Norma thought it would be a great thrill
to dodge the meteors in Saturn's forbidden Ring.
A thrill yes--but would she live to enjoy it?...
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
March 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Mimas was a cold little world where the sun's rays seldom reached. You
stayed under a big glassite dome on the four-hundred mile sphere if you
stayed there at all, and you hardly saw the sun anyway because Saturn
and its rings were so big and so bright.
The temperature under the dome was kept in the forties because Mimas
was a summer resort, provided you wanted to travel three quarters of a
billion miles to leave the heat and the bustle of the inferior planets
behind you.
It was cold, but Mr. S. Smith sweated. The S. was for Socrates, but
everyone called him Smitty. Now he looked at his visitor and the sweat
formed little glistening beads on his forehead. The man was short and
stout with a bald head and a florid face. He looked silly next to
Socrates Smith because Socrates stood six and a half feet tall without
his space-boots, and he could have been a Martian bone bird for all the
flesh on his body.
"That's the size of it, Smith," the florid little man said. "We don't
care if you _are_ a billion miles from the sun--"
"Eight-hundred eighty-five million nine-hundred and sixty-three
thousand seventy-two," Socrates said proudly. "The most distant
pleasure-spot in the Solar System. Want to get away from it all? Come
to Mimas, with Saturn's rings right in your backyard...."
"That's it. We've had enough monkey business. Government was sued
because it sanctioned your artificial satellite above Jupiter's Red
Spot. The Red Spot Palace--bah! More people complained of asthma--"
"I included spacesuits with each domette, Mr. Farquhart. How did I know
somebody sold me an inferior product?"
Farquhart shook his head. "None of my business. All your customers went
to Mars to get rid of their asthma. Mars boomed, then over-produced.
We had deflation, and the whole tourist business went to pot for three
years. Why don't you try something simple like a spa on one of the
Venusian islands? I got a cousin--"
"Too crowded, too much competition. No, Mr. Farquhart, I have something
different here. It'll make me a million. Then I can retire, buy me an
estate on Ganymede and be out of your hair."
"It's not as simple as that, Smith. First I got to check this place.
Is it safe? How do I know it's safe? Will you give phony asthma to ten
thousand people again?"
* * * * *
Socrates still sweated, but he was all business now. "Of course it's
safe. All my ships are war-surplus two-man cruisers, all twenty of
them. You trust the Space Navy, don't you?"
"Naturally, naturally." Farquhart lit a cigar. "But what do you do with
those ships?"
"We ride the rings, that's what we do. Only A and B, of course. The
Saturnian Merrygoround, that's what we have here. Someone's a licensed
pilot, I let him take a ship up himself. Otherwise I provide pilots."
"But is it safe?"
"You bet it's safe! And fun--it's terrific. The whole ring system is
a hundred and seventy-one thousand miles across, a big merrygoround.
Ten thousand miles of outer ring, sixteen thousand miles of bright
ring--all to play in. Billions of meteors, and all the tourists have to
do is dodge 'em. Great fun."
"I don't want to be a stick in the mud, Mr. Smith, but, ah, what
happens if someone doesn't dodge?"
"Not a chance. How could anyone miss? The ring-particles shine by
reflected sunlight--you can see each one clear as hell, and you just
avoid 'em, that's all. We don't go near the third ring, the crepe
ring--not that dark baby. That could be dangerous. You know, the
innermost ring, only seven thousand miles from Saturn itself. That's
dark as the inside of a Plutonian catacomb. I thought of a resort there
at first, but it's too damned far--"
Farquhart stood up. "Well, I don't want to take any more of your time.
Tell you what I'll do, Smith. I'll stick around three, four days, and
watch some of your tourists. I'll be fair about the whole thing--if
it's safe, excellent: if not--" He shrugged. "You got quarters for me,
Smith?"
Socrates started to tell him of the wonderful accommodations, thought
better of it, checked on a domette vacancy, and gave Farquhart his key.
"I'll see you," the short fat man said.
Socrates mopped his brow.
* * * * *
"Can I come out now?"