"Aye-firm, Semiramide, from North Venus Tower."
"Semiramide requesting landing instructions; give with the dope, Tower."
"Tower to Semiramide. Beacon Nine at one hundred thousand feet, Landing
Area Twelve. Traffic is one Middleton Seven-Six-Two at thirty thousand
taking off from Beacon Two and one Lincoln Four-Four landing at Beacon
Seven. Keep an eye peeled for a Burbank Eight-Experimental that's been
scooting around at seventy thousand. That's all."
"Aye-firm, Tower."
Then had come the voice of a woman behind him. Just a murmur--perhaps
a sigh of wonder from a woman who had just been shown for the first
time in her life the intricacies of rack and panel of meter and gage
and lever and shining device that surrounds the space pilot to demand
every iota of his attention during take-off or landing. In Farradyne's
recollection, there were two kinds of people: one kind stood in the
center of such an array and held their hands together for fear of
upsetting something; the other couldn't keep their damned hands off a
button or a lever even if it meant their own electrocution.
There were thirty-three people aboard, thirteen of them women, and
Farradyne wondered which of them it was. He didn't care. "Get the hell
below," he snapped over his shoulder.
A young man made some sound. Farradyne was even sharper; a woman might
wander up, interested, but a man should know that this was a deadly
curiosity. "Take her below, you imbecile," he snarled.
An older man chimed in with something that sounded like an agreement
to Farradyne's order; there was a very brief three-way argument that
lasted until one of them fell for the lure of a dark pilot-lamp and an
inviting push-button. The Semiramide bucked like a wasp-stung colt and
the silver-dull sky over North Venus Spaceport whirled--
* * * * *
Farradyne was shocked out of his vivid daydream by the matter-of-fact
voice of the Mercury Port's dispatcher: "Lancaster from Tower, you are
a half degree off landing course. Correct."
Farradyne responded, "Instructions received, Tower. Will correct. Will
correlate instruments after landing."
"Aye-firm, Lancaster Eighty-One."
Farradyne's solo landing was firm and easy; almost as good as he used
to do in the days before--
He put it out of his mind and went below to Clevis and Donaldson. The
latter asked him what had been the matter with the course.
"I hit a daydream of the Semiramide," admitted Farradyne.
"Better forget it."
"I came out of it," said Farradyne shortly.
"Okay?" Clevis looked at Donaldson. The pilot nodded. "Okay, Farradyne,
you're ready. This is your ship; you're cleared to Ganymede on
speculation. You'll play it from there. There's enough money in the
strong-locker to keep you going for a long time on no pickups at all,
and you'll get regular payment for the Pluto run. Just remember, no
shenanigans."
"No games," promised Farradyne.
Clevis stood up. "I hope you mean that," he said earnestly. "If nothing
else, remember that your--er--misfortune on Venus four years ago may
have put you in a position to be a benefactor to the same mankind you
hate. I hope you'll find that they are as quick to applaud a hero as to
condemn a louse. Don't force me to admit that my hope of running down
the hellblossom outfit was based on a bum hunch. Don't let me down,
Farradyne."
Clevis left then, before Farradyne could find words. Donaldson left
with him, but stopped at the spacelock to hurl at Farradyne: "Luck,
fella."
An hour later Farradyne was a-space between Mercury and Ganymede. On
his own in space for the first time in four long aching years. Not
quite a free man, but at least no prisoner. He took a deep breath
once he was out of control-range and could put the Lancaster on the
autopilot. Gone were the smells and the rotting filth of the fungus
fields; here were the bright clear stars in the velvety sky. Here was
freedom--freedom of the body, at least. Maybe even freedom of the soul.
But not freedom of the intellect, yet. He had a tough row to hoe and
the tougher row of his innocence to turn up into the light of day.
But for the first time since he'd been thrown flat on his face,
Farradyne felt that he had a chance.