The Lani People | Page 4

damned if he'd sell his training for six thousand a year. Slave labor, that's

what it was. There were a dozen ads like that in the Journal. Well, he'd give them a trial,
but he'd ask eight thousand and full GEA benefits. Eight years of school and two more as
an intern were worth at least that.
He pulled the portable voicewrite to a comfortable position in front of the view wall and
began composing another of the series of letters that had begun months ago in time and
parsecs away in space. His voice was a fluid counterpoint to the soft hum of the machine.
And as he dictated, his eyes took in the vista through the view wall. Albertsville was a
nice town, too young for slums, too new for overpopulation. The white buildings were
the color of winter butter in the warm yellow sunlight as the city drowsed in the noonday
heat. It nestled snugly in the center of a bowl-shaped valley whose surrounding forest
clad hills gave mute confirmation to the fact that Kardon was still primitive, an unsettled
world that had not yet reached the explosive stage of population growth that presaged
maturity. But that was no disadvantage. In fact, Kennon liked it. Living could be fun on a
planet like this.
It was abysmally crude compared to Beta, but the Brotherhood had opened Kardon less
than five hundred years ago, and in such a short time one couldn't expect all the comforts
of civilization.
It required a high population density to supply them, and while Kardon was integrated its
population was scarcely more than two hundred million. It would be some time yet
before this world would achieve a Class I status. However, a Class II planet had some
advantages. What it lacked in conveniences it made up in opportunities and elbow room.
A normal Betan would have despised this world, but Kennon wasn't normal, although to
the casual eye he was a typical representative of the Medico-Technological Civilization,
long legged, fair haired, and short bodied with the typical Betan squint that left his eyes
mere slits behind thick lashes and heavy brows. The difference was internal rather than
external.
Possibly it was due to the fact that his father was the commander of a Shortliner and most
of his formative years had been spent in space. To Kennon, accustomed to the timeless
horror of hyper space, all planets were good, broad open places where a man could
breathe unfiltered air and look for miles across distances unbroken by dually bulk heads
and safety shields. On a planet there were spaciousness and freedom and after the
claustrophobic confinement of a hyper ship any world was paradise. Kennon sighed,
finished his letters, and placed them in the mail chute. Perhaps, this time, there would be
a favorable reply.

CHAPTER II
Kennon was startled by the speed with which his letters were answered. Accustomed to
the slower pace of Beta he had expected a week would elapse before the first reply, but

within twenty-four hours nine of his twelve inquiries were returned. Five expressed the
expected "Thank you but I feel that your asking salary is a bit high in view of your lack
of experience." Three were frankly interested and requested a personal interview. And the
last was the letter, outstanding in its quietly ostentatious folder-the reply from Box V-9.
"Would Dr. Kennon call at 10 A.M. tomorrow at the offices of Outworld Enterprises
Incorporated and bring this letter and suitable identifications? Kennon chuckled. Would
he? There was no question about it. The address, 200 Central Avenue, was only a few
blocks away. In fact, he could see the building from his window, a tall functional block of
durilium and plastic, soaring above the others on the street, the sunlight gleaming off its
clean square lines. He eyed it curiously, wondering what he would find inside.
* * *
The receptionist took his I.D. and the letter, scanned them briefly, and slipped them into
one of the message tubes beside her desk. "It will only be a moment, Doctor," she said
impersonally. "Would you care to sit down? '"
Thank you," he said. The minute, reflected, could easily be an hour. But she was right. It
was only a minute until the message tube clicked and popped a capsule onto the girl's
desk. She opened it, and removed Kennon's I.D. and a small yellow plastic rectangle. Her
eyes widened at the sight of the plastic card.
"Here you are, Doctor. Take shaft number one. Slip the card into the scanner slot and
you'll be taken to the correct floor. The offices you want will be at the end of the corridor
to the left. You'll find any other data you may need on the card in