Algis Budrys

“ One of the shocked technicians was trying to pull her away, and Ish made no move to stop him.
Suddenly, he was tired, there was something in him that was trying to break out against his will, and his reaction was that of a child whose candy is being taken away from him after only one bite.
"Rocket!" he shouted into her terrified face. "Rocket! Call that pile of tin a rocket?" He pointed at the weary Mark VII with a trembling arm. "Who cares about the bloody machines! If I thought roller-skating would get me there, I would have gone to work in a rink when I was seventeen! ”

“ Now he relaxed—more—he slumped—and something began to die in his face, and the first faint lines crept in to show that after it had died, it would not return to life, but would fossilize, leaving his features in the almost unreadable mask that the newspapers would come to know.
"I'm a good bit more than a trained pilot," he said quietly. ”

“ Ish laughed shortly, without embarrassment. "Sorry, Dave, but no. It's not my racket."
The advisor cramped his hand a little too tightly around his glass. "Strictly a specialist, huh?"
Ish nodded. "Call it that."
"But what, for Pete's sake? What is this crazy specialty that blinds you to all the fine things that man has done?"
Ish took a swallow of his beer. "Well, now, if I was a poet, I'd say it was the finest thing that man has ever done." ”

“ Martin Isherwood, rocket pilot, weight 102, height 4', 11", had come of age at seventeen.
THE SMALL man looked at his faculty advisor. "No," he said. "I am not interested in working for a degree."
"But—" The faculty advisor unconsciously tapped the point of a yellow pencil against the fresh green of his desk blotter, leaving a rough arc of black flecks. "Look, Ish, you've got to either deliver or get off the basket. This program is just like the others you've followed for nine semesters; nothing but math and engineering. You've taken just about every undergrad course there is in those fields. ”

“ Ish could feel his jaw muscles bunching. "Don't put words in my mouth!" he snapped. "Just get me back, and we'll split hairs about it when I get around this way again." Suddenly, he found himself pleading. "All I need is a week," he said. "It'll be a rough week—no picnic, no pleasures of the flesh. No smoking, no liquor. I certainly won't be breaking any laws. One week. Get there, putter around for two days, and back again. Then, you can do anything you want to—as long as it doesn't look like the trip's responsible, of course." ”

“ Somehow, his wrist was out of her encircling fingers. "It's always 'that rocket pilot business,'" he said, mimicking her voice. "Damn it, I'm the only trained rocket pilot in the world! I weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds, I'm five feet tall, and I know more navigation and math than anybody the Air Force or Navy have! I can use words like brennschluss and mass-ratio without running over to a copy of Colliers, and I—" He stopped himself, half-smiled, and shrugged again.
"I guess I was kidding myself. After the Cup, there'll be the test job, and after that, there'll be the rockets. ”

“ The Foo Is a means to an end. After I win the Vandenberg Cup, I can walk into any plant in the States—Douglas, North American, Boeing—any of them—and pick up the Chief Test Pilot's job for the asking. ”

“ Isherwood almost winced. "Call it a hobby," he said. He looked down at his watch. "Come on, Dave. You're not going to convince me. You haven't convinced me any of the other times, either, so you might as well give up, don't you think? I've got a half hour before I go on the job. Let's go get some beer."
The advisor, not much older than Isherwood, shrugged, defeated. "Crazy," he muttered. But it was a hot day, and he was as thirsty as the next man.
The bar was air conditioned. The advisor shivered, half grinned, and softly quoted:
"Huh?" ”

“ The advisor's lips twisted in derision. "That's pretty fanatical, isn't it?"
"Uh-huh." Ish waved to the bartender for refills.
THE NAVION took a boiling thermal under its right wing and bucked upward suddenly, tilting at the same time, so that the pretty brunette girl in the other half of the side-by-side was thrown against him. Ish laughed, a sound that came out of his throat as turbulently as that sudden gust of heated air had shot up out of the Everglades, and corrected with a tilt of the wheel.
"Relax, Nan," he said, his words colored by the lingering laughter. "It's only air ”