Halftripper
By MACK REYNOLDS
Mars was strewn with the human wrecks of
halftrippers—terrorized cowards of space travel.
But perhaps the saddest, and the most fearful of
all was the immortal spacebum called Micheal.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories November 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
This section of New Sante Fe was off my beaten track. I've been on Marsa long time and am more than usually familiar with the various centerswhere we Terrans do our congregating. However, it'd been years sinceI'd come through here.
I was sitting in an obscure tavern, called, with commendable restraint,simply Sam's Bar, lapping up Martian brandy and facing the prospect ofreturning to the spaceport in a few hours with no particular enthusiasm.
I only half-noticed the old man who got up on the stool next to me. Samcame over and asked him what he'd have.
The oldster carefully counted out some coins on the bar and said,"Wine, Sam; a glass of Martian wine."
"You know I don't want your money, Joseph," Sam told him.
The old man answered reproachfully, "The wine would taste that much theless, my friend, if I had not earned it by the sweat of my...."
"Okay," Sam sighed. He poured the wine and rang up the money and wentoff to wait on someone else.
A halftripper sidled up to me. "How about a drink, spaceman?" hewhined. "I'm a graduate of the academy myself, class of '72." He musthave noted my United Space Lines uniform.
"Sorry," I said gruffly, keeping my back to him. Any spaceman can tellyou that if you talk to a halftripper for long you'll soon be showingsymptoms of space cafard yourself. The underlying terror in him; themind shattering fear of space; the way he stares at you, thinking thatyou can go home, while he is afraid to risk the trip. There are few ofthem that can hide their disease.
"I need a shot bad," he whispered urgently. He probably did, too. Fewhalftrippers are able to secure jobs on the planets of their exile.Most of them become beachcombers of space. Of course, there are someexceptions, especially if they have money and connections.
I shuddered. "Beat it," I grated, hating myself and him.
The fear of space cafard must be somewhat similar to that ofseasickness every new sailor had back in ancient days when man sailedthe oceans of Terra. He never knew until he made his first voyage if hewas going to be susceptible; and, if he turned out to be, it meant thesea wasn't for him.
Of course, space cafard goes tragically further. A new man usuallysuccumbs his first few hours in space, if he is going to get it atall. He probably makes it to the next planet, sometimes not; sometimeshe goes incurably mad, right off the bat. But even if he does makeit, wild horses could never get him on another rocketship. He becomesa halftripper, marooned on an alien world. Usually, although I haveknown of several exceptions, if you don't get it on your first trip, itseldom bothers you; you're immune for the rest of your life.
He repeated, "How about it, spaceman?"
Sam began to approach threateningly. He couldn't afford to havehalftrippers hang out in his place. For one thing, the shipping lineswould soon declare him out of bounds for their crews. You just can'tlet good men come in contact with obvious victims of space cafard.
The old-timer Sam had called Joseph was distressed. "You know not whatyou say," he told me gently.