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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..24a399c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65388 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65388) diff --git a/old/65388-0.txt b/old/65388-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ec22d8c..0000000 --- a/old/65388-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1094 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Skid Row Pilot, by Randall Garrett - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Skid Row Pilot - -Author: Randall Garrett - -Release Date: May 19, 2021 [eBook #65388] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKID ROW PILOT *** - - - - - Skid Row Pilot - - By Randall Garrett - - Flunking a physical was the greatest worry - a space pilot had. It was the one worry Kendall - never bothered about--until he landed on Mars.... - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - August 1957 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Ted Kendall waited with thinly-concealed impatience in the unheated -outer office of Mars' branch of Space Service, cursing the red tape -that kept him anchored on this cold, miserable pebble of a planet. - -"We'll have that analysis in just a moment, Pilot Kendall," came the -voice from the inner office. "Please be patient." - -"I'll try," Kendall growled bitterly. - -Actually, he thought, it was his own fault. A spacepilot had to have -a reflex checkup every six months, to determine whether or not he was -still capable of the myriad split-second decisions that had to be made -during the course of the Earth-Mars run. - -Kendall's six-month exam had been scheduled to fall due about four days -after he left Earth for his present run. A midflight due-date of this -sort gave him an option: he could take the test four days early, on -Earth, or he could wait till the journey was completed and be tested at -the Mars end of the run. - -He had chosen Mars, since otherwise he would have had to give up his -assignment on the _Queen Alexandra_ and wait to draw another. He was in -good health, his reflexes were fine, and he didn't expect to hit any -snags on the Mars end. - -_Not much_, he thought. - -He rose and walked toward the door. "How's that machine of yours -coming?" - -"We're still computing your curve, Pilot Kendall. It'll take just -another moment or two." - -Frowning, he took his seat again. He hadn't looked for this sort of -trouble on Mars. - -The Martian branch of Space Service didn't work with the same smooth -efficiency as the Earth office. There, you walked in, let the computer -run you over, and in ten minutes your license was stamped for another -six-month extension. Here things worked differently. - -It had taken him two days just to get an appointment--two days in which -he wandered through Mars City, lonely and bitter, shuddering in the -biting cold and feeling homesick for Earth and Kathy and good warm air -with some oxygen in it. Then he had his exam--and, unaccountably, they -requested him to return the next day for a re-test. - -A re-test? What the devil for? When Kendall had returned, he had -been shivering not only with the cold of Mars but with apprehension. -He looked at his hands. They seemed to be steady. Were his reflexes -wearing out? Was he washed-up as a spacepilot? He didn't know. The -machine was going to tell him that soon enough. - -The door opened. A white-smocked computer technician wearing the -comet-insignia of Space Service came out, frowning uneasily and -riffling a sheaf of papers. Kendall stood up. - -"It's about time; I'd like to get going on my return run. Where's my -license?" - -The technician stared at him strangely for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mr. -Kendall. I can't give you your license. The computer shows that you're -no longer fit to pilot a spacegoing vessel." - - * * * * * - -For an instant Kendall didn't react. Then it hit him. The technician -had called him _Mr._ Kendall instead of _Pilot_ Kendall. That meant -only one thing. - -He blinked and shook his head. "You're kidding. This is some kind of -joke. I never felt better in my life." - -"I'm just doing my job, Mr. Kendall. The computer says no--and I can't -argue. I'll have to refuse you an extension of your certificate." - -"But that means--hell, man, the _Alexandra's_ due to blast off for -Earth tonight! How--" - -"We've already alerted an off-duty pilot to take your place, Mr. -Kendall." - -Numbly he said, "And how do I get back to Earth then? Hitchhike?" - -"There's room on the passenger list of the _Queen Alexandra_, Mr. -Kendall. The fee is--let me see--eight thousand dollars." - -"Eight thous--" He stopped. As a cashiered-out spaceman he was entitled -to a fat pension: five thousand a year for the rest of his life. But -eight thousand right now would wipe out his savings, would-- - -No. Sudden rage surged through him. - -"Dammit, let me see those papers! This is a fake! Somebody wants me out -of the Service, that's all! Six months ago I had a perfect test!" - -The clerk smoothly put the papers behind his back. "I'm sorry, -regulations forbid--" - -"To hell with regulations! I'm going to be thrown out, do you -understand? I want to see those test results!" - -"It's imposs--" - -Kendall leaped. - -The clerk went wide-eyed in astonishment as the burly spaceman sprang -for him. He jumped back, and Kendall landed just before him. Kendall -ripped a fist up from his knees and smashed it into the man's jaw, -taking out all his fury and resentment on the harmless clerk. The pale -man crumpled and sagged backward, mouthing stunned syllables. - -Kendall hit him again and he fell. - -"I want those papers!" He jumped forward atop the man, tried to -turn him over, get the computer reports still clutched in the -technician's hand. Blind rage swept over him. The clerk, dazed and near -unconsciousness, hung on to them grimly. - -Kendall felt hands dig into his shoulderblades. - -"Get off him," someone growled. - -A knee thudded against his back, sending showers of sparks before his -eyes. "Get up!" - -He was dragged to his feet. Three powerful-looking Martian policemen -stood over him, fingering heavy wooden truncheons ominously. - -"What's the trouble here?" one of them asked. He was a blueskin nearly -seven feet tall. He must have weighed three hundred pounds, and it was -all muscle. - -"Someone's trying to swindle me--" Kendall began. - -"Let _him_ speak, buddy. He works here." - -"This man," the clerk said, "is a former employee of Space Service. He -was just notified of his discharge, and for some reason decided to take -it out personally on me." - -"That so? Okay, friend. Come on with us." - -"No," Kendall snapped. He bolted past the big blueskin and started -wildly for the door--but a hand caught him. He was dragged back. An -open palm, calloused and horny, crashed into his face. Then another. -Then a fist knocked the air out of his stomach. He doubled up. - -"Get away from me," he muttered, lashing out with fists and feet. The -three blueskins laughed harshly and closed in. Their blows descended -one after another. Kendall spun dizzily, bellowing in anger and pain, -and started to topple. - -_It isn't fair_, he thought in the last dim moment of consciousness. -_It just isn't fair._ - - * * * * * - -He woke up shivering, feeling as if a planet or two had fallen on him. - -_Those blueskins do a job when they beat a man up_, he thought. - -Stiffly he rolled over. The chilling winds of Mars came roaring down -to bite at him. He was lying in the gutter