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THE BIG NIGHTChapter i. Last of the Hyper ShipsShe came lumbering up out of the ecliptic plane of the planets like awallowing space beast her jet tubes scarred and stained a molten streakacross her middle where Venuss turgid atmosphere had scarred her andevery ancient spot weld in her fat body threatened to rip apart the momentshe hit stress again.The skipper was drunk in his cabin his maudlin voice echoing through thecompartments as he bewailed the unsympathetic harshness of theInterplanetary Trade Commission.There was a mongrel crew from a dozen worlds half of them shanghaied.Logger Hilton the mate was trying to make sense out of the tatteredcharts and La Cucaracha her engines quaking at the suicidal thought wasplunging ahead through space into the Big Night.In the control room a signal light flared. Hilton grabbed a mike.quotRepair crewquot he yelled. quotGet out on the skin and check jet A-six. MovequotHe turned back to his charts chewing his lip and glancing at the pilot atiny inhuman Selenite with his arachnoid multiple limbs andfragile-seeming body. Tsss-that was his name or approximated it-waswearing the awkward audio-converter mask that could make his subsonicvoice audible to human ears but unlike Hilton he wasnt wearing spacearmor. No Lunarian ever needed protection against deep space. In theirmillion years on the Moon they had got used to airless-ness. Nor did theships atmosphere bother Tsss. He simply didnt trouble to breathe it.quotBlast you take it easyquot Hilton said. Want to tear off our hidequotThrough the mask the Selenites faceted eyes glittered at the mate.quotNo sir. Im going as slowly as I can on jet fuel. As soon as I know thewarp formulae thingsll ease up a bit.quotquotRide it Ride it-without jetsquotWe need the acceleration to switch over to warp sir.quotquotNever mindquot Hilton said. quotIve got it now. Somebody must have beenbreeding fruit-flies all over these charts. Heres the dope.quot He
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