Astounding British Edition, Vol. 6, No. 8 — page 41: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘THE GREAT AIR MONOPOLY "specially for you. She sure is spoiled for looks.” “Throw her into the line. Some men will buy anything,” said Big Lem. “Don’t guess shell be able to walk much,” said Tinoi. “What’s that to me? Throw her in. Cap- tain! Captain! Here, you Foster. Get up there and tell my captain to send Connoly and two marines out here and stand by to take off.” The man named Foster leaped up into the Scoutcraft Raider with the message and came back shortly eating a chocolate bar to walk the line up, _. “Air,” moaned the slaves. “Air.” “Shut up, you repossessed mothers’ sons,” said Tinoi, beating them into line with the butt of his blastick. “Form up, form up or I'll give you a lot more air than you'll ever be able to use.” He tried four times to make an old man stand on his feet and then left off profanity, and held an open hand toward Tolliver. “Tll have to have a few charges,” said Tinoi. “After all, it’s bad enough to walk to Minga without having to drag a hundred - and sixteen passed out repossessions.” “It’s a waste of company money,” said Big Lem. But he signaled Connoly as the big gunner came out of the Raider and Connoly went back for charges. : These were small cylinders with ‘A.L.” painted in red on them, and when they were exploded around the slaves, sent off a greenish spray which hung foggily about them. Tinoi stepped clear and waited for the murk to dissipate and then, when the slaves had revived, turned to and lined them up without further delay. Big Lem watched the crowd move off. He knew Tinoi would probably be carried most of the way in litters made by Connoly and ~ he understood what would happen to a couple of those younger girls. And he knew a dozen would be sold and reported dead. But Lem Tolliver could appreciate that kind of loyalty and wouldn’t ever have under- stood another kind of man. He grinned as the last of them disappeared in the trees and without another look at the smoking spaceship, boarded the Scoutcraft Raider and took off. 3 An hour later Ole Doc came to himself lying in the grass where the girl had pulled him. For a little while he lay there and en- joyed the cool fragrance of the soft blades around him. It was quite novel to be alive and to be so glad to be alive. _ After a little he rose up on his elbows and looked at the Morgue. The alloy had stopped dripping and the smoke had cleared away, but the poor old ship looked ready for a spare parts house. The upper turret had been straight-armed back, a ten-foot hole lay under her keel and the keel was bent, and the near port had been melted entirely out of line. 39 And then he took heart. For she wasn’t hulled that he could see and her tubes at one end and her Texas on the other were untouched. He started to spring up, but the second he put weight on his right hand it collapsed and he felt sick. He looked down and saw that his palm was seared away and his wrist sprained or broken. He felt rapidly of his shoulders and chest, but his cloak had protected him there. One boot was almost seared off but his ankle and foot were uninjured, Aside from singes, his wrist and hand, he had survived what must have been a considerable conflagration. He came up swiftly then and went through the hot door. Small spirals of smoke were rising from the salon upholstery. One huge gold panel had curled off its mountings from heat. and a silver decanter was lying in a puddle on the charred rug, struck squarely by a ray translating itself through the hull. But the young woman was gone and Ole Doc, looking back at the trampled meadow through the misshapen door understood sud- denly how he must have got out there. No calloused space ranger would have tried to rescue him. Either the girl had tried or Hippo- crates— “Hippocrates!” “Hippocrates,” “Hippo- crates,” echoed the empty cabins. Ole Doc raced into the Texas and looked around. He went aft to the tube rooms and found them empty. And he had nearly con- cluded that they must have taken his little slave when he thought of the jammed turret. The ladder was curled into glowing wreck- age and the trap at the top had fused solidly shut from the impact of a direct hit. Ole Doc stood looking upward, a lump rising in his throat. He was afraid of what he would find behind that door. He went casting about him for a burning _ torch and was startled by a whir and clang in the galley as he passed it. In a surge of hope he thrust open the door. But little Hip- pecrates was not there. Pans, spoons and spits were just as he had left them. A bowl of gooey gypsum and mustard, the slave’s favorite concoction for himself, stood half eaten on the sink, spoon drifting minutely from an upright position to the edge of the bowl as the neglected mixture hardened: A small, pink-bellied god grinned forlornly in a niche, gazing at the half-finished page of a letter to some outlandish world. The whir and clang had come from the opening oven door on the lip of which now stood the ejected cake, patiently waiting for icing, de- corations and nine hundred and five candles. Ole Doc closed the galley softly as though he had been intruding on a private life and stood outside, hand still on the latch. For a long, long time he had never thought about it. But life without Hippocrates would be a 3 desperate hard thing to bear. He swore a futile, ordinary oath and went to his operating room. His hand was burn- Eomichooks.co