United States or Cook Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Most of the Valhalla's people had already been assigned rooms in the quarantine section of one of the Enclave buildings when Alan and his father arrived. The bored-looking desk clerk a withered-looking oldster who was probably a retired Starman gave Alan his room number.
Puzzled at Quantrell's sudden hesitation after his earlier cockiness, Alan took a couple of shuffling steps toward the bridge, slowly, keeping his eyes on the other starman. "I can't go with you," Kevin finally managed to say. His face was flushed and strained-looking. He was staring upward at the seemingly topless towers of the city. "It's too big for me." He choked back a half-whimper.
He ignored the ring of hostile faces about him and calmly bit into the banana. The unfamiliar taste pleased him. Despite hoots and catcalls from the crowd he finished it. "Now the spacer knows how to eat a banana," the vender commented acidly. "Here, spacer. Have another." "I don't want another." "Huh? No good? Earth fruits are too good for you, starman. You better learn that fast."
Behind him were three men in the silver-gray police uniforms. "That's the man who wouldn't buy from me. He's an unrotationist! Damn Spacer!" One of the policemen stepped forward a broad man with a wide slab of a face, red, like raw meat. "This man has placed some serious charges against you. Let's see your work card." "I'm a starman. I don't have a work card." "Even worse.
The photostat was titled, APPLICATION FOR ADMISSION TO FREE-STATUS LABOR FORCE, and the form had been filled out in a handwriting Alan recognized immediately as Steve's: bold, untidy, the letters slanting slightly backward. He had given his name as Steve Donnell, his date of birth as 3576, his chronological age as seventeen. He had listed his former occupation as Starman.
Think of the changes it would mean in Starman society! No more no more permanent separations if someone decides to leave his ship for a while." Alan understood what his father meant. Suddenly he saw the reason for Captain Donnell's abrupt growth of interest in the development of a hyperdrive. It's Steve that's on his mind, Alan thought.
Or, alternately he must be able to name sixty different kinds of animals, insects, reptiles, or birds in a museum or zoological garden, or from unnamed coloured plates, and give particulars of the lives, habits, appearance and markings of twenty of them. Starman: A scout must have a general knowledge of the nature and movements of the stars.
If I ever find what I'm looking for, it's going to mean the end of Starman life as you know it. Travel between planets will be instantaneous. There there won't be this business of making jumps and getting separated from everyone you used to know." "You're right. I've just begun thinking seriously about this business of hyperdrive. There wouldn't be any Contraction effect.
It sounded boastful to the starman, but Hawkes won on the fifth round, matching the hidden pattern in only six minutes. The previous four rounds had taken from nine to twelve minutes before a winner appeared. The croupier, a small, sallow-faced chap, shoved a stack of coins and a few bills at Hawkes when he went to the rostrum to claim his winnings.
Bottled in bond, best syntho stuff to come out of Caledonia in the last century!" MacIntosh shuffled back behind his desk and found three dingy glasses in one of the drawers; he set them out and uncorked a dark blue bottle plainly labelled INK. He poured a shot for Hawkes and then a second shot; as he started to push it toward Alan, the starman shook his head. "Sorry, but I don't drink.
Word Of The Day