“Wonder what they have?” Marconi muttered.
“Trader!” Ross sneered ponderously. He was feeling better; the weight of depression had been lifted for the time being, either by his confession or the electric atmosphere. If every day were like this, he thought vaguely....
“Let’s not kid each other,” Marconi was saying exuberantly. “This is an event, man! Where are they from, what are they peddling? Do I get a good cut at their wares? It could be fifty thousand shields for me in commission alone. Lurline and I could build a tower house on Great Blue Lake with that kind of money, with a whole floor for her parents! Ross, you just don’t know what it is to really be in love. Everything changes.”
A jeep roared up and slammed to a stop; Ross blinked and yelled: “Here it comes!”
They watched the ground-controlled approach with the interest of semiprofessionals and concealed their rising excitement with shop talk.
“Whups! There goes the high-power job into action.” Marconi pointed as a huge dish antenna swiveled ponderously on its mast. “Seems the medium-output dishes can’t handle her.”
“Maybe the high-power dish can’t either. She might be just plain shot.”
“Standard, sealed GCA doesn’t get shot, my young friend. Not in a neon-atmosphere tank it doesn’t.”
“Maybe along about the fifth generation they forgot what it was and cut it open with an acetylene torch to see what was inside.”
“Bad luck for us in that case, Ross.” The ship steadied on a due-west course and flashed across the heavens and over the horizon.