McBride read the words twice, and then looked around himself, wildly.
_Hit Sky_ was easy to say--but at 6-G it would take just over one
hundred hours to make the passage. Four days minimum!
McBride raced to the elevator, chewed his fingernails while the car
rode him down the hundred and seven floors with that snail's pace
caused by many stops. He shot out of the elevator door, caromed off the
opposite wall into an ash tray which he upset and sent a small cascade
of sand across the floor. McBride coasted to a stop before the hotel
manager's desk and tossed the 'gram in front of him. The manager read
and looked up in sympathy.
McBride said: "Get me a reservation on the next sunward-bound ship.
Emergency stop; they'll make the stopoff with an emergency."
"Right." The manager spoke into the phone and then said: "And you'll be
checking out?"
"Yes. Have one of the boys collect my stuff and ship it out to Station
1."
"O.K., McBride, we'll see that your stuff is taken care of. Ben!" he
called out through the door, "hurry up on that reservation, and see
that a car is ready to take Mr. McBride to Hellsport."
"T'won't be necessary," said Ben with a glum face. "The _Uranium
Lady_ just took off fifteen minutes ago, and there isn't another ship
scheduled out of Hellsport for five days."
"Five days!" groaned McBride. "Anything flyable on this planet?"
"Nothing that would take a run to the Lens," said Ben.
"Sure?"
"Almost positive. However, I'll put a request on the radio that may
smoke out an unknown."
"I'll buy the thing if they won't let me go any other way," said
McBride.
"We understand," said the hotel manager.
McBride stamped up and down the hotel lobby for an hour. His luggage
came down, all collected and prepared. He called Caldwell, and spoke to
him for an hour, but Dr. Caldwell's protestations didn't help McBride.
Enid had fallen from a chair while cleaning out a shelf, and was
resting easily, no complications. Yes, there was some pain, enough to
make Enid want her husband near. No danger, no, but it would be best if
he were there.
But McBride was still one hundred hours and nineteen hundred million
miles away.
John McBride didn't see the messenger boy bringing the message until
he almost bumped into him. "Mr. McBride, here's your answer," said the
lad, and he saw McBride rip the envelope open with a quick gesture to
read the following: