you amild sedative before blast-off. Remember, there are going to bedistinct variations in the G forces as we accelerate, so try toremember the breathing instructions."
"I will," said Monk. "Once more, though--"
"There'll be a steady buildup of acceleration for about ninetyseconds. We'll go rapidly from zero gravity to nine. Breathe deeplyand regularly on the way up. Then, when you feel a normal amount ofpressure, hold your breath. Don't let it out until you feel the Gforces increase again."
"I understand," Monk nodded.
"We'll get up to a peak of 8 G's, and hold that for about two minutes.Do the same thing--hold your breath when we start accelerating oncemore. It'll be easy after that."
* * * * *
The pilot made a final check of Monk's G suit and straps. Then heclapped the industrialist on the shoulder and strode off.
Twenty minutes later, when they were ready for blast-off, a warningbell sounded throughout the ship.
With a deafening roar of its rocket motors, the great vessel lifteditself laboriously from the ground, squatting on flame, fillingFletcher Monk's mind with the first real sense of fear since helearned the grim facts of his ailment in Rostov's office.
Then the acceleration began, and in less than a minute, Monk knew ataste of Hell.
His vision blurred as the crushing force of naked speed pasted himagainst the contour seat. Consciousness began to leave him, but notsoon enough. For there, in the tortured imaginings of hispain-constricted brain, came the ugly black bird again, shriekinghorribly and perching itself on his chest. Its huge claws raked hisribs, and its dripping beak fastened itself on his throat. Now herecognized the species for what it was: a vulture, a bird of prey,unwilling to be robbed of its Earth victim; trying to pinion him tothe planet with the strength of its anger. Its great wings flapped,flapped, flapped, beating against his body, flooding it withunrelieved anguish--
Then Monk gasped.
Gone! The bird was gone! A moment's peace, a moment's peace, amoment's freedom from torment--
No! The vulture returned, bent on its evil purpose. It wouldn't bedenied; it raked its razor-sharp claws across Monk's shoulder; dugits beak into his chest; flapping, flapping--
Fletcher Monk screamed.
* * * * *
He opened his eyes, admitted a rush of clean air gratefully into hislungs.
"It's a miracle," said Bill Christy. "Nothing more. You were in a badway, Mr. Wheeler, but you'll be okay now."
"Thank you, thank you!" panted Fletcher Monk.
"We're well on our way now. We'll reach the Big Bird in a matter ofminutes--"
"The Big Bird?" said Monk in horror.
Christy smiled. "That's what we call the Space Station. We'll pick upsome supplies and fuel there, and then we'll take off again. But youwon't have to be concerned about the acceleration on the secondblast-off. You can take that easily."
"Are you sure?" said Monk anxiously.
"Positive. There won't be any gravitational pull to overcome thistime. You'll be fine."
"I appreciate this, Christy. I won't forget your help."
"That's okay, Mr. Wheeler. It makes my wife happy."
"Yes." Monk felt well enough now to give the pilot a sardonic smile."She's a wonderful girl, Diana. A wonderful girl."
"You're telling me?" said Bill Christy.
* * * * *
The space suit that Fletcher Monk had been assigned before the descenton Mars was a little tight-fitting for his comfort. He wondered whatlife would be like in this eternal bulky costume. But he was comfortedby the picture of the Mars Colony he had received back on Earth; alabyrinth of airtight interiors, burrowing their way over and into theplanet, served by gigantic oxygen tanks. The network of buildings hadbeen expanding every year, until now it covered some hundred miles ofthe planet's surface. He'd spend most of his time safely indoors, hepromised himself, where he wouldn't need the cumbersome trappings ofspace clothing. His life had been an indoor affair anyway, back onEarth.
The passengers were led into the Quarantine Section, where they wouldspend their first three days on Mars.
It was a relief to Monk to shed the heavy space-suit in the air-filledroom. And it was a revelation, for with helmet and boots removed, hefound himself almost floating with each step he took, movingfeather-light over the ground. He was surprised, and a little unnervedat first, but then he remembered that this feeble gravitation was thepreserver of his health--and he laughed aloud.
"Something funny?" said the man at the front desk. He was a young man,about thirty, but there was an ageless competence in his features.
Monk smiled. "Just feeling good, that's all." He patted the brownleather bag in his hand.
"Name?"
"Well, it will be listed as Wheeler...."
The official scanned the list. "Here it is. Ben Wheeler." He looked upat Monk curiously. "How old are you, Mr. Wheeler?"
"Fifty," said Monk.
"Pretty old for the Colony, aren't you, Mr. Wheeler?"
Monk smirked. "The first thing we have to do is get rid of thatWheeler business, young man. My name is Monk. Fletcher Monk."
The official looked puzzled. "I don't get it. Why the phoney name?"
"I used an alias for reasons of my own. Now I'm telling you my realname. Monk."
The man shrugged and wrote something on the manifest.
"I don't expect you to cheer," said Monk sarcastically. "But you couldshow some reaction."
"What does that mean?"
Monk flushed. "Don't tell me you've never heard of me. I'm _FletcherMonk_. I _own_ half of this place."
"So?"
"What do you mean 'so?' My firm controls thirty percent of the mineralrights of the Colony. We ship you practically all of your Earthsupplies. We can buy or sell this place at the drop of a quotation!"
"Listen, bud." The young man seemed annoyed. "If you're trying toimpress me, forget it. And if you're threatening my job, you can takeit!"
"Insolence!" Monk raged. "Who's your commanding officer? I want to seehim right away!"
"My pleasure," the official grinned. "Hey, Gregorio!" he called to theman at the desk behind him. "Call Captain Moore. Gentleman here wantsa word with him."
* * * * *
Monk took a seat while the other passengers went through the initialformalities. He sat there, fuming, until a tall man with an untrimmedbeard entered the room. He took off his helmet and spoke briefly tothe young man at the front desk, then looked over at Monk and came tohis side.
"Mr. Monk?" he said. "I'm Captain Moore."
"Nice to meet you, Captain. I've just had a little conversation withyour official greeter." He smiled, man-to-man. "Not a very friendlychap."
"We forget a lot about manners up here," said the captain, not smilingback. "We're kept pretty busy."
* * * * *
"I realize that, of course," said the industrialist. "But I wouldexpect a little common courtesy--"
"You'll _earn_ the right to courtesy out here, Mr. Monk," the captainsnapped. "The Mars Colony lives on labor, and that's our firstconsideration. Courtesy comes about last on our list. We're in abattle here, twenty-four hours and thirty-seven minutes a day. We'vegot to fight to keep alive, and we've got to wrestle with a whole newplanet if we want to unearth its secrets. Courtesy is a distinctprivilege on Mars, Mr. Monk."
Monk bristled. "I don't quite get your meaning, Captain," he saidindignantly. "But don't expect to pull rank or a holy attitude on me.In case you didn't realize it, I'm in a position to exert a great dealof influence over your little colony--and don't think I won't use it!"
The captain shrugged. "Use it," he said. "Go on. See if your influencereally holds up here. Remember, Mr. Monk--you came to us of your ownvolition, and you can always turn around and go back."
"Impossible," said Monk, blanching. "I'm going to live here--forgood."
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"Then you'll have to adjust to _our_ way," said the captain grimly."You'll have to learn our way of doing things and cooperate a hundredpercent. And the first thing you'll have to do is take a workassignment--"
"Work?" Monk gasped. "Why should I? You can't force me to work foryou--"
"Remember Captain John Smith, Mr. Monk? He said the same thing to hiscolonists that I'm going