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landing, too, was as automatic as the piloting.
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Helena turned and leaned back to Ross. "We're coming in for a landing," she
relayed.
Ross said sourly, "I heard."
Helena gave him a look of reprimand and forgiveness. "I'm hungry," she mused.
The pilot turned from her controls. "You can get something at the airport,"
she offered eagerly.
"I'll show you."
Helena looked at Ross. "Would you like something?"
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But the pilot frowned. "I don't believe there's any place for men," she said
disapprovingly.
"Perhaps we can get something sent out for him if you like. Although, really,
it's probably against the rules, you know."
Ross started to say with great dignity, "Thank you, but that won't be
necessary." But he didn't quite get it out. The ship came in for its landing.
There was an enormous jolt and a squawk of alarm bells and flashing lights.
The ship careened crazily, and stopped.
"Oh, darn," complained the pilot mildly. "It's always doing that. Come on,
dear, let's get something to eat We'll come back for him later."
And Ross was left alone to stare apprehensively at the unceasingly flashing
lights and to listen to the strident alarms for three-quarters of an hour.
His luck was in, though. The ship didn't explode. And eventually a pallid
young man in a greasy apron appeared with a tray of sandwiches and a vacuum
jug.
"Up here, boy," Ross called.
He gaped through the port. "You mean come in?"
"Sure. It's all right."
The young man put down the tray. Something in the way he looked at it prompted
Ross to invite him:
"Have some with me? More here than I can handle."
"Thanks; I believe I will. I, uh, was supposed to take my break after I
brought you this stuff."
He poured steaming brew into the cup that covered the jug, politely pushed it
to Ross and swigged from the jug himself. "You're with the starship?" he
asked, around a mouthful of sandwich.
"Yes. I the captain, that is wants to contact an outfit called Cavallo
Machine-Tool. You know where they are?"
"Sure. Biggest firm on the south side. Fifteen Street; you can't miss them.
The captain is she the lady who was with Pilot Breuer?"
"Yes."
The youngster's eyes widened. "You mean you were in space alone with a lady?"
Ross nodded and chewed.
"And she didn't uh there wasn't well any problem?"
"No," said Ross. "You have much trouble with that kind of thing?"
The boy winced. "If I've asked once I've asked a hundred times for a transfer.
Oh, those jet pilots! I used to work in a roadside truck stop. I know truckers
are supposed to be rough and tough; maybe they are. But you can't tell me that
deep down a trucker isn't a lady. When you teil them no, that's that. But a
pilot it just eggs them on. Azor City today, Novj Grad tomorrow what do they
care?"
Ross was fascinated and baffled. It seemed to him that they should care and
care plenty. Back where he came from, it was the woman who paid and he
couldn't imagine any cultural setup which could alter that biological fact.
He asked cautiously: "Have you ever been in trouble?" The boy stiffened and
looked disapproving.
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Then he said with a sigh: "I might as well tell you. It's all over the station
anyway; they call me 'Bernie the Pullover.' Yes. Twice. Pilots both times. I
can't seem to say no  " He took another long pull from the jug and a savage
bite from a second sandwich.
"I'm sure," Ross said numbly, "it wasn't your fault." "Try telling that to the
judge," Bernie the
Pullover said bitterly. "The pilot speaks her piece, the medic puts the blood
group tests hi
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0C.%20M.%20Kornbluth%20-%20Search%20the%20Sky.txt evidence, the doctor and
creche director depose that the child was born and is still living. Then the
judge says, without even looking up, 'Paternity judgment to the plaintiff,
defendant ordered to pay one thousand credits annual support, let this be a
warning to you, young man, next case.' I
shouldn't have joined you and eaten your sandwiches, but the fact is I was
hungry. I had to sell my meal voucher yesterday to meet my payment. Miss three
payments and  " He jerked his thumb heavenward.
Ross thought and realized that the thumb must indicate the orbiting prison
hulk "Minerva." It was the man who paid here.
He demanded: "How did all this happen?" Bernie, having admitted his hunger,
had stopped stalling and seized a third sandwich. "All what?" he asked
indistinctly.
Ross thought hard and long. He realized first that he could probably never
explain what he meant to Bernie, and second that if he did they'd probably
both wind up aboard "Minerva" for conspiracy to advocate equality. He shifted
his ground. "Of course everybody agrees on the natural superiority of women,"
he said, "but people seem to differ from planet to planet as to the reasons.
What do they say here on Azor?"
"Oh nothing special or fancy. Just the common-sense, logical thing. They're
smaller, for one thing, and haven't got the muscles of men, so they're natural
supervisors. They accumulate money as a matter of course because men die
younger and women are the beneficiaries. Then, women have a natural aptitude
for all the interesting jobs. I saw a broadcast about that just the other
night. The biggest specialist on the planet in vocational aptitude. I forget
her name, but she proved it conclusively."
He looked at the empty platter before them. "I've got to go now. Thanks for
everything."
"The pleasure was mine." Ross watched his undernourished figure head for the
station. He swore a little, and then buckled down to some hard thinking.
Helena was his key to this world. He'd have to have a long skull-session or
two with her; he couldn't be constantly prompting her or there would be
serious trouble. She would be the front and he would be the very inconspicuous
brains of the outfit, trailing humbly behind. But was she capable of absorbing
a brand-new, rather complicated concept? She seemed to be, he told himself
uncomfortably, in love with him. That would help considerably. . . .
Helena and Pilot Breuer showed up, walking with a languor that suggested a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]