 Adventures in time and space, transcribed in future, kids. This is a story of Riesling, the singer of the spaceways. You've probably sung his songs in school. In English, French, or German, the language doesn't matter, but it was an earth tongue. But the real story of Riesling is not found in the footnotes of a scholar's critique or a publisher's biography. It is in the memories of the old-time spacemen, the pioneers who pushed the thundering old-fashioned rockets to the far strange ports that are our commonplace heritage. These men know the true story of Riesling. The arching sky is calling spacemen back to their trade. All heads stand by free, falling and the light below us fade. The sons of terror, flying jet, up leaps the race of... At Riesling, he was hustling drinks in the Twin Moons bar at Drywater, Mars. He'd won a guitar off a Chinese barkeep at Luna City by cheating at one thumb, and he made his whiskey by singing in the bar and passing the hat. Listen to her, Earthman. She's strung pretty like a 16-year-old gal. How much did you collect on that last song? Three dollars, Marsha, and a slug. Al grabbed it from a bill. He don't trust me no more. Funny, never did have no luck with hound dogs and a Martian barkeep. Hey, Riesling, look over there by the bar. There's an Institute force striper giving it the iron. No one? Captain Hicks off the gauze hook. Are you sure giving you the once-over? Maybe he's got a job. They don't make never no mind to me. I've been blacklisted. Hicks logged me for making up a song on watch. Right fine song, too. Hold it. Here comes the brass arm. Riesling, I've been looking for you. I've been right here, Skipper. You sort of that. I need a jet man on the gauze hook. Interesting. Real interesting. Well, I got news for you, Skipper. You blacklisted me, remember? Well, you kept your nose clean, and we need an experienced man. Change in down after the gauze hook. Ain't this, Skipper? How'd you know that? You got that new atomic pile drive. Blastery of them teacutters blew somewhere in the asteroids. Look, it's double pay, but if you're scared... Scared? Listen, fella. For double pay, I'd jump off the top of the Harriman Tower if you allowed me rubber heels for the landing. All right, then. You will show up tonight to sign the book. Sober. Got no choice, Skipper. Money and me is total strangers. We lived on 1130 Mars time. Sober, you understand, Riesling? You taking the jump? Well, that gauze hook is one stinking old tub. Her engine's got more bugs than a beagle dog in spring. And that new drive is about as safe as a pretty gal in the old style. But I reckon she'll do for one more trip. Meet my friend Hertzman. He signed on as a walker. Wipe him. This is Jimmy Legs Casey. He's Bolson. Can't hold his liquor no more than a sieve, poor boy. Riesling? You sober enough to sign the book? Drunk or sober, I'll make my mark. Stand aside. Three X's? Took me a middle name. Yeah, you two lay below. And Hertzman? Get him sobered up before the Skipper makes rounds. Jimmy Legs. I'm sober as a hanging judge. Well, you can leave that bottle here. What bottle? The one in your back pocket. Glass buttons, maybe. Give it here. Jimmy Legs, I swear I'm going to write a song about you. Go ahead, threaten me. Now get below. We raise ship in 30 minutes. Without permission. Figured I'd take a little stroll. Riesling, get me low before I have... Hold on, Skipper. Let that gold rig just crawling up your arm. I'm up here on business. Well? That number two jetting fit. Cadmium dampers are warped. Why tell me? Tell the chief engineer. I did. He says they'll hold. Well? He's wrong. He's wrong. He's got a Harriman Institute degree in power electronics. And some drunk space rat says he's wrong. Skipper, I was dampin' jets when that short tailed tad warped pins for buttons. I've got no time for you, Riesling. Casey, sound takeoff. Aye, sir. I'm telling you, Skipper. That number two jet's gonna blow. Dampers won't cook it like a turtle's back. Riesling, drag your dead head out of here. Be low. Go ahead from control. All right, Casey. Fire one and four. The mother-gling vernier and a danger peeper. And as long as the peeper ticked off slow and steady, we knew the ship was safe for a while. Hey, Riesling, you better stow that guitar. If Jimmy likes ketchup, he'll blow a gasket. Don't worry. I can damp this tea kettle in my sleep. How's number two? All right, so far. Can we hear that song about Hicks, the one that got me blacklisted? Oh, the skipper is the father of this crew. A gentle, guiding light to me and you. But on Mars, he likes his women if they walk or if they're swimming, or if they've got six arms instead of two. Hey, the second verse is better. Now the skipper likes his liquor by the quart. Yes, he'd go from Mars to Venus for a snort. He'll drink rocket fuel and... I, skip, didn't see you come in. You were too busy, eh? Who's watching the gauge? I got an eye on it. Don't you fret none. Riesling, I'm going to fix it so you can't get a berth on a rocket-powered pogo stick. Report to Casey under arrest. I don't rightly think I will. You what? You kind of forget, Skipper. According to space code, you can't remove a jetman until the end of the watch. Right? Now look, you don't have to worry. Now, is that a rule or ain't it? Riesling, your shift is over at 2,300. And I'll see you ride the rest of the way in Slop Locker. Maybe. Maybe. In the