Astonishing Stories, April 1940 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Pulp
Publisher: Astonishing Stories
Published: 1940-04-10T05:00:00+00:00

Salvage of Space

by Frederic Arnold Kummer, Jr.

A space-derelict, like an abandoned ship, belongs to the first man to set foot on it—if he is man enough to bring it home!

[Newton would turn in his grave at what this story does to ballistics.]

Joe Haldene pushed his way through the air lock of the little space-skiff, threw back the big, glass-fronted Svenson helmet that encased his head. From a pocket of the space-suit he drew perhaps a dozen greenish crystals, ranging from the size of a terrestrial grape to that of an orange, regarded them for a moment disgustedly.

“Souvenirs of space,” he muttered mockingly, and tossed the crystals into an old five-gallon water tin, already half full of the greenish spheres.

With the mechanical precision of long practice Joe unhooked the intricate air-tight flaps of the space-suit, allowed it to fall about his ankles. Stepping from the folds, he picked up the heavy asbestoid garment, glanced at the dials of its compressed air cylinder, then hung it upon a hook on the wall of the cabin. Still moody, he lit the tiny electric grill, set a pot of mud-colored tala on to boil.

Joe was just rubbing his hands with sand to clean them—for water was scanty on the little skiff—when he heard the outer door of the air-lock slam shut. A moment later another space-suited figure stepped from the lock, pushed back its helmet.

“What luck, Naal?” Joe said, without turning.

The brawny, bulge-eyed Martian scooped a handful of the green crystals from his pocket, dropped them into the tin.

“Fourteen, Joey, matoul,’ he said proudly. “We have good trip.”

“Sure. Good trip.” Joe was all irony, savagely bitter. “Nice green xalt crystals for Harrold’s underpaid workmen to make into rings and beads—souvenirs for gaping terrestrial tourists. Maybe he’ll give me fifty thaels for them, if I’m nice. Enough to pay for rocket-fuel, supplies, and your wages, Naal. Maybe a couple of thaels left over to buy flowers for Sally. Flowers, when Buck Harrold gives her fine earth-made gowns! Yes, and takes her out in his big space-yacht! Huh! I’d be ashamed to ask her aboard this little tub!”

“So, Joey, matoul.” Naal stretched his powerful arms, until the muscles rippled under his red, rust-colored skin. “Woman-trouble. That is bad. And it is bad, my people say, for a man to hate himself.” The Martian grinned, revealing teeth stained black from use of strong terrestrial tobacco. “Me, I do not think the Highflier is a tub. She good skiff. Old, small, but good. Someday when you have big ship of your own, I buy her from you. Fifty thaels a trip from old man Harrold plenty for me! Ah, yes!”

Silently Joe poured the boiling tala into two cups, left his on the locker to cool. It was all right for Naal to think the Highflier a fine ship because it could come here to Deimos and back, perhaps twenty-five thousand miles in all. What the hell? Naal was a reddy, a Martian. Give him this old wreck, a chance to make fifty thaels twice a month, and he’d be happy.

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