Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

. AND A STAR TO STEER HER BY” “You've got to run like hell to keep this ship in spacing shape at all, and you've got to run twice that fast to make any improvements,” the jetman explained. “Lousy parody, but the generator’s too small. It was adequate once, like some other things aboard, but you’ve put a lot of electronic gear in this bucket. The -generator can’t handle the demand.” “Can you do anything about it?” Vanderhoff wondered. _ “Nope.” Cosmo’s ball drifted in front of Garver, so pocketed it, adding, “I’d suggest a new and bigger one when we get Earthside.” The skipper heaved a sigh. “Can’t do it.” “How come?” Garver asked. “‘T can find one cheap. You’ll be able to afford it if you make a fair profit on this load, won’t you?” Nodding, the skipper replied sadly, “Yes, I'll make a profit, but it won’t pull me out of debt. P’ve been caught too many times by falling markets, and I’m just too far in to ever think about getting out. Always an hour late and a solar short.’ Vanderhoff thought back to the many times he’d been forced to sell his cargo at a loss ‘because of a falling market. Whereas being a free trader, picking your own cargo, going where you want, com- manding your own ship, all had their ‘points, the chance that you might lose your shirt at the end of the trip was extremely sobering. , “When we get into White Sands,” Vanderhoff went on, “I’m going to sell the Fafnir. I won’t get much for her, but I can pay her off. It’s just too much worry, and I can’t take this kind of strain much longer. I’m old for a spaceman, and it’s about time I retired, I guess. Thank the stars I’ve been able to save a little money over the course of the years. Not much, but enough to keep an old bachelor going. 15 “So you see, Garv, you’re not the only one who wants to go back to Terra for keeps on this trip.” The time wore on, and the long trip gave Garver a chance to think. When he had the control room watch, he’d strap himself to the foot of Vander- hoff’s couch and watch the stars, knowing he wouldn’t be seeing them as clear, sharp, and numerous as that much longer. He’d miss the brilliant belt of the Milky Way and the bright pin-points of the first-magnitude stars and planets which had guided him across the System dozens of times. He began to formulate plans. A man can do a lot with fifty thousand solars. Garver could settle down and enjo the rest of his life without lifting a finger, but he knew he’d been too active a man to find happiness that way. He’d have to work at something. He couldn’t sign on as jetman again if the skipper sold the ship; he doubted greatly if the next owner would want to ship a one-handed jetman. Perhaps he could set himself up in business somewhere. He didn’t want to get too far from the spaceports and the only kind of life he knew, either. And he wanted to be his own boss. It wasn’t until he was griping about the lousy space rations they had to eat for the next few months that he got an idea. Spacemen are not con- noisseurs of fine food, but they did appreciate a good meal when they could get it. Garver was not a restaurateur, but he had certain ideas about food and the tastes of spacemen. Maybe he could start a bar and grill close to the port. He felt he was not too old to learn that business, so he sat down and started thinking and figuring. It was a welcome sight when Terra grew close enough to appear as a disk Comicdooks coin