HAVE you ever been flat broke, hungry as the very devil, and yet so down and out that you didn’t even care? Looking back now, after a couple of months, it’s hard to put it into words, but I think the low point was the evening old Captain Harris Henshaw dropped into my room—my room, that is, until the twenty-four-hour notice to move or pay up expired. There I sat, Jack Sands, ex-rocket pilot. Yeah, the same Jack Sands you’re thinking of, the one who cracked up the Gunderson Europa expedition trying to land at Young’s Field, Long Island, in March, 2110. Just a year and a half ago! It seemed like ten and a half. Five hundred idle days. Eighteen months of having your friends look the other way when you happened to pass on the street, partly because they’re ashamed to nod to a pilot that’s been tagged yellow, and partly because they feel maybe it’s kinder to just let you drop out of sight peacefully…
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