A moment's crackling noise from the speaker, then a cheery, feminine voice, "Centropolitan spaceport. Landing permission granted. What size is your ship?"
"A seventy-two foot space-yacht."
"Do you need servicing?"
"We will in a day or so, but not at the moment."
"Use cradle forty-three in section D. Land in four minutes."
"Instructions received with thanks. Star Rover off."
Carefully Jon sighted through his visiplate until he located the cradle marked with a large "43" in the section of the tremendous spaceport also clearly marked "D." He lowered the ship slowly and gently, keeping his eyes closely on the chronom and its big sweep-secondhand.
So expert had he become at handling the ship, and so well did his new automatic technique work, that the ship settled gently into the cradle dead center ... and only one point three zero seconds off the four minutes specified.
"Nice handling, Chubby," Jak cheered as they felt the mighty engines and generators shut off.
"Aw, it was rotten. I was almost a second and a half off in my timing."