Free Into the Slave Nebula by John Brunner Page A

spirit?”
    Horn scowled at him. He had no idea what Via’s bet with Sampidge had involved, but on a brief acquaintance he had conceived an acute dislike for him and was prepared to make some cynical guesses.
    “Pioneering spirit has nothing to do with it,” he said. “It’s just that I’ve finally figured out it would be easier to book one passage on a starship than rid this planet of all the people like you who make it unbearable!”
    “Hoity-toity!” Sampidge began, bridling, but at that moment someone in the background, already bored with the distraction offered by Horn’s outburst, picked up a fat cushion from the long lounge and threw it at Sampidge. It missed and hit Via, who hurled it back with a shriek, and in another few seconds there was a first-class mock fight in progress, from which Horn gratefully withdrew into a corner, reflecting sourly on the all-too-real fight he had himself become involved in exactly one day ago.
    Then a rasping voice cut through the racket. “What the hell is all this? Rowl, clear these young ruffians out of here!”
    Silence fell instantly, like night on an airless world. Shamefacedly, the teenagers abandoned the cushionsthey were flinging around, muttered, “Good morning, sir!” like so many androids, and made themselves scarce, Via and Sampidge along with the rest.
    As they passed him in the doorway, Grandad Horn favored each of them with a scowl. The same look was still on his face when he finally spotted his grandson at the side of the room.
    “Derry? What the hell are you doing here? I thought you’d taken it into your empty head that our company wasn’t good enough for you this carnival—what are you doing back so soon? Rowl, get me a drink!”
    He marched forward and carefully folded his aged legs on the edge of the long lounge.
    “I’ve decided this kind of company isn’t good enough for me—period!” Horn said, the anger he would have directed at Sampidge and his sister making the words fiercer than he had intended. “I want the fare to leave Earth!”
    Rowl appeared with the drink Grandad Horn had requested—the old man had long ago conceded that when it came to personal service none of his robots could match their android butler—and was waved aside.
    “Derry, you’re either out of your head, or … ah-hah! I get it!” The old man leaned back, chuckling. “Who was she? Must have been quite a dish to take away your taste for carnival!”
    “I’m not mooning over a woman!” Horn blazed. “I’m just fed up with Earth, and—and I have something to do out there behind the sky!”
    His grandfather’s near-century of age sat lightly on him. He had often taken advantage of that to attempt brotherly confidences with his grandson. Now, in spite of all the previous disasters this habit had led to, he tried again. Patting the cushion beside him, he said, “Come and sit down, Derry. Never let it be said I don’t have time to solve my family’s problems for them.”
    The arrogance of that made Horn angrier still. He remained defiantly where he was.
    “Very well!” His grandfather finally reached for the drink Rowl had brought him and took a swig of it. “But at least tell me what’s happened!”
    “Well, last night I killed someone,” Horn began. “A lawforce superintendent named Coolin—”
    But his grandfather had leapt ahead of him. “That’s not good, young fellow—not good at all! A lawforce superintendent! What did he do, pick on you unjustly in a crowd or something?”
    “Sure he picked on me. Forced me to a dueling hall. He—”
    “You beat him in a regular duel? Hell, boy, that’s not something to be ashamed of—it’s something to be
proud
of! And everyone’s equal during carnival, no matter who they are for the rest of the year!” Mentally the old man was slapping shut the well-filled pocketbook he would have had to draw on otherwise.
    From outside there came the noise of a heli descending. The old man cocked his head on one