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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..b17dc70 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51741 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51741) diff --git a/old/51741-h.zip b/old/51741-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 889f791..0000000 --- a/old/51741-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51741-h/51741-h.htm b/old/51741-h/51741-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 4883f35..0000000 --- a/old/51741-h/51741-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1496 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Round-and-Round Trip, by H. 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Fyfe. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Round-and-Round Trip, by H. B. Fyfe - -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'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Round-and-Round Trip - -Author: H. B. Fyfe - -Release Date: April 12, 2016 [EBook #51741] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND-AND-ROUND TRIP *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="397" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p><i>All he wanted to do was go</i></p> - -<h1>ROUND-AND-ROUND TRIP</h1> - -<p><i>from here to there—but somehow<br /> -the entire Milky Way had been<br /> -converted into a squirrel cage.</i></p> - -<p>By H. B. FYFE</p> - -<p>Illustrated by WOOD</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Magazine December 1960.<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>When the passengers from Epseri II had been chauffeured from the -<i>Centaur Queen</i> to the administration building of the spaceport, -the man whose papers identified him as Robert L. Winstead trailed -the others to the Interstellar Travel Agency counter. His taking an -unobtrusive place near the end of the line was entirely in keeping -with his unobtrusive appearance.</p> - -<p>Of medium height but somewhat underweight, Winstead looked like a -tired clerk who had not slept well in space. The wide trousers of -his conservative maroon suit flapped about his thin shins and drew -attention to the fact that he had donned one blue and one green sock.</p> - -<p>The processing was rapid; most of the two dozen passengers meant to -stay here on St. Andrew V. Only a few, of whom Winstead was one, -carried "ultimate destination" tickets. They remained after the locals -had been taken in charge by a guide who would see them into the -adjacent city.</p> - -<p>Winstead finally reached a clerk, a dark, extremely brisk young man. He -presented his papers. The young man riffled through them, stamped the -date of arrival on the travel record according to both local and Terran -calendar, then turned back abruptly to the card showing Winstead's -destination. He shook his head in puzzled annoyance.</p> - -<p>"I'm very sorry, Mr.—uh—Winstead. Is this the proper ticket you've -given me? Could you have gotten it mixed up with someone else's?"</p> - -<p>The traveler coughed and spluttered worried, questioning noises. A look -of vague alarm spread over his undistinguished features.</p> - -<p>His wispy gray hair had become rumpled when he had pulled off and -stuffed into a side pocket his rather sporty maroon-and-white checked -cap. This, plus the fact that he had to look up to the clerk, lent him -an air of the typical little man in the wrong queue. It did not help -that he wore old-fashioned sunglasses instead of colored contacts, and -had forgotten to remove them before peering at the ticket.</p> - -<p>"Why—er—yes, yes, this is right," he said. "See, here's my name on -it."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The clerk sighed as he looked around, but his partner was busy. -"Someone seems to have blown a nova, sir," he condescended to explain. -"It says here your ultimate destination is Altair IV."</p> - -<p>"Quite right, quite right," said Winstead. "Going out there to see what -the sales possibilities are for—"</p> - -<p>"And they sent you <i>here</i> from Epseri? That can't be, sir."</p> - -<p>"But—they told me—don't you Agency people take care of picking out -the routes?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, of course. Beyond the local Terran sphere of travel, there -are very few scheduled flights and most of them are for important -cargo. That's why your ticket simply shows your ultimate destination, -and that's why the Interstellar Travel Agency was developed—to arrange -for the traveler's progress by stages."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Winstead. "That is how they explained it to me."</p> - -<p>The clerk met his worried gaze for a few moments before shaking himself -slightly. He prodded the ticket on the counter between him and Winstead -with a disdainful forefinger.</p> - -<p>"Let me put it as simply as possible, Mr.—uh—Winstead," he said very -patiently. "Somebody at your last stop sent you in the wrong direction."</p> - -<p>"But—but—you just said it went by stages. I realize I can't go in -a direct line. It depends on whether you can find me the right ship, -doesn't it?"</p> - -<p>The young man glanced about once more for help, but none was available.</p> - -<p>"We'll see what we can do," he said, examining the ticket sourly. He -thumbed a button to roll out a length of note paper from a slot in the -counter top and scribbled upon it with his lectropen. "Now, if you will -please accompany that young lady to the Agency hotel with those other -travelers, we will notify you the moment a desirable ship is scheduled -to leave."</p> - -<p>Winstead thanked him gratefully and turned away to locate his baggage. -Under the conditions imposed by space travel, only the barest minimum -was permitted. Even so, some little time was required to find his -bag—an unlikely occurrence that the clerk accepted with a resigned air.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="600" height="282" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Finally, with the half dozen who also would be traveling onward, -Winstead was off to the hotel and a day's rest.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, it was three days' rest, before he was summoned. -He was, perhaps by intent, confronted upon his arrival by a different -clerk, a solid, square-faced girl. Winstead's nervous questions were -reflected unanswered from a shield of impervious calm. He received all -the information the Agency seemed to feel was good for him and was sent -out with a personal guide.</p> - -<p>The guide delivered him to a thick thing named the <i>Stellar Streak</i>, -clearly a workhorse freighter. Somehow, it never did become plain to -Winstead until after he had emerged from his acceleration net that the -destination was Topaz IV.</p> - -<p>"But, Captain!" he protested. "Are you sure the people at the spaceport -have not made some mistake? That is more or less the direction I came -from."</p> - -<p>The pilot stared impatiently at the papers thrust under his nose.</p> - -<p>"Can't say, sir. We have our work cut out just to take the ship to -where they tell us. Only reason we carry passengers is that regulations -require cooperation with the Agency. Don't believe in it myself."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mr. Winstead sighed and returned to his quarters. At least, on this -ship, he still had a private compartment in which to float his net. -There was even a chair, equipped with a safety belt and folding table, -bolted to the deck. What he did miss was the general dining saloon of -the liner he had taken from Epseri II.</p> - -<p><i>Still</i>, he reflected, <i>travel can't always be luxurious.</i></p> - -<p>He spent some time, after the ship had slipped into stellar drive, in -unpacking his one small suitcase. He found that he had to take his -shaver to the general head to plug it in, but otherwise got along -comfortably enough. One or two of the crew who shared his turn at the -galley counter, in fact, took him for an old space hopper and began to -exchange yarns.</p> - -<p>This sort of semi-suspended living passed the four-day hop to the Topaz -system and the extra day necessary for planetary approach. When they -landed, Winstead was the only passenger, either incoming or outgoing, -to show up at the cargo shed designated as the spaceport administration -building.</p> - -<p>Here on Topaz IV, the Agency clerk was a part-time man who had to be -called from the mines on the far side of the city. He arrived to find -Winstead dozing on a cot at the end of the shed.</p> - -<p>"Billy Callahan," he introduced himself. "They say you're not for the -mines."</p> - -<p>"That is correct," answered Winstead, stretching a kink out of his -back. "I have my destination here in these papers ... if you will bear -with me a moment...."</p> - -<p>He fumbled out his identification, travel record, and ticket. Callahan, -rubbing his carroty hair with a large, freckled hand, pored over them. -A few minutes of searching through the battered desk that was his -headquarters revealed the official arrival stamp. Its inky smear was -duly added to the record.</p> - -<p>"Now for your way outa here," grunted Callahan. "Meanwhile, how about a -cigar, Mr. Winstead?"</p> - -<p>"Why—thanks very much."</p> - -<p>Winstead regarded the torpedo doubtfully. He wondered upon which planet -the tobacco for it—if it was tobacco—had been grown.</p> - -<p>"This might take a little while," said Callahan, applying to the ends -of their cigars a lighter that could have welded I-beams. "It ain't -every day we get a through traveler here. I gotta look up the Galatlas -an' the shipping notices."</p> - -<p>He hoisted a bulky catalogue from a side table onto his desk and blew -off a cloud of dust. Winstead seized the excuse to cough out a lungful -of smoke. His host reached out for the ticket.</p> - -<p>"Ultimate destination Fomalhaut VIII," he read off. "Say! That ain't -one I ever had to handle before!"</p> - -<p>He leafed through the volume for some minutes, reexamined the ticket, -then dug into two or three appendices. He tapped a knobby knuckle -against his chin.</p> - -<p>"It don't look to me, Mr. Winstead," he said thoughtfully, "like you -shoulda wound up here at all. Fomalhaut VIII! That's a hell of a way -from here!"</p> - -<p>"The clerk at the last spaceport <i>did</i> seem to think there had been a -mistake," Winstead volunteered cautiously.</p> - -<p>"Somethin' sure slipped. Maybe some jet-head read his directions wrong -an' sent you so many degrees Sol north instead of Sol south. Best you -can say is you're still on the right general side of the Solar System."</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear!" Winstead said, flustered. "What can you do about that?"</p> - -<p>"Depends what ships, if any, are due here. If I was you, I'd take the -first one out. Get to a bigger settlement, where you'll get a better -choice of ships."