TOLLIVER'S ORBIT
was slow—but it wasn't boring. And
it would get you there—as long as
you weren't going anywhere anyhow!
By H. B. FYFE
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Johnny Tolliver scowled across the desk at his superior. His blackthatch was ruffled, as if he had been rubbed the wrong way.
"I didn't ask you to cut out your own graft, did I?" he demanded."Just don't try to sucker me in on the deal. I know you're operatingsomething sneaky all through the colony, but it's not for me."
The big moon-face of Jeffers, manager of the Ganymedan branch ofKoslow Spaceways, glowered back at him. Its reddish tinge brightenedthe office noticeably, for such of Ganymede's surface as could be seenthrough the transparent dome outside the office window was cold, dimand rugged. The glowing semi-disk of Jupiter was more than half amillion miles distant.
"Try not to be simple—for once!" growled Jeffers. "A little percentagehere and there on the cargoes never shows by the time figures get backto Earth. The big jets in the home office don't care. They count it onthe estimates."
"You asked any of them lately?" Tolliver prodded.
"Now, listen! Maybe they live soft back on Earth since the minesand the Jovian satellite colonies grew; but they were out here in thebeginning, most of them. They know what it's like. D'ya think theydon't expect us to make what we can on the side?"
Tolliver rammed his fists into the side pockets of his loose blueuniform jacket. He shook his head, grinning resignedly.
"You just don't listen to me," he complained. "You know I took thispiloting job just to scrape up money for an advanced engineering degreeback on Earth. I only want to finish my year—not get into something Ican't quit."
Jeffers fidgeted in his chair, causing it to creak under the bulk ofhis body. It had been built for Ganymede, but not for Jeffers.
"Aw, it's not like that," the manager muttered. "You can ease outwhenever your contract's up. Think we'd bend a good orbit on youraccount?"
Tolliver stared at him silently, but the other had difficulty meetinghis eye.
"All right, then!" Jeffers snapped after a long moment. "If you want itthat way, either you get in line with us or you're through right now!"
"You can't fire me," retorted the pilot pityingly. "I came out hereon a contract. Five hundred credits a week base pay, five hundred forhazardous duty. How else can you get pilots out to Jupiter?"
"Okay I can't fire you legally—as long as you report for work,"grumbled Jeffers, by now a shade more ruddy. "We'll see how long youkeep reporting. Because you're off the Callisto run as of now! Sit inyour quarters and see if the company calls that hazardous duty!"
"Doesn't matter," answered Tolliver, grinning amiably. "The hazardouspart is just being on the same moon as you for the next six months."
He winked and walked out, deliberately leaving the door open behind himso as to enjoy the incoherent bellowing that followed him.
Looks like a little vacation, he thought, unperturbed. He'll comearound. I just want to get back to Earth with a clean rep. Let Jeffersand his gang steal the Great Red Spot off Jupiter if they like! It'stheir risk.
Tolliver began to have his doubts the next day; which was "Tuesday"by the