Robert Sheckley - Alien Harvest

“Sonnegard Acceptance Corporation,” Stan said, and showed his credentials.

Back before his troubles began, Stan had taken over the Dolomite by buying the controlling shares in Sonnegard, a spaceship holding company. The company was the real owner of the ship, not Stan, who had never bothered to have the ship reregistered in his own name. In fact, he had decided not to; that way, if the ship got into any trouble, he wouldn't be liable.

“You'll find my name on the list,” Stan said. He was hoping that the government hadn't gotten around to proscribing his company and red-flagging it on the computer. It was unlikely. As Julie had pointed out, it took government forever to bring their records up to date. The inefficiency wasn't strictly government's fault. There was neither the time nor the personnel available to record all the crimes, arrests, and dispositions that were taking place around the clock in an America more lawless than it had ever been in all its lawless history. Sonnegard Acceptance Corporation would probably be a legal entity for months to come.

The guard punched the name up on her computer. “Yeah, you're on the list. Go on through.” She buzzed open the heavy metal door leading to the prison.

“So far, so good,” Julie said.

Stan, accompanied by Julie and Hoban, went through into a long, brightly lit corridor.

“Oh, I didn't expect much trouble getting in,” Stan said. “It's the getting out that concerns me.”

“You worry too much,” she said. “Doesn't he, Captain Hoban?”

“He's worrying about the wrong things,” Hoban said. “What he should be thinking about is what if one of those men recognizes me?”

“You're not exactly a cover girl,” Julie said. “I don't think you need to worry.”

Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they went down the long corridor, following the flashing arrows that took visitors to the recruitment center.

There was a door at the end of the corridor. It buzzed open for them.

Within was a large office, plenty of plain metal desks and chairs, and a guard seated at a bigger desk in front of a computer.

“Come on in, Dr. Myakovsky,” the guard said. “I've got all the volunteers in a holding tank just behind this room. There are twenty of them. That is as you requested, is it not?”

“It's fine,” Stan said. “I'd like you to meet Miss Lish, my associate, and Thomas Hoban, my captain. He'll be doing the actual selection in my name.”

“As you know,” the guard said, “we have already made the preselection for you, giving you the top-twenty men on our Alpha List. You may reject any of them, and you do not have to give a reason. If you're ready, I'll have the people sent in.”

Stan nodded. The guard pressed a button. A panel slid up smoothly in the steel wall. There was a sound of moving feet, and then the prisoners came marching out in single file. Following the guard's commands, they formed a line across the room, stopped, and turned to face Stan and his party.

Captain Hoban walked up to the men. He paced up and down the line, peering into their faces. He came to one, hesitated, stopped, and stared.

Red Badger stared back.

Hoban said, “Do I know you? Have we ever met?”

“I don't think so, sir,” Red Badger said. “But of course I've got a lousy memory.”

Hoban kept on staring at him. Badger said, “I'm a good spaceman, sir. I just want a chance to rehabilitate myself.”

Hoban pursed his lips, frowned, then turned away.

“Anything wrong, Mr. Hoban?” Stan asked.

“No, everything is fine,” Hoban said.

“Do the men look all right to you?”

“Yes, they look fine.”

Stan could see that something was bothering Hoban, but now was obviously not the time to ask him about it. Maybe, he thought, the captain was just nervous.

Stan turned to the guard. “I'll accept this lot. I'm posting money to send them out to their ship.”

“Okay with me,” the guard said. “What ship is that?”

“The Dolomite, ” Stan said, and waited.

The guard bent over the computer. “How do you spell it?” she asked, and Stan knew everything was going to be all right.

They were transporting the prisoners to Facility 12, where they would take the shuttle to the Dolomite , their new ship.

Hoban was thinking, “ Damn it, I know I've seen that man before” . He knew who I was, I'm sure of it. So why did I pick him? Because I could tell from his look, if I didn't take him, he was going to tell everyone who I was. It's not just my imagination, I knew what that bastard was going to do. I should never have gotten myself into this in the first place….

Unexpectedly, Hoban found himself regretting his decision to go in with Stan. Some people might have thought it was crazy, but people just didn't understand.

He was grateful for this chance to redeem himself, get back on top, prove himself a winner. But another side of his character, knew himself for a loser and just wanted a soft place to lie down. Funny to think of Jersey City as a soft place, but it was. Somehow he always got fed, always had a roof over his head. And best of all, nobody expected anything of him. He could relax, take a drink or two, take a lot of drinks… He knew that wasn't how he ought to feel.

It was like there were a couple of Hobans, and at least one of them was working actively to undermine him. He tried to remind himself that good things lay ahead: he'd soon be piloting his own ship again. You couldn't do better than that. But somehow, it didn't have quite the savor it ought to. And Captain Thomas Hoban became aware that he faced a greater danger than whatever Stan was getting them into. You can guard against murder, but how do you guard against your own thoughts of suicide?

There was one way to get aboard a spaceship without having to produce a pass or wait for a computer check. You could go aboard as part of a tour party. It was Julie's idea. They waited a few hours to give the authorities enough time to deliver the prisoners to the Dolomite . Then they came to the Staten Island launch site.

All ships picked up extra income by letting sight-seeing parties aboard while they were in port, lifting them up to the ship's orbit in a chemical launching craft. Touring the spaceships was a popular entertainment, as in a bygone year people had gone into New York Harbor to visit battleships when the fleet was in. Spaceships were still novel enough, that people paid just to walk aboard one.

With the passengers aboard, the little craft lifted lightly and soon was high above Jersey City. Julie looked through a viewport and saw the earth below looking like a swirly blue-white basketball. Passengers ate hot dogs and talked with each other until the lander arrived at the Dolomite's geosynchronous orbit and locked onto one of the ship's entry ports.

Hoban, with Stan and Julie, came aboard the Dolomite with a group of eight other people, just a few of the hundreds who came up here every day from the Staten Island Spaceport. Accompanying them was a guide. He was giving his standard spiel about thruster jets and diosynchronous interruptor-type impellers and standard warp capacities.

“Right this way, folks,” the tour guide was saying. He was a large man with pale blond hair, and wore a white vest with lavender polka dots under a crimson blazer. “Right this way you'll find the refreshment stand and, just beyond it, the souvenir booth. They carry official ship's souvenirs. Folks, these items are not sold in stores in the city. You can only get them here. There's a hall of diorama views of approaches to various planets. There's even a snack bar featuring delicacies from this world and many others. Right this way —“