outside the Space Service -office, sprawled out with one hand lying casually along the sidewalk -like any drunk's. He was numb all over. Numb and cold. - -Slowly he began to remember why he was down here in the gutter, and -anger began to warm him. He was washed-up. Through. At twenty-seven -his career as a spacepilot was over, and he had been booted out of the -Space Service office without ceremony. - -Worse than that--he was stuck here on Mars with about ten dollars -in his pocket. It would cost eight thousand to get back home. Eight -thousand--and Kathy with a baby coming, and him with no job now. It was -enough to make a man kill himself. - -He started to pull himself wearily to his feet, but his aching muscles -wouldn't support him and he sagged into a limp heap on the side of the -curb. His head dropped into his hands. A couple of tearless sobs shook -him. - -A man ought to be better prepared for things like this, he told -himself. One minute a top-flight spaceman; then a machine gives you a -few tests and you're nothing but a bum sobbing in the gutter. - -A hand touched his shoulder. Instinctively he shrank away. He was in no -shape for further fighting. - -"Leave me alone," he said hollowly. "You want my wallet, take it. -There's ten bucks in it." - -"But I don't want your wallet, Pilot Kendall. I want to help you." - -Slowly Kendall turned his aching neck and looked up. The speaker was -a blueskin, tall and broad like all his race. He was looking down, -smiling warmly. - -"You can't call me _Pilot_ Kendall. I'm not a pilot any more." - -"That's only temporary," the blueskin said. "Come with me to Das -Shamra, and perhaps something can be arranged." - -Kendall came awake instantly. He rose to his feet--and his six-three -was dwarfed by the blueskin's towering height. "What the hell is this? -Who's this Das Shamra, and what can he arrange for me?" - -"Das Shamra is a wealthy merchant, Pilot Kendall. Wealth has many -advantages. Will you come with me?" - -Suspiciously, Kendall said, "Where to?" - -"The Hotel Cosmos. Das Shamra is very anxious to see you. He is a very -generous man." - -Kendall had been long taught never to trust a blueskin. But in his -present state of mind, he didn't give much of a damn. He was numb with -cold, and whoever this Das Shamra was, he was indoors. At the moment -that was all that mattered. - -"Buy me a drink," Kendall told the Martian. "I need a little -pick-me-up. Then you can take me to Das Shamra." - - * * * * * - -The blueskin and Kendall stopped off at a bar at the corner. The -Martian ordered a mug of the insipid Mars beer; Kendall smirked at -the brownish-green liquid and said to the barkeep, "Give me a double -_valdoz_." - -"Sure thing, friend." - -"You're really going in for the strong stuff, aren't you?" the Martian -asked, as the drink arrived. - -"The way I feel, I need it. Besides, why settle for that sludge you -call beer when the drinks are on the house?" - -"A good point," the Martian admitted. "Das Shamra can afford it." He -drained his beer, and, as Kendall poured the fiery _valdoz_ down his -throat, the blueskin said, "Have another. I'll pay." - -"No thanks," Kendall said. "_Valdoz_ isn't something you swill like -beer. And I'd just as soon face Das Shamra sober, thank you. Let's go." - -The Martian spun a coin and left it on the counter. They went out into -the street again--but with the potent brew within him, Kendall felt -much happier about having to face the Martian winds. - -He was just a little unsteady. The beating had helped, of course, and -so had the drink. Normally he wasn't a drinking man; alcohol played -hell with the reflexes, and his reflexes were his most valued property. -But not any more, he thought dully. Not now, when he'd been kicked out -of the Service. - -The blueskin led him down the twisting byways of Mars City, through -heaps of filth and dark alleys. Mars was an old planet, cold and arid; -its cities were thousands of years old, its people well skilled in the -arts of evil. It wasn't the sort of planet an Earthman liked to stay on -for long. - -Kendall scowled. The way it looked, he'd be here longer than he was -counting on. Hell, it would cost fifty dollars just to radio Earth and -tell Kathy what had happened. - -But he couldn't tell her. Not now, when she was about to have the baby. -Not when she was so proud of the spaceman she saw only a few weeks out -of each year. How could he tell her that he'd flunked the six-month -exam? - -"In here," the Martian said. "Das Shamra's suite is upstairs." - -The Hotel Cosmos looked to Kendall like one of the better -establishments on Mars. But even so, it wasn't very appetizing. Its -hallways were dark and narrow: occasionally a groan or a harsh whisper -could be heard coming from behind a thick wooden door. He didn't like -the place. - -"This is the floor," the blueskin said. - -He opened the door and stepped inside. Moving cautiously, ready to turn -tail and get out if something looked wrong, Kendall followed him. - -The blueskin knelt. "This is Pilot Kendall." - -"Pleased to meet you, Pilot Kendall," said an immensely fat Martian -humped in an encircling webwork cradle. His small eyes were burned in -rings of fat; his slit-like mouth was spread in a broad, unsavory grin. -"I am Das Shamra," he said, in a deep, harsh voice. - -Kendall poised himself on the balls of his toes, waiting uncertainly. -"Why did you bring me here?" - -"All in good time. Sit down, won't you? Care for a drink?" - -He indicated a dark bottle of _valdoz_ by his side. Kendall shook his -head immediately. - -"No, I don't want any." - -"Ah, I see. A spacepilot must beware lest he damage the all-important -reflexes. Very well, then; I shall drink alone unless you object." - -"Go right ahead," Kendall said tightly. "And I'm not worried about my -reflexes. I just want to keep a clear head while you tell me whatever -you want to tell me." - -"You sound as if you don't trust me," Das Shamra wheezed. His fat body -quivered as the liquor went down. "A most unfortunate attitude." - -Kendall drummed on the edge of his chair impatiently. "You sent your -boy out to bring me here. What for?" - -The Martian smiled bleakly at him. "How badly would you like to get -back to your native world, Mr. Kendall?" - -Kendall was silent for a moment. Then he said, "What the hell do you -mean?" - -"I mean that I'm aware of your unfortunate run-in with several of the -local police this morning. They happened to be in my employ, and they -told me your motive for causing a disturbance. I offer my sympathies, -Mr. Kendall." - -_He's dropped the Pilot_, Kendall thought. _Now it's just plain_ Mister. - -"Okay, you know then. Sympathy isn't enough." - -"I'm aware of that," Das Shamra said. "But is eight thousand dollars -enough?" - -Kendall stiffened. "Eight thousand dollars is exactly the passage-fee -back to Earth," he said. "It happens to be exactly the sum I need." His -voice was cold and flat. - -Das Shamra grinned affably. "Indeed? Then we can talk business--for -eight thousand dollars happens to be exactly the sum I'm prepared to -offer you if you do a certain job for me." - -"What kind of a job?" - -"Piloting a spaceship." - -"But that's impossible--" Kendall started to say, and stopped. By -law, all space commerce was to be handled through Space Service and -its authorized pilots. There was a reason for that; a spaceship out -of control could destroy half a continent in a crash landing, and so -only authorized personnel could be permitted to handle spacecraft. No -private piloting was allowed. - -But it might be