Nothing affected it.The SKY TRAP
by FRANK BELKNAP LONG
[46]Lawton enjoyed a good fight.He stood happily trading blowswith Slashaway Tommy, hislean-fleshed torso gleaming withsweat. He preferred to work thepugnacity out of himself slowly, tosavor it as it ebbed.
"Better luck next time, Slashaway,"he said, and unlimbered a lefthook that thudded against his opponent'sjaw with such violence thatthe big, hairy ape crumpled to theresin and rolled over on his back.
Lawton brushed a lock of rust-coloredhair back from his brow andstared down at the limp figure lyingon the descending stratoship'sslightly tilted athletic deck.
"Good work, Slashaway," he said."You're primitive and beetle-browed,but you've got what it takes."
Lawton flattered himself that he[47]was the opposite of primitive. Highin the sky he had predicted theweather for eight days running, withfar more accuracy than he could haveput into a punch.
They'd flash his report all overEarth in a couple of minutes now.From New York to London to Singaporeand back. In half an hour he'dbe donning street clothes and steppingout feeling darned good.
He had fulfilled his weekly obligationto society by manipulating meteorologicalinstruments for forty-fiveminutes, high in the warm, upperstratosphere and worked off his pugnacityby knocking down a professionalgym slugger. He would havea full, glorious week now to workoff all his other drives.
The stratoship's commander, CaptainForrester, had come up, and wasstaring at him reproachfully. "Dave,I don't hold with the reforming Johnnieswho want to re-make humannature from the ground up. Butyou've got to admit our generationknows how to keep things hummingwith a minimum of stress. We don'thave world wars now because wework off our pugnacity by sailing intogym sluggers eight or ten times aweek. And since our romantic emotionscan be taken care of by tactiletelevision we're not at the mercy ofevery brainless bit of fluff's calculatedankle appeal."
Lawton turned, and regarded himquizzically. "Don't you suppose I realizethat? You'd think I just blewin from Mars."
"All right. We have the outlets,the safety valves. They are supposedto keep us civilized. But you don'tderive any benefit from them."
"The heck I don't. I exchangeblows with Slashaway every time Iboard the Perseus. And as for women—well,there's just one woman inthe world for me, and I wouldn't exchangeher for all the Turkish imagesin the tactile broadcasts from Stamboul."
"Yes, I know. But you work offyour primitive emotions with toomuch gusto. Even a cast-iron gymslugger can bruise. That last blowwas—brutal. Just because Slashawaygets thumped and thudded all overby the medical staff twice a weekdoesn't mean he can take—"
The stratoship lurched suddenly.The deck heaved up under Lawton'sfeet, hurling him against CaptainForrester and spinning both menaround so that they seemed to bewaltzing together across the ship.The still limp gym slugger slid downward,colliding with a corrugatedmetal bulkhead and sloshing backand forth like a wet mackerel.
A full minute passed before Lawtoncould put a stop to that. Evenwhile careening he had been alive toSlashaway's peril, and had tried toleap to his aid. But the ship's steadilyincreasing gyrat