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.