worthwhile to hear him out. "Go on," Kendall said. -"Give some details." - -"First I must know if you're interested." - -"I might be. Talk away." - -The Martian's chubby face was darkened momentarily by a frown. "Very -well," he said. "Here's the job: a cargo of dionate extract is going to -be unloaded at Phobos Depot tomorrow night. Some--friends of mine--are -actively interested in securing this cargo. They've gone to the extent -of securing a small spacecraft for the purpose of intercepting the -incoming ship. Unfortunately, we Martians are completely unable to -operate the ship, inasmuch as Earth's Space Service has reserved -interplanetery commerce as a monopoly for itself. However, you are both -a skilled pilot and a free agent without loyalty to the organization -that so rudely ejected you. Therefore--" - -Dionate extract was the newest of the wonder drugs. A cargo of it was -probably worth millions. "You want me to pilot a hijack ship, is that -it?" - -"Not so loud, please. Yes, that's it, crudely." - -"It won't work, Das Shamra. I'm not a qualified spaceman any more. -The computer said I don't have the reflexes--and computers don't lie. -There's no telling what might happen if I got behind the control panel -of a spaceship." - -Das Shamra squinted one eye contemplatively. "And what if your lack of -reflexes were a temporary condition--one that perhaps could by remedied -by some Martian medical genius? Would you take the job, then--eight -thousand dollars, and a chance to re-enter the Space Service?" - -"You mean you think you can cure me?" - -"I'm sure of it." - -Kendall stood up. His nostrils quivered; he hung on the brink of -decision. It was tempting--but part of him argued that it was a filthy -crime, that he'd never be able to live with himself afterward. So what -if he got the eight g's and was able to return to Earth? Could he ever -face Kathy and the kid, knowing that he had returned home because -of--of-- - -"No," he said. "I like the price, but I won't do it." - -He turned and headed for the door. Das Shamra uttered a quick, curt -syllable and the Martian who had found him suddenly stepped out of the -shadows. - -"You know too much to leave now," he said. - -Kendall didn't bother to reply. He kicked out viciously with his -heavy booted foot, then leaped into the air to drive a fist into the -Martian's mouth. Teeth crunched. The blueskin yelled in pain, and -Kendall heard the thunder of Das Shamra pounding across the floor -toward him. - -He threw open the door and dashed out into the filthy corridor. He -found the stairs, and raced down them without looking back, out into -the cold, chill late-afternoon air. - - * * * * * - -He ran. He didn't know how far he ran, nor how long. All he knew was -that he paced through the narrow streets of Mars City for block after -squalid block, feeling his heart pounding as if trying to break through -the cage of his ribs. Finally, exhausted, he paused on a street-corner, -gasping for breath, and looked around. - -He wasn't being followed. Not now. But he knew his life wasn't going to -be worth much unless he got off Mars in a hurry. And he had no way of -doing that. He couldn't even radio Earth for money. There was no such -thing as a collect call between planets--the cost of transmission was -too great to risk a refusal--and in his present battered condition he -knew he would never find anyone who'd lend him enough to call Kathy. - -His shoulders slumped despondently. A neon sign said, "BAR" and he -decided to go in. For six years in the Space Service he had kept away -from liquor. He had plenty of lost time to make up for now. - -He took a seat at a table in the rear. When the bartender approached, -he said "Double _valdoz_. Straight." - -Kendall slouched and nursed the drink, then ordered another. And -another. Drinks were cheap, on Mars. - -After a while another Earthman came over and hovered by Kendall's ear. -"Mind if I sit with you a while, friend?" - -"Go right ahead. The seat's free." - -The newcomer was a man in his late thirties, seedy and weary looking. -A week's growth of beard sprouted on his face. He was, Kendall knew, -an ex-spacer living from day to day on Mars, probably looking for a -handout. Kendall shuddered. He saw his own future staring him in the -face. - -"I'm almost out of cash," he said. "I can't buy you a drink." - -"Didn't ask for one. I'll pay for my own. Just want company. Someone to -talk to." - -It developed, after a while, that the newcomer was--as Kendall had -guessed--a former spaceman. He, like Kendall, had flunked his six-month -test between legs of an Earth-Mars run. That had been four years ago. -He was still here, doing menial jobs to stay alive. - -"That's okay," Kendall said, slurring his words. He had already had -much too many _valdoz_ doubles. "I won't live long. Some bigwig here is -out for my neck." - -"What for?" - -Kendall explained what Das Shamra had wanted, and what the outcome had -been. The old spacer grinned. - -"Funny. Same thing happened to me. I said no, and they let me go. It's -an old trick, planting a distorter in a man." - -"_What?_" Kendall was suddenly sober. "Distorter? What do you mean?" - -He reached across the table and shook the older man. - -"Lemme alone. I'll tell you. It's a dodge they use to get men to flunk -out. Least they tried it on me; I didn't find out what they did till -later. They're damned clever surgeons. They slip up on a spacer when -he's asleep and bury a neural distorter on his body. It louses up his -reflexes so he flunks the six-monther. They spring the job offer on -him. If he takes it, they remove the distorter and he's as good as new. -If he turns it down--well, then he finishes like me." - -"How come you haven't reported this?" - -"What's the use? Who'd believe me? Hey, wait a minute! You didn't -finish your drink!" - - * * * * * - -But Kendall had dashed the full length of the bar, dropped a crumpled -bill on the counter, and raced outside. He snagged a taxi. - -"Hotel Cosmos, in a hurry." - -The driver, a sneering blueskin, said, "Five bucks. Earthmen pay in -advance." - -Kendall cursed and dug into his pocket. He had five dollars and change. -He handed the blueskin the bill, pocketed the few coins again, and got -in. - -Minutes later he was outside the Hotel Cosmos. He threaded his way to -Das Shamra's suite, listened outside the door for an instant. Voices -were talking, murmuring low in Martian. - -He knocked. - -"Who's there?" a harsh voice said. - -"Kendall. The Earthman. I came back." - -"Put your hands up," came the voice. "When the door opens, enter -slowly." - -"Okay." He raised his hands. - -Slowly the door opened. Kendall peered in and found himself facing -enough artillery to blow a hole in Jupiter. There were five Martians in -the room, none he had seen before, and each had a blaster trained on -him. Das Shamra was sitting in his web-chair. There was no sign of the -Martian Kendall had clobbered. - -"The prodigal returns," Das Shamra remarked. "To what do we owe this -visit, Mr. Kendall?" - -Hesitantly, Kendall said, "I've--changed my mind. I'll do your damned -job for you." - -"Oh? A strange reversal of philosophy." - -"I can't help it. I just spent some time with some other guy who turned -you down. I don't want to end up like him. I want to get home to my -wife, and I don't care how I get there. What do you want me to do?" - -Das Shamra seemed to purr. "The terms are as we mentioned before." - -"And what about fixing up my reflexes?" - -"A simple matter--inasmuch as we happen to be the ones who saw to it -that they