Science fiction, American; Short stories, American
"Of course not," I said. I gave Val the blaster and slipped out of my
oxysuit. "Look," I said. I pointed to my smooth, gleaming metal legs.
The almost soundless purr of their motors was the only noise in the
room. "I was in the Sadlerville Blast, too," I said. "But I didn't go
crazy with hate when I lost _my_ legs."
Ledman was sobbing.
"Okay, Ledman," I said. Val got him into his suit, and brought him the
fishbowl helmet. "Get your helmet on and let's go. Between the psychs
and the prosthetics men, you'll be a new man inside of a year."
"But I'm a murderer!"
"That's right. And you'll be sentenced to psych adjustment. When they're
finished, Gregory Ledman the killer will be as dead as if they'd
electrocuted you, but there'll be a new--and sane--Gregory Ledman." I
turned to Val.
"Got the geigers, honey?"
For the first time since Ledman had caught us, I remembered how tired
Val had been out on the desert. I realized now that I had been driving
her mercilessly--me, with my chromium legs and atomic-powered muscles.
No wonder she was ready to fold! And I'd been too dense to see how
unfair I had been.
She lifted the geiger harnesses, and I put Ledman back in his
wheelchair.
Val slipped her oxymask back on and fastened it shut.
"Let's get back to the Dome in a hurry," I said. "We'll turn Ledman over
to the authorities. Then we can catch the next ship for Earth."
"Go back? _Go back?_ If you think I'm backing down now and quitting you
can find yourself another wife! After we dump this guy I'm sacking in
for twenty hours, and then we're going back out there to finish that
search-pattern. Earth needs uranium, honey, and I know you'd never be
happy quitting in the middle like that." She smiled. "I can't wait to
get out there and start listening for those tell-tale clicks."
I gave a joyful whoop and swung her around. When I put her down, she
squeezed my hand, hard.
"Let's get moving, fellow hero," she said.
I pressed the stud for the airlock, smiling.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ September 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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