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It was the control-tower operator. "One of our drone planes has spotted a sub approaching, skipper," the operator reported. "What bearing?" Tom demanded excitedly. "One-seven-six." Tom was about to hang up and grab a pair of binoculars when the operator added hastily, "Wait! It's responding to our radio challenge!... That's ours, all right!"
It wouldn't be any fun to burn up some harmless village, or get shot at by barbarians and we're setting down with no control-tower signals and no spaceport repair crews. So let's hope our luck holds out for a while yet." Bart, feeling the minute, unsteady trembling somewhere in the ship Imagination, he told himself, you can't feel metal-fatigue somewhere in the hull lining echoed the wish.
"They are approaching the spaceport, sir," called the Titan control-tower operator, and Strong jumped to the radarscope to stare at the two blips on the screen. Only a mile separated them, with Quent Miles' Space Knight ahead. "Five minutes to touchdown," reported the operator. "Come on, Kit," muttered Strong through clenched teeth. "Pour it on, boy. Give her the gun!"
No sooner were they committed than the radar on the commercial airport control-tower picked up air vehicles approaching from the north, and the air-raid sirens began howling and the searchlights went on.
Let's see if we can't get a report from the electronics section before we speculate any further." The three men left the control-tower office under the watchful eyes of a squad of Space Marines. Trouble had already started at the spaceport when a crowd of excited miners had charged a detachment of enlisted men guarding Solar Guard cruisers.
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