The blob of metal clung to the space ship's trail like a pursuing nemesis.
I slowly climbed to the forward telescope and looked through it. Dead center was a small twinkling Earth with the Moon hovering near it.
I informed the rest. They shouted with relief. We were on our way home!
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.