 What did the dead man compare the Spacemen to in disgust?
With never a moment to rest, the pursuit through space felt like a game of hounds and hares ... or was it follow the leader? Most of the big room lay obscured behind a shimmering veil of tobacco smoke and the sweet, heavy fumes of Martian Devil's Egg. He could not tell if they were Earthmen, Martians or Venusians. Several times, Ben glimpsed the bulky figures of CO 2 -breathing Venusians, the first he'd ever seen. Even when they played an Earth tune, it still seemed a song of old Mars, charged with echoes of lost voices and forgotten grandeur. "Spacemen," he muttered, "are getting like flies. Everywhere, all you see's spacemen." There, among the grizzled veterans of the old Moon Patrol, he'd found friends who understood his dream and who later recommended his appointment to the U. S. Academy for the Conquest of Space. Under interplanetary law, that would mean ten years in prison and a dishonorable discharge. They don't want new men over thirty-four for officers on rockets or even for third-class jet-men on beat-up freighters—they don't want convicted killers. Or— There were old wives' tales of a group of renegade spacemen who operated from the Solar System's frontiers. They were misfits, rejectees from the clearing houses on Earth. And whereas no legally recognized ship had ventured past Mars, the souped-up renegade rigs had supposedly hit the asteroids.
 Flies
 Bees  Garbage  Maggots  Flies