INOW, DOUGAL MACNEER was a pioneer.
Just one of a million such
Who labor and toil in unmapped soil
With shovel and pick and hutch.
He was six-foot-two, and a man whom few
Would care to engage in a fight,
With shoulders as firm as a pachyderm;
A tower of granite might.
He had eyes of gray, and a quiet way
Of minding his own affairs;
He never came down to a commerce town
Save for fueling or ship repairs.
Thus it was that he roused the whys? and hows?
In the minds of the spaceport clique
When he landed at Krull[1] with his tanks half full
And rented a berth for a week.
The cradle-monk[2] stared, then boldly dared,
“By golly, you’ve struck it rich!
I always knew some day you’d come through,
You lucky son-of-a——”
“Which,”
Asked Doug MacNeer with a smile sincere,
“Is the best joy-joint in Krull?
I’ve lived alone till my mind’s ingrown;
This prospecting life is dull.
“I want to go play from the dusk of day
Till I waken to morning bells.”
The attendant said, with a nod of the head,
“You amble to Venus Nell’s.
It’s the hottest place in this end of space,
Just a couple of minutes’ jaunt;
Nell’s got music and games, and likker and dames
—And anything else you want!”
“Thanks, that sounds great!” said Mac. But, “Wait!”
Begged the other, “Gimme a break!
Help me out of this rut, MacNeer, and cut
Me in on a share of the take?”
“The take?” asked Doug with a little shrug,
“But I haven’t made any find!”
And he strolled away with a whistle gay
While the monkey glowered behind.
In a moment or two, Doug wandered through
The gaudily-neoned door
Of a feverish-gay, bright cabaret;
Below, on the mirrored floor
Of the dancehall swayed a cavalcade
Of every breed and race
Whose daughters and sons defy the suns
To journey the ways of space.
A miner from Mars, pockmarked with scars
Pressed close to a woman from Io,
A Jovian baby drawled lazily, “Maybe—”
To pleas of a tar from Ohio;
A vicious-mouthed slattern from faraway Saturn
Sang ditties to make the hair curl.
And then—curtains parted, and Doug MacNeer started
To see such a beautiful girl!