Hard-Luck Diggings: The Early Jack Vance, Volume One by Jack Vance Page A

be—safe?” She raised her lashes, turned him her reckless sidelong look.
    He licked his lips, moved in his seat. “Oh, you’ll be safe enough,” he muttered. “At least from them that’s been there a while. You might have to duck a few just fresh from Earth…After they’ve lived on the station a bit their ideas change, and they wouldn’t spit on the best part of an Earth girl.”
    “Hmmph.” Jean compressed her lips. Earl Abercrombie had been born on the station.
    “But I wasn’t thinking so much of that,” said the pilot. It was hard, he thought, talking straight sense to a kid so young and inexperienced. “I meant in that atmosphere you’ll be apt to let yourself go. Pretty soon you’ll look like the rest of ’em—never want to leave. Some aren’t able to leave—couldn’t stand it back on Earth if they wanted to.”
    “Oh—I don’t think so. Not in my case.”
    “It’s catching,” said the pilot vehemently. “Look, kid, I know. I’ve ferried out to all the stations, I’ve seen ’em come and go. Each station has its own kind of weirdness, and you can’t keep away from it.” He chuckled self-consciously. “Maybe that’s why I’m so batty myself…Now take Madeira Station. Gay. Frou-frou.” He made a mincing motion with his fingers. “That’s Madeira. You wouldn’t know much about that…But take Balchester Aerie, take Merlin Dell, take the Starhome—”
    “Surely, some are just pleasure resorts?”
    The pilot grudgingly admitted that of the twenty-two resort satellites, fully half were as ordinary as Miami Beach. “But the others—oh, Moses!” He rolled his eyes back. “And Abercrombie is the worst.”
    There was silence in the cabin. Earth was a monstrous, green, blue, white and black ball over Jean’s shoulder. The sun made a furious hole in the sky below. Ahead were the stars—and a set of blinking blue and red lights.
    “Is that Abercrombie?”
    “No, that’s the Masonic Temple. Abercrombie is on out a ways…” He looked diffidently at her from the corner of his eyes. “Now—look! I don’t want you to think I’m fresh. Or maybe I do. But if you’re hard up for a job—why don’t you come back to Earth with me? I got a pretty nice shack in Long Beach—nothing fancy—but it’s on the beach, and it’ll be better than working for a bunch of side-show freaks.”
    Jean said absently, “No thanks.” The pilot pulled in his chin, pulled his elbows close against his body, glowered.
    An hour passed. From behind came a rattle, and a small panel slid back. Webbard’s pursy face showed through. The barge was coasting on free momentum, gravity was negated. “How much longer to the station?”
    “It’s just ahead. Half an hour, more or less, and we’ll be fished up tight and right.” Webbard grunted, withdrew.
    Yellow and green lights winked ahead. “That’s Abercrombie,” said the pilot. He reached out to a handle. “Brace yourself.” He pulled. Pale blue check-jets streamed out ahead.
    From behind came a thump and an angry cursing. The pilot grinned. “Got him good.” The jets roared a minute, died. “Every trip it’s the same way. Now in a minute he’ll stick his head through the panel and bawl me out.”
    The portal slid back. Webbard showed his furious face. “Why in thunder don’t you warn me before you check? I just now took a blow that might have hurt me! You’re not much of a pilot, risking injuries of that sort!”
    The pilot said in a droll voice, “Sorry sir, sorry indeed. Won’t happen again.”
    “It had better not! If it does, I’ll make it my business to see that you’re discharged.”
    The portal snapped shut. “Sometimes I get him better than others,” said the pilot. “This was a good one, I could tell by the thump.”
    He shifted in his seat, put his arm around Jean’s shoulders, pulled her against him. “Let’s have a little kiss, before we fish home.”
    Jean leaned forward, reached out her arm. He saw her face coming