"The classic role of the strong neutral," commented John drily. "What were the Jovians like?"
"Evidently everybody on Earth knew from first-hand experience when this book was written a century ago. There are no descriptions and no illustrations. There are some hints, though: methane-breathing, cold-loving. They had domed, refrigerated cities."
"What are you reading—a history book?" asked Ann curiously.
"Yes, it's the newest book of the whole lot, and the only one that isn't brittle and dog-eared. At that, it's the worst-made book of them all. It looks like it was printed on a hand-press and bound by hand."
"Pioneers, oh pioneers!" trilled Fran softly. "But what are they doing in the midst of all this technology?"
Supper in the officers' mess was a glittering affair in the military tradition. Their conversation developed some new revelations. Third Sarge Elfor was commander of the whole area that surrounded Pebbro for hundreds of miles, including the abandoned spaceport. The Topkick was ruler of the nation, and the nation was the top echelon in a co-operating hierarchy of countries of the world. For some reason, the simplified terms for enlisted men's grades had replaced higher ranks in Earth's military systems: such titles as "sarge" and "topkick." Inquiry developed that none of the officers was familiar with such designations as "captain" and "commander."
"But why is the spaceport deserted?" asked Phil. "Is space travel at such a low ebb on Earth now?"
"You are mistaken in thinking the port deserted," replied Elfor. "The big guns in the pillboxes are zeroed on your ship. If it tries to blast off, it will be destroyed."
There was no enmity in his tone, no threat. It was a simple statement of fact. He didn't elaborate, and the four from the starship discreetly asked no more about it.