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TO RUN THE RIM BY A. BERTRAM CHANDLER There are some men for whom Security is no reward—but it takes time to learn that! illustrated by Summers LOWLY and carefully —as befitted her years, which were many—the star tramp Ariel dropped down to Port Forlorn. Calver, her second mate, looked out and down from the control room viewports to the uninviting scene below, to the vista. of almost barren hills and mountains scarred by mine workings, to the great slag heaps that were hills themselves, to the ugly little towns, each one of which was dominated by the tall, smoke belching chimneys of factories and refineries, to the rivers that, even from this altitude, looked like sluggish streams of sewage. So this, he thought, is Lorn, industrial hub of the Rim Worlds. This is as far as I go. This is where I get off. There's no farther to go. Captain Bowers, satisfied that the ship was riding down easily under automatic control, turned to his second officer. “Are you sure that you want to pay off here, Mr. Calver?" he asked. "Are you quite sure? You're a good officer, and we could use you. The Shakespearian Line mightn't be up to Commission standards, but it's not a bad outfit." "Thank you, sir," replied Calver, raising his voice slightly to make himself heard over the subdued thunder of the rockets, "but I'm sure. I signed on in Elsinore with the understanding that I was to be paid off on the Rim. The Third's quite
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