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There would be many liners leaving on the hour; these that were coming in were private craft that spun their flashing helicopters like giant emeralds in the green descending light, while the noise of their beating blades filled the air with a rush of sound.
The shed of the mysterious Nameless was the only one of the long row that did not buzz with activity all that day, which was one assigned to preparation for the contests of the morrow. All the other aeroplane hives fairly radiated activity. Freakish-looking men hovered about their weird helicopters and lovingly polished brass and tested engines.
There was more emotion in his voice than might be expected from a reanimate; in real life on his own world, he must have had an amazing potential for even that much to carry over. "We're dead. We're dead, and we're here, and they tell us to make helicopters. So we make them, working like dogs to make a deadline. Then, just as the first one comes off the line, the power fails. No more juice.
The head engineer took off in the one we finished. He was going to find out what gives, but he never came back. So we sit." He spat on the ground. "I wish they'd left me dead after the plant blew up. I'm not myself since then." "What in hell would they need with helicopters?" Hanson asked. The man shrugged. "Beats me. But I'm beginning to figure some things out.
"Which have flown, and which will fly," said Robur, without being in the least disconcerted, "and which we can call streophores, helicopters, orthopters or, in imitation of the word 'nef, which comes from 'navis, call them from 'avis, 'efs, by means of which man will become the master of space. The helix " "Ah, the helix!" replied Phil Evans. "But the bird has no helix; that we know!"
Bohannan departed. The droning of the helicopters rose to a shrill hum. The Master switched in the air-pressure system; and far underneath, white fountains of spumy water leaped up about the floats, mingled with sand and mud all churned to frenzy under the bursting energy of the compressed air released through thousands of tubules.
"Then recovery has failed?" "I'm afraid so, sir." The fused blip was still visible on screen as the radar dishes tracked it, moving in a way that indicated a steep downward plunge. For a moment Tom felt numb with despair. But he set his jaw firmly and turned to the admiral. "Sir, I'd like helicopters readied for take-off immediately," Tom said.
Rack everything strain everything break everything, if you must, but lift her!" "Yes, sir!" came the engineer's voice. "I'll scrap the engines, sir, but I'll do that!" Almost as if a mocking echo of the command and the promise, a dull concussion shuddered through Nissr. The drone of the helicopters sank to a sullen murmur; and down below, waves began combing angrily over the gallery.
By the time they had completed the drawings for the mail casting, the materials were already being assembled in a little private camp that Morey owned, up in the hills of Vermont. The giant freight helicopters could land readily in the wide field that had been cleared on the small plateau, in the center of which nestled a little blue lake and a winding trout brook.
"But it could take several days for them to see it." Babs swallowed again. She said carefully: "The ship can't hover like a helicopter, to search. You said so. It doesn't have fuel enough. They can't really search for us at all! The only way to make a real search would be to go back to Earth and bring back helicopters and fuel for them and men to fly them.... Isn't that right?" "Not necessarily.
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