It was a big joke on all concerned. When you look back, the whole thing really began because his father had a sense of humor. Oh, the name fit all right, but can you imagine naming your son.... Noble Redman?
e south airlock, and behind him, half-running, came two of Abie's goons.
"Slow down--fast!" I yapped, and was crushed against the back of the front seat as the jock slammed his foot on the brakes. "In here!" I yelled at Redman as I swung the rear door open.
His reflexes were good. He hit the floor in a flat dive as the purple streak of a stat blast flashed through the space where he had been. The jockey needed no further stimulation. He slammed his foot down and we took off with a screech of polyprene, whipped around the next corner and headed for the hub, the cops, and safety.
"Figured you was jerking some guy, Cyril," the jockey said over his shoulder. "But who is he?"
* * * * *
Redman picked himself off the floor as I swore under my breath. The jockey would have to know me. Abie'd hear of my part in this by morning and my hide wouldn't be worth the price of a mangy rat skin. I had to get out of town--fast! And put plenty of distance between me and Marspo
It's got nothing to do with Indians, not even as an insult. An adventure story, set on Mars after the final war turned the Earth into a radioactive world and forced the colonization of the stars. An odd fellow speaking a strange dialect shows up in a bar claiming to have found the gold he's throwing around in the Martian desert. Then he has the ill manners to win at dice and roulette.
People behave more realistically than they do in space operas, but this isn't much more than that, and the plot is trivial.