deteriorated." - -Kendall felt a jaw-muscle throb. The Martian's cool words confirmed -what the old drunk had told him; they had deliberately cooked up this -frame. - -Das Shamra said, "This is Murro Lignus. He's our surgeon. He's the -man who--ah--surreptitiously placed the distorter in your body while -you slept at the spaceport last night. He comes and goes with great -stealth." - -"You cold-blooded swine," Kendall said. "Okay. We'll be honest with -each other. I hate you, and you hate me--but I need you to ungimmick -me so I can go home, and you need me to help you hijack that dionate. -Okay." - -"We understand each other, then," Das Shamra said. - -"Take your gadget out of me and let me see the ship. I want to check it -over before I go up in it." - -"Very well. Murro Lignus, apply the anesthetic and remove the -distorter." - -Kendall shook his head. "No anesthetic. I want to watch this. I can't -trust you not to plant some other kind of gadget in me while I'm out." - -The fat Martian shrugged. "As you wish. It will be a painful operation, -though." - -"I'll take my chances on that," Kendall said. - - * * * * * - -The operation was hell. The Martian surgeon had slipped a -submicroscopic pellet near the base of Kendall's spine, making use of -one of the Martian super-anesthetics. Now there was no anesthetic in -use, as Murro Lignus probed for the distorter. - -It was fifteen minutes of sheer agony. Finally the Martian murmured, -"It's over. You can get up." - -Kendall felt bolts of pain shoot through him. Looking around at the -watching Martians, he thought, _You'll pay for this. All of you._ - -His brain felt clear. He knew the computer would now accept him and -restore his certificate. He toyed briefly with the idea of somehow -ducking out and getting back to the Space Service office, but he turned -that notion down. He wanted to do this up in style. - -"We'll take you to the ship," Das Shamra said. "The plan is to lie in -wait off Phobos until the dionate ship shows up. Then you can follow -our instructions." - -"You're the boss," Kendall said. "Until this caper is over, anyway. -Then I'm heading back to Earth and you can all rot so far as I care." - -They took him far out of town, circled around the outlying districts -until he was pretty thoroughly confused, then brought him back. By now -it was night, and the twin moons were in the sky--tiny Phobos, only ten -miles in diameter, and Deimos, half her size. - -The ship was a small, sleek job, some twenty years old. Where they got -it didn't seem evident; possibly they had blackmailed some other pilot -into surrendering it, possibly they had hijacked it in some fashion or -other. - -He climbed aboard, followed by Das Shamra and his five henchmen. - -"You'll have to weigh yourselves," he announced. "With all six of you -on board I'll have some tricky mass-calculations to do." - -It took him a few hours to calculate the orbit, another hour to run a -routine check on the ship. It was in beautiful shape, ready to go. - -"Strap down for blastoff," he said, when he was satisfied. - -The Martians frowned in bewilderment. "We've never been in space," one -of them said. "We don't know how to get into the acceleration cradles." - -Kendall showed them. Das Shamra lay closest to him, a blaster cradled -in his arms. "You're the only one who can move around now, Kendall. One -move out of place and I'll drill you." - -"Sure you will," Kendall said. "And which one of you is going to pilot -the ship back down again? If you want to live, Das Shamra, keep that -blaster from going off." - -He nestled down in the control webbing, and readied the ship for -blasting. A sharp thrill ran through him, as it always did as he -readied a ship for a leap into the great blackness. But there was a -special thrill this time. Only hours ago he had resigned himself to a -short, dreary few years of life remaining to him on barren Mars; now he -was behind the controls of a powerful ship again. - -He touched the power stud. A reassuring throbbing shuddered through the -ship. - -"We're about to blast off," he said. "Just relax, and it won't bother -you much. I'm going to put the ship in orbit around Phobos and then we -can wait for the dionate ship at leisure. Okay?" - -"Good enough," Das Shamra grunted. The fat blueskin's face was beaded -with sweat. Obviously the Martians weren't looking forward to their -trip through space--but they were willing to put up with it for the -sake of the millions in dionate to be grabbed off Phobos. - -Kendall grinned and jammed down the blastoff key. The ship sprang -skyward. - - * * * * * - -He had his back to a man with a gun. That didn't make him feel -happier. But the little ship bit a chunk out of the sky, climbed higher -and higher. - -He heard a groan from behind him, but didn't turn around. He kept -himself bent over the controls, forced himself to remain conscious as -the acceleration mounted. - -Three g's. Four. He yelled over his shoulder, "How you doin' back -there? Comfortable?" - -There was no reply. He grinned and stepped up the acceleration. Seven -g's. Eight. The gravity was tearing at him like a demon's claws, but he -clung to consciousness. - -A figure ran through his mind: - -Mars--gravity, O.38. He could stand two-and-a-half times as much -acceleration as the blueskins behind him. His Earth-trained muscles, -used to responding to a much heavier grav, could handle eight g's -without too much strain. The Martians must be having fits. - -Nine g's. Ten. He turned, looked back for the first time. - -Reddish-brown blood trickled from Das Shamra's fleshy lips. The blaster -had long since fallen from his limp hand and lay on the spaceship's -deck. They were all unconscious--all of them, battered and beaten by -the sort of acceleration an Earthman was able to take with relative -ease. - -Grinning savagely, Kendall boosted the thrust until he nearly blacked -out himself. Then he seized the controls and started to reverse the -ship. - -Some time later, he landed it neatly outside the Space Service -headquarters. Taking a loving look at the Martians, with their -wrenched, distorted faces, he scooped up Das Shamra's blaster and -opened the hatch. - -The computer technician he had fought with before came running out on -the landing field. - -"What is the meaning of this? An unauthorized flight? Who are you? -Oh--Kendall!" - -"Yes, Kendall," he said, leaning dizzily against the side of the ship. - -Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he said, "Get the Port Police -out here on the double. There are six very sick would-be smugglers -inside this ship. When you've got our green-faced blueskins packed -away, I want another date with that computer. I think I can get an okay -now--and I can't get back to Earth soon enough!" - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKID ROW PILOT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Skid Row Pilot</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Randall Garrett</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 19, 2021 [eBook #65388]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKID ROW PILOT ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>Skid Row Pilot</h1> - -<h2>By Randall Garrett</h2> - -<p>Flunking a physical was the greatest worry<br /> -a space pilot had. It was the one worry Kendall<br /> -never bothered about—until he landed on Mars....</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -August 1957<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Ted Kendall waited with thinly-concealed impatience in the unheated -outer office of Mars' branch of Space Service, cursing the red tape -that kept him anchored on this cold, miserable pebble of a planet.