Mark Reinsberg

“ It was Esther, holding some linens.
"They have you doing everything around here," Brack said with empathy. "What are these?"
"Towels. You use them after you wash."
"Boy, this sure is ancient!"
Esther's eyes betrayed deep torment. "I know. I would do anything to get away from this place."
She put the towels in a rack. The trucker was lying on the bed, contemplating the girl's deft, graceful movements.
"Listen," he said, "why wait for a passenger ship? Why not arrange secretly with one of the cargo ships that stop here? ”

“ I haven't left Corbie in seven years."
"What makes you stick around a place like this? Married?"
"No. My father owns the Eros."
"You're free, brown and twenty-one," said Brack somewhat inaccurately. "He can't make you stay if you want to leave."
Esther waved warningly at the table phone and Brack again covered it with his hand.
"Maybe he can't legally, but there's only one passenger ship between here and the planets every year, and they've refused me a ticket twice now."
"Sounds pretty rotten to me," said the trucker. "Well, what if you got married to some guy? ”

“ In his room again, Brack lay with arms folded under his head, thinking honeyed thoughts. He would have Esther's pleasant company. His cargo was a valuable one. Two-thirds of the receipts on Hesdin-2 would represent sheer profit. Perhaps it would be enough to establish him in some kind of a local freight business. Esther could make a man a wonderful partner. Lovely, delectable girl!
He reminded himself that they were not safely away from Corbie yet, and he passed the remaining hours in the Hotel Eros sleeplessly anxious. ”