of rumor, anyway."
But there was something behind those stories of the Special Corps, hewas sure. They didn't get official publicity, but there were pages ofhistory that seemed somehow incomplete. There must have been someonearound with a lot more than the usual ability to get things done, butwhoever he had been, he was never mentioned.
He shrugged and turned away from the washstand.
"Hope that bell rings pretty soon," he told himself. "I'd better getchow and go to work before I really go nuts."
A demonstrator had the back off from one of the big Lambert-Howellsprayers. As the man started to point out a feed assembly, anotherprisoner stepped directly in front of Graham.
Stan shook his head impatiently and moved aside. Again, the man was infront of him, blocking his view. Again, Stan moved.
The third time the man blocked his view, Stan touched his shoulder.
"Hey, Chum," he said mildly, "how about holding still a while. Therest of us would sort of like to see, too."
For several seconds, the other froze. Then he whirled, to present ascowling face.
"Who you pushing around, little rat? Keep your greasy paws toyourself, see." He turned again, then took a sudden, heavy step back.
Stan moved his foot aside and the man's heel banged down on the stonefloor. For a heartbeat, Stan regarded the fellow consideringly, thenhe shook his head.
"Stay in orbit, remember?" he told himself. He moved aside, going tothe other side of the group around the fabricator.
Now he remembered the man. Val Vernay had been working on thefabricators when Stan had come to the shop.
Somehow, he had never run an acceptable program, but he hung aroundthe demonstrations, unable to comprehend the explanations--resentfulof those who showed aptitude.
He glanced aside as Stan moved, then pushed his way across until hewas again in front of the smaller man. Stan sighed resignedly.
Again, the heavy
foot crashed toward the rear. This time, thetemptation was too great. Deftly, Stan swung his toe through a smallarc, sweeping Vernay's ankle aside and putting the man off balance.
He moved quickly away, further trapping the ankle and getting clear ofthe flailing arms.
For a breathless instant, Vernay tried to hop on one foot, his armswindmilling as he fought to regain his balance. Then he crashed to thefloor, his head banging violently against the stones.
Stan looked at the body in consternation. He had merely intended tomake the fellow look a little silly.
"Hope he's got a hard head," he told himself.
The workroom guard came up warily.
"What's all this?"
"I don't know, sir." Stan managed a vaguely puzzled look. "First thingI knew, he was swinging his arms all over the place. Then he wentdown. Maybe he had a fit, huh?"
"Yeah." The guard was sardonic. "Yeah, maybe he had a fit. Well, nomore trouble out of him for a while." He raised his voice.
"Hey, you over by the first-aid kit. Grab that stretcher."
Big Carl Marlo was in his bunk when Stan came into the cell. He lookedup with a grin.
"Hey, kid, you start at the top, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
"This Vernay, what else? Like I said, you start at the top. I didn'tthink you got it when I told you about the muscle racket. How'd I knowyou was already figuring something?" Marlo shook his head admiringly.
"Real nice job, too. You take it easy, set this chump up, and thereyou are. Only you get a real big fish. Think you can handle this guyagain?"
Stan blinked. "Look," he said, "punch in some more data, will you? Andrun it by real slow. I'm way off co-ordinates."
"Huh? What you--Oh, I get you." Marlo frowned.
"Now don't go telling me you don't know about this Vernay. Don't giveme you ain't figured how you can land a big job with Janzel Equipment.You know me--Big Carl. I don't talk, remember?" He looked at the blankexpression on Stan's face.
"Besides, there ain't a guy in the walls, don't figure this deal bynow. Man, you just don't know how many guys been watching thatVernay."
Stan walked across the cell and sat down on his bunk.
"Look," he said patiently, "let's just say I'm some stupid kid fromoff planet. Maybe I don't get things so well. Now, what's this allabout?"
Marlo shrugged. "So all right, but for some guy don't know what he'sdoing, you sure pick 'em pretty. Well, anyway, here's the layout.
"See, this guy, Vernay, is one of Janzel's big strong-arms. Real saltand butter guy. Been pushing them poor apes of theirs all over theplace, see. Don't know too much about the business, but they tell himsome mug's not putting out, Vernay goes over and bends the guy aroundhis machine a while, he should maybe work faster. See what I mean?"
Stan frowned distastefully and Marlo held up a hand.
"Oh, that's all right," he said. "This is what they pay this guy for.But he gets to like his work too well, know what I mean? So here awhile back, he gets on some machine tender. Leans all over this poorguy. Well, the fab nurse ends up turning in his tickets, and this, thejoes don't go for so good." He jerked a shoulder.
"Oh, Janzel tries to kill the squawk, but it's no go. The joes pushthe button and here's Vernay." He grinned.
"They manage to get it knocked to some kinda manslaughter, butVernay's still got time to pick up, so they pull wires and get him uphere. It ain't no rest home, but it ain't no madhouse neither, likesome of them places." His eyes clouded.
"Oogh, when I think of some of the holes--" He waved a hand.
