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There was shock slowly coming over her face. “You not going to take me,” she said, in her soft, flat voice.

“No.”

“How I ever going to get to Misfits? How?” There were tears in her eyes, just beginning to fill the lower lids.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m afraid your idealized Misfits just don’t exist. The whole idea is ridiculous. Their insane attacks on us show that they have unstable, warped minds–and don’t tell me about machine-operated or robot-controlled ships. You don’t build a machine to do a job when a human being is cheaper. Your fanciful Misfit nation would have dissolved long ago if it had tried to operate on the principle that a lower-class human is worth more than a machine.

“You’ll be better off here, doing your job; there are no such havens as Classless Misfit societies.”

She was shaking her head as he spoke, trying to fight away the words that were shattering her cherished dream. And the words were having their effect because she believed him, because he believed himself.

“No,” she was saying softly. “No, no, no.”

The Guesser brought up the gun muzzle and shot her where she stood.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, The Guesser was fighting down his own fear. He was hard put to do it, but he managed to stride purposefully across the great spacefield toward the towering bulk of the Trobwell without betraying that fear.

If they caught him now–

He closed his mind against the thought and kept on walking.

At the base of the landing cradle, a Class Four guard was standing stolidly. He bowed his head and saluted as The Guesser walked by.

It’s so easy! The Guesser thought. So incredibly easy!

Even the captain of the ship would only be a Class Two Exec. No one would question him–no one would dare to.

A lieutenant looked up, startled as he entered the ship itself, and saluted hurriedly.

“It’s an honor to have you aboard, great sir,” he said apologetically, “but you realize, of course, that we are taking off in a very few minutes.”

Words choked suddenly in the Guesser’s throat, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak. “I know that. I’m … I’m going with you.”

The lieutenant’s eyes widened a trifle. “No orders have been taped to that effect, great sir.”

This is it! thought The Guesser. He would either put it over now or he’d be lost–completely.

He scowled. “Then tape them! I will apologize to the captain about this last-minute change, but I want no delay in take-off. It is absolutely vital that I reach D’Graski’s Planet quickly!”

The lieutenant blanched a little. “Sorry, great sir! I’ll see that the orders are taped. You wish a cabin?”

“Certainly. I presume you have an adequate one?”

“I’m sure we do, great sir; I’ll have the Quarters Officer set one up for you immediately.”

“Excellent,” said The Guesser. “Excellent.”

Fifteen minutes later, the Trobwell lifted from the planet exactly on schedule. The Guesser, in his assigned room, breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was on his way to D’Graski’s Planet at last!

* * * * *

“Tell me, great sir,” said the captain, “what do you think the final decision on this case should be?” He shoved the sheaf of papers across the desk to The Guesser.

The Guesser looked at them unseeingly, his mind in a whirl. For five days now, the captain of the Trobwell had been handing him papers and asking him questions of that sort. And, since he was the ranking Exec, he was expected to give some sort of answer.

This one seemed even more complex than the others, and none of them had been simple. He forced his eyes to read the print, forced his mind to absorb the facts.