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"Framed?" asked Tom.

"Yeah, framed!" snapped Bush. "I was taking a credit pouch to Venusport from Atom City when it was stolen from me."

"Could you prove it?" asked Tom.

"How could I prove it when I don't know what happened to it?" growled Bush. "Listen, Corbett, you can't hold a little thing like that against me. A man is entitled to one mistake—"

Tom held up his hand. "Mr. Bush, you also had your space papers suspended for six months and were caught during the suspension blasting off with false papers. Was that a mistake?"

"Well, what do you expect a man to do? Go hungry? I've been a spaceman longer than you've been alive. I had to have a job. There wasn't anything else I could do." His voice trailed off into a whine.

"But you did, willfully and with full knowledge of your act, violate the space code by using false papers, didn't you?" pursued Tom.

"Yeah, but—" whined Bush.

"I'm sorry," said Tom, standing up. "Your application has been rejected."

Bush stood up and snatched the application from Tom. His mouth began to twitch furiously. "Why, you little—"

"That's enough, Bush!" snapped Vidac, who had suddenly entered the room. "Leave your application on the desk and get out!"

Bush turned and looked at Vidac, nodded, and glared at Tom before stalking from the room. Vidac smiled at Tom's questioning look and walked over. He sat on the edge of Tom's desk and picked up Bush's application.

"Funny thing about Bush, Tom," Vidac mused.

"What, sir?" asked Tom.

"Notice the nervous twitch he has on the side of his face?"

"Yes, sir," said Tom.

"I've known Bush a long time. Many years. He used to be the happiest little space joker in the system, singing all the time, playing a concertina. And then he lost that credit pouch. It bothered him real bad."

"I guess it would, sir," said Tom.

"And then he got caught blasting off with false papers and of course that made him a marked man. He developed the nervous twitch right after that. He's a good man, Tom. And I think we ought to give him another chance."

Tom gasped. "But, sir, he's broken the space code!"

Vidac looked at Tom and smiled. "I know, Tom, and it's a serious thing. But I think he deserves another chance."

"We've refused people for a lot less than that, sir," said Tom emphatically, "before you came."

Vidac's face hardened. "I said we were going to give him another chance!"

Tom met the lieutenant governor's eyes coolly. "Yes, sir." He stamped the application and handed it to Vidac.

"It's pretty easy to sit in judgment of others, Tom," said Vidac, smiling again. "If there are any more—ah—questionable applicants, I suggest you send them to me. And if I want to give them another chance, you will, of course, follow orders."

"Very well, sir," replied Tom, tight-lipped. "If you say so."

Vidac's eyes hardened. "I say so, Corbett!" He turned and walked from the room.

Tom sat down weakly. As he was about to buzz for the next applicant, the door burst open and Roger came into the room. The blond-haired cadet's lips were pulled tight in a grim line.

"There's something rocket-blasting screwy around here, Tom!" he exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"I just rejected a real low-down space crawler—a guy named Tad Winters."

"Yes?" Tom was alert, anticipating Roger's answer.

"He went to Vidac and came back later with his application approved."

Tom slammed his fist on the desk. "That proves it! Governor Hardy has to be told what's going on!" He flipped on the teleceiver near by and asked the central communications operator to connect him with the governor's office. In a moment the face of Christopher Hardy sharpened into focus on the screen.

"What is it, Corbett?" asked the governor.

"I'd like to talk to you, sir, if I may. Something's just come up and I'm not sure what to do."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure Governor Vidac will be able to take care of it. Speak to him."

Tom gulped and glanced at Roger. "But, sir," he stammered, "it's—it's—"

"It's what, Corbett? Hurry, lad! I haven't got all day."