It seemed unlikely. The Board just didn’t do that sort of thing. And presuming that they knew him and his ill-starred past—what could they possibly want from him? What could he do that practically any man, woman or child couldn’t do better?

Perceveral put the telegram in his pocket and replaced the razor blade in his shaving kit. Suicide seemed a little premature now. First he would find out what Haskell wanted.

At the headquarters of the Planetary Exploration & Settlement Board, Perceveral was admitted at once to William Haskell’s private office. The Assistant Placement Director was a large, blunt-featured, white-haired man who radiated a geniality which Perceveral found suspicious.

“Sit down, sit down, Mr. Perceveral,” Haskell said. “Cigarette? Care for a drink? Awfully glad you could make it.”

“Are you sure you have the right man?” Perceveral asked.

Haskell glanced through a dossier on his desk. “Let’s see. Anton Perceveral; age thirty-four; parents, Gregory James Perceveral and Anita Swaans Perceveral, Laketown, New Jersey. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Perceveral said. “And you have a job for me?”

“We have indeed.”

“Paying twenty thousand a year and benefits?”

“Perfectly correct.”

“Could you tell me what the job is?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Haskell said cheerfully. “The job I have in mind for you, Mr. Perceveral, is listed in our catalogue as Extraterrestrial Explorer.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Extraterrestrial or alien-planet explorer,” Haskell said. “The explorers, you know, are the men who make the first contacts on alien planets, the primary settlers who gather our essential data. I think of them as the Drakes and Magellans of this century. It is, I think you’ll agree, an excellent opportunity.”

Perceveral stood up, his face a dull red. “If you’re finished with the joke, I’ll leave.”

“Eh?”