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He flicked ash from his cigar and inquired whether Winstead had -retained quarters aboard the <i>Stellar Streak</i>. He was undaunted by the -negative reply.</p> - -<p>"Never mind," he said heartily. "We're too small to have an Agency -hotel here, but I'll fix you up a place to stay in town."</p> - -<p>They left Winstead's bag under the desk and set off by dilapidated -groundcar for Topaz City. This turned out to be a crude, sprawling -village of adobe walls and corrugated plastic roofs. The varied colors -of the roofs contrasted in desperate gaiety with the dun walls. As soon -as Callahan skidded to a halt, the car was enveloped by its own dust -cloud.</p> - -<p>"Phew!" coughed Callahan. "Some day they're gonna have to pave the -street!"</p> - -<p>Winstead pulled out a handkerchief to mop his tear-flooded eyes. His -thin chest heaved and he spat out muddy saliva.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry about that," apologized Callahan. "Tell you what—we don't -have much civilization yet, but we do have a little cocktail lounge. -Come along an' I'll get you somethin' to clear your throat."</p> - -<p>The traveler allowed himself to be helped out of the car and guided -along the "street" to a low building marked by a small parking jam. -Most of the men and women that passed them on the way shouted out a -greeting to his companion. They dressed with little distinction between -the sexes in rough shirts, boots, and pants of a narrower pattern than -Winstead's conservative suit. He was introduced to six or seven people -he never expected to lay eyes upon again.</p> - -<p><i>Frontier culture</i>, he deduced. <i>Where humans are rare, each one counts -for more.</i></p> - -<p>The first thing he saw in the lounge was the girl guitarist. She was -the only woman he had yet seen who was not wearing pants. In fact, it -had hardly occurred to him that there might be someone in town who was -not connected with the mines. This girl was hardly connected to her own -brief costume.</p> - -<p>The second thing he saw was a wall of friendly, weather-beaten faces, -turning his way in response to Callahan's cheerful whoop. The third was -a man-size drink somebody thrust at him.</p> - -<p>After listening for quite a while to a repertoire of apparently ribald -songs, most of them too local in humor for Winstead to follow, the -traveler was led by Callahan to a sort of restaurant just down the -street.</p> - -<p>Winstead thought later that he had eaten something there, but what it -might have been he forgot as soon as they returned to the cocktail -lounge, for a bottle-swinging brawl broke out almost immediately in a -far corner. After a form of order had been restored, there was a girl -who danced; and presently Callahan was shaking him up and down on a -spine-stiffening bed in a small, darkened room.</p> - -<p>Winstead promptly discovered that he had, indeed, eaten. When he -recovered, he followed Callahan out on wobbly legs to seek a remedy. -It was a bright, sunny day, but he could not even guess at the local -time. A little while after they had been successful in finding the -remedy, he forgot about it.</p> - -<p>"Take care of Bobby Winstead for me a little while, George," he heard -Callahan say to someone. "I gotta stop out at the port to check a ship -for him. Be right back."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The hospitality shown him shamed Winstead into inquiring where he might -cash a traveler's check. With the proceeds, he was permitted to buy -about one round in a dozen, and to join in the singing. He was eagerly -pumped between stops along the street for the latest news of Terra. His -least little knowledge was of interest to those he encountered.</p> - -<p>At one point, he came to himself in the midst of drawing a current -dress design on the bar for one of the girls. Callahan, whose return he -had missed, dissuaded the lady from taking his charge home with her as -a gesture of pure gratitude. He declared that Winstead had just enough -time for a nap.</p> - -<p>Winstead's next awakening was in the echo of a terrified scream.</p> - -<p>A light was turned on and he discovered that the man-eating vine which -had been strangling him was in reality an acceleration net. The face -that floated before him was clean-shaven and anxious.</p> - -<p>With considerable mental effort, Winstead deduced that the face was -inquiring as to his health.</p> - -<p>"Quite ... fine ... thank ... you," he answered with difficulty. -"Haven't we met somewhere?"</p> - -<p>"Sure! Last week, Mr. Winstead, when we took you to Topaz IV," said the -face.</p> - -<p>Winstead tried shaking his head. It did not hurt—very much—but he -felt that his thinking was terribly slow. Then things began to click. -He recognized the man as the second pilot of the <i>Stellar Queen</i>. It -might have been easier had the spacer not been standing upside down to -Winstead's twisted position.</p> - -<p>He groped dizzily for a question that would not make him sound a -complete idiot. The pilot saved him.</p> - -<p>"Callahan, back on Topaz IV," he volunteered, "asked us to tell you the -best routing he could figure was to go on with us to Queen Bess III. -It's a busy spaceport, so he thinks you can make better connections."</p> - -<p>"Oh. I ... see," murmured Winstead.</p> - -<p>Unzipping the opening of his net, he floated himself out gingerly.</p> - -<p>"I hope it's all right, Mr. Winstead," said the spacer. "I know you -went in there on an Altair IV destination, but old Callahan seemed to -think he was sending you to Fomalhaut VIII. To tell the truth, I think -he was a little over-fueled."</p> - -<p>"I ... didn't notice," said Winstead. "Tell me—how long were you down -at Topaz?"</p> - -<p>"Three days," the spacer told him. "They sure took a liking to you -there, Mr. Winstead. A big crowd brought you out to the spaceport with -Callahan. We found your bag under his desk by ourselves, but I don't -know where you got that orange suit."</p> - -<p>Winstead looked down at his clothing for the first time and flinched.</p> - -<p>"But that was yesterday," continued the pilot. "You ought to be feeling -like some chow by now, eh? Hey wait—the door is down here, Mr. -Winstead!"</p> - -<p>In six days, including one of landing maneuvers, they reached Queen -Bess III, a very Terran world that was a minor crossroads of space -travel.</p> - -<p>Here, Winstead bade farewell to the <i>Stellar Queen</i>. His first stop -was the communications office. He left a message to be transmitted to -Callahan on Topaz IV by "fastest means"—<i>i. e.</i>, by the next spaceship -headed that way. He said, simply, "Thanks for everything."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He found a good many travelers wandering about the clean, beautifully -furnished waiting room of the Agency here. Winstead sank into a softly -upholstered armchair, opened his bag, and began to sort out his papers. -No sooner did he look up from this task than there appeared before him -a pleasantly smiling, gray-haired man. He was about Winstead's height, -but chunky and full of bounce.</p> - -<p>"My name is John Aubrey," he announced. "I trust I can be of service. -Are you stopping here on Bessie?"</p> - -<p>"No, I—I'm just passing through," said Winstead. "I assume you are the -Agency official here?"</p> - -<p>"One of them," Aubrey said. "Ah, your papers? Thank you. We can just -step this way into my office if you like."</p> - -<p>He threaded his way between chairs, tables, and occasional travelers -to one of a row of offices. It was the size of a large closet, but -cheerfully decorated. Aubrey gave Winstead a chair and sat himself down -behind an extremely modern desk to commit the required formalities upon -the traveler's papers. The ultimate destination ticket Winstead had -included gave him pause.</p> - -<p>"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed. "Achernar X! Really! You must be with -the government, I suppose? Or a scientist? As I recall, Achernar is -rather blue for human use, except our research outpost there, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"I—er—I am engaged in a little research," said Winstead. "You did -very well to remember the place offhand."</p> - -<p>"It <i>is</i> a long way out. Interesting. I wonder how I can get you there. -Someone seems to have sent you—well, no matter. Just leave it to me. -You'll be staying at our hotel, of course? Might as well, since you -have paid for the service, eh? I'll have you flown over right away."</p> - -<p>An aircar carried Winstead to the roof of a hotel overlooking a -considerable metropolis. Having left his bag in his room, he found his -way to the hotel department store and ordered another suit. He spent -the rest of the afternoon sightseeing and decided that he might just -as well have been on Terra. When he sat down to an excellent dinner -that evening, he discovered that his appetite, unfortunately, had not -recovered from his stay on Topaz IV.</p> - -<p>He was awakened before dawn by the soft chime of his bedside screen. A -touch of the button brought on the happy features of Aubrey.</p> - -<p><i>Does he never rest?</i> thought Winstead.</p> - -<p>He pushed the audio button and answered.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, Mr. Winstead," said the Agency man brightly. "Sorry to -call so early, but I was extremely lucky to find you a passage toward -Achernar."</p> - -<p>"Not sure I want to go," Winstead muttered into his pillow.</p> - -<p>Aubrey, apparently not hearing him, bubbled merrily on. There would be -an aircar on the hotel roof for Winstead in half an hour. Haste was -necessary because the ship was leaving from a spaceport fifty miles -outside the city. Indeed, Winstead could count himself fortunate to -have had the chance so quickly. Aubrey had found it only by checking -all the private spacelines. After all, Achernar was a long way off.</p> - -<p>Winstead thanked him blearily before switching off. He then dialed -the hotel store, but got no more answer than he expected. Giving up -thoughts of his new suit, he rose and struggled into his clothes.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Queen Bess had not yet poked her corona above the horizon when the -aircar delivered him to a little island spaceport south of the city. -A stocky, taciturn shadow met him. They walked silently out to a ship -that towered darkly overhead.</p> - -<p>"No inside elevator?" asked Winstead, peering at the skeleton framework -rising beside the ship.</p> - -<p>"Too much load."</p> - -<p>They rode a creaking platform up through the chilly breeze until -Winstead thought they would go past the nose of the monster. Clutching -his bag in one hand and the single railing in the other, he edged -across a narrow gangway to an airlock. Inside, he followed the crewman -down a short, three-foot-diameter shaft to a square chamber, catching -his bag on the ladder no more than a few times.