Badge of Infamy, by Lester del 
Rey 
 
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Title: Badge of Infamy 
Author: Lester del Rey 
Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #19471] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BADGE OF 
INFAMY *** 
 
Produced by Susan Skinner, Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed 
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net 
 
Transcriber's Note: 
This etext was produced from an Ace Books paperback, 1973. 
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. 
 
[Illustration: BADGE OF INFAMY 
LESTER DEL REY 
EARTHMEN BECOMING MARTIANS] 
The computer seemed to work as it should. The speed was within 
acceptable limits. He gave up trying to see the ground and was forced 
to trust the machinery designed for amateur pilots. The flare bloomed, 
and he yanked down on the little lever. 
It could have been worse. They hit the ground, bounced twice, and 
turned over. The ship was a mess when Feldman freed himself from the 
elastic straps of the seat. Chris had shrieked as they hit, but she was 
unbuckling herself now. 
He threw her her spacesuit and one of the emergency bottles of oxygen 
from the rack. "Hurry up with that. We've sprung a leak and the 
pressure's dropping." 
* * * * * 
Turn this book over for a second complete novel. 
[Transcriber's Note: The second novel is not present in this etext.] 
* * * * * 
BADGE OF INFAMY 
By LESTER DEL REY 
* * * * * 
ace books A Division of Charter Communications Inc. 1120 Avenue of 
the Americas New York, N.Y. 10036
BADGE OF INFAMY 
Copyright © 1963 by Galaxy Publishing Corp. Copyright © 1957 by 
Renown Publications, Inc. 
A shorter and earlier version of this story appeared in Satellite Science 
Fiction for June, 1957. 
* * * * * 
First Ace printing: January, 1973 
* * * * * 
THE SKY IS FALLING Copyright © 1954, 1963 by Galaxy 
Publishing Corp. 
* * * * * 
Printed in U.S.A. 
 
I 
Pariah 
The air of the city's cheapest flophouse was thick with the smells of 
harsh antiseptic and unwashed bodies. The early Christmas snowstorm 
had driven in every bum who could steal or beg the price of admission, 
and the long rows of cots were filled with fully clothed figures. Those 
who could afford the extra dime were huddled under thin, grimy 
blankets. 
The pariah who had been Dr. Daniel Feldman enjoyed no such luxury. 
He tossed fitfully on a bare cot, bringing his face into the dim light. It 
had been a handsome face, but now the black stubble of beard lay over 
gaunt features and sunken cheeks. He looked ten years older than his
scant thirty-two, and there were the beginnings of a snarl at the corners 
of his mouth. Clothes that had once been expensive were wrinkled and 
covered with grime that no amount of cleaning could remove. His tall, 
thin body was awkwardly curled up in a vain effort to conserve heat 
and one of his hands instinctively clutched at his tiny bag of 
possessions. 
He stirred again, and suddenly jerked upright with a protest already 
forming on his lips. The ugly surroundings registered on his eyes, and 
he stared suspiciously at the other cots. But there was no sign that 
anyone had been trying to rob him of his bindle or the precious bag of 
cheap tobacco. 
He started to relax back onto the couch when a sound caught his 
attention, even over the snoring of the others. It was a low wail, the 
sound of a man who can no longer control himself. 
Feldman swung to the cot on his left as the moan hacked off. The man 
there was well fed and clean-shaven, but his face was gray with 
sickness. He was writhing and clutching his stomach, arching his back 
against the misery inside him. 
"Space-stomach?" Feldman diagnosed. 
He had no need of the weak answering nod. He'd treated such cases 
several times in the past. The disease was usually caused by the 
absence of gravity out in space, but it could be brought on later from 
abuse of the weakened internal organs, such as the intake of too much 
bad liquor. The man must have been frequenting the wrong space-front 
bars. 
Now he was obviously dying. Violent peristaltic contractions seemed to 
be tearing the intestines out of him, and the paroxysms were coming 
faster. His eyes darted to Feldman's tobacco sack and    
    
		
	
	
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