No. of Recommendations: 14
The starting section of a short story by Robert Sheckley, 1964
The way it can happen is like this: You're leaning back in your first-class seat on Fat Cat Spacelines with a cigar in your face and a glass of champagne in your hand, going from Depredation City on Earth to Spoilsville Junction on Arcturus XII. Magda will be waiting for you just behind the customs barrier and the party in your honor will be going full swing at the Ultima Hilton. And you realize that, after a life-time of struggle, you're finally rich, sexy, successful and respected. Life is like a ball of chicken liver, rich and tasty and dripping with grease. You've worked a long dirty time to get where you are and you're ready at last to enjoy it.
Just at this moment the landing sign flashes on.
You say to the stewardess, "Tell me, pretty one, what is going on?"
"We're putting down at End City," she tells you.
"But that wasn't scheduled. Why are we landing there?"
She shrugs. "That's where the ship's artificial intelligence took us and now we have to land here."
"Now look," you say sternly, "I was assured by my very good friend, J. Williams Nash, the President of this Line, that there would be no unscheduled stops."
"End City terminates all previous assurances," she tells you. "Maybe you didn't want to come here, but you sure as hell have arrived."
You fasten your safety belt and think--just my stupid luck. Sweat your ass off all your life, and just when you're ready to have a little fun, up comes End City...
Jim
(I changed a word)
