Fiction long read
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
maybe we should never have ventured into space. Our race has but two innate fears noise and the fear of falling those terrible heights. Why would any man in his right mind let himself be placed where he could fall and full and full, but all spaceman and crazy? Everyone knows that the medicos have been very kind. He supposed You're lucky You want to remember that old fellow. You're still young and you're retired. Pay relieves you of any worry about your future. You've got both arms and legs and are in fine shape. Fine shape. His voice was unintentionally contemptuous. No, I mean it. The chief psychiatrist had persisted gently. The little quote you have, does you no harm at all except that you can't go out into space again. I can't honestly call acrophobia and neurosis. Fear of falling is normal and sane. You've just got a little more strongly than most, but that's not abnormal in view of what you've been through. The reminder set him shaking again. He closed his eyes and saw the stars wheeling below him again. He was falling, falling endlessly. The psychiatrist voice came back through to him and pulled him back Steady on old man. Look around you. Sorry. Not at all. Now tell me, what do you plan to do? I don't know. Get a job. I suppose the company will give you a job. You know, he shook his head. I don't wantto hang around Spaceport Where? A little button in my shirt To show that I was once a man be addressed by a courtesy title of captain claim The privilege is all the pilots lounge on the basis of what I used to be here, the shoptalk die down whenever I approach a group. Wonder what they were saying behind my back? No, thank you. I think you're wise. Best to make a clean break for a while. At least until you're feeling better. You think I'll get over it? The psychiatrist pursed his lips possible. It's functional, you know. No trauma. But you don't think so? I didn't say that. I honestly don't know. We still know very little about what makes a man tick. I see. Well, I might as well be leaving. The psychiatrist stood up and shoved out his hand. Holler if you want anything and come back to see us in any case. Thanks. You're going to be all right. I know it. But the psychiatrist shook his head as his patient walked out. The man did not walk like a space man. The easy animal self confidence was gone. Only a small part of great New York was roofed over those days. He stayed underground until he was in that section, then sought out a passageway lined with bachelor rooms. He stuck a coin in the slot off the 1st 1 which displayed a lighted vacant sign, chucked his bag inside and left. The monitor at the intersection gave him the address of the nearest placement office. He went there, seated himself at an interview desk, stamped in his fingerprints and started filling out forms. It gave him a curious back to the beginning, feeling he had not looked for a job since pre cadet days. He left filling in his name to the last and hesitated. Even then, he had had more than a belly full of publicity. He did not want to be recognised. He certainly did not want to be throbbed over on DH. Most of all, he did not want anyone telling him he was a hero. Presently. He printed in the name William Saunders and dropped the forms in the slot. He was well into his third cigarettes and getting ready to strike another. When the screen in front of him at last lighted up, he found himself staring at a nice looking brunette. Mr. Sanders, the image said, Will you come inside, please? Door 17. The brunette in person was there to offer him a seat. And the cigarettes Make yourself comfortable. Mrs. Sanders. I miss Joyce. I'd like to talk with you about your application. He settled himself down and waited without speaking. When she saw that he did not intend to speak. She added, Now tell me about this name, William Sanders, which you've given us. We know who you are, of course, from your prince. I suppose so. Off course I know what everyone knows about to, but your action and calling yourself William Sanders. Mr. Saunders, Mr. Saunders caused me to query the files. She held up a microfilm spool turned so that he might read his own name on it. I know quite a bit about to now, more than the public knows and Mohr than you saw fit to put in your application. It's a good record, Mrs Sanders. Thank you, but I can't use it in placing you in a job. I can't even refer to it if you insist on designating yourself as Saunders. The name is Saunders. His voice was flat rather than emphatic.