For a million and a quarter miles, the aim was really excellent. The
rocket landed in Long Island Sound, ten miles out from Bridgeport,
about sixty miles from the house of Professor Oberburger near Hartford.
They had prepared for a water landing, of course. The rocket went down
to the bottom, but before it was more than a few dozen feet under the
surface, Mitkey opened the door--especially re-equipped to open from
the inside--and stepped out.
Over his regular clothes he wore a neat little diving suit that would
have protected him at any reasonable depth, and which, being lighter
than water, brought him to the surface quickly where he was able to
open his helmet.
He had enough synthetic food to last him for a week, but it wasn't
necessary, as things turned out. The night-boat from Boston carried him
in to Bridgeport on its anchor chain, and once in sight of land he was
able to divest himself of the diving suit and let it sink to the bottom
after he'd punctured the tiny compartments that made it float, as he'd
promised Klarloth he would do.
Almost instinctively, Mitkey knew that he'd do well to avoid human
beings until he'd reached Professor Oberburger and told his story. His
worst danger proved to be the rats at the wharf where he swam ashore.
They were ten times Mitkey's size and had teeth that could have taken
him apart in two bites.
But mind has always triumphed over matter. Mitkey pointed an imperious
yellow glove and said, "Scram," and the rats scrammed. They'd never
seen anything like Mitkey before, and they were impressed.
[Illustration: "SCRAM!"]
So for that matter, was the drunk of whom Mitkey inquired the way to
Hartford. We mentioned that episode before. That was the only time
Mitkey tried direct communication with strange human beings. He took,
of course, every precaution. He addressed his remarks from a strategic
position only inches away from a hole into which he could have popped.
But it was the drunk who did the popping, without even waiting to
answer Mitkey's question.
[Illustration: "I BEG YOUR PARDON SIR, BUT, COULD YOU DIRECT ME TO
HARTFORD?"]
But he got there, finally. He made his way afoot to the north side of
town and hid out behind a gas station until he heard a motorist who had
pulled in for gasoline inquire the way to Hartford. And Mitkey was a
stowaway when the car started up.
The rest wasn't hard. The calculations of the Prxlians showed that
the starting point of the rocket was five Earth miles north-west of
what showed on their telescopomaps as a city, and which from the
Professor's conversation Mitkey knew would be Hartford.
He got there.