Harrison skidded the car into a squealing turn. Angrily, he raced over the bridge and onto the roaring highway. Thirty minutes later Intersolar Spaceport, Los Angeles, blazed ahead of him.
The main gate guards waved him in immediately and two cycle guards ran interference for him through the scores of video newsmen who lined the spaceport street.
Bob Mills met him at the entrance to the Administration building.
"Sorry, George, but—"
"Yeah. Oh, sure. Now what the hell is it all about?"
Mills handed him a sheaf of tele-transmittals. They bore heavy secret stamps. Harrison looked up quizzically.
"You saw the video boys," Mills said. "The wheels think there might be some hysteria."
"Any reason for it?"
"Not that we know of—not that I know of anyway. The thing is coming in awfully fast—speed of light times a factor of at least two, maybe four."
Harrison whistled softly and scanned the reports frowning.