meantime, you clear out of my power room. I got to make me up a third verse from a song. Number two, all right? Hey, let me have that mic. Is that forced-drive boil up there? Give me that. That's for you, Skipper. Number two, jet is bulging like a fat lady in a satin skirt. Listen, you clown, that's it. Skipper, I think I'm going to junk my song and start over. I could do much better on you. Listen to my car, Riesling. You wash the gauge. Get Riesling. Get on after the blast. The lights are on. What are you talking about? Last thing Riesling ever saw. His optic nerve was burned out in an instant. He was in sick bay on the rest of the trip. Then on the swing back, we set Riesling down to the top. Look out for the cable, Riesling. Thanks, Hurchman. Riesling! Let you, Jimmy Legs, hold up a minute, will you? Oh, uh, Riesling Jimmy Legs. I promised I'd write a song about you, didn't I? Sure, Riesling. Sure. Can't seem to sing like you used to. Look, Riesling, the men up in the bridge feel kind of bad about this. Yeah? Why didn't they think of that when Riesling came in? Yeah. Now, Hurchman, that's all over. Sure, sure. That's all forgotten. Riesling, let's get out of the twin moons before I've bought this. No, hold it, hold it. The skipper feels pretty bad about the whole thing, Riesling. Kind of late for that, Jimmy Legs. Feeling sorry, don't hold no corn. The boys passed the hat. The skipper kicked in half a month's pay. Did he, man? Then on principle, I suppose, I ought to take it. Then on principle, I suppose, I ought to tell him to stuff it back up their jets. But you can't buy no drinking whiskey on principle. I'll take it. Here you are. I'll get it. I'll be seeing you, Riesling. Sure, Jimmy Legs. Sure. Come on, Hurchman. Let's get that drink. That was all. Just another space bum who didn't have the good sense to finish before his luck ran out. When a Riesling holed up at the Twin Moons till his money was gone, then he hooked a ride on a crawler over to Marsopolis. It was a boom town then, with an industrial district mushrooming between the Lesser and Grand Canals. I ran into Riesling about two months later, playing his guitar on a jetty that ran out into the canal. He had a dirty rag tied over his eyes with a jetman snot, and his hat was on the warmth of the sider. Is this a Venusian dine? No, it's a slug. Well, how's it going? Singing again? Some. Working saloons, mostly. I've been thinking some funny songs, Hurchman. The words come out different than they used to. Come on along the canal with me. Sure. Here, take my hour. I know the way. That's a funny thing, Hurchman. I figure I know it better than other folks. Look back there, towards the city. What do you see? Factory towers. Ah, smell them from here. But it don't seem that way to me. I remember them old buildings, old before Bible towns on earth. Thin and graceful like the fairy palaces my Grammy used to tell about down home in the hills. I've torn them down now, or else I'll block them up with cinder bricks. Hurchman, when I stand out out here on the canal, I can see it the way it used to be. The water, ice blue with the stars shining up out of it. Way off there, the city with the towers sweeping up like a bird of flying off a tree. I can see it. It's the dirtiest stink hole in the system. Not always. Depends on how you see it. Bones tall that raise the tug. Go home, Riesling. Home? Earth. I've been thinking about that, Hurchman. When I was a youngster down in the Ozarks, I used to climb a big old oak tree my daddy had in the door yard. I could see the hills from miles, green and cool. I've been thinking about that. Why don't you go back then? I couldn't see them hills no more now. I couldn't stand to see black when I knew they was lying all around me cool and green in the sun. I couldn't stand that. Yeah, let's get back to town, Hurchman. Today I made three and a half dollars' mush and I'm all set to drink it down to four dongs. I shipped out on the slow fray to the condor glass for Luna and he hitchhiked to ride to Venusburg on an oarship in the tri-planet run. So he beat around the system, Venusburg to Leiport to Drywater to New Shanghai and back. Any spaceport was his home and no skipper had refused to lift the extra mass of Riesling and his battered guitar. He made up his songs sitting out watches down in the power room with old shipmates while the monotonous speed of the jet shook the whole place. Hear the jet. Hear them snarl at your back when you're stretched on the rack. Hear the jet. Feel the pain in your ship. Feel the strain in your grip. Hear the jet. His songs began to travel along the spaceways ahead of him. Raw Spaceman songs with titles like Since the Pusher Met My Cousin and The Space Soup Built For Two. But more and more we began to hear a different kind of song. Strain. Sad songs. The ones you find printed in the Centennial editions. Dark Star Passing. Death Song Of A Woodscote. And then finally, The Green Hills Of Earth. It grew for 20 years, that song. They say it started way back when Riesling was down in the labor camps on Venus singing for the indentured man. Now if someone will kindly pass a bottle, it is not much of Riesling. Here. It'll do. Killer. You cannot make him good here on Venus. What do you use? Scarac Bush. Home it is. Home it is different. Where are you from son? Tasco. Mexico. That's a long way from here. See. A long way. How'd you come to sign