"So anyway, like you see, Vernay's got plenty of muscle, but he's kindof low in the brain department. Maybe they thought something mightdrill through the skull up here, but that don't work either. I guessJanzel'd about as soon get another pretty boy, but they know they'lllose too much face, they dump him right away.
"Then you come along and just about split the chump's conk just so'she'll stay out of your light, see?" He shook his head slowly.
"Only thing, that don't solve nothing. He comes out of the bone-housein a couple days, and he ain't gonna like you at all. See what Imean?"
"Yeah." Stan examined his fingernails.
"Yeah," he repeated. "You make it all nice and clear." He got up andwent to the washstand.
"Whatcha gonna do, Georgie, boy?" he chanted. "Guess I'll just have togive him a free lesson in breakfalls. He won't like it too well, buthe could use lots of practice."
* * * * *
It took Vernay more than a couple of days to get out of the hospital.As time went by, Stan became more and more conscious of thespeculative looks he was getting from prisoners and guards alike.
He stood watching, as a maintenance engineer tore into the vitals of aLambert-Howell. Around him was space--a full meter on all sides. Itwas, he realized, a distinction--symbolic accolade for anyone who hadthe temerity to down a man like Vernay. It was also a gesture ofcaution. No one was anxious to block the view of a man who had downeda vicious fighter with an unobtrusive gesture. And no one was anxiousto be too close when Vernay might come by.
What sort of man was Vernay, Stan wondered. Of course, he was familiarwith the appearance of the tall, blond. He could easily visualize theinsolent, sleepy looking eyes--the careless weave of the heavyshoulders. And he'd heard a lot about the man's actions.
But these could mean anything. Was the man actually as clumsy andinept as he'd seemed? Was he simply a powerful oaf, who relied on purestrength and savagery? Or was he a cunning fighter, who had made onecontemptuously careless mistake?
"Well," the maintenance man was saying, "that's the way you set thoseupper coils. Remember, each one has its own field angle, and you'vegot to set 'em down to within a tenth of a degree. Otherwise, you'llnever get a sharp focus and your spray'll make a real mess." He swepthis glance over the group.
"You use the manual when you set these things up," he added. "Don't godepending on your memory. You can play some pretty dirty tricks onyourself that way." He looked thoughtfully at the array of coils.
"And don't go using any gravito clamps around these things when theback's off. They don't like it. It makes 'em do nasty things." Heflipped his wrist up, looking at his watch.
"All right, that's it. Let's go eat." He snapped a cover back in placeand swung down from the catwalk.
Stan turned away. No tools to put away tonight, he thought. Didn'tneed 'em all afternoon. He smiled. And no column to fall into, either.This was the weekly free night.
He walked out of the shop, following a group of prisoners through thearchway into the main yard. Another small group followed him, keepinga decent interval behind.
Someone drew a sharp breath.
"Hey, look! Over there."
Stan followed the direction indicated by a dozen abruptly turnedheads. Vernay was lounging in the shadow of the archway. He smiledtigerishly and sauntered toward Stan. The group of prisoners meltedaway, to form a rough semicircle. From somewhere, others wereappearing.
"So all right, little rat," Vernay said softly, "you've had a lot offun these last few days, eh? Big man around the yard, huh? Yeah! Well,it's going to stop." He massaged his right hand with the thumb andfingers of his left, then stretched out his arms, flexing his fingers.
"Real smart little fella," he added. "Knows all kinds of littletricks. Got anything to say before I open you up for inspection?"
Stan faced him, his feet a few inches apart, his knees slightly bent.He folded his arms without interlacing them.
"Look, Vernay," he said. "I'm not looking for any fight, but if youforce one, I'll break you all to pieces. I didn't mean to bust yourhead the first time, but I can do it on purpose if I have to. Whydon't we just forget it?"
Vernay looked dazed for an instant, then recovered and laughedderisively.
"You trying to crawl out and still look good? No, no. You made yourbrags. Now we'll have a little dance." He took a step forward.
"Come on, baby, j
ust stay there. I'm going to unscrew your head."
He came closer, then reached out, his hand open.
Stan looked at the hand incredulously. No one could be that careless.For an instant, he almost spun away from a suspected trap. Then hedecided the man was in no position for a counter. A try for a simplehand hold couldn't do a bit of harm.
His right hand darted up, gripping the outstretched hand before him.He jerked down, clamped the hand with his left, then pressed up andtook a quick step forward.
With a startled cry of pain, Vernay spun around and bent toward theground. Stan carried the motion through with a sudden surge thatforced the big man's face almost to the stones. Abruptly, Vernaytwisted and kicked, trying to tear away. There was a ripping noise andhe screamed thinly, then slumped to the pavement.
Stan looked down at him in bewilderment. It had been too easy, hethought. Something had to be wrong. The imprisoned hand twitched andwas flaccid. He let it go and stepped back.
For a few seconds, Vernay lay quietly, then he struggled into violentmotion. He scrambled to get to his feet,