They found Tom at a desk before a wide window view of the field. On the office walls hung big graphs of fuel consumption curves, trajectory plots from Earth to the asteroid belt, ballistics computations, oxygen consumption curves per unit metabolism per man.
Christy looking at the rockets, said, "Gee, Tom, they look beautiful. Like monsters straining their tethers."
Tom looked up at the girl's profile, and to Bill who was watching, he bore the look of a man savoring what he saw.
"Yes, they are. That first one's mine, the Space Bird. The other is Bill's, the Space Dragon."
Bill cast a professional eye over the charts and graphs on the wall, while far down in his subconscious a sharp twinge of jealousy fulminated, tangling with his fears of space in a hybrid monstrosity. Then like lava in a plugged volcano his obsession found a new outlet. The fear of space now came up disguised as hatred for Tom.
In an unusually calm voice Bill said, "Well, I see you have everything just about completed."
"Yeah," Tom glanced up with a significant look. "Someone else was interested in those charts and graphs too the other day. Someone who didn't bother to use the door."
"What d'you mean—somebody break in?"
Tom nodded. "Yep. Jimmied a window downstairs. But I don't think they got anything, because the door to the office was still locked when the watchman surprised them. They got away in the dark."
Christy's eyes grew large and round. "Who do you suppose it was?"