Somewhat like Nathan Hale of old, Jak SP
regretted having but one vitality to give for
his Planet ... and the starry-eyed Drusilla.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
One hour and forty-one minutes before deceleration, the spacecoptermaterialized off to right, matching precisely the 3360 kilometers persecond speed of the Box. Jak SP34509260 jerked erect in answer toblinking red lights and screeching collision whistles. The dark glassand liquid ozone of the control cabin windows gave but a distorted viewof space, although enough to show the sleek shape outside.
Drusilla GW414249834, asymmetric in a flowing, floreated, red robe,clamped slender hands over her ears and squawled, "What now, Jak? Youknow I have a headache! Can't you be considerate?"
Jak pressed a switch, to stop the whistles, and hoped she would notfaint again. His wide mouth drooping with concern, he said, "It'sO.K., sweetjet. That spacecopter did it. See?"
He activated all viewers.
With rotorwings and fins retracted, the spacecopter resembled a thick,but sharply pointed, needle. Jak increased the magnification of Number3 viewer until he could read the license, SE-YNWGR. "From Enceladus!"he said. "Saturn's second moon. If I'd known she had a station, wecould have looked there for a doc. Did you take that tomato juice offmy uniform?"
Drusilla's gray eyes squinted. She stood with such rigidity that herfeet floated clear of the deck. She said, "I informed you I'll acceptno substitute for the Wollongong Obstetric Hospital on Earth, and Ididn't clean your uniform. That cleanser makes me vomit."
"Sorry, sweetjet," Jak mumbled. He wished he could say something justonce without upsetting her. He magnetized his shoes and pulled Drusilladown from the ceiling. "I was thinking of you," he pleaded, "but don'tyou worry. We'll be on Luna in a bit over four earth-days. From thereto—"
Drusilla pulled loose and flitted to Number 3 viewer. "Why couldn'tyou have a plane like that?" she demanded with a dramatic gesture atthe needle shape. "The Box! That's what this wreck looks like, aprehistoric boxcar!"
"But, sweetjet, I've told you. Streamlining is useless except inatmosphere. The Box is the most economical construction for—"
"What's that insignia?" Drusilla interrupted. "Like a skull and twobones. What is it?"
Jak turned the knob to maximum magnification. "Umm. I believe that'san old pictograph for poison. Perhaps they're carrying some poisonouscargo, and—"
"In a yatch?" Drusilla sneered. "Why can't you have a yatch?"
"My salary. I hoped to pick up enough ore in the Rings, this trip, butwe had to bring you back, and—"
"You act as if it were my fault!" Drusilla squeaked.
The plates of the Box vibrated slightly as the spacecopter threw outmagnetic grapplers and reeled in until the fuselages touched. Theairlock of the slender plane opened to release three spacesuitedfigures. "Men!" Drusilla gasped. Her hands flew in instinctive twitchesto red tattooed lips, blue tattooed eyelids, and green dyed hair.
Jak's pointed chin seemed to grow longer. He sighed. He shook his headand muttered, "Probably want to borrow a welding rod. I remember oncein the Albert Group, a miner boarded me looking almost devitalized,and all he wanted was a can opener to—"
"Spare me the anecdotes," said Drusilla, surveying her surgicallytilted nose in a small mirror. "That's all I've heard for three months."
Jak's shoulders heaved in a greater si