Thunder rolled and bellowed across the night sky, mounting to a deafening crescendo. Up into the starry heavens rose a great black bulk, climbing starward on a column of fading fire. And hardly had its echoes ebbed than the dull explosions came again, and another rocket-ship took off in the unending Marslift.
Crouching with Martha in the darkness of an old pier, with the murmuring black vagueness of the Upper Harbor in front of them, Wales looked over his shoulder at the fiery finger that pointed out to man's new home in the sky. He turned back to Martha, as she whispered to him. She was staring out over the dark water.
"I don't see any lights, Jay. Not one."
"They wouldn't show lights," he said. "They'd not advertise the fact that they're there."
"If they're there," she said. "If Lee's there."
He took her roughly by the shoulders. "Martha, don't lose your nerve now. Think what depends on this."
He jerked his head in the direction of the distant New Jersey Spaceport, as still another Mars-bound ship rode up in majestic thunder and flame.
"There should be twice as many ships, twice as many evacuees, going out now as there are! All the people who doubt, who hold back, who refuse to go—Lee is the key to saving them."
"But if we only had help, Jay! The authorities—"
Wales said, "Fairlie, as regional Evacuation Marshal, is the top local authority here now. And don't you see—if that story is true, Fairlie is the last man we dare let know we're here."