Conroy found himself shanghaied to certain
death in the radiation chamber of Earth's Wheel
in space—as the planet below faced doom from—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1958
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Through the clear plexiplast viewing dome of Earth Satellite V2-ZF, thebright orb of Earth could be seen, full and lustrous green against thesharp blackness of space.
But Dave Conroy wasn't able to feel much pleasure in the view. As hewaited, hands linked with duralloy chains, he knew only that somehowhe had landed in trouble—trouble that would probably cost him hislife, here among the beauties of the orbital satellite.
"Go on in, next batch," a bored voice ordered.
Dave began to move, along with the half-dozen stubble-faceddisreputable-looking men he was chained to. They stepped through apermaluce door; it swung closed silently behind them.
"This is the entrance to the jetroom," a uniformed man facing themannounced. "I'm Major Hawes. Welcome to Earth Satellite V2-ZF—you poorsuckers!" An acid sneer tinted his voice.
"Hey, hold on!" the man next to Conroy shouted. "What's goin' to happento us?"
Major Hawes smiled politely. "You'll be put to work in the jetroom ofthe Satellite, making sure our noble orbiting wheel stays warm andcozy. You'll be feeding radioactives to the converter. You'll be doinga lot of jobs robots could do twice as well, and after a year or so ofit your bodies will start to rot and you'll fall apart and you'll getthe deaths you deserve."
Hawes chuckled. "There'll be guards making sure you don't shirk.Inside, now—and your predecessors will show you what you're to do."
The chains fell away. In here, no chains were needed. Dimly, DaveConroy rubbed his forehead and wondered what he had done to condemnhimself to this living hell.
"What kind of place is this?" he asked the man at his right, as agleaming cupralloy door irised open before them.
"Is your mind snapping, buddy? You can't have forgotten so soon."
"I—I—it's all so hazy—"
"Hazy? It's simple, friend. You and me are four-time losers, like allthese other guys. We got life imprisonment—but we volunteered forsatellite duty instead. It's a quick death—only a year or so insteadof a lifetime behind bars. And since there ain't no execution any more,we took it."
No—no—part of Conroy's mind protested. I didn't volunteer. I neverwas in jail ... except that drunken jetting once, and that was justovernight. How—why—?
"That can't be right," he said. "I'm not a criminal."
The other man looked at him strangely, then smiled pityingly. "Youmusta been lookin' the wrong way when the recruiters came around, then.Those birds'll do anything for ten thousand bucks."
They came to the end of the long corridor and approached anotherdoor—and suddenly Conroy remembered.
He had been drunk, that last night on Earth—and suddenly everyone inthe bar had run madly out the door, into the washroom, hid anyplacethey could. Two men had entered.
Recruiters. Space-station recruiters. Conroy remembered protestingmildly through a vague blue of alcohol and synthojoy, then letting themtake him away. Sober now, he recalled having heard of such things. Thespace-stations needed men—and they'd grab them any way they could.They'd take uncomplaining derelicts when the supply of convicts ran out.
His fiancee Janet had told him, when she broke their engagement,"Your drinking'll kill you some day, Dave." The