on? The man comes out to the village from the city and is shining on the mobile. Very big. He says there is work. You signed the paper for 10 years and you work. Work. There is work here, all right. Tens thinking hours in the jungle and machete. I tell you, when I get home to earth. Well you do son. What is the use? We aren't getting home. You know how many men die out there in the swamp today? Ten men, ten. What is the use? My mother, she is dead. My father doesn't care. A girl? She says she wait. I don't know. Sure son. You sing some more, Eason. We'll drink, you sing. Maybe a new song son. We ride in the molds of Venus. We raged at a tainted bridge. What is the matter? Finish the song, Eason. I can't. Can't yet. It just don't come. I'll finish it when I go home. That's it. When I go home to the hills. Now pass that bottle there. There don't whistle. Don't blow for four hours. Where the green hill started. And I was there when it was finished. It was 20 years after that. And there wasn't a man flying around the beach. Hadn't heard of Riesling and his songs. He was getting old now for a spaceman. He was a familiar figure through the whole system. Tall, gaunt, and with that dirty bandage tied across his blind eyes. I was Chief Jetman then on the old pelt. We were cradled at Venus Allisile, scheduled for a direct jump to Great Lakes, Illinois, on Earth. I was checking in to Dunnage when Riesling pelt his way up the gangway and came through the line. Riesling. Who's that? Mike Hertzman. Hertzman, Hertzman. Well, what are you doing on this old home? Figured I'd ride her back to Earth. Earth. Are you going home, Riesling? I thought you were never going to make that run. I've been hankin' to set foot in the Ozarks again. How about those hills? I've been singin' about them for so long now, Hertzman. I've got to finish this song. I've got to set foot in the door yard and hear the wind through that oak tree. About the last thing I'll be doin' I've got to get home before... Riesling has a new company policy. You see, Hertzman, I'm gettin' just a little old. Riesling, listen. No more deadhead rides. The new codebook is enforced. I've seen codebooks come and go. The skipper's one of them youngsters fresh out of Harrowman Institute cadet training. He's liable to throw the book at you. And me? I've been around space as long as Halley's comin' and Brewster's Ridge. I'm goin' back to Earth. Cool green hills of Earth. I'm goin' home. All secured, Hertzman. That's Riesling, Captain. Riesling, huh? I'm dragging it back to Earth, Captain. Not on this ship. Hertzman has his man remote. Funny thing, Captain. I sprained my shoulder, suddenly. Look, Skipper, you're a youngster. You're pretty new out here. I'm goin' home. You don't know what that means to an old man goin' home. I can't take it. Against the Harrowman call. Oh, now, look, Skipper. You can slide me by to the Distress Spaceman's clause in that codebook. Distress Spaceman, my eye. You've been bummin' around the system for 30 years. Skipper, you make me do something I've never done for no one before? I'm an old man. An old blind man, and I want to go home. I ain't never crawled in front of a four-striper in my life, but you gotta let me drag home. The law says a man's got a trip coming to him. You can stretch for a poor old blind man, can't you? You gotta, Skipper. But keep out of the way. I run an efficient ship, and I don't want any trouble. No, sir, no trouble. I'll just lay down to the power room. I kinda like to be near the jets when they blast off. For Earth. Please, Link, take a load off your feet. Thanks, Mac. Stand by for left. Stand by. Best seat in the system. Power room and an old hog grass ship. Power room, fire train. I see. You're still singin' that recently? Long summer. I changed your little. Gonna finish her now, Mac. Going home to finish her? Yeah. Have you seen those new automatic dampers, Reisling? Don't have to do nothin', but sit and watch. Where's the peeper? Turned off. She's all automatic. You have it soft nowadays. When I was twistin' her tail, he had to stay awake. You got an old hand dampin' plates on? All but the links. I hand-shipped them, they cover up the dials. You might need them. No, the automatic's handled. Finally going home, Reisling, huh? Won't seem the same out past the moon. I've been waitin' for this a long time, Mac. Gonna be good to get home, I reckon. The archin' sky is callin' spaceman back. I can hand-damper now. What's goin' on in there? This is Reisling on watch. Reisling? Don't worry, skipper. I know this power room. Inside of my shirt, somebody's got a damper. Reisling, I'm sent. Skipper, throw on the recording tape. What? Throw on the recording tape. I want to get somethin' down. Chainsaw and Reisling. Sunburn. Bear him in a lead shield. Close it. Okay, skipper. She's clean. The radiation's gettin' brighter. I can almost see. Bright, rosy like the sun. Like the sun over the hills down here. I got my song figured right now. Here it comes. We pray for one last land on the globe that gave us birth. Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies of the cool, green hills of Earth. I can see them now. They're huge. They're sun. I can see the sun. That's the way he died. Reisling, the blind singer of the spaceways. Singing of the home he never reached. The cool, green hills of Earth. Same time next week for another adventure into the unknown world of...