</p> - -<p>"We'll have that analysis in just a moment, Pilot Kendall," came the -voice from the inner office. "Please be patient."</p> - -<p>"I'll try," Kendall growled bitterly.</p> - -<p>Actually, he thought, it was his own fault. A spacepilot had to have -a reflex checkup every six months, to determine whether or not he was -still capable of the myriad split-second decisions that had to be made -during the course of the Earth-Mars run.</p> - -<p>Kendall's six-month exam had been scheduled to fall due about four days -after he left Earth for his present run. A midflight due-date of this -sort gave him an option: he could take the test four days early, on -Earth, or he could wait till the journey was completed and be tested at -the Mars end of the run.</p> - -<p>He had chosen Mars, since otherwise he would have had to give up his -assignment on the <i>Queen Alexandra</i> and wait to draw another. He was in -good health, his reflexes were fine, and he didn't expect to hit any -snags on the Mars end.</p> - -<p><i>Not much</i>, he thought.</p> - -<p>He rose and walked toward the door. "How's that machine of yours -coming?"</p> - -<p>"We're still computing your curve, Pilot Kendall. It'll take just -another moment or two."</p> - -<p>Frowning, he took his seat again. He hadn't looked for this sort of -trouble on Mars.</p> - -<p>The Martian branch of Space Service didn't work with the same smooth -efficiency as the Earth office. There, you walked in, let the computer -run you over, and in ten minutes your license was stamped for another -six-month extension. Here things worked differently.</p> - -<p>It had taken him two days just to get an appointment—two days in which -he wandered through Mars City, lonely and bitter, shuddering in the -biting cold and feeling homesick for Earth and Kathy and good warm air -with some oxygen in it. Then he had his exam—and, unaccountably, they -requested him to return the next day for a re-test.</p> - -<p>A re-test? What the devil for? When Kendall had returned, he had -been shivering not only with the cold of Mars but with apprehension. -He looked at his hands. They seemed to be steady. Were his reflexes -wearing out? Was he washed-up as a spacepilot? He didn't know. The -machine was going to tell him that soon enough.</p> - -<p>The door opened. A white-smocked computer technician wearing the -comet-insignia of Space Service came out, frowning uneasily and -riffling a sheaf of papers. Kendall stood up.</p> - -<p>"It's about time; I'd like to get going on my return run. Where's my -license?"</p> - -<p>The technician stared at him strangely for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mr. -Kendall. I can't give you your license. The computer shows that you're -no longer fit to pilot a spacegoing vessel."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For an instant Kendall didn't react. Then it hit him. The technician -had called him <i>Mr.</i> Kendall instead of <i>Pilot</i> Kendall. That meant -only one thing.</p> - -<p>He blinked and shook his head. "You're kidding. This is some kind of -joke. I never felt better in my life."</p> - -<p>"I'm just doing my job, Mr. Kendall. The computer says no—and I can't -argue. I'll have to refuse you an extension of your certificate."</p> - -<p>"But that means—hell, man, the <i>Alexandra's</i> due to blast off for -Earth tonight! How—"</p> - -<p>"We've already alerted an off-duty pilot to take your place, Mr. -Kendall."</p> - -<p>Numbly he said, "And how do I get back to Earth then? Hitchhike?"</p> - -<p>"There's room on the passenger list of the <i>Queen Alexandra</i>, Mr. -Kendall. The fee is—let me see—eight thousand dollars."</p> - -<p>"Eight thous—" He stopped. As a cashiered-out spaceman he was entitled -to a fat pension: five thousand a year for the rest of his life. But -eight thousand right now would wipe out his savings, would—</p> - -<p>No. Sudden rage surged through him.</p> - -<p>"Dammit, let me see those papers! This is a fake! Somebody wants me out -of the Service, that's all! Six months ago I had a perfect test!"</p> - -<p>The clerk smoothly put the papers behind his back. "I'm sorry, -regulations forbid—"</p> - -<p>"To hell with regulations! I'm going to be thrown out, do you -understand? I want to see those test results!"</p> - -<p>"It's imposs—"</p> - -<p>Kendall leaped.</p> - -<p>The clerk went wide-eyed in astonishment as the burly spaceman sprang -for him. He jumped back, and Kendall landed just before him. Kendall -ripped a fist up from his knees and smashed it into the man's jaw, -taking out all his fury and resentment on the harmless clerk. The pale -man crumpled and sagged backward, mouthing stunned syllables.</p> - -<p>Kendall hit him again and he fell.</p> - -<p>"I want those papers!" He jumped forward atop the man, tried to -turn him over, get the computer reports still clutched in the -technician's hand. Blind rage swept over him. The clerk, dazed and near -unconsciousness, hung on to them grimly.</p> - -<p>Kendall felt hands dig into his shoulderblades.</p> - -<p>"Get off him," someone growled.</p> - -<p>A knee thudded against his back, sending showers of sparks before his -eyes. "Get up!"</p> - -<p>He was dragged to his feet. Three powerful-looking Martian policemen -stood over him, fingering heavy wooden truncheons ominously.</p> - -<p>"What's the trouble here?" one of them asked. He was a blueskin nearly -seven feet tall. He must have weighed three hundred pounds, and it was -all muscle.</p> - -<p>"Someone's trying to swindle me—" Kendall began.</p> - -<p>"Let <i>him</i> speak, buddy. He works here."</p> - -<p>"This man," the clerk said, "is a former employee of Space Service. He -was just notified of his discharge, and for some reason decided to take -it out personally on me."</p> - -<p>"That so? Okay, friend. Come on with us."</p> - -<p>"No," Kendall snapped. He bolted past the big blueskin and started -wildly for the door—but a hand caught him. He was dragged back. An -open palm, calloused and horny, crashed into his face. Then another. -Then a fist knocked the air out of his stomach. He doubled up.</p> - -<p>"Get away from me," he muttered, lashing out with fists and feet. The -three blueskins laughed harshly and closed in. Their blows descended -one after another. Kendall spun dizzily, bellowing in anger and pain, -and started to topple.</p> - -<p><i>It isn't fair</i>, he thought in the last dim moment of consciousness. -<i>It just isn't fair.</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He woke up shivering, feeling as if a planet or two had fallen on him.</p> - -<p><i>Those blueskins do a job when they beat a man up</i>, he thought.</p> - -<p>Stiffly he rolled over. The chilling winds of Mars came roaring down -to bite at him. He was lying in the gutter outside the Space Service -office, sprawled out with one hand lying casually along the sidewalk -like any drunk's. He was numb all over. Numb and cold.</p> - -<p>Slowly he began to remember why he was down here in the gutter, and -anger began to warm him. He was washed-up. Through. At twenty-seven -his career as a spacepilot was over, and he had been booted out of the -Space Service office without ceremony.</p> - -<p>Worse than that—he was stuck here on Mars with about ten dollars -in his pocket. It would cost eight thousand to get back home. Eight -thousand—and Kathy with a baby coming, and him with no job now. It was -enough to make a man kill himself.