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The robots released Alan, who rubbed his arms ruefully. Together they walked up the aisle and out into the street. Hawkes stood waiting there. "I see you've found him. It took long enough." "M-Max, this is my brother, Steven Donnell." Alan's voice was shaky with tension. "Steve, this is a friend of mine. Max Hawkes." "You don't need to tell me who he is," Steve said.
"His name is Steve Donnell, sir. Born 3576. He jumped ship in " "Born when, did you say?" "They're spacers," Hawkes pointed out quietly. MacIntosh shrugged. "Go ahead." "Jumped ship in 3867 I think. It's so hard to tell what year it is on Earth." "And physical description?" "He was my twin," Alan said. "Identical twin."
Captain Mark Donnell had not missed schedule once in his forty ship years in space, which covered a span of over a thousand years of Earth's history. Landing procedure was rigidly set. The Crew debarked by family, in order of signing-on; the only exception to the order was Alan. As a member of the Captain's family the only other member, now he had to wait till the rest of the ship was cleared.
Murtogh, son of Donnell More, who succeeded his father in 1194, had early signalized himself by capturing the castles of Birr, Kinnetty, Ballyroane and Lothra, in Leix, and razing them to the ground. But these castles were reconstructed in 1213, when the feuds between the rival O'Briens Murtogh and Donogh Cairbre had paralyzed the defence force of Thomond.
Within the hour the flaming jets of the Valhalla's planetary drive had lifted the great ship from Earth. They had left immediately for Alpha Centauri, four and a half light-years away. The round trip had taken the Valhalla just six weeks. During those six weeks, better than nine years had passed on Earth. Alan Donnell was seventeen years old. His twin brother Steve was now twenty-six.
"Leg it, boys! Leg it!" cried Tom Donnell. "Don't let those fellows of the bucket brigade get ahead of us!" "If-they-do-we-can-beat-'em-by-squirting-more-water," panted Cole Bishop. "But-say-fellows-go-a little slower-I can't-run-much farther." Indeed, he was out of breath, for the long tramp from Jamesville had tired him. "Jump up on the engine, Cole," proposed Bert. "We can pull you.
Alan wanted to go over to them and tell them, "That's my ship. Me. Alan Donnell." But he knew they would only laugh. Tall boys not quite nineteen did not own late-model Spacemasters with price-tags of cr. 225,000. He itched to get off-planet with it, but there were more delays.
"Here they are!" shouted Tom Donnell, as about ten lads rushed into the barn. They lived on the far side of town, and had come in a bunch to respond to the alarm. "Grab the rope, boys!" cried Bert. "Don't let the bucket brigade beat us!" The long double line was run off the reel, and a two-score of ready hands grasped it.
Name's Alan Donnell, and this is Roger Bond. Yours?" "I'm Kevin Quantrell." He was short and stocky, heavily tanned, with a square jaw and a confident look about him. "I'm out of the starship Encounter, just back from the Aldebaran system. Been in the Enclave two weeks now with a lot more ahead of me." Alan whistled. "Aldebaran! That's let's see, 109 years round trip.
Bert gave his lads the order to halt, when the engine was about fifty feet away from the burning shacks. "Run out the hose!" he called to Tom Donnell. "The rest of you stand ready with the hooks, and, as soon as Tom has got her pretty near out, pull the boards apart so he can get out the last spark." Quickly was the hose unreeled.
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