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Sun Spots, v. 4, issue 3, whole no. 15, February 1941
Page 3
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February SUN SPOTS Page 3. [[underline]]CITATION FOR VALOR[[end underline]] By Henry Andrew Ackermann His last day in the patrol. Yes, last day. Last ten minutes to be exact. Lieutenant Martin squinted up at the clock; its time-specled face like that of an old friend. The assignment room at Space Patrol Base Head-quarters was almost deserted. Flagg and West, two of the younger officers, were consulting the television rogue's gallery; they were very busy, very much absorbed in the quick flashes of criminals that traveled across the screen. The Space Patrol had not yet solved the enigma of the stolen idol. Martin sighed. He must remember that. Yes, that was why Flagg had said briskly, in passing, "Today's your last day, ain't it, Lieutenant? Sorry to see you go." Sure sure. They were all busy. That was why the commander hadn't sent for him for a little talk. The commander remembered what day it was, of course. Why he and the commander had been space patrolmen together for fourty years. It was the stolen idol case. Only a few minutes ago the emergency squadron had blasted off, bound for Venus. No doubt the commander had gone with it. Sure. Well, he'd better finish gathering his belongings from out of his sleeping quarters. Inside the little cubicle that had been his living quarters for so many years now that he had forgotten their number, he stared a letter he had found in his male shute. It was just a form letter from the Commander General taking note of the fact that "Lieutenant Clemactive relations with the Solar Space Patrol." There was a post script evidently hastily typed, that said, "on behalf of the peoples of the system, the Commander General wishes to than you for your excellent record of service." Something choked up in Martin's throat... not sentiment, but a vague anger. He started to crumple the letter but shanged his mind. He would keep it to give to his daughter, Adeline. She liked things like that. Adeline would probably frame it. Women are like that. How many more minutes before he was off duty for the last time? Should he leave now? The commander was out. And he did not want to see the second in command, Ayres, that scoundrelly knave. Well, anyway, he knew hat Clement Martin thought of him. A crooked patrolman is lower than the most sadistic space vandal. The dirty dog! No wonder the patrol had its hands full putting down the countless uprisings on the red planet! He was smuggling liquor and drugs to the Martians. But the commander was wise...you couldn't fool him. he'd have Ayres' scalp before...... "Martin! You're wanted in the Old Man's office." So John hadn't forgot! Martin smoothed the wrinkles out of his well worn gray uniform. He walked down the hall to the commander's office, slicking his thin, grayish-white hair with a nervous hand.
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February SUN SPOTS Page 3. [[underline]]CITATION FOR VALOR[[end underline]] By Henry Andrew Ackermann His last day in the patrol. Yes, last day. Last ten minutes to be exact. Lieutenant Martin squinted up at the clock; its time-specled face like that of an old friend. The assignment room at Space Patrol Base Head-quarters was almost deserted. Flagg and West, two of the younger officers, were consulting the television rogue's gallery; they were very busy, very much absorbed in the quick flashes of criminals that traveled across the screen. The Space Patrol had not yet solved the enigma of the stolen idol. Martin sighed. He must remember that. Yes, that was why Flagg had said briskly, in passing, "Today's your last day, ain't it, Lieutenant? Sorry to see you go." Sure sure. They were all busy. That was why the commander hadn't sent for him for a little talk. The commander remembered what day it was, of course. Why he and the commander had been space patrolmen together for fourty years. It was the stolen idol case. Only a few minutes ago the emergency squadron had blasted off, bound for Venus. No doubt the commander had gone with it. Sure. Well, he'd better finish gathering his belongings from out of his sleeping quarters. Inside the little cubicle that had been his living quarters for so many years now that he had forgotten their number, he stared a letter he had found in his male shute. It was just a form letter from the Commander General taking note of the fact that "Lieutenant Clemactive relations with the Solar Space Patrol." There was a post script evidently hastily typed, that said, "on behalf of the peoples of the system, the Commander General wishes to than you for your excellent record of service." Something choked up in Martin's throat... not sentiment, but a vague anger. He started to crumple the letter but shanged his mind. He would keep it to give to his daughter, Adeline. She liked things like that. Adeline would probably frame it. Women are like that. How many more minutes before he was off duty for the last time? Should he leave now? The commander was out. And he did not want to see the second in command, Ayres, that scoundrelly knave. Well, anyway, he knew hat Clement Martin thought of him. A crooked patrolman is lower than the most sadistic space vandal. The dirty dog! No wonder the patrol had its hands full putting down the countless uprisings on the red planet! He was smuggling liquor and drugs to the Martians. But the commander was wise...you couldn't fool him. he'd have Ayres' scalp before...... "Martin! You're wanted in the Old Man's office." So John hadn't forgot! Martin smoothed the wrinkles out of his well worn gray uniform. He walked down the hall to the commander's office, slicking his thin, grayish-white hair with a nervous hand.
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