November 2005: The Off Season

           SamParkhillmotionedwiththebroom,sweepingawaytheblueMartiansand.

           "Hereweare,"hesaid."Yes,sir,lookatthat!"Hepointed."Lookatthatsign.SAM’SHOTDOGS!Ain’tthatbeautiful,Elma?"

           "Sure,Sam,"saidhiswife.

           "Boy,whatachangeforme.IftheboysfromtheFourthExpeditioncouldseemenow.AmIgladtobeinbusinessmyselfwhilealltherestofthemguys’reoffsoldieringaroundstill.We’llmakethousands,Elma,thousands."

           Hiswifelookedathimforalongtime,notspeaking."WhateverhappenedtoCaptainWilder?"sheaskedfinally."ThatcaptainthatkilledthatguywhothoughthewasgoingtokilloffeveryotherEarthMan,whatwashisname?"

           "Spender,thatnut.Hewastoodamnparticular.Oh,CaptainWilder?He’soffonarockettoJupiter,Ihear.Theykickedhimupstairs.IthinkhewasalittlebattyaboutMarstoo.Touchy,youknow.He’llbebackdownfromJupiterandPlutoinabouttwentyyearsifhe’slucky.That’swhathegetsforshootingoffhismouth.Andwhilehe’sfreezingtodeath,lookatme,lookatthisplace!"

           Thiswasacrossroadswheretwodeadhighwayscameandwentindarkness.HereSamParkhillhadflungupthisrivetedaluminumstructure,garishwithwhitelight,tremblingwithjukeboxmelody.

           Hestoopedtofixaborderofbrokenglasshehadplacedonthefootpath.HehadbrokentheglassfromsomeoldMartianbuildingsinthehills.