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Updated: June 3, 2025
Presently the giant ship on its second voyage to Dara the first had been a generation ago, when it threatened death and destruction appeared as a dark pinpoint in the sky. It came down and down, and presently it hovered over the center of the tarmac, where Calhoun composedly stood on the spot where he was to have been executed.
"Willis," said a crisp voice. "Squad ship 390. He's up for next call. Playing squint-eye in the squad room now." "Pull him loose," Sergeant Madden ordered, "and send somebody to take the desk. Tell Willis I'll be on the tarmac in five minutes." "Check," said the crisp voice. Sergeant Madden lifted his thumb. All this was standard operational procedure. A man had the desk.
Presently the giant ship on its second voyage to Dara the first had been a generation ago, when it threatened death and destruction appeared as a dark pinpoint in the sky. It came down and down, and presently it hovered over the center of the tarmac, where Calhoun composedly stood on the spot where he was to have been executed.
Heat waves eddied on the tarmac. The passengers moved quickly into the terminal and dispersed. A young woman with brown skin and black hair, dressed in shorts and halter top, held a sign that read: Polynesian Paradise Adventures. She put a lei around Oliver's neck and directed him to a bus where he waited half an hour while other vacationers collected their luggage and boarded in small groups.
A moon-rocket, landing at its space-port on Earth, heated the tarmac to red-hotness in the process of landing. Tender-vehicles had to wait for it to cool before they could approach. Here the ship had landed in woodland. Naturally its flames had seared the spot where it came down. And there was inflammable stuff about, which caught fire.
An excited, buzzing group of pilots and mechanics were huddled together on the tarmac near the circus tent that served as a hangar, and still more men were emerging hastily from the humpbacked, black steel elephants that served them as quarters. Larkin ran toward the group near the hangar entrance,
Timmy wasn't to worry. The ship might be a few days late, but Timmy'd better make the most of them. He'd be married a long time! Sergeant Madden got up, grunting, from his chair. Somebody came in to take over the desk. Sergeant Madden nodded and waved his hand. He went out and took the slide-stair down to the tarmac where squad ship 390 waited in standard police readiness.
Some hung eagerly around the airlocks of ships on the grid tarmac, waiting their turns to stand in corrosive gases for the decontamination of their suits, when they would burn the outer layers and step, aseptic and happy, into a Wealdian ship again. There they could think how rich they were going to be back on Weald. But the situation aloft was bewildering and very, very ominous.
"Everything go all right?" the little man said anxiously. "I don't know," Joe said. "I still couldn't tell them the story. Old Cogswell is as quick as a coyote. We pull this little caper today, and he'll be ready to meet it tomorrow." He looked at the two-place sailplane which sat on the tarmac. "Everything all set?" "Far as I know," Max said. He looked at the motorless aircraft.
It spread out in a wide flat disk of intolerable brightness. The sleek hull of the ship which still rode the flame down glinted vividly as it settled into the inferno of its own making. Then the light went out. The glare cut off abruptly. There was only a dim redness where the space-port tarmac had been made incandescent for a little while.
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