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"That's just it," another pilot put in. "There was a time

when you could show that rocket races were necessary for

better spaceship design. Design has gone way beyond that.

From their point of view we just bum up units as fast

as other people create them. And it's no use trying to argue

for the television shows. The Board can prove people would

rather see a jet-skiing meet at a cost of about one-hundredth

that of a rocket race."

Conrad Manz grinned into his drink. He had been aware

for several minutes that pert little Angela, Alberts' soft-eyed,

husky-voiced wife, was trying to catch his eye. But stranded

as she was in the buzzing traffic of rockets, she was trying to

hail the wrong rescuer. He had about fifteen minutes till the

ramp boys would have a ship ready for him. Much as he

liked Angela, he wasn't going to miss that race.

Still, he let his grin broaden and, looking up at her, he

lied maliciously by nodding. She interpreted this signal as he

knew she would. Well, at least he would afford her a grace-

ful exit from the boring conversation.

He got up and went over and took her hand. Her full lips

parted a little and she kissed him on the mouth.

Conrad turned to Alberts and interrupted him. "Angela and

I would like to spend a little time together. Do you mind?"

Alberts was annoyed at having his train of thought broken

and rather snapped out the usual courtesy. "Of course not.

I'm glad for both of you."

Conrad looked the group over with a bland stare. "Have

you lads ever tried jet-skiing? There's more genuine excite-

ment in ten minutes of it than an hour of rocket racing. Per-

sonally, I don't care if the Board does ban the rockets soon.

I'll just hop out to the Rocky Mountains on rest days."

Conrad knew perfectly well that if he had made this asser-

tion before asking Alberts for his wife, the man would have

found some excuse to have her remain. All the faces present

displayed the aficionado's disdain for one who has just dem-

onstrated he doesn't belong. What the strait-jacket did they

think they weresome ancient order of noblemen?

Conrad took Angela's yielding arm and led her serenely

away before Alberts could think of anything to detain her.

On the way out of the lounge, she stroked his arm with

frank admiration. "I'm so glad you were agreeable. Honestly,

Harold could talk rockets till I died."

Conrad bent and kissed her. "Angela, I'm sorry, but this

isn't going to be what you think. I have a ship to take off in

just a few minutes."

She flared and dug into his arm now. "Oh, Conrad

Manz! You . . . you made me believe . . "'

He laughed and grabbed her wrists. "Now, now. I'm neg-

lecting you to fly a rocket, not just to talk about them. I

won't let you die."

At last she could not suppress her husky musical laugh. "I

found that out the last time you and I were together. Clara

and I had a drink the other day at the Citizens' Club. I don't

often use dirty language, but I told Clara she must be keep-

ing you in a strait-jacket at home."

Conrad frowned, wishing she hadn't brought up the sub-

ject. It worried him off and on that something was wrong

with Clara, something even worse than that awful dreaming

business ten days ago. For several shifts now she had been

cold, nor was it just a temporary lack of interest in himself,

for she was also cold to the men of their acquaintance of

whom she was usually quite fond. As for himself, he had had

to depend on casual contacts such as Angela. Not that they

weren't pleasant, but a man and wife were supposed to main-

tain a healthy love life between themselves, and it usually

meant trouble with the Medicorps when this broke down.

Angela glanced at him. "I didn't think Clara laughed well

at my remark. Is something wrong between you?"

"Oh, no," he declared hastily. "Clara is sometimes that

way. . . doesn't catch a joke right off."

A page boy approached them where they stood in the

rotunda and advised Conrad that his ship was ready.

"Honestly, Angela, I'll make it up, I promise."

"I know you will, darling. And at least I'm grateful you

saved me from all those rocket jets in there." Angela raised

her lips for a kiss and afterwards, as she pushed him towards

the door, her slightly vacant face smiled at him.

Out on the ramp, Conrad found another pilot ready to

take off. They made two wagersfirst to reach the racing

course, and winner in a six-lap heat around the six-hundred-

mile hexagonal course.

They fired together and Conrad blasted his ship up on a

thunderous column of flame that squeezed him into his seat.

He was good at this and he knew he would win the lift to

the course. On the course, though, if his opponent was any

good at all, Conrad would probably lose, because he enjoyed

slamming the ship around the course in his wasteful, swash-

buckling style much more than merely winning the heat.

Conrad kept his drive on till the last possible second and

then shot out his nose jets. The ship shuddered up through

another hundred miles and came to a lolling halt near the

starting buoys. The other pilot gasped when Conrad shouted

at him over the intership, "The winner by all thirty heads!"

It was generally assumed that a race up to the course con-

sisted of cutting all jets when you had enough lift, and using

the nose brakes only to correct any overshot. "What did you

do, just keep your power on and flip the ship around?" The

other racer coasted up to Conrad's level and steadied with a

brief forward burst.

They got the automatic signal from the starting buoy and

went for the first turn, nose and nose, about half a mile

apart. Conrad lost 5,000 yards on the first turn by shoving

his power too hard against the starboard steering jets.

It made a pretty picture when a racer hammered its way

around a turn that way with a fan of outside jets holding it in

place. The other fellow made his turns cleanly, using mostly

the driving jets for steering. But that didn't look like much

to those who happened to flip on their television while this

little heat was in progress. On every turn, Conrad lost a little

in space, but not in the eye of the automatic televisor on the

buoy marking the turn. As usual, he cut closer to the buoys

than regulations allowed, to give the folks a show.

Without the slightest regret, Conrad lost the heat by a full

two sides of the hexagon. He congratulated his opponent and

watched the fellow let his ship down carefully towards earth

on its tail jets. For a while Conrad lolled his ship around

near the starting buoy and its probably watching eye, flipping

through a series of complicated manoeuvres with the steering

jets.

Conrad did not like the grim countenance of outer space.

The lifeless, gem-like blaze of cloud upon cloud of stars in

the perspectiveless black repelled him. He liked rocket rac-

ing only because of the neat timing necessary, and possibly

because the knowledge that he indulged in it scared poor old

Bill Walden half to death.

Today the bleak aspect of the Galaxy harried his mind

back upon its own problems. A particularly nasty associa-

tion of Clara with Bill Walden and his snivelling kid kept

dogging Conrad's mind and, as soon as stunting had exhaust-

ed his excess of fuel, he turned the ship to earth and sent it

in with a short, spectacular burst.

Now that he stopped to consider it, Clara's strange be-