Third World Read Online Free PDF

green. Benson
was armed, presumably trained for it, but his imagination was going
overboard. Maybe it was the shuttle flight that was getting to
him.
    As for Freeman, he was a quiet sort who
would have kept his head down and done his job but when he had a
couple drinks he got belligerent with anyone with even a smidgeon
of power.
    He was always in some sort of a scrape
or other. As to why he was unhappy, was another story as he’d been
in the service for years and had been planet-side plenty of times.
He was one of three in the party who’d actually been to Third
World.
    Faber’s own shore leave was coming up
in a month or so and he was quite looking forward to it.
    More than anything he wanted to sleep
in a real bed, in a real room, eat like a pig and drink like a fish
for a while. He’d spend a few bucks and get himself a whore.
Grimaldi looked over and lifted her eyebrows in bored
contempt.
    Faber grinned. Grimaldi looked away,
still looking contemptuous.
    The machine lurched under them and then
began moving forwards as the light outside the view-ports dimmed
and then they were weightless as space, time and thermodynamics
took them in its proper grip.
    Once the Ensign had cleared the ship
and found their course, Newton thanked her.
    “ I’m going to address the
troops.”
    She rolled her eyes a bit and he
wondered what that was about, but she said nothing.
    The Lieutenant activated his microphone
and all of their earpieces and began going over their briefing,
with a few additional reminders that were better left out of the
official record, simple brevity also being a concern. Semanko
appeared to be dozing in a quick glimpse over his
shoulder.
    His eyes popped open, and then he
carefully winked.
    Jackson chewed gum and stared out the
side window.
    Cultural contacts between Fleet and
semi-autonomous worlds were often problematic and he was looking
for his people to be on their best behaviour.
     
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    The Flight Was
Routine
     
     
    The flight was routine in spite of the
butterflies in Newton’s stomach. In their earpieces they listened
in amusement as Faber, an old salt and clearly in control by sheer
force of habit and a certain cockiness, chaffed and chatted with
the troops. The few responses they heard sounded cheerful enough,
and they were all eager to get down on the ground.
    Their atmospheric approach was
uneventful, although there were the usual jolts and vibration,
underlined by the unfamiliar roar of air over the body of the
craft. Faber’s voice went up a bit and it sounded like at least one
trooper was suffering motion sickness, but they soon made it down
to smoother air.
    Faber’s quiet voice talked the boy
through it as Newton listened in approval.
    Spaulding brought the shuttle into the
pattern like she’d done it a million times. It was a pleasure to
watch her work and Newton made a mental note to mention it in the
operational report.
    She set her down on eggshells, and the
nose sank and the speed bled off by the numbers. Spaulding’s
ground-handling was totally professional, and he admired her for it
as she must have spent days in the simulator.
    Newton had over a hundred such landings
in his log book, and he didn’t always do as well as she did on her
first one. He made a point of telling her that, and her cheeks
flushed with pleasure.
    The shuttle craft would stay on the
ground in a secure area guarded by civilian personnel. The place
appeared to have four or five employees. There were a dozen small
aircraft of various types lined up and one small commercial plane
in front of the terminal, with a capacity of maybe thirty seats.
Its engines were running and people came out, hauling bags from
inside the dark interior of the loading dock.
    Unbelievable.
    He doubted if anyone on the surface had
the skill to operate a shuttle, but theft or vandalism was a
concern.
    Taking a chartered bus waiting in front
of the small, white-painted concrete block terminal, the field’s
lonely