"Rush the fleet to Rona and evacuate all people. Over!"
"All Leaders of Spacefleet Squadrons, listen: Squadron I, proceed to Center City; Squadron II, proceed to Forel; Squadron III—"
Lan Yotar snapped off the etheradio and rose. "That's all we can do here. Come!"
Followed by the Chief Scientist, he hastened out of the Council Chamber and down the broad corridor. Descending the steps to the landing field, he was just in time to see his private spacecar swoop down in its allotted place. His pilot had heard the Emergency Call and knew he would be needed. Another spacecar landed close by and Var Dalum, the Chief Scribe, hastily joined them.
"You're going to Rona?" he asked breathlessly.
"Yes. Come with us," said the Council Chief.
The airlock had hardly settled in its socket before the pilot took off and the little craft zoomed up at a steep slant. The blue sky gradually darkened and soon they were in the dead black of interplanetary space, heading straight for the afflicted planet.
"Rona, of all planets!" whispered the Chief Scribe. "What shall we do for food?"
The Chief Scientist shook his head. "Let's not despair till we know the worst," he replied.
After that, silence reigned. The pilot concentrated on getting every ounce of power out of his jets. Lan Yotar sat staring straight ahead, his lips compressed, his arms folded. The two other officials gazed through the transparent sidepanels, now and again sliding the telescopic lenses into them to observe a Squadron of the Spacefleet hastening towards their common destination.