William P. Salton

“ Then he watched as the guards vanished inside the truck and closed the door. The truck spouted a white exhaust and pulled away.
Paul was trembling now, suddenly aghast at what he had done. This wasn't a parlor game anymore, and he told himself it hadn't happened; told himself this in quick desperation; that this whole thing had been nothing more than an idle daydream, a moment's relaxation along with a few drinks.
Like hell it was! Regardless of how he figured it he was now a bigtime thief. Bigtime? How much is bigtime? How much money was now stuffed in the briefcase beside his stool? ”

“ Bent and rusted girders rose on all sides like the bones of prehistoric monsters. Nothing stirred. The dust lay ages-thick on everything.
"Gives you the spooks, doesn't it?" Jarvis was still tense, poised to respond to the first signal of danger. "Feels like we're the last men alive!"
"Funny about Hank and Garland. There's nothing here to harm anyone."
Jarvis looked at his watch. "Better contact HQ for instructions."
The two stepped off the path, into the shade of a grotesque chunk of broken masonry. Mark set up the radio and twirled the dials. "Team Four, calling HQ. Team Four, reporting!" ”

“ Jarvis stared at the ruins around them. "I can't take much more, Mark. Twelve years of war is enough. Are we never to have a life—have our home and women back, and—peace?"
"Sure, it's been tough. But think of the women and children isolated on that sub-satellite. It's tougher for them—just waiting." Stretched on his back, Mark stared at the cloudless, evening sky. "But pretty soon we'll get this planet cleaned up and bring them in. Christ! Four years without even seeing a woman. ”

“ A squad car pulled up and he climbed docilely in the back seat and sat like a man in a trance between the two silent policemen. At the station there was the added chill of feeling like a man alone, a criminal involved in a terrible experience that was merely routine to the tormentors who walked by his side. ”

“ The older cop dropped his hand from Paul's shoulder and spoke with a certain deference. "This is no charge, mister. Just a routine look-in. Our friend here is all excited about something and—well, you know how it is."
"That's okay, officer," Paul croaked, striving to control his voice. The younger cop, taking a cue from his superior's manner, threw a stern look at the discomfited fat man. "Do you want to prefer any charges, mister?"
The fat man took an involuntary backward step, banged his heel against Paul's briefcase and instantly both policemen were staring at the floor. ”

“ They deflated and folded their safety suits and added the bundles to the other equipment on their backs. Then, with their instruments held before them, they probed their way into the twisted wreckage, still following the faint, dust-filled footprints. ”