Ticket to the Stars

Kelly's redhead wiped the drink from her face, flushing a little. A bouncer came up and told her to leave. She gave him the look they all have. Of patience, of humor, of some exasperation. Some of her delectable red hair was soaked with the drink but she pushed it back from her eyes and got up. She gave a wistful glance at her untouched drink and started to go. She went past my table with a flash of smooth legs. There was the faint odor of deep-space perfume. The crowd parted in distaste from her, but a couple of near-spacemen made some grinning cracks and whistled.

I followed her out.

She stood on the curbing, white and gracious, fumbling absently with her coat as I came up. She was watching the parking lot. Her eyes barely grazed me as I helped her with the coat. It was snowing but her bare arms were warm.

"Is Kelly going back?"

She smiled her thanks for the help. "Maybe."

"Would he go back if anything happened to you?"

"I don't know."

Kelly was coming now. His aircar swooped up to the curb and he opened the door for her. She got in, sliding beside him with an amused but determined look.

I pulled out my gun and leaned forward. I put the muzzle against the curving throat of the girl.

"Jim," I said, "I'll do it for you if you want."

There was a flash of fright in her face and she put her hand up to her throat, but only to ease the pressure of the gun that dug into the white flesh.

Jim stared at the girl and me and the gun.

"No, Al."

"It's no crime," I said. "They'd never convict me for killing an Ideal. Jim, this is your last chance to beat the Stardust Overdrive."

"Thanks, Al," said Kelly. "Maybe I'll be sending for you someday to help."

"Out there," I said.

"Out there," he said bitterly. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

The girl's small hands moved up and with amazing strength pushed my gun away from her throat. Her look was one of triumph, even and cool, not gloating. Almost matter-of-fact.

"Remind me to scare the hell out of you some time," she said. "We're human too, you know."

I looked down at the sitting sweep of the white-clad thighs and grunted. "Maybe."

Then I looked at Jim and saw it was check-out time. For a moment his face had the old look of swagger. Just for a second he was the old Jim.

"Keep 'em flying, boy," he said.

"Same to you, Jim."

"Maybe I'll see you out there some time, Al."

"Maybe you will, Jim," I said.

"Goodbye, Albert Hall," said the girl. The aircar zoomed away from me.

I put my gun away angrily. Then I caught an aircar back to the office. On the way I did a lot of thinking. And what I thought made me even angrier. I thought about Kelly--and all the other men like him who signed on the Stardust Overdrive. They were good men, happy men--even married, some of them. But when they came back from deep space they were changed. For they always brought back an Ideal--a beautiful woman on the surface, and seemingly one who was a reflection of their every wish or desire--an Ideal. Human? As far as Earth science could determine. But science and deep space were light years apart and perhaps would always be that way for the men who went out there never talked about it much when they came back. Why? Why!

What made them hate it--like Kelly? And what made them have to return? What turned a happy man into a miserable prisoner? Why didn't Kelly quit the Stardust Overdrive?

When I got to the office I had made up my mind. This had been gnawing at me for a long time and it had to be settled. I had to know....

I filled out my request for transfer from planetary runs to deep space. Then I went to the tele and called my wife.