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 spacestatic when the voice first cut in. "Lorelei calling Venusport forlanding. Over."
Even across ten thousand miles of space the sharp New England twangclearly showed the origin of its owner. Joe flicked the transmittingstud 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 theLorelei, entered a set of figures in the tower log, then leaned back inthe chair in front of the control panels and lit a cigarette.
"That Pop," he said, nodding vaguely at the radar screen and the logbook, "must be damn near two hundred years old, and he's still the bestpilot in the System. Used to have the All-Planetary run back when itwas really something. When they put in automatics for cruising it madehim so mad he quit and never would go back. Said he wasn't going to leta bunch of machines run his ship, even out in space."
He blew a beam of smoke at the spot that moved slowly toward the centerof the radar sweep screen.
"He bought the tub he calls the Lorelei at a surplus sale, and spendsall his time batting around the odd corners of space that the SurveyPatrol hasn't gotten to yet." Joe puffed his cigarette reminiscentlyfor a minute. "I remember the first time I saw him land the Lorelei.Lord, what a sight. No one else has ever had the nerve to try it theway he does it, or at least lived to tell about it. I wonder if he'sgotten too old to do it anymore."
The radar man stared at the faint speck that showed above the horizon,then brought it into magnified focus on the tele-screen.
"He's coming in awfully funny," he said.
Joe got up and stood staring out through the sides of the big plasticbubble that formed the walls and roof of the control tower.
"I think he's going to try it. Watch this!"
The stubby ovaloid was angling in towards the Port from a little abovehorizontal, as though to make a belly landing. Just short of the field,the steering jets gave a tremendous side blast that whipped the shipinto a tight upward arc. All the ship's jets winked out, and the shipwhistled straight up for over a mile, began to slow, and dropped backin free fall. The ship dropped faster and faster toward the concreteapron, tail first, its jets dead.
Two hundred feet above the ramp Pop Gillette hit the bank of firingbuttons and hit it hard. The heavy ship shuddered to a stop five feetabove the ramp, cracking the concrete with the fury of its rear jets,spinning like an enormous pin-wheel, its rotator jets gushing fire inhundred-yard sweeps.
The heavy ship shuddered to a stop five feet above the ramp....
Joe wiped the sweat from his forehead and dropped into his chair.
"Brother! Someday his tubes are going to misfire when he tries that,and the Lorelei is going to be spread from here to Marsport!"
The radar man did not answer immediately. He was still standing at thedom