</p> - -<p>He started to pull himself wearily to his feet, but his aching muscles -wouldn't support him and he sagged into a limp heap on the side of the -curb. His head dropped into his hands. A couple of tearless sobs shook -him.</p> - -<p>A man ought to be better prepared for things like this, he told -himself. One minute a top-flight spaceman; then a machine gives you a -few tests and you're nothing but a bum sobbing in the gutter.</p> - -<p>A hand touched his shoulder. Instinctively he shrank away. He was in no -shape for further fighting.</p> - -<p>"Leave me alone," he said hollowly. "You want my wallet, take it. -There's ten bucks in it."</p> - -<p>"But I don't want your wallet, Pilot Kendall. I want to help you."</p> - -<p>Slowly Kendall turned his aching neck and looked up. The speaker was -a blueskin, tall and broad like all his race. He was looking down, -smiling warmly.</p> - -<p>"You can't call me <i>Pilot</i> Kendall. I'm not a pilot any more."</p> - -<p>"That's only temporary," the blueskin said. "Come with me to Das -Shamra, and perhaps something can be arranged."</p> - -<p>Kendall came awake instantly. He rose to his feet—and his six-three -was dwarfed by the blueskin's towering height. "What the hell is this? -Who's this Das Shamra, and what can he arrange for me?"</p> - -<p>"Das Shamra is a wealthy merchant, Pilot Kendall. Wealth has many -advantages. Will you come with me?"</p> - -<p>Suspiciously, Kendall said, "Where to?"</p> - -<p>"The Hotel Cosmos. Das Shamra is very anxious to see you. He is a very -generous man."</p> - -<p>Kendall had been long taught never to trust a blueskin. But in his -present state of mind, he didn't give much of a damn. He was numb with -cold, and whoever this Das Shamra was, he was indoors. At the moment -that was all that mattered.</p> - -<p>"Buy me a drink," Kendall told the Martian. "I need a little -pick-me-up. Then you can take me to Das Shamra."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The blueskin and Kendall stopped off at a bar at the corner. The -Martian ordered a mug of the insipid Mars beer; Kendall smirked at -the brownish-green liquid and said to the barkeep, "Give me a double -<i>valdoz</i>."</p> - -<p>"Sure thing, friend."</p> - -<p>"You're really going in for the strong stuff, aren't you?" the Martian -asked, as the drink arrived.</p> - -<p>"The way I feel, I need it. Besides, why settle for that sludge you -call beer when the drinks are on the house?"</p> - -<p>"A good point," the Martian admitted. "Das Shamra can afford it." He -drained his beer, and, as Kendall poured the fiery <i>valdoz</i> down his -throat, the blueskin said, "Have another. I'll pay."</p> - -<p>"No thanks," Kendall said. "<i>Valdoz</i> isn't something you swill like -beer. And I'd just as soon face Das Shamra sober, thank you. Let's go."</p> - -<p>The Martian spun a coin and left it on the counter. They went out into -the street again—but with the potent brew within him, Kendall felt -much happier about having to face the Martian winds.</p> - -<p>He was just a little unsteady. The beating had helped, of course, and -so had the drink. Normally he wasn't a drinking man; alcohol played -hell with the reflexes, and his reflexes were his most valued property. -But not any more, he thought dully. Not now, when he'd been kicked out -of the Service.</p> - -<p>The blueskin led him down the twisting byways of Mars City, through -heaps of filth and dark alleys. Mars was an old planet, cold and arid; -its cities were thousands of years old, its people well skilled in the -arts of evil. It wasn't the sort of planet an Earthman liked to stay on -for long.</p> - -<p>Kendall scowled. The way it looked, he'd be here longer than he was -counting on. Hell, it would cost fifty dollars just to radio Earth and -tell Kathy what had happened.</p> - -<p>But he couldn't tell her. Not now, when she was about to have the baby. -Not when she was so proud of the spaceman she saw only a few weeks out -of each year. How could he tell her that he'd flunked the six-month -exam?</p> - -<p>"In here," the Martian said. "Das Shamra's suite is upstairs."</p> - -<p>The Hotel Cosmos looked to Kendall like one of the better -establishments on Mars. But even so, it wasn't very appetizing. Its -hallways were dark and narrow: occasionally a groan or a harsh whisper -could be heard coming from behind a thick wooden door. He didn't like -the place.</p> - -<p>"This is the floor," the blueskin said.</p> - -<p>He opened the door and stepped inside. Moving cautiously, ready to turn -tail and get out if something looked wrong, Kendall followed him.</p> - -<p>The blueskin knelt. "This is Pilot Kendall."</p> - -<p>"Pleased to meet you, Pilot Kendall," said an immensely fat Martian -humped in an encircling webwork cradle. His small eyes were burned in -rings of fat; his slit-like mouth was spread in a broad, unsavory grin. -"I am Das Shamra," he said, in a deep, harsh voice.</p> - -<p>Kendall poised himself on the balls of his toes, waiting uncertainly. -"Why did you bring me here?"</p> - -<p>"All in good time. Sit down, won't you? Care for a drink?"</p> - -<p>He indicated a dark bottle of <i>valdoz</i> by his side. Kendall shook his -head immediately.</p> - -<p>"No, I don't want any."</p> - -<p>"Ah, I see. A spacepilot must beware lest he damage the all-important -reflexes. Very well, then; I shall drink alone unless you object."</p> - -<p>"Go right ahead," Kendall said tightly. "And I'm not worried about my -reflexes. I just want to keep a clear head while you tell me whatever -you want to tell me."</p> - -<p>"You sound as if you don't trust me," Das Shamra wheezed. His fat body -quivered as the liquor went down. "A most unfortunate attitude."</p> - -<p>Kendall drummed on the edge of his chair impatiently. "You sent your -boy out to bring me here. What for?"</p> - -<p>The Martian smiled bleakly at him. "How badly would you like to get -back to your native world, Mr. Kendall?"</p> - -<p>Kendall was silent for a moment. Then he said, "What the hell do you -mean?"</p> - -<p>"I mean that I'm aware of your unfortunate run-in with several of the -local police this morning. They happened to be in my employ, and they -told me your motive for causing a disturbance. I offer my sympathies, -Mr. Kendall."</p> - -<p><i>He's dropped the Pilot</i>, Kendall thought. <i>Now it's just plain</i> Mister.</p> - -<p>"Okay, you know then. Sympathy isn't enough."</p> - -<p>"I'm aware of that," Das Shamra said. "But is eight thousand dollars -enough?"</p> - -<p>Kendall stiffened. "Eight thousand dollars is exactly the passage-fee -back to Earth," he said. "It happens to be exactly the sum I need." His -voice was cold and flat.</p> - -<p>Das Shamra grinned affably. "Indeed? Then we can talk business—for -eight thousand dollars happens to be exactly the sum I'm prepared to -offer you if you do a certain job for me."</p> - -<p>"What kind of a job?"</p> - -<p>"Piloting a spaceship."</p> - -<p>"But that's impossible—" Kendall started to say, and stopped. By -law, all space commerce was to be handled through Space Service and -its authorized pilots. There was a reason for that; a spaceship out -of control could destroy half a continent in a crash landing, and so -only authorized personnel could be permitted to handle spacecraft. No -private piloting was allowed.</p> - -<p>But it might be worthwhile to hear him out. "Go on," Kendall said. -"Give some details."</p> - -<p>"First I must know if you're interested."</p> - -<p>"I might be. Talk away."