PATCH
By WILLIAM SHEDENHELM
Old pilots like Pop Gillette weren't needed any
more to run the big ships. Nowadays you were boosted
and roosted by the grace of Gimmick. Sooner or later,
Pop predicted, something was gonna louse up....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1950.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The wall speaker in the control tower was crackling softly with space static when the voice first cut in. "Lorelei calling Venusport for landing. Over."
Even across ten thousand miles of space the sharp New England twang clearly showed the origin of its owner. Joe flicked the transmitting stud and winked at the radar man.
"Venusport to Lorelei. Come on in, you old space pirate. Use Ramp Four. Out."
He glanced at the green spot on the radar sweep screen that was the Lorelei, entered a set of figures in the tower log, then leaned back in the chair in front of the control panels and lit a cigarette.
"That Pop," he said, nodding vaguely at the radar screen and the log book, "must be damn near two hundred years old, and he's still the best pilot in the System. Used to have the All-Planetary run back when it was really something. When they put in automatics for cruising it made him so mad he quit and never would go back. Said he wasn't going to let a bunch of machines run his ship, even out in space."