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Tillot tangled with time once ... twice ... once too often ... and then he found he couldn't break THE HABIT By A. BERTRAM CHANDLER OUTWARDLY she was just another ship, just another of the standard freighters that handled most of the traffic from Earth to her planetary colonies. She had been, in fact, such a freighter-the name Venus Girl still shone, in letters of gold, on her sleek side. Only the experienced eye of the professional spaceman would have noted the oddly shaped slits, black against gleaming metal, in her shell plating. Only the professional spaceman, together with a handful of physicists, would have been able to hazard an intelligent guess as to their purport. Two men appeared, framed in the circle of the airlock door. The first of them ignored the ramp, jumped the ten feet between airlock and apron, landing lightly, his knees flexing to take the shock of his fall. The second followed more sedately, walking slowly down the inclined way to the scarred concrete. He said, his voice reproving, "You should be more careful, Tillot. After all, we blast off tonight." "If I were being careful," replied the spaceman, the stance of his short, slight figure somehow belligerent, "I shouldn't be here." The tall man-his name was Abbotsford and he was head of the Interplanetary Transport Commission's |
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