</p> - -<p>The Martian's chubby face was darkened momentarily by a frown. "Very -well," he said. "Here's the job: a cargo of dionate extract is going to -be unloaded at Phobos Depot tomorrow night. Some—friends of mine—are -actively interested in securing this cargo. They've gone to the extent -of securing a small spacecraft for the purpose of intercepting the -incoming ship. Unfortunately, we Martians are completely unable to -operate the ship, inasmuch as Earth's Space Service has reserved -interplanetery commerce as a monopoly for itself. However, you are both -a skilled pilot and a free agent without loyalty to the organization -that so rudely ejected you. Therefore—"</p> - -<p>Dionate extract was the newest of the wonder drugs. A cargo of it was -probably worth millions. "You want me to pilot a hijack ship, is that -it?"</p> - -<p>"Not so loud, please. Yes, that's it, crudely."</p> - -<p>"It won't work, Das Shamra. I'm not a qualified spaceman any more. -The computer said I don't have the reflexes—and computers don't lie. -There's no telling what might happen if I got behind the control panel -of a spaceship."</p> - -<p>Das Shamra squinted one eye contemplatively. "And what if your lack of -reflexes were a temporary condition—one that perhaps could by remedied -by some Martian medical genius? Would you take the job, then—eight -thousand dollars, and a chance to re-enter the Space Service?"</p> - -<p>"You mean you think you can cure me?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure of it."</p> - -<p>Kendall stood up. His nostrils quivered; he hung on the brink of -decision. It was tempting—but part of him argued that it was a filthy -crime, that he'd never be able to live with himself afterward. So what -if he got the eight g's and was able to return to Earth? Could he ever -face Kathy and the kid, knowing that he had returned home because -of—of—</p> - -<p>"No," he said. "I like the price, but I won't do it."</p> - -<p>He turned and headed for the door. Das Shamra uttered a quick, curt -syllable and the Martian who had found him suddenly stepped out of the -shadows.</p> - -<p>"You know too much to leave now," he said.</p> - -<p>Kendall didn't bother to reply. He kicked out viciously with his -heavy booted foot, then leaped into the air to drive a fist into the -Martian's mouth. Teeth crunched. The blueskin yelled in pain, and -Kendall heard the thunder of Das Shamra pounding across the floor -toward him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>He threw open the door and dashed out into the filthy corridor. He -found the stairs, and raced down them without looking back, out into -the cold, chill late-afternoon air.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He ran. He didn't know how far he ran, nor how long. All he knew was -that he paced through the narrow streets of Mars City for block after -squalid block, feeling his heart pounding as if trying to break through -the cage of his ribs. Finally, exhausted, he paused on a street-corner, -gasping for breath, and looked around.</p> - -<p>He wasn't being followed. Not now. But he knew his life wasn't going to -be worth much unless he got off Mars in a hurry. And he had no way of -doing that. He couldn't even radio Earth for money. There was no such -thing as a collect call between planets—the cost of transmission was -too great to risk a refusal—and in his present battered condition he -knew he would never find anyone who'd lend him enough to call Kathy.</p> - -<p>His shoulders slumped despondently. A neon sign said, "BAR" and he -decided to go in. For six years in the Space Service he had kept away -from liquor. He had plenty of lost time to make up for now.</p> - -<p>He took a seat at a table in the rear. When the bartender approached, -he said "Double <i>valdoz</i>. Straight."</p> - -<p>Kendall slouched and nursed the drink, then ordered another. And -another. Drinks were cheap, on Mars.</p> - -<p>After a while another Earthman came over and hovered by Kendall's ear. -"Mind if I sit with you a while, friend?"</p> - -<p>"Go right ahead. The seat's free."</p> - -<p>The newcomer was a man in his late thirties, seedy and weary looking. -A week's growth of beard sprouted on his face. He was, Kendall knew, -an ex-spacer living from day to day on Mars, probably looking for a -handout. Kendall shuddered. He saw his own future staring him in the -face.</p> - -<p>"I'm almost out of cash," he said. "I can't buy you a drink."</p> - -<p>"Didn't ask for one. I'll pay for my own. Just want company. Someone to -talk to."</p> - -<p>It developed, after a while, that the newcomer was—as Kendall had -guessed—a former spaceman. He, like Kendall, had flunked his six-month -test between legs of an Earth-Mars run. That had been four years ago. -He was still here, doing menial jobs to stay alive.</p> - -<p>"That's okay," Kendall said, slurring his words. He had already had -much too many <i>valdoz</i> doubles. "I won't live long. Some bigwig here is -out for my neck."</p> - -<p>"What for?"</p> - -<p>Kendall explained what Das Shamra had wanted, and what the outcome had -been. The old spacer grinned.</p> - -<p>"Funny. Same thing happened to me. I said no, and they let me go. It's -an old trick, planting a distorter in a man."</p> - -<p>"<i>What?</i>" Kendall was suddenly sober. "Distorter? What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>He reached across the table and shook the older man.</p> - -<p>"Lemme alone. I'll tell you. It's a dodge they use to get men to flunk -out. Least they tried it on me; I didn't find out what they did till -later. They're damned clever surgeons. They slip up on a spacer when -he's asleep and bury a neural distorter on his body. It louses up his -reflexes so he flunks the six-monther. They spring the job offer on -him. If he takes it, they remove the distorter and he's as good as new. -If he turns it down—well, then he finishes like me."</p> - -<p>"How come you haven't reported this?"</p> - -<p>"What's the use? Who'd believe me? Hey, wait a minute! You didn't -finish your drink!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But Kendall had dashed the full length of the bar, dropped a crumpled -bill on the counter, and raced outside. He snagged a taxi.</p> - -<p>"Hotel Cosmos, in a hurry."</p> - -<p>The driver, a sneering blueskin, said, "Five bucks. Earthmen pay in -advance."</p> - -<p>Kendall cursed and dug into his pocket. He had five dollars and change. -He handed the blueskin the bill, pocketed the few coins again, and got -in.</p> - -<p>Minutes later he was outside the Hotel Cosmos. He threaded his way to -Das Shamra's suite, listened outside the door for an instant. Voices -were talking, murmuring low in Martian.</p> - -<p>He knocked.</p> - -<p>"Who's there?" a harsh voice said.</p> - -<p>"Kendall. The Earthman. I came back."</p> - -<p>"Put your hands up," came the voice. "When the door opens, enter -slowly."</p> - -<p>"Okay." He raised his hands.</p> - -<p>Slowly the door opened. Kendall peered in and found himself facing -enough artillery to blow a hole in Jupiter. There were five Martians in -the room, none he had seen before, and each had a blaster trained on -him. Das Shamra was sitting in his web-chair. There was no sign of the -Martian Kendall had clobbered.</p> - -<p>"The prodigal returns," Das Shamra remarked. "To what do we owe this -visit, Mr. Kendall?"</p> - -<p>Hesitantly, Kendall said, "I've—changed my mind. I'll do your damned -job for you."</p> - -<p>"Oh? A strange reversal of philosophy."</p> - -<p>"I can't help it. I just spent some time with some other guy who turned -you down. I don't want to end up like him. I want to get home to my -wife, and I don't care how I get there. What do you want me to do?"