McBride stamped up and down the hotel lobby for an hour. His luggage came down, all collected and prepared. He called Caldwell, and spoke to him for an hour, but Dr. Caldwell's protestations didn't help McBride. Enid had fallen from a chair while cleaning out a shelf, and was resting easily, no complications. Yes, there was some pain, enough to make Enid want her husband near. No danger, no, but it would be best if he were there.
But McBride was still one hundred hours and nineteen hundred million miles away.
John McBride didn't see the messenger boy bringing the message until he almost bumped into him. "Mr. McBride, here's your answer," said the lad, and he saw McBride rip the envelope open with a quick gesture to read the following:
MC BRIDE:
EXPERIMENTAL SPACESHIP HAYWIRE QUEEN AT YOUR COMMAND IF YOU CAN REPAIR ALPHATRON. MEET ME AT HELLSPORT.
STEVE