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="340" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>In the more adequate light here, the spacer was revealed as a swarthy -man with a muscular, dark-stubbled face. He wore tight trousers and -shirt of navy blue and a knit cap that might once have been white. With -a preoccupied air, he pulled open a small door on the bulkhead at chest -level.</p> - -<p>"Let's have your bag," he said.</p> - -<p>Winstead handed it over. The spacer shoved it into what seemed to be a -spacious compartment in spite of the yard-square door.</p> - -<p>"Now you," he said. "I'll give you a hand up."</p> - -<p>"Up where?" asked Winstead innocently.</p> - -<p>"In there. That's your acceleration compartment. Plenty of room. -Armored, air-conditioned, has its own emergency rations of air and -water."</p> - -<p>Winstead stooped to peer into the opening. It was deeper than he had -thought, but a three-foot square was not much of a cross section. All -surfaces inside were thickly padded and springy to the touch.</p> - -<p>"Here's the light switch," the spacer said, turning on a soft interior -light. "The rest of the facilities and instructions are on this plate -beside the hatch. Okay now, grab that handhold up there so you go in -feet first. Alley-oop!"</p> - -<p><i>As long as I don't come out that way</i>, thought Winstead, sliding into -the compartment with surprising ease. He twisted around and discovered -that the door had a small window.</p> - -<p>"Make yourself comfortable," said the spacer. "Just don't forget to -close the hatch when the takeoff buzzer sounds. You'd better listen for -it."</p> - -<p>He turned away. Winstead saw him look into several other little windows -along the bulkhead.</p> - -<p>"Are there other passengers?" asked Winstead.</p> - -<p>"No. Just checking to see if all my crew stayed. Always seems to be one -that slides down the pipe before takeoff. Dunno why they sign on if -they don't like the risk."</p> - -<p>"What—what risk?"</p> - -<p>"Didn't the Agency tell you? We've got nothing below here but tanks -of concentrated landing fuel for the station on Gelbchen II. The idea -makes some of them nervous now and then. They talk quiet, they walk -quiet, and they wouldn't wear an orange suit."</p> - -<p>He pulled open a door and nodded in gloomy satisfaction when the -compartment proved to be empty.</p> - -<p>"<i>Is</i> it dangerous?" asked Winstead.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The spacer gnawed upon a very short thumbnail. "What's dangerous?" -he retorted at last. "You can get killed any day under a downcoming -aircar."</p> - -<p>Winstead considered. "Where's the captain?" he inquired.</p> - -<p>"I'm the captain."</p> - -<p>"But—aren't you preparing to blast off?"</p> - -<p>"I generally let my second pilot do it," said the spacer.</p> - -<p>"But why? I thought—"</p> - -<p>"Why? Because I own the ship, that's why."</p> - -<p>"What has that got to do with it?" said Winstead. "I should think you'd -want all the more to handle it yourself!"</p> - -<p>"Listen—I sweated out years in space, saving the price of this can. -If she blows up, d'you think I want to know that I did it? There's the -buzzer. Button up!"</p> - -<p>He pulled himself into a compartment like Winstead's and clapped the -door shut. Winstead, beginning to perspire gently, found the safety -straps, secured himself, and awaited the worst.</p> - -<p>The <i>Leaky Dipper</i> sped through interstellar space for five silent and -introverted days before reaching the little yellow sun named Gelbchen. -The highlight of the flight was the day one of the crew dropped his -mess tray on the deck, causing one faint, one case of palpitations, and -one fist fight, in approximately that order.</p> - -<p>The captain spent two days groping his way into an orbit about the -second planet. When he announced that the cargo would be pumped into a -number of small local tankers that had risen from the surface to meet -them, Winstead volunteered to go down in the first one.</p> - -<p>"Don't blame you," said the swarthy spacer. "I'd like to go too. Don't -worry—they'll be good and careful landing. The stuff's that much more -expensive now that it's been freighted out here."</p> - -<p>"That is a—a great relief," said Winstead. "It's been very -interesting. Good-by and good luck!"</p> - -<p>"Likewise," said the captain.</p> - -<p><i>If I ever meet Aubrey again!</i> thought Winstead.</p> - -<p>On the surface of the planet, he met with a thriving community that -lived in a peculiar milieu blended of well-being and isolation. The -spaceport was a center for refueling and repair. It was supported by -mines and mills, and by just enough agricultural organization to get -by. The standard of living was comfortably high because of the services -rendered and charged for; but some of the customs struck Winstead as -being almost too informal.</p> - -<p>"I think you're pulling my leg!" exclaimed the slim blonde at the -Agency counter when Winstead was escorted in from the field. "Nobody -would travel on the <i>Leaky Dipper</i> without being paid for it. You must -have real nerve!"</p> - -<p>She leaned uninhibitedly across the counter and planted a kiss on his -cheek. He could not help noticing that she was not slim everywhere.</p> - -<p>"I assure you, Miss—er—here are my papers."</p> - -<p>"Oh, those! Let me see, I have a stamp somewhere in one of my drawers."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>She rummaged through several hiding places under the counter. Winstead -thought of the compartments on the <i>Leaky Dipper</i>. He leaned wearily on -one elbow.</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, it's time to close up anyway," the girl decided. She swept -his papers into a drawer, after a fast glance at them. "We can fix -these up tomorrow, Bob."</p> - -<p>"You are a very quick reader," Winstead said.</p> - -<p>"It said 'Robert L.,' didn't it? That's all I was looking for—your -name. Mine's Carole, just to keep things straight. Now, since no more -ships are due and no passengers can leave tonight, let's get out of -here."</p> - -<p>Winstead looked around, but the mechanic who had brought him in from -the field had long since disappeared. Other clerks went about their own -affairs in the background without showing any interest in him.</p> - -<p>Carole hoisted herself onto the counter and twisted across in a swirl -of skirts. There was no way for Winstead to avoid catching her. He saw -that she was not really slim <i>anywhere</i>.</p> - -<p>Grabbing his hand, she set off at a smart pace. He had just time to -hook his bag off the counter as they passed it.</p> - -<p>"You'll be wanting a place to stay," she said. "I'll bet you never -slept well on that spaceship."</p> - -<p>This so neatly paralleled Winstead's own opinion that he rejected a -half-formed impulse to drag his feet.</p> - -<p>They dashed pell-mell through a wide exit from the building to a -parking lot. Carole led the way to a monstrous groundcar that looked as -if its mother had been frightened by a truck. A moment later, they were -boosting up to stellar speed along a more-or-less paved road to the -city.</p> - -<p>"They call it 'Junction,'" Carole informed him. "You'd think they -could have picked a better name for the only real city on the planet."</p> - -<p>They buzzed through a narrow band of suburbs, along the edge of an open -square and decelerated at a well-lighted avenue that looked like an -entertainment section. Winstead noted that most of the men and women -strolling past the taverns and theaters were dressed in work clothes.</p> - -<p>"Just finishing their shifts, like me," Carole explained.</p> - -<p>She slowed the monster a bit more upon entering a side street. They -came to a section of four- and five-storied buildings whose metal -curtain walls had the air of business offices. It developed immediately -that they were apartment houses.</p> - -<p>Carole pulled into an opening in a row of parked vehicles similar to -hers. Winstead got out quickly, since his hostess seemed about to -crawl across his lap to reach the door. He stared at the groundcar -meditatively.</p> - -<p>"Awful heap, isn't it?" said the blonde. "They have to make them that -way here, so they can be converted for trucking. The spaceships count -on Gelbchen II; everything else—including us—is what can be scraped -up to do the job. Well, come on in!"</p> - -<p><i>I really must be very tired</i>, Winstead thought as he meekly followed -the girl into the lobby of the building.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Inside, two youths in coveralls were lounging on wooden chairs of -austere design. One leaped to his feet at the sight of Carole. As he -strode toward them, Winstead glanced over his shoulder to make sure of -the door.</p> - -<p>Turning back, he was just in time to find the young man seizing Carole -in an enthusiastic embrace. The two melted together in a passionate -kiss. Then the young man stepped back, checked his wristwatch and -dashed for the door.</p> - -<p>"Good night, kid," he called to her over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>Carole waved jauntily. She took Winstead by the elbow.</p> - -<p>"That was Wilfie," she explained. "We'll be getting married if we can -ever get our job shifts straightened out. I hope I didn't make him -late, poor boy—it was his only chance to see me until tomorrow."</p> - -<p>Winstead was hardly aware of having been steered into an elevator. When -they reached the second floor, Carole led him a few steps along the -hall. She used a simple light-key to open an apartment door. Winstead -followed her inside wordlessly.</p> - -<p>"Let me take your bag," she said. "In here is the bedroom. I'll bet -you didn't have that much room on the spaceship."</p> - -<p>"Well...."</p> - -<p>"Now let's go in the kitchen and see what we can get you for dinner. I -might as well feed you, since I figure to charge you fifty credits for -the night."</p> - -<p>Winstead remained silent by a considerable effort.</p> - -<p>He wondered what his expression showed. Carole did not seem to notice -anything. She prattled on about the folly of trying to find a room -in one of the few hotels boasted by the city of Junction. Most of -them, she claimed, would be full of carousing spacers. Meanwhile, she -rummaged through a frozen food unit.</p> - -<p>Winstead agreed to something in a foil package without knowing what. -She popped it into an automatic infra-red heater. He allowed himself to -be led by the hand to a large chair in the living room.</p> - -<p>"There's the entertainment program for the TV," she told him. "Not that -we have much here—most of it is old tapes from Terra. Make yourself -comfortable while I change."