"Right." The manager spoke into the phone and then said: "And you'll be checking out?"
"Yes. Have one of the boys collect my stuff and ship it out to Station 1."
"O.K., McBride, we'll see that your stuff is taken care of. Ben!" he called out through the door, "hurry up on that reservation, and see that a car is ready to take Mr. McBride to Hellsport."
"T'won't be necessary," said Ben with a glum face. "The Uranium Lady just took off fifteen minutes ago, and there isn't another ship scheduled out of Hellsport for five days."
"Five days!" groaned McBride. "Anything flyable on this planet?"
"Nothing that would take a run to the Lens," said Ben.
"Sure?"
"Almost positive. However, I'll put a request on the radio that may smoke out an unknown."
"I'll buy the thing if they won't let me go any other way," said McBride.
"We understand," said the hotel manager.