The stern telescope showed the other piece of tellecarbon following
us--almost sniffing at our heels. It held there, day after day, while
the Earth grew larger and larger.
* * * * *
At the last Jud stood at the telescope and directed us in. After
circling about ten thousand miles up until Puget Sound was directly
below us, Tillie dipped down in obedience to his unspoken command.
The whistling sound of atmosphere on the shell was the sweetest music
ever played by gods or men!
We landed on Puget Sound opposite the campus. The minute we touched
shore I took a wrench and unscrewed the framework that held the
tellecarbon in place in the center tube. I could feel a rapid, excited
vibration as it waited--I mean she.
No sooner was the last bolt loosened than she darted away. She almost
reached the open porthole where Mallory had taken his first breath of
fresh air when she stopped and returned.
Tillie, the silvery blob of matter, came back and touched my cheek
softly. Then she did the same to Lahoma.
We wasted no time in climbing out of the ship to the shore. There we
looked up. Far over our heads were two silver flashes of brilliance that
zoomed in ever-widening spirals.
I felt someone beside me and glanced down. Lahoma was standing there.
Cautiously I put my arm around her waist.
With a starry look in her bright eyes as she glanced at me, she twined
her arm around me. Then we looked up again.
Far above we saw a wonderful sight. The two silver flashes seemed to
come together. There was a blinding light as from a tremendous
explosion; but unlike an explosion it remained bright. It was like a
morning star--a sun, far, far away. It grew smaller and smaller until at
last it seemed just another star twinkling in the heavens.
There was an aftermath. We sold the space ship to a Ferry Boat company
and they transformed it into a streamlined excursion boat with a
conventional motor to drive it. But that isn't what I'm talking about.
Lahoma and I got married shortly after. I had sense enough to capitalize
on the romance of the tellecarbons and proposed right then and there.
She accepted, of course.
But it was two years later when our first child was born--little William
Lawrence. One Sunday we were down at the beach strolling along, pushing
the go-cart in the twilight.
A full moon beamed down upon us and a million stars twinkled in the
clear sky. The waves washed with sleepy sounds against the sandy shore
and now and then a sea gull came close enough so we could hear the
swishing of its wings.
Into this pleasant scene came a sound--at first so faint it could hardly
be heard. It was a shrill scream of some object hurtling through the
atmosphere above, almost like the whine of plane struts, only much
higher pitched.
Lahoma and I glanced up. There, far up, something silvery flashed. As
our eyes adjusted themselves we saw that there were at least two of
them, and they were coming closer.
Just as they seemed about to crash into the sandy beach they paused.
There were two large pieces of silvery substance and five small pieces.
They hovered near us, quivering and scintillating. Then one of the two
larger ones came over and touched my cheek softly. The warmth of its
touch was almost human.
With coruscating brilliance it left me to pause and touch Lahoma's
cheek. Then it darted down the beach, the other large piece just behind
it, and the five little ones trailing along.
Lahoma put her arm around my waist and looked up into my eyes. And we
both chuckled and chuckled and chuckled.