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Updated: August 20, 2024
Within seconds a new sound entered the cabin. Beep-beep-beep-beep. They were thin squeaks, spaced a full half-second apart, that rose to inaudibility in pitch in the fraction of a second they lasted. The co-pilot snatched a hand phone from the wall above his head and held it to his lips. "Flight two-twenty calling," he said crisply. "Something's got a radar on us. We saw it.
"Sabotage bad at the plant?" asked the co-pilot. "Tough!" "Sabotage? No. Why should there be sabotage?" demanded Joe. The co-pilot said mildly: "Not quite everybody is anxious to see the Space Platform take off. Not everybody! What on earth do you think is the biggest problem out where they're building it?" "I wouldn't know," admitted Joe. "Keeping the weight down?
In time the moons of Saturn, and the twilight zone of Mercury, and some day the moons of Jupiter. Possibly a landing could be dared on that giant planet itself, despite its gravity. The co-pilot spoke suddenly. "How do you rate this trip by cargo plane?" he asked curiously. "Mostly even generals have to go on the ground. You rate plenty. How?"
"Take-off and climb?" said the co-pilot. "Blowers?" "Low." "Fuel selectors?" The co-pilot moved his hands again to the appropriate controls, verifying that they were as he reported them. "Main on," he said matter-of-factly, "crossfeed off." The transport plane slanted down steeply for the landing field that had looked so small at first, but expanded remarkably as they drew near.
It made a graceful, wallowing, shallow dive, and then climbed almost vertically. It went out of sight. "Visual check," said the co-pilot drily, to Joe. "We had a signal to give. Individual to this plane. We didn't tell it to you. You couldn't duplicate it." Joe worked it out painfully. The visual effect of one propeller seen through another that was identification.
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