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WDS Publishing
Redemption Cairn
Redemption Cairn
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Have you ever been flat broke, hungry as the very devil, and yet so down
and out that you didn't even care? Looking back now, after a couple of
months, it's hard to put it into words, but I think the low point was
the evening old Captain Harris Henshaw dropped into my room--my room,
that is, until the twenty-four-hour notice to move or pay up expired.
There I sat, Jack Sands, ex-rocket pilot. Yeah, the same Jack Sands
you're thinking of, the one who cracked up the Gunderson Europa
expedition trying to land at Young's Field, Long Island, in March, 2110.
Just a year and a half ago! It seemed like ten and a half. Five hundred
idle days. Eighteen months of having your friends look the other way
when you happened to pass on the street, partly because they're ashamed
to nod to a pilot that's been tagged yellow, and partly because they
feel maybe it's kinder to just let you drop out of sight peacefully.
I didn't even look up when a knock sounded on my door, because I knew it
could only be the landlady. "Haven't got it," I growled. "I've got a
right to stay out my notice."
"You got a right to make a damn fool of yourself," said Henshaw's voice.
"Why don't you tell your friends your address?"
"Harris!" I yelled. It was "Captain" only aboard ship. Then I caught
myself. "What's the matter?" I asked, grinning bitterly. "Did you crack
up, too? Coming to join me on the dust heap, eh?"
"Coming to offer you a job," he growled.
"Yeah? It must be a swell one, then. Carting sand to fill up the blast
pits on a field, huh? And I'm damn near hungry enough to take it--but
not quite."
"It's a piloting job," said Henshaw quietly.
"Who wants a pilot who's been smeared with yellow paint? What outfit
will trust its ships to a coward? Don't you know that Jack Sands is
tagged forever?"
"Shut up, Jack," he said briefly. "I'm offering you the job as pilot
under me on Interplanetary's new Europa expedition."
I started to burn up then. You see, it was returning from Jupiter's
third moon, Europa, that I'd smashed up the Gunderson outfit, and now I
got a wild idea that Henshaw was taunting me about that. "By Heaven!" I
screeched. "If you're trying to be funny--"
and out that you didn't even care? Looking back now, after a couple of
months, it's hard to put it into words, but I think the low point was
the evening old Captain Harris Henshaw dropped into my room--my room,
that is, until the twenty-four-hour notice to move or pay up expired.
There I sat, Jack Sands, ex-rocket pilot. Yeah, the same Jack Sands
you're thinking of, the one who cracked up the Gunderson Europa
expedition trying to land at Young's Field, Long Island, in March, 2110.
Just a year and a half ago! It seemed like ten and a half. Five hundred
idle days. Eighteen months of having your friends look the other way
when you happened to pass on the street, partly because they're ashamed
to nod to a pilot that's been tagged yellow, and partly because they
feel maybe it's kinder to just let you drop out of sight peacefully.
I didn't even look up when a knock sounded on my door, because I knew it
could only be the landlady. "Haven't got it," I growled. "I've got a
right to stay out my notice."
"You got a right to make a damn fool of yourself," said Henshaw's voice.
"Why don't you tell your friends your address?"
"Harris!" I yelled. It was "Captain" only aboard ship. Then I caught
myself. "What's the matter?" I asked, grinning bitterly. "Did you crack
up, too? Coming to join me on the dust heap, eh?"
"Coming to offer you a job," he growled.
"Yeah? It must be a swell one, then. Carting sand to fill up the blast
pits on a field, huh? And I'm damn near hungry enough to take it--but
not quite."
"It's a piloting job," said Henshaw quietly.
"Who wants a pilot who's been smeared with yellow paint? What outfit
will trust its ships to a coward? Don't you know that Jack Sands is
tagged forever?"
"Shut up, Jack," he said briefly. "I'm offering you the job as pilot
under me on Interplanetary's new Europa expedition."
I started to burn up then. You see, it was returning from Jupiter's
third moon, Europa, that I'd smashed up the Gunderson outfit, and now I
got a wild idea that Henshaw was taunting me about that. "By Heaven!" I
screeched. "If you're trying to be funny--"
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