Bemj nodded. “Catapults. Bows and arrows. They’ve taken a long stride since, even if this is only an early experimental thing of a rocket. Shall we destroy it before it gets here?”
Klarloth shook his head thoughtfully. “Let’s look it over. May save us a trip to Earth; we can judge their present state of development pretty well from the rocket itself.”
“But then we’ll have to—”
“Of course. Call the Station. Tell them to train their attracto-repulsors on it and to swing it into a temporary orbit until they prepare a landing-cradle. And not forget to damp out the explosive before they bring it down.”
“Temporary force-field around point of landing—in case?”
“Naturally.”
So despite the almost complete absence of atmosphere in which the vanes could have functioned, the rocket came down safely and so softly that Mitkey, in the dark compartment, knew only that the awful noise had stopped.
Mitkey felt better. He ate some more of the cheese with which the compartment was liberally provided. Then he resumed trying to gnaw a hole in the inch-thick wood with which the compartment was lined. That wooden lining was a kind thought of the Herr Professor for Mitkey’s mental well-being. He knew that trying to gnaw his way out would give Mitkey something to do en route which would keep him from getting the screaming meemies. The idea had worked; being busy, Mitkey hadn’t suffered mentally from his dark confinement. And now that things were quiet, he chewed away more industriously and more happily than ever, sublimely unaware that when he got through the wood, he’d find only metal which he couldn’t chew. But better people than Mitkey have found things they couldn’t chew.
Meanwhile, Klarloth and Bemj and several thousand other Prxlians stood gazing up at the huge rocket which, even lying on its side, towered high over their heads. Some of the younger ones, forgetting the invisible field of force, walked too close and came back, ruefully rubbing bumped heads.
Klarloth himself was at the psychograph.