Ed Kelly shook his head. "Like I said, he never really made the big news. Just one more of these young fellas that saw plenty of action and when the war was over was too keyed up to settle down to everyday life."
Jake picked up the thin folder and riffled through the few clippings there. "What's he doing now?" he growled.
"Evidently when the war ended he got one of these surplus freighters and converted it. Name of his company is Mooney Space Service; sounds impressive, but he's the only one in it. Probably going broke; most of those guys are—can't make the grade against the competition of Terra-Luna Spaceways and the other big boys with the scheduled flights."
The city editor scratched the end of his nose speculatively. "Maybe we ought to have Jim do up an editorial on these unscheduled spacelines. Something along the line of how heroic some of these guys are; that sort of stuff. Do up the idea that they're always ready, fair weather or foul, to make an emergency trip...."
Kerry said, "There isn't any weather, fair or foul, in space."
Jake scowled at him. "You know what I mean, wise guy. Meanwhile, get some statements from some authorities."
Ed Kerry said painfully, "What statements from what authorities?"
The city editor glared at him. "So help me, Ed. I'm going to stick you on obituaries. Any statements from any authorities. You know damn well what I mean. Get some doctor to beef about the fact there aren't suitable hospitalization facilities on Luna. Get some president of one of these unscheduled spacelines to sound off about what a hero Mooney is and how much good these unscheduled spacelines are—and that reminds me of something—"
He yelled to a tall lanky reporter at the far end of the city room: "Hey, Ted. Get Bunny on the line up in Oneonta and tell her I said to look up some of these unscheduled spacelines guys and see if she can get a photograph of Phil Mooney from them. Maybe he's got some buddies in Oneonta."