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Marley's Chain By: Alan Edward Nourse (1928-1992) |
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This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction September
1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.
MARLEY'S CHAIN
By Alan E. Nourse
Tam's problem was simple. He lived in a world that belonged
to someone else.
They saw Tam's shabby clothing and the small, weather beaten bag he
carried, and they ordered him aside from the flow of passengers, and
checked his packet of passports and visas with extreme care. Then they
ordered him to wait. Tam waited, a chilly apprehension rising in his
throat. For fifteen minutes he watched them, helplessly. Finally, the Spaceport was empty, and the huge liner from the outer
Asteroid Rings was being lifted and rolled by the giant hooks and
cranes back into its berth for drydock and repair, her curved,
meteor dented hull gleaming dully in the harsh arc lights. Tam watched
the creaking cranes, and shivered in the cold night air, feeling
hunger and dread gnawing at his stomach. There was none of the elation
left, none of the great, expansive, soothing joy at returning to Earth
after eight long years of hard work and bitterness. Only the cold,
corroding uncertainty, the growing apprehension. Times had changed
since that night back in '87 just how much he hardly dared to guess.
All he knew was the rumors he had heard, the whispered tales, the
frightened eyes and the scarred backs and faces. Tam hadn't believed
them then, so remote from Earth. He had just laughed and told himself
that the stories weren't true. And now they all welled back into his
mind, tightening his throat and making him tremble "Hey, Sharkie. Come here." Tam turned and walked slowly over to the customs official who held his
papers. "Everything's in order," he said, half defiantly, looking up
at the officer's impassive face. "There isn't any mistake." "What were you doing in the Rings, Sharkie?" The officer's voice was
sharp. "Indenture. Working off my fare back home." The officer peered into Tam's face, incredulously. "And you come back
here?" He shook his head and turned to the other officer. "I knew
these Sharkies were dumb, but I didn't think they were that dumb." He
turned back to Tam, his eyes suspicious. "What do you think you're
going to do now?" Tam shrugged, uneasily. "Get a job," he said. "A man's got to eat." The officers exchanged glances. "How long you been on the Rings?" "Eight years." Tam looked up at him, anxiously. "Can I have my papers
now?" A cruel grin played over the officer's lips. "Sure," he said, handing
back the packet of papers. "Happy job hunting," he added sardonically.
"But remember the ship's going back to the Rings in a week. You can
always sign yourself over for fare " "I know," said Tam, turning away sharply. "I know all about how that
works." He tucked the papers carefully into a tattered breast pocket,
hefted the bag wearily, and began trudging slowly across the cold
concrete of the Port toward the street and the Underground. A wave of
loneliness, almost overpowering in intensity, swept over him, a
feeling of emptiness, bleak and hopeless. A chilly night wind swept
through his unkempt blond hair as the automatics let him out into the
street, and he saw the large dirty "New Denver Underground" sign with
the arrow at the far side of the road. Off to the right, several miles
across the high mountain plateau, the great capitol city loomed up,
shining like a thousand twinkling stars in the clear cold air. Tam
jingled his last few coins listlessly, and started for the downward
ramp. Somewhere, down there, he could find a darkened corner, maybe
even a bench, where the police wouldn't bother him for a couple of
hours. Maybe after a little sleep, he'd find some courage, hidden away
somewhere. Just enough to walk into an office and ask for a job... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Literature |
Science |
Short stories |
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