</p> - -<p>Das Shamra seemed to purr. "The terms are as we mentioned before."</p> - -<p>"And what about fixing up my reflexes?"</p> - -<p>"A simple matter—inasmuch as we happen to be the ones who saw to it -that they deteriorated."</p> - -<p>Kendall felt a jaw-muscle throb. The Martian's cool words confirmed -what the old drunk had told him; they had deliberately cooked up this -frame.</p> - -<p>Das Shamra said, "This is Murro Lignus. He's our surgeon. He's the -man who—ah—surreptitiously placed the distorter in your body while -you slept at the spaceport last night. He comes and goes with great -stealth."</p> - -<p>"You cold-blooded swine," Kendall said. "Okay. We'll be honest with -each other. I hate you, and you hate me—but I need you to ungimmick -me so I can go home, and you need me to help you hijack that dionate. -Okay."</p> - -<p>"We understand each other, then," Das Shamra said.</p> - -<p>"Take your gadget out of me and let me see the ship. I want to check it -over before I go up in it."</p> - -<p>"Very well. Murro Lignus, apply the anesthetic and remove the -distorter."</p> - -<p>Kendall shook his head. "No anesthetic. I want to watch this. I can't -trust you not to plant some other kind of gadget in me while I'm out."</p> - -<p>The fat Martian shrugged. "As you wish. It will be a painful operation, -though."</p> - -<p>"I'll take my chances on that," Kendall said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The operation was hell. The Martian surgeon had slipped a -submicroscopic pellet near the base of Kendall's spine, making use of -one of the Martian super-anesthetics. Now there was no anesthetic in -use, as Murro Lignus probed for the distorter.</p> - -<p>It was fifteen minutes of sheer agony. Finally the Martian murmured, -"It's over. You can get up."</p> - -<p>Kendall felt bolts of pain shoot through him. Looking around at the -watching Martians, he thought, <i>You'll pay for this. All of you.</i></p> - -<p>His brain felt clear. He knew the computer would now accept him and -restore his certificate. He toyed briefly with the idea of somehow -ducking out and getting back to the Space Service office, but he turned -that notion down. He wanted to do this up in style.</p> - -<p>"We'll take you to the ship," Das Shamra said. "The plan is to lie in -wait off Phobos until the dionate ship shows up. Then you can follow -our instructions."</p> - -<p>"You're the boss," Kendall said. "Until this caper is over, anyway. -Then I'm heading back to Earth and you can all rot so far as I care."</p> - -<p>They took him far out of town, circled around the outlying districts -until he was pretty thoroughly confused, then brought him back. By now -it was night, and the twin moons were in the sky—tiny Phobos, only ten -miles in diameter, and Deimos, half her size.</p> - -<p>The ship was a small, sleek job, some twenty years old. Where they got -it didn't seem evident; possibly they had blackmailed some other pilot -into surrendering it, possibly they had hijacked it in some fashion or -other.</p> - -<p>He climbed aboard, followed by Das Shamra and his five henchmen.</p> - -<p>"You'll have to weigh yourselves," he announced. "With all six of you -on board I'll have some tricky mass-calculations to do."</p> - -<p>It took him a few hours to calculate the orbit, another hour to run a -routine check on the ship. It was in beautiful shape, ready to go.</p> - -<p>"Strap down for blastoff," he said, when he was satisfied.</p> - -<p>The Martians frowned in bewilderment. "We've never been in space," one -of them said. "We don't know how to get into the acceleration cradles."</p> - -<p>Kendall showed them. Das Shamra lay closest to him, a blaster cradled -in his arms. "You're the only one who can move around now, Kendall. One -move out of place and I'll drill you."</p> - -<p>"Sure you will," Kendall said. "And which one of you is going to pilot -the ship back down again? If you want to live, Das Shamra, keep that -blaster from going off."</p> - -<p>He nestled down in the control webbing, and readied the ship for -blasting. A sharp thrill ran through him, as it always did as he -readied a ship for a leap into the great blackness. But there was a -special thrill this time. Only hours ago he had resigned himself to a -short, dreary few years of life remaining to him on barren Mars; now he -was behind the controls of a powerful ship again.</p> - -<p>He touched the power stud. A reassuring throbbing shuddered through the -ship.</p> - -<p>"We're about to blast off," he said. "Just relax, and it won't bother -you much. I'm going to put the ship in orbit around Phobos and then we -can wait for the dionate ship at leisure. Okay?"</p> - -<p>"Good enough," Das Shamra grunted. The fat blueskin's face was beaded -with sweat. Obviously the Martians weren't looking forward to their -trip through space—but they were willing to put up with it for the -sake of the millions in dionate to be grabbed off Phobos.</p> - -<p>Kendall grinned and jammed down the blastoff key. The ship sprang -skyward.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He had his back to a man with a gun. That didn't make him feel -happier. But the little ship bit a chunk out of the sky, climbed higher -and higher.</p> - -<p>He heard a groan from behind him, but didn't turn around. He kept -himself bent over the controls, forced himself to remain conscious as -the acceleration mounted.</p> - -<p>Three g's. Four. He yelled over his shoulder, "How you doin' back -there? Comfortable?"</p> - -<p>There was no reply. He grinned and stepped up the acceleration. Seven -g's. Eight. The gravity was tearing at him like a demon's claws, but he -clung to consciousness.</p> - -<p>A figure ran through his mind:</p> - -<p>Mars—gravity, O.38. He could stand two-and-a-half times as much -acceleration as the blueskins behind him. His Earth-trained muscles, -used to responding to a much heavier grav, could handle eight g's -without too much strain. The Martians must be having fits.</p> - -<p>Nine g's. Ten. He turned, looked back for the first time.</p> - -<p>Reddish-brown blood trickled from Das Shamra's fleshy lips. The blaster -had long since fallen from his limp hand and lay on the spaceship's -deck. They were all unconscious—all of them, battered and beaten by -the sort of acceleration an Earthman was able to take with relative -ease.</p> - -<p>Grinning savagely, Kendall boosted the thrust until he nearly blacked -out himself. Then he seized the controls and started to reverse the -ship.</p> - -<p>Some time later, he landed it neatly outside the Space Service -headquarters. Taking a loving look at the Martians, with their -wrenched, distorted faces, he scooped up Das Shamra's blaster and -opened the hatch.</p> - -<p>The computer technician he had fought with before came running out on -the landing field.</p> - -<p>"What is the meaning of this? An unauthorized flight? Who are you? -Oh—Kendall!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Kendall," he said, leaning dizzily against the side of the ship.</p> - -<p>Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he said, "Get the Port Police -out here on the double. There are six very sick would-be smugglers -inside this ship. When you've got our green-faced blueskins packed -away, I want another date with that computer. I think I can get an okay -now—and I can't get back to Earth soon enough!"</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKID ROW PILOT ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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