</p> - -<p>She pattered off into the bedroom, leaving Winstead weighing the -program in a limp hand. He looked around the room. There were two doors -to rooms or exits he had not been shown. What he had seen or could -examine from where he sat was very comfortably furnished, with a -resilient carpet substitute from wall to wall and new-looking furniture -of the simple Gelbchen style. Carole seemed partial to reds and other -bright colors. Only the pastels of the walls had prevented a disaster.</p> - -<p><i>Is it worth fifty credits?</i> he asked himself. <i>On the other hand, if -I go out looking for a hotel, will I just happen to have a hard time -getting a ship?</i></p> - -<p>He glanced indecisively at the door to the bedroom into which Carole -had vanished. It had been left slightly ajar. About the time he became -aware of this, a tinny chime began to sound from the direction of the -kitchen.</p> - -<p>It continued until Winstead realized that he would have to investigate -for himself. He entered the kitchen to find that the automatic heater -had flipped up a small sign saying, "<i>Hot!</i>"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He guessed the right button to get the door of the appliance open, -looked around until he located a tray and tongs, and removed his -dinner. Further search supplied him with cutlery. He opened the foil, -discovering that he had chosen a meal of roast beef with mashed -potatoes and two vegetables he had never seen on Terra.</p> - -<p>Carole still had not appeared, so he carried his tray out to the dining -area, which was furnished with bronze-colored metal chairs and table. -It looked like a dinner for one, he reflected, but he was on a strange -planet. As he hesitated, the bedroom door was flung back and footsteps -sounded behind him.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead and enjoy it," called Carole. "Wine in the sideboard there. -Then make yourself at home for the night."</p> - -<p>Winstead turned. The girl was bending to zip the front of one shoe. She -was clad in coveralls of a yellow that made Winstead blink.</p> - -<p>"I'm off," she announced cheerfully. "Got a second-shift job as an -ambulance driver. I tell you, it's one big rat race to meet expenses on -Gelbchen II! It helps when I can bring home guests from the spaceport, -but Wilfie wants me to cut that out when we get married."</p> - -<p>She waved and bustled out to the elevator.</p> - -<p>Winstead wondered whether he had said good night.</p> - -<p>He discovered after some minutes that he was leaning on the table -with one thumb in the hot potatoes. He sat down, examining his thumb -attentively. After due consideration, he licked off the potato, found a -fork, and began to prod dubiously at the local idea of vegetables....</p> - -<p>He awoke next morning with a start of surprise at finding himself in -neither a net nor a padded compartment. The bed was soft. It invited -him to roll over for another half hour's snooze in the faintly perfumed -room.</p> - -<p>Perfume?</p> - -<p>Bedroom ... <i>Carole!</i></p> - -<p>Winstead sat straight up as full memory returned.</p> - -<p>Everything was quiet. He threw back the electric blanket, checked a -clock that must be set to planetary time, and decided that it was early -morning. The window filters yielded to trial-and-error manipulation, -flooding the room with cheerful sunlight not unlike that of a Terran -summer morning. Winstead walked softly to the door and opened it a -crack. The room outside remained dim and silent.</p> - -<p>He washed in the adjoining bathroom and dressed rapidly. Feeling better -prepared for the day, he sallied out to seek breakfast. The first sight -that met his eyes was that of Carole sleeping on a couch under an -aquamarine blanket she had plugged in at the socket of a floor lamp.</p> - -<p>The thought of fifty credits restrained the impulse to pat her blonde -head in commiseration. He thought of it a little more, thereby fighting -down a mild attack of conscience over appropriating the bed.</p> - -<p><i>After all</i>, he thought, <i>here I have to get my own breakfast. She's -probably tired out, but that's the reward of moonlighting. It's her -planet, not mine.</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Winstead tiptoed to the kitchen door, slipped furtively through, and -closed the door as quietly as possible behind him.</p> - -<p>Two men eating breakfast at a small table looked up at him amiably.</p> - -<p>"Gaagh!" said Winstead.</p> - -<p>"Good morning," replied one man, who wore a rather feminine dressing -gown.</p> - -<p>The other, a ruddy, farmerish individual, grunted past a mouthful of -toast.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," Winstead said.</p> - -<p>"You must be another star traveler," said the gentleman in the dressing -gown. "We knew there must be one when we saw Carole on the couch. I -hope she gets you out of here quicker than she's finding a ship for me."</p> - -<p>"You have been waiting for a spaceship?" Winstead asked.</p> - -<p>"Over two weeks now," said the other. "The kid's fair enough about it, -I must admit. She can't ship me toward Epseri, so she's been giving me -a discount on my room."</p> - -<p>"Sit down and have some eggs," invited the farmer type. "Brought 'em -into town myself, along with my other produce."</p> - -<p>Winstead eyed the platter of fried eggs. They were entirely too large -to have come from chickens, but they looked good. He decided not to ask -any questions.</p> - -<p>It developed after he joined them at the table that the farmer was -in the habit of boarding with Carole whenever he came to Junction on -business. The traveler, one Cecil Feigelson, excused his borrowing -Carole's robe on grounds of the scanty baggage allowed space travelers -and the fact that he had been hanging about for so long. They assured -him that he looked fine in pink.</p> - -<p>Winstead drained his cup of coffee substitute, considered having -another.</p> - -<p>"You know," he said thoughtfully, "it hardly seems necessary to spend -all that time finding a ship headed for Epseri. I—uh—happen to be -going that way too. I suspect that a good, close look at the schedules -down at the spaceport might show us a way."</p> - -<p>"But Carole is the clerk in charge."</p> - -<p>"I also happen to know a little about how it's done," said Winstead -quietly. He added, "From traveling so much you know."</p> - -<p>"Well, if you think anything can be done, I'm all for it."</p> - -<p>"When the kid wakes up, she could drive you down," suggested the farmer.</p> - -<p>"That should require only a moment to arrange," said Winstead, rising -to fill a pitcher with ice water. <i>Fifty credits a night!</i> he thought. -<i>Wait till I get my hands on her shipping schedules!</i></p> - -<p>Hardly five minutes later, they all spilled out of the elevator into -the lobby. Carole was still rather damp and angry. Cecil Feigelson's -suitcase zipper was only three-quarters closed. Fortunately, he was -wearing pants under the girl's dressing gown, which clashed horribly -with Winstead's rumpled orange suit.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" someone yelped as they blazed through the lobby.</p> - -<p>Young Wilfie catapulted from a chair where he appeared to have been -dozing.</p> - -<p><i>Doesn't he have a home?</i> wondered Winstead.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By the time they reached Carole's groundcar outside, the youth had -somehow inserted himself into the group in place of the farmer. -Winstead set the machine in motion while the others were scrambling for -seats.</p> - -<p>"Do you know how to drive one of these, friend?" asked Feigelson.</p> - -<p>"I am an expert groundcar operator," Winstead assured him.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, he was soon forced to admit, he was accustomed to -Terran cars that floated on cushions of air. Although bumps in the -spaceport road encouraged a good deal of floating at the speed he was -making, the Gelbchen vehicle was really designed for less intermittent -wheel-to-ground contact.</p> - -<p>The trip seemed shorter, though, than it had the previous evening. -Winstead skidded to a halt at their destination and discovered that he -was perspiring slightly. His passengers were in a frank sweat and lost -several yards trailing him into the terminal and over to the Agency -counter.</p> - -<p>When they arrived, still quite pale, Winstead was already up to his -elbows in shipping schedules and blank forms. A few passing clerks -glanced curiously at Feigelson's frilly pink dressing gown, but they -were used to outworld garb.</p> - -<p>"Wait! That's my Galatlas you're tearing apart!" Carole protested -breathlessly.</p> - -<p>"How would you know, my dear?" asked Winstead, riffling the pages -furiously. "Hah! Just as I thought—this cruise ship down here for -supplies, the <i>Virgo</i>, is listed to make New Ceres next. The Galatlas -shows that New Ceres is halfway to Epseri, Feigelson!"</p> - -<p>"Wilfie!" wailed Carole. "Make him stop tearing the place apart like a -saloon! Look at that stack of folders spilled all over the floor!"</p> - -<p>Wilfie bestirred himself, but he was handicapped by being on the other -side of the counter with Carole and Feigelson.</p> - -<p>"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded truculently. "Where did -you come from, anyway?"</p> - -<p>"I came from Terra," said Winstead, pausing in filling out a form, "and -I am more than ready to return. Combining a vacation with a business -inspection trip occasionally becomes too exciting for a man of my -years."</p> - -<p>"Inspection trip?" echoed Carole, freezing.</p> - -<p>"My hobby," said Winstead. "It keeps one in touch with the people -who make the Agency go. This place, now, is the most slapdash, -disorganized—Young man! You quit one of your jobs and take over this -branch of the Interstellar Travel Agency. Don't argue—of course you -can! What is your full name?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Me?</i>" gasped Wilfie. "Wilfred Evans."</p> - -<p>"All right, Evans, you're hired. You'll be able to get married and put -a stop to all this nonsense of renting rooms while ships go out without -our passengers."</p> - -<p>"What authority have you to—" began Carole indignantly.</p> - -<p>"The first test of a chief agent," said Winstead, scribbling upon a -business card, "is to know when to tell an assistant manager to button -her hatch."</p> - -<p>Wilfie accepted the card and glanced at both print and scribbling.</p> - -<p>"Button your hatch!" he ordered Carole over his shoulder.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>She stood silent, her mouth open about the same distance as -Feigelson's. Winstead looked about for a local clock, and snatched up -one of the sheets strewn about the counter. A departure time listed -upon it made him swear. He leaped to Carole's phone, switching on sound -and screen with one swipe of his thumb.</p> - -<p>The blonde advanced a timid step, to read the card bearing Wilfie's -appointment.</p> - -<p>"Robert Winstead Lewis, Terra ... President, Interstellar Travel -Agency...."</p> - -<p>"Winstead" was shouting at a face on the phone screen.</p> - -<p>"You tell them who I am!" he demanded, holding up another of his cards -to the scanner. "They'll manage to hold the ship three minutes until we -reach her!"</p> - -<p>He switched off, mopping his forehead with the back of his hand, and -started around the counter. Carole swayed weakly against Feigelson's -supporting arm.</p> - -<p>"Now, then!" snapped Winstead. "This branch will be checked in the near -future, Evans. I trust that you are the sort of man who can show a firm -hand, should he return home to discover a star traveler in his bedroom."</p> - -<p>He smacked the flat of his own hand significantly upon the counter, -staring at Carole between the eyes. Wilfie nodded thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>Robert Winstead Lewis flagged down an unwary porter driving by on an -empty baggage truck.</p> - -<p>"Bring the bags, Feigelson!" he commanded, hopping aboard and seizing -the controls. "As far as New Ceres, anyhow, we'll be going first-class!"</p> - -<p>Picking up speed, the baggage truck squealed around a turn and headed -for an exit to the spaceport. The porter looked back with a horrified -expression, the pink gown fluttered beside the orange suit one last -time, and they disappeared through the portal.</p> - -<p>The air about the disorganized counter and reorganized agents continued -to vibrate for some minutes.</p> - -<p>Finally, the distant roar of a ship lifting for space penetrated to -restore a sense of relative peace.</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Round-and-Round Trip, by H. B. 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B. Fyfe - -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'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Round-and-Round Trip - -Author: H. B. Fyfe - -Release Date: April 12, 2016 [EBook #51741] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND-AND-ROUND TRIP *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - All he wanted to do was go - - ROUND-AND-ROUND TRIP - - from here to there--but somehow - the entire Milky Way had been - converted into a squirrel cage. - - By H. B. FYFE - - Illustrated by WOOD - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Magazine December 1960. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - -When the passengers from Epseri II had been chauffeured from the -_Centaur Queen_ to the administration building of the spaceport, -the man whose papers identified him as Robert L. Winstead trailed -the others to the Interstellar Travel Agency counter. His taking an -unobtrusive place near the end of the line was entirely in keeping -with his unobtrusive appearance. - -Of medium height but somewhat underweight, Winstead looked like a -tired clerk who had not slept well in space. The wide trousers of -his conservative maroon suit flapped about his thin shins and drew -attention to the fact that he had donned one blue and one green sock. - -The processing was rapid; most of the two dozen passengers meant to -stay here on St. Andrew V. Only a few, of whom Winstead was one, -carried "ultimate destination" tickets. They remained after the locals -had been taken in charge by a guide who would see them into the -adjacent city. - -Winstead finally reached a clerk, a dark, extremely brisk young man. He -presented his papers. The young man riffled through them, stamped the -date of arrival on the travel record according to both local and Terran -calendar, then turned back abruptly to the card showing Winstead's -destination. He shook his head in puzzled annoyance. - -"I'm very sorry, Mr.--uh--Winstead. Is this the proper ticket you've -given me? Could you have gotten it mixed up with someone else's?" - -The traveler coughed and spluttered worried, questioning noises. A look -of vague alarm spread over his undistinguished features. - -His wispy gray hair had become rumpled when he had pulled off and -stuffed into a side pocket his rather sporty maroon-and-white checked -cap. This, plus the fact that he had to look up to the clerk, lent him -an air of the typical little man in the wrong queue. It did not help -that he wore old-fashioned sunglasses instead of colored contacts, and -had forgotten to remove them before peering at the ticket. - -"Why--er--yes, yes, this is right," he said. "See, here's my name on -it." - - * * * * * - -The clerk sighed as he looked around, but his partner was busy. -"Someone seems to have blown a nova, sir," he condescended to explain. -"It says here your ultimate destination is Altair IV." - -"Quite right, quite right," said Winstead. "Going out there to see what -the sales possibilities are for--" - -"And they sent you _here_ from Epseri? That can't be, sir." - -"But--they told me--don't you Agency people take care of picking out -the routes?" - -"Yes, sir, of course. Beyond the local Terran sphere of travel, there -are very few scheduled flights and most of them are for important -cargo. That's why your ticket simply shows your ultimate destination, -and that's why the Interstellar Travel Agency was developed--to arrange -for the traveler's progress by stages." - -"Yes," said Winstead. "That is how they explained it to me." - -The clerk met his worried gaze for a few moments before shaking himself -slightly. He prodded the ticket on the counter between him and Winstead -with a disdainful forefinger. - -"Let me put it as simply as possible, Mr.--uh--Winstead," he said very -patiently. "Somebody at your last stop sent you in the wrong direction." - -"But--but--you just said it went by stages. I realize I can't go in -a direct line. It depends on whether you can find me the right ship, -doesn't it?" - -The young man glanced about once more for help, but none was available. - -"We'll see what we can do," he said, examining the ticket sourly. He -thumbed a button to roll out a length of note paper from a slot in the -counter top and scribbled upon it with his lectropen. "Now, if you will -please accompany that young lady to the Agency hotel with those other -travelers, we will notify you the moment a desirable ship is scheduled -to leave." - -Winstead thanked him gratefully and turned away to locate his baggage. -Under the conditions imposed by space travel, only the barest minimum -was permitted. Even so, some little time was required to find his -bag--an unlikely occurrence that the clerk accepted with a resigned air. - -Finally, with the half dozen who also would be traveling onward, -Winstead was off to the hotel and a day's rest. - -As a matter of fact, it was three days' rest, before he was summoned. -He was, perhaps by intent, confronted upon his arrival by a different -clerk, a solid, square-faced girl. Winstead's nervous questions were -reflected unanswered from a shield of impervious calm. He received all -the information the Agency seemed to feel was good for him and was sent -out with a personal guide. - -The guide delivered him to a thick thing named the _Stellar Streak_, -clearly a workhorse freighter. Somehow, it never did become plain to -Winstead until after he had emerged from his acceleration net that the -destination was Topaz IV. - -"But, Captain!" he protested. "Are you sure the people at the spaceport -have not made some mistake? That is more or less the direction I came -from." - -The pilot stared impatiently at the papers thrust under his nose. - -"Can't say, sir. We have our work cut out just to take the ship to -where they tell us. Only reason we carry passengers is that regulations -require cooperation with the Agency. Don't believe in it myself." - - * * * * * - -Mr. Winstead sighed and returned to his quarters. At least, on this -ship, he still had a private compartment in which to float his net. -There was even a chair, equipped with a safety belt and folding table, -bolted to the deck. What he did miss was the general dining saloon of -the liner he had taken from Epseri II. - -_Still_, he reflected, _travel can't always be luxurious._ - -He spent some time, after the ship had slipped into stellar drive, in -unpacking his one small suitcase. He found that he had to take his -shaver to the general head to plug it in, but otherwise got along -comfortably enough. One or two of the crew who shared his turn at the -galley counter, in fact, took him for an old space hopper and began to -exchange yarns. - -This sort of semi-suspended living passed the four-day hop to the Topaz -system and the extra day necessary for planetary approach. When they -landed, Winstead was the only passenger, either incoming or outgoing, -to show up at the cargo shed designated as the spaceport administration -building. - -Here on Topaz IV, the Agency clerk was a part-time man who had to be -called from the mines on the far side of the city. He arrived to find -Winstead dozing on a cot at the end of the shed. - -"Billy Callahan," he introduced himself. "They say you're not for the -mines." - -"That is correct," answered Winstead, stretching a kink out of his -back. "I have my destination here in these papers ... if you will bear -with me a moment...." - -He fumbled out his identification, travel record, and ticket. Callahan, -rubbing his carroty hair with a large, freckled hand, pored over them. -A few minutes of searching through the battered desk that was his -headquarters revealed the official arrival stamp. Its inky smear was -duly added to the record. - -"Now for your way outa here," grunted Callahan. "Meanwhile, how about a -cigar, Mr. Winstead?" - -"Why--thanks very much." - -Winstead regarded the torpedo doubtfully. He wondered upon which planet -the tobacco for it--if it was tobacco--had been grown. - -"This might take a little while," said Callahan, applying to the ends -of their cigars a lighter that could have welded I-beams. "It ain't -every day we get a through traveler here. I gotta look up the Galatlas -an' the shipping notices." - -He hoisted a bulky catalogue from a side table onto his desk and blew -off a cloud of dust. Winstead seized the excuse to cough out a lungful -of smoke. His host reached out for the ticket. - -"Ultimate destination Fomalhaut VIII," he read off. "Say! That ain't -one I ever had to handle before!" - -He leafed through the volume for some minutes, reexamined the ticket, -then dug into two or three appendices. He tapped a knobby knuckle -against his chin. - -"It don't look to me, Mr. Winstead," he said thoughtfully, "like you -shoulda wound up here at all. Fomalhaut VIII! That's a hell of a way -from here!" - -"The clerk at the last spaceport _did_ seem to think there had been a -mistake," Winstead volunteered cautiously. - -"Somethin' sure slipped. Maybe some jet-head read his directions wrong -an' sent you so many degrees Sol north instead of Sol south. Best you -can say is you're still on the right general side of the Solar System." - -"Oh, dear!" Winstead said, flustered. "What can you do about that?" - -"Depends what ships, if any, are due here. If I was you, I'd take the -first one out. Get to a bigger settlement, where you'll get a better -choice of ships." - - * * * * * - -He flicked ash from his cigar and inquired whether Winstead had -retained quarters aboard the _Stellar Streak_. He was undaunted by the -negative reply. - -"Never mind," he said heartily. "We're too small to have an Agency -hotel here, but I'll fix you up a place to stay in town." - -They left Winstead's bag under the desk and set off by dilapidated -groundcar for Topaz City. This turned out to be a crude, sprawling -village of adobe walls and corrugated plastic roofs. The varied colors -of the roofs contrasted in desperate gaiety with the dun walls. As soon -as Callahan skidded to a halt, the car was enveloped by its own dust -cloud. - -"Phew!" coughed Callahan. "Some day they're gonna have to pave the -street!" - -Winstead pulled out a handkerchief to mop his tear-flooded eyes. His -thin chest heaved and he spat out muddy saliva. - -"I'm sorry about that," apologized Callahan. "Tell you what--we don't -have much civilization yet, but we do have a little cocktail lounge. -Come along an' I'll get you somethin' to clear your throat." - -The traveler allowed himself to be helped out of the car and guided -along the "street" to a low building marked by a small parking jam. -Most of the men and women that passed them on the way shouted out a -greeting to his companion. They dressed with little distinction between -the sexes in rough shirts, boots, and pants of a narrower pattern than -Winstead's conservative suit. He was introduced to six or seven people -he never expected to lay eyes upon again. - -_Frontier culture_, he deduced. _Where humans are rare, each one counts -for more._ - -The first thing he saw in the lounge was the girl guitarist. She was -the only woman he had yet seen who was not wearing pants. In fact, it -had hardly occurred to him that there might be someone in town who was -not connected with the mines. This girl was hardly connected to her own -brief costume. - -The second thing he saw was a wall of friendly, weather-beaten faces, -turning his way in response to Callahan's cheerful whoop. The third was -a man-size drink somebody thrust at him. - -After listening for quite a while to a repertoire of apparently ribald -songs, most of them too local in humor for Winstead to follow, the -traveler was led by Callahan to a sort of restaurant just down the -street. - -Winstead thought later that he had eaten something there, but what it -might have been he forgot as soon as they returned to the cocktail -lounge, for a bottle-swinging brawl broke out almost immediately in a -far corner. After a form of order had been restored, there was a girl -who danced; and presently Callahan was shaking him up and down on a -spine-stiffening bed in a small, darkened room. - -Winstead promptly discovered that he had, indeed, eaten. When he -recovered, he followed Callahan out on wobbly legs to seek a remedy. -It was a bright, sunny day, but he could not even guess at the local -time. A little while after they had been successful in finding the -remedy, he forgot about it. - -"Take care of Bobby Winstead for me a little while, George," he heard -Callahan say to someone. "I gotta stop out at the port to check a ship -for him. Be right back." - - * * * * * - -The hospitality shown him shamed Winstead into inquiring where he might -cash a traveler's check. With the proceeds, he was permitted to buy -about one round in a dozen, and to join in the singing. He was eagerly -pumped between stops along the street for the latest news of Terra. His -least little knowledge was of interest to those he encountered. - -At one point, he came to himself in the midst of drawing a current -dress design on the bar for one of the girls. Callahan, whose return he -had missed, dissuaded the lady from taking his charge home with her as -a gesture of pure gratitude. He declared that Winstead had just enough -time for a nap. - -Winstead's next awakening was in the echo of a terrified scream. - -A light was turned on and he discovered that the man-eating vine which -had been strangling him was in reality an acceleration net. The face -that floated before him was clean-shaven and anxious. - -With considerable mental effort, Winstead deduced that the face was -inquiring as to his health. - -"Quite ... fine ... thank ... you," he answered with difficulty. -"Haven't we met somewhere?" - -"Sure! Last week, Mr. Winstead, when we took you to Topaz IV," said the -face. - -Winstead tried shaking his head. It did not hurt--very much--but he -felt that his thinking was terribly slow. Then things began to click. -He recognized the man as the second pilot of the _Stellar Queen_. It -might have been easier had the spacer not been standing upside down to -Winstead's twisted position. - -He groped dizzily for a question that would not make him sound a -complete idiot. The pilot saved him. - -"Callahan, back on Topaz IV," he volunteered, "asked us to tell you the -best routing he could figure was to go on with us to Queen Bess III. -It's a busy spaceport, so he thinks you can make better connections." - -"Oh. I ... see," murmured Winstead. - -Unzipping the opening of his net, he floated himself out gingerly. - -"I hope it's all right, Mr. Winstead," said the spacer. "I know you -went in there on an Altair IV destination, but old Callahan seemed to -think he was sending you to Fomalhaut VIII. To tell the truth, I think -he was a little over-fueled." - -"I ... didn't notice," said Winstead. "Tell me--how long were you down -at Topaz?" - -"Three days," the spacer told him. "They sure took a liking to you -there, Mr. Winstead. A big crowd brought you out to the spaceport with -Callahan. We found your bag under his desk by ourselves, but I don't -know where you got that orange suit." - -Winstead looked down at his clothing for the first time and flinched. - -"But that was yesterday," continued the pilot. "You ought to be feeling -like some chow by now, eh? Hey wait--the door is down here, Mr. -Winstead!" - -In six days, including one of landing maneuvers, they reached Queen -Bess III, a very Terran world that was a minor crossroads of space -travel. - -Here, Winstead bade farewell to the _Stellar Queen_. His first stop -was the communications office. He left a message to be transmitted to -Callahan on Topaz IV by "fastest means"--_i. e._, by the next spaceship -headed that way. He said, simply, "Thanks for everything." - - * * * * * - -He found a good many travelers wandering about the clean, beautifully -furnished waiting room of the Agency here. Winstead sank into a softly -upholstered armchair, opened his bag, and began to sort out his papers. -No sooner did he look up from this task than there appeared before him -a pleasantly smiling, gray-haired man. He was about Winstead's height, -but chunky and full of bounce. - -"My name is John Aubrey," he announced. "I trust I can be of service. -Are you stopping here on Bessie?" - -"No, I--I'm just passing through," said Winstead. "I assume you are the -Agency official here?" - -"One of them," Aubrey said. "Ah, your papers? Thank you. We can just -step this way into my office if you like." - -He threaded his way between chairs, tables, and occasional travelers -to one of a row of offices. It was the size of a large closet, but -cheerfully decorated. Aubrey gave Winstead a chair and sat himself down -behind an extremely modern desk to commit the required formalities upon -the traveler's papers. The ultimate destination ticket Winstead had -included gave him pause. - -"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed. "Achernar X! Really! You must be with -the government, I suppose? Or a scientist? As I recall, Achernar is -rather blue for human use, except our research outpost there, isn't it?" - -"I--er--I am engaged in a little research," said Winstead. "You did -very well to remember the place offhand." - -"It _is_ a long way out. Interesting. I wonder how I can get you there. -Someone seems to have sent you--well, no matter. Just leave it to me. -You'll be staying at our hotel, of course? Might as well, since you -have paid for the service, eh? I'll have you flown over right away." - -An aircar carried Winstead to the roof of a hotel overlooking a -considerable metropolis. Having left his bag in his room, he found his -way to the hotel department store and ordered another suit. He spent -the rest of the afternoon sightseeing and decided that he might just -as well have been on Terra. When he sat down to an excellent dinner -that evening, he discovered that his appetite, unfortunately, had not -recovered from his stay on Topaz IV. - -He was awakened before dawn by the soft chime of his bedside screen. A -touch of the button brought on the happy features of Aubrey. - -_Does he never rest?_ thought Winstead. - -He pushed the audio button and answered. - -"Good morning, Mr. Winstead," said the Agency man brightly. "Sorry to -call so early, but I was extremely lucky to find you a passage toward -Achernar." - -"Not sure I want to go," Winstead muttered into his pillow. - -Aubrey, apparently not hearing him, bubbled merrily on. There would be -an aircar on the hotel roof for Winstead in half an hour. Haste was -necessary because the ship was leaving from a spaceport fifty miles -outside the city. Indeed, Winstead could count himself fortunate to -have had the chance so quickly. Aubrey had found it only by checking -all the private spacelines. After all, Achernar was a long way off. - -Winstead thanked him blearily before switching off. He then dialed -the hotel store, but got no more answer than he expected. Giving up -thoughts of his new suit, he rose and struggled into his clothes. - - * * * * * - -Queen Bess had not yet poked her corona above the horizon when the -aircar delivered him to a little island spaceport south of the city. -A stocky, taciturn shadow met him. They walked silently out to a ship -that towered darkly overhead. - -"No inside elevator?" asked Winstead, peering at the skeleton framework -rising beside the ship. - -"Too much load." - -They rode a creaking platform up through the chilly breeze until -Winstead thought they would go past the nose of the monster. Clutching -his bag in one hand and the single railing in the other, he edged -across a narrow gangway to an airlock. Inside, he followed the crewman -down a short, three-foot-diameter shaft to a square chamber, catching -his bag on the ladder no more than a few times. - -In the more adequate light here, the spacer was revealed as a swarthy -man with a muscular, dark-stubbled face. He wore tight trousers and -shirt of navy blue and a knit cap that might once have been white. With -a preoccupied air, he pulled open a small door on the bulkhead at chest -level. - -"Let's have your bag," he said. - -Winstead handed it over. The spacer shoved it into what seemed to be a -spacious compartment in spite of the yard-square door. - -"Now you," he said. "I'll give you a hand up." - -"Up where?" asked Winstead innocently. - -"In there. That's your acceleration compartment. Plenty of room. -Armored, air-conditioned, has its own emergency rations of air and -water." - -Winstead stooped to peer into the opening. It was deeper than he had -thought, but a three-foot square was not much of a cross section. All -surfaces inside were thickly padded and springy to the touch. - -"Here's the light switch," the spacer said, turning on a soft interior -light. "The rest of the facilities and instructions are on this plate -beside the hatch. Okay now, grab that handhold up there so you go in -feet first. Alley-oop!" - -_As long as I don't come out that way_, thought Winstead, sliding into -the compartment with surprising ease. He twisted around and discovered -that the door had a small window. - -"Make yourself comfortable," said the spacer. "Just don't forget to -close the hatch when the takeoff buzzer sounds. You'd better listen for -it." - -He turned away. Winstead saw him look into several other little windows -along the bulkhead. - -"Are there other passengers?" asked Winstead. - -"No. Just checking to see if all my crew stayed. Always seems to be one -that slides down the pipe before takeoff. Dunno why they sign on if -they don't like the risk." - -"What--what risk?" - -"Didn't the Agency tell you? We've got nothing below here but tanks -of concentrated landing fuel for the station on Gelbchen II. The idea -makes some of them nervous now and then. They talk quiet, they walk -quiet, and they wouldn't wear an orange suit." - -He pulled open a door and nodded in gloomy satisfaction when the -compartment proved to be empty. - -"_Is_ it dangerous?" asked Winstead. - - * * * * * - -The spacer gnawed upon a very short thumbnail. "What's dangerous?" -he retorted at last. "You can get killed any day under a downcoming -aircar." - -Winstead considered. "Where's the captain?" he inquired. - -"I'm the captain." - -"But--aren't you preparing to blast off?" - -"I generally let my second pilot do it," said the spacer. - -"But why? I thought--" - -"Why? Because I own the ship, that's why." - -"What has that got to do with it?" said Winstead. "I should think you'd -want all the more to handle it yourself!" - -"Listen--I sweated out years in space, saving the price of this can. -If she blows up, d'you think I want to know that I did it? There's the -buzzer. Button up!" - -He pulled himself into a compartment like Winstead's and clapped the -door shut. Winstead, beginning to perspire gently, found the safety -straps, secured himself, and awaited the worst. - -The _Leaky Dipper_ sped through interstellar space for five silent and -introverted days before reaching the little yellow sun named Gelbchen. -The highlight of the flight was the day one of the crew dropped his -mess tray on the deck, causing one faint, one case of palpitations, and -one fist fight, in approximately that order. - -The captain spent two days groping his way into an orbit about the -second planet. When he announced that the cargo would be pumped into a -number of small local tankers that had risen from the surface to meet -them, Winstead volunteered to go down in the first one. - -"Don't blame you," said the swarthy spacer. "I'd like to go too. Don't -worry--they'll be good and careful landing. The stuff's that much more -expensive now that it's been freighted out here." - -"That is a--a great relief," said Winstead. "It's been very -interesting. Good-by and good luck!" - -"Likewise," said the captain. - -_If I ever meet Aubrey again!_ thought Winstead. - -On the surface of the planet, he met with a thriving community that -lived in a peculiar milieu blended of well-being and isolation. The -spaceport was a center for refueling and repair. It was supported by -mines and mills, and by just enough agricultural organization to get -by. The standard of living was comfortably high because of the services -rendered and charged for; but some of the customs struck Winstead as -being almost too informal. - -"I think you're pulling my leg!" exclaimed the slim blonde at the -Agency counter when Winstead was escorted in from the field. "Nobody -would travel on the _Leaky Dipper_ without being paid for it. You must -have real nerve!" - -She leaned uninhibitedly across the counter and planted a kiss on his -cheek. He could not help noticing that she was not slim everywhere. - -"I assure you, Miss--er--here are my papers." - -"Oh, those! Let me see, I have a stamp somewhere in one of my drawers." - - * * * * * - -She rummaged through several hiding places under the counter. Winstead -thought of the compartments on the _Leaky Dipper_. He leaned wearily on -one elbow. - -"Oh, well, it's time to close up anyway," the girl decided. She swept -his papers into a drawer, after a fast glance at them. "We can fix -these up tomorrow, Bob." - -"You are a very quick reader," Winstead said. - -"It said 'Robert L.,' didn't it? That's all I was looking for--your -name. Mine's Carole, just to keep things straight. Now, since no more -ships are due and no passengers can leave tonight, let's get out of -here." - -Winstead looked around, but the mechanic who had brought him in from -the field had long since disappeared. Other clerks went about their own -affairs in the background without showing any interest in him. - -Carole hoisted herself onto the counter and twisted across in a swirl -of skirts. There was no way for Winstead to avoid catching her. He saw -that she was not really slim _anywhere_. - -Grabbing his hand, she set off at a smart pace. He had just time to -hook his bag off the counter as they passed it. - -"You'll be wanting a place to stay," she said. "I'll bet you never -slept well on that spaceship." - -This so neatly paralleled Winstead's own opinion that he rejected a -half-formed impulse to drag his feet. - -They dashed pell-mell through a wide exit from the building to a -parking lot. Carole led the way to a monstrous groundcar that looked as -if its mother had been frightened by a truck. A moment later, they were -boosting up to stellar speed along a more-or-less paved road to the -city. - -"They call it 'Junction,'" Carole informed him. "You'd think they -could have picked a better name for the only real city on the planet." - -They buzzed through a narrow band of suburbs, along the edge of an open -square and decelerated at a well-lighted avenue that looked like an -entertainment section. Winstead noted that most of the men and women -strolling past the taverns and theaters were dressed in work clothes. - -"Just finishing their shifts, like me," Carole explained. - -She slowed the monster a bit more upon entering a side street. They -came to a section of four- and five-storied buildings whose metal -curtain walls had the air of business offices. It developed immediately -that they were apartment houses. - -Carole pulled into an opening in a row of parked vehicles similar to -hers. Winstead got out quickly, since his hostess seemed about to -crawl across his lap to reach the door. He stared at the groundcar -meditatively. - -"Awful heap, isn't it?" said the blonde. "They have to make them that -way here, so they can be converted for trucking. The spaceships count -on Gelbchen II; everything else--including us--is what can be scraped -up to do the job. Well, come on in!" - -_I really must be very tired_, Winstead thought as he meekly followed -the girl into the lobby of the building. - - * * * * * - -Inside, two youths in coveralls were lounging on wooden chairs of -austere design. One leaped to his feet at the sight of Carole. As he -strode toward them, Winstead glanced over his shoulder to make sure of -the door. - -Turning back, he was just in time to find the young man seizing Carole -in an enthusiastic embrace. The two melted together in a passionate -kiss. Then the young man stepped back, checked his wristwatch and -dashed for the door. - -"Good night, kid," he called to her over his shoulder. - -Carole waved jauntily. She took Winstead by the elbow. - -"That was Wilfie," she explained. "We'll be getting married if we can -ever get our job shifts straightened out. I hope I didn't make him -late, poor boy--it was his only chance to see me until tomorrow." - -Winstead was hardly aware of having been steered into an elevator. When -they reached the second floor, Carole led him a few steps along the -hall. She used a simple light-key to open an apartment door. Winstead -followed her inside wordlessly. - -"Let me take your bag," she said. "In here is the bedroom. I'll bet -you didn't have that much room on the spaceship." - -"Well...." - -"Now let's go in the kitchen and see what we can get you for dinner. I -might as well feed you, since I figure to charge you fifty credits for -the night." - -Winstead remained silent by a considerable effort. - -He wondered what his expression showed. Carole did not seem to notice -anything. She prattled on about the folly of trying to find a room -in one of the few hotels boasted by the city of Junction. Most of -them, she claimed, would be full of carousing spacers. Meanwhile, she -rummaged through a frozen food unit. - -Winstead agreed to something in a foil package without knowing what. -She popped it into an automatic infra-red heater. He allowed himself to -be led by the hand to a large chair in the living room. - -"There's the entertainment program for the TV," she told him. "Not that -we have much here--most of it is old tapes from Terra. Make yourself -comfortable while I change." - -She pattered off into the bedroom, leaving Winstead weighing the -program in a limp hand. He looked around the room. There were two doors -to rooms or exits he had not been shown. What he had seen or could -examine from where he sat was very comfortably furnished, with a -resilient carpet substitute from wall to wall and new-looking furniture -of the simple Gelbchen style. Carole seemed partial to reds and other -bright colors. Only the pastels of the walls had prevented a disaster. - -_Is it worth fifty credits?_ he asked himself. _On the other hand, if -I go out looking for a hotel, will I just happen to have a hard time -getting a ship?_ - -He glanced indecisively at the door to the bedroom into which Carole -had vanished. It had been left slightly ajar. About the time he became -aware of this, a tinny chime began to sound from the direction of the -kitchen. - -It continued until Winstead realized that he would have to investigate -for himself. He entered the kitchen to find that the automatic heater -had flipped up a small sign saying, "_Hot!_" - - * * * * * - -He guessed the right button to get the door of the appliance open, -looked around until he located a tray and tongs, and removed his -dinner. Further search supplied him with cutlery. He opened the foil, -discovering that he had chosen a meal of roast beef with mashed -potatoes and two vegetables he had never seen on Terra. - -Carole still had not appeared, so he carried his tray out to the dining -area, which was furnished with bronze-colored metal chairs and table. -It looked like a dinner for one, he reflected, but he was on a strange -planet. As he hesitated, the bedroom door was flung back and footsteps -sounded behind him. - -"Go ahead and enjoy it," called Carole. "Wine in the sideboard there. -Then make yourself at home for the night." - -Winstead turned. The girl was bending to zip the front of one shoe. She -was clad in coveralls of a yellow that made Winstead blink. - -"I'm off," she announced cheerfully. "Got a second-shift job as an -ambulance driver. I tell you, it's one big rat race to meet expenses on -Gelbchen II! It helps when I can bring home guests from the spaceport, -but Wilfie wants me to cut that out when we get married." - -She waved and bustled out to the elevator. - -Winstead wondered whether he had said good night. - -He discovered after some minutes that he was leaning on the table -with one thumb in the hot potatoes. He sat down, examining his thumb -attentively. After due consideration, he licked off the potato, found a -fork, and began to prod dubiously at the local idea of vegetables.... - -He awoke next morning with a start of surprise at finding himself in -neither a net nor a padded compartment. The bed was soft. It invited -him to roll over for another half hour's snooze in the faintly perfumed -room. - -Perfume? - -Bedroom ... _Carole!_ - -Winstead sat straight up as full memory returned. - -Everything was quiet. He threw back the electric blanket, checked a -clock that must be set to planetary time, and decided that it was early -morning. The window filters yielded to trial-and-error manipulation, -flooding the room with cheerful sunlight not unlike that of a Terran -summer morning. Winstead walked softly to the door and opened it a -crack. The room outside remained dim and silent. - -He washed in the adjoining bathroom and dressed rapidly. Feeling better -prepared for the day, he sallied out to seek breakfast. The first sight -that met his eyes was that of Carole sleeping on a couch under an -aquamarine blanket she had plugged in at the socket of a floor lamp. - -The thought of fifty credits restrained the impulse to pat her blonde -head in commiseration. He thought of it a little more, thereby fighting -down a mild attack of conscience over appropriating the bed. - -_After all_, he thought, _here I have to get my own breakfast. She's -probably tired out, but that's the reward of moonlighting. It's her -planet, not mine._ - - * * * * * - -Winstead tiptoed to the kitchen door, slipped furtively through, and -closed the door as quietly as possible behind him. - -Two men eating breakfast at a small table looked up at him amiably. - -"Gaagh!" said Winstead. - -"Good morning," replied one man, who wore a rather feminine dressing -gown. - -The other, a ruddy, farmerish individual, grunted past a mouthful of -toast. - -"I beg your pardon," Winstead said. - -"You must be another star traveler," said the gentleman in the dressing -gown. "We knew there must be one when we saw Carole on the couch. I -hope she gets you out of here quicker than she's finding a ship for me." - -"You have been waiting for a spaceship?" Winstead asked. - -"Over two weeks now," said the other. "The kid's fair enough about it, -I must admit. She can't ship me toward Epseri, so she's been giving me -a discount on my room." - -"Sit down and have some eggs," invited the farmer type. "Brought 'em -into town myself, along with my other produce." - -Winstead eyed the platter of fried eggs. They were entirely too large -to have come from chickens, but they looked good. He decided not to ask -any questions. - -It developed after he joined them at the table that the farmer was -in the habit of boarding with Carole whenever he came to Junction on -business. The traveler, one Cecil Feigelson, excused his borrowing -Carole's robe on grounds of the scanty baggage allowed space travelers -and the fact that he had been hanging about for so long. They assured -him that he looked fine in pink. - -Winstead drained his cup of coffee substitute, considered having -another. - -"You know," he said thoughtfully, "it hardly seems necessary to spend -all that time finding a ship headed for Epseri. I--uh--happen to be -going that way too. I suspect that a good, close look at the schedules -down at the spaceport might show us a way." - -"But Carole is the clerk in charge." - -"I also happen to know a little about how it's done," said Winstead -quietly. He added, "From traveling so much you know." - -"Well, if you think anything can be done, I'm all for it." - -"When the kid wakes up, she could drive you down," suggested the farmer. - -"That should require only a moment to arrange," said Winstead, rising -to fill a pitcher with ice water. _Fifty credits a night!_ he thought. -_Wait till I get my hands on her shipping schedules!_ - -Hardly five minutes later, they all spilled out of the elevator into -the lobby. Carole was still rather damp and angry. Cecil Feigelson's -suitcase zipper was only three-quarters closed. Fortunately, he was -wearing pants under the girl's dressing gown, which clashed horribly -with Winstead's rumpled orange suit. - -"Hey!" someone yelped as they blazed through the lobby. - -Young Wilfie catapulted from a chair where he appeared to have been -dozing. - -_Doesn't he have a home?_ wondered Winstead. - - * * * * * - -By the time they reached Carole's groundcar outside, the youth had -somehow inserted himself into the group in place of the farmer. -Winstead set the machine in motion while the others were scrambling for -seats. - -"Do you know how to drive one of these, friend?" asked Feigelson. - -"I am an expert groundcar operator," Winstead assured him. - -Unfortunately, he was soon forced to admit, he was accustomed to -Terran cars that floated on cushions of air. Although bumps in the -spaceport road encouraged a good deal of floating at the speed he was -making, the Gelbchen vehicle was really designed for less intermittent -wheel-to-ground contact. - -The trip seemed shorter, though, than it had the previous evening. -Winstead skidded to a halt at their destination and discovered that he -was perspiring slightly. His passengers were in a frank sweat and lost -several yards trailing him into the terminal and over to the Agency -counter. - -When they arrived, still quite pale, Winstead was already up to his -elbows in shipping schedules and blank forms. A few passing clerks -glanced curiously at Feigelson's frilly pink dressing gown, but they -were used to outworld garb. - -"Wait! That's my Galatlas you're tearing apart!" Carole protested -breathlessly. - -"How would you know, my dear?" asked Winstead, riffling the pages -furiously. "Hah! Just as I thought--this cruise ship down here for -supplies, the _Virgo_, is listed to make New Ceres next. The Galatlas -shows that New Ceres is halfway to Epseri, Feigelson!" - -"Wilfie!" wailed Carole. "Make him stop tearing the place apart like a -saloon! Look at that stack of folders spilled all over the floor!" - -Wilfie bestirred himself, but he was handicapped by being on the other -side of the counter with Carole and Feigelson. - -"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded truculently. "Where did -you come from, anyway?" - -"I came from Terra," said Winstead, pausing in filling out a form, "and -I am more than ready to return. Combining a vacation with a business -inspection trip occasionally becomes too exciting for a man of my -years." - -"Inspection trip?" echoed Carole, freezing. - -"My hobby," said Winstead. "It keeps one in touch with the people -who make the Agency go. This place, now, is the most slapdash, -disorganized--Young man! You quit one of your jobs and take over this -branch of the Interstellar Travel Agency. Don't argue--of course you -can! What is your full name?" - -"_Me?_" gasped Wilfie. "Wilfred Evans." - -"All right, Evans, you're hired. You'll be able to get married and put -a stop to all this nonsense of renting rooms while ships go out without -our passengers." - -"What authority have you to--" began Carole indignantly. - -"The first test of a chief agent," said Winstead, scribbling upon a -business card, "is to know when to tell an assistant manager to button -her hatch." - -Wilfie accepted the card and glanced at both print and scribbling. - -"Button your hatch!" he ordered Carole over his shoulder. - - * * * * * - -She stood silent, her mouth open about the same distance as -Feigelson's. Winstead looked about for a local clock, and snatched up -one of the sheets strewn about the counter. A departure time listed -upon it made him swear. He leaped to Carole's phone, switching on sound -and screen with one swipe of his thumb. - -The blonde advanced a timid step, to read the card bearing Wilfie's -appointment. - -"Robert Winstead Lewis, Terra ... President, Interstellar Travel -Agency...." - -"Winstead" was shouting at a face on the phone screen. - -"You tell them who I am!" he demanded, holding up another of his cards -to the scanner. "They'll manage to hold the ship three minutes until we -reach her!" - -He switched off, mopping his forehead with the back of his hand, and -started around the counter. Carole swayed weakly against Feigelson's -supporting arm. - -"Now, then!" snapped Winstead. "This branch will be checked in the near -future, Evans. I trust that you are the sort of man who can show a firm -hand, should he return home to discover a star traveler in his bedroom." - -He smacked the flat of his own hand significantly upon the counter, -staring at Carole between the eyes. Wilfie nodded thoughtfully. - -Robert Winstead Lewis flagged down an unwary porter driving by on an -empty baggage truck. - -"Bring the bags, Feigelson!" he commanded, hopping aboard and seizing -the controls. "As far as New Ceres, anyhow, we'll be going first-class!" - -Picking up speed, the baggage truck squealed around a turn and headed -for an exit to the spaceport. The porter looked back with a horrified -expression, the pink gown fluttered beside the orange suit one last -time, and they disappeared through the portal. - -The air about the disorganized counter and reorganized agents continued -to vibrate for some minutes. - -Finally, the distant roar of a ship lifting for space penetrated to -restore a sense of relative peace. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Round-and-Round Trip, by H. B. 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