Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

TO “I said forget it!’ Tomaszewski told him. “A man doesn’t ride first mate with me all over the System for years and then get dumped when something happens.” ““Well—” Garver was silent a mo- ment, then put out his good Daca hand. ““Thanks, Tom.” Tomaszewski took his hand. “Come on; we'll have a drink.”’ Grinning, Garver nodded. “I need one after two months in sick bay. Lead off!” The Martian air was cold and clear as they walked along the edge of the canal. The sun had left a red band across the western sky. North along the canal, the towers and stacks of the Canalopolis steel mills were sil- houetted against the evening sky, blotching the colors with smudges of smoke. “What are you going to do now, Garv?”’ the captain asked. “I don’t rightly know.” “Staying on Mars?” *‘"No. What can I do?’ Garver replied bitterly. “It takes muscles and strong . hands to work in the mills. I couldn’t do much else here. Space has been‘ my game—all my life.”” He looked up into the western sky where a double evening star shone. “I’m going home.”’ “Terra?” “Yeah. For fifteen years I’ve wanted to go back.” He hung around the Canalopolis Spaceport for the next few weeks, watching the ships Come and go, sit- ting around the club of the League of Free Traders, talking shop with other spacemen, and learning to use his new hand. He knew it was all a gag; here EER HER BY” - he was at thirty-five and probably finished as a spaceman. He knew his power and jets, but a one-handed jetman was worse off than a one- handed piano player. Most skippers would rather have the Venusian Wet Rot. He might sign on a liner as a master- at-arms or a steward, but he did not have the decorum necessary for such a job. As a first mate, he’d handled people differently. ““Besides, you fool,”’ he told himself, “‘you know you'd go nuts sitting midships while some other guy brought her down on her tail.” He could ride home as a passenger with the tourists and “old space- hounds.’ No, by the Rings, he’d push a peanut home with his nose before he’d go that way. He’d work his way back—somehow. If he could stick around the League club, something would show up. It was a tough day for Garver when Tomaszewski lifted the Timurlane off Canalopolis for Ganymede. What made it tougher was the realization that he was not going along this time.. He loved every sleek line of. that ship, and let his eyes take them in as her gantry moved away and left her standing alone vif aloof on the ad. P Garver knew what was going on aboard. Minus-15 minutes, red-green light, crew at flight stations, locks closed. At X-2 minutes, the siren on the tower shrieked, and red lights winked around the perimeter of the pad. Aboard the Timurlane, they were strapping down, the control panels were switched to “FLY,” the gyros were locked in. He leaned on the rail and went through the entire pre-flight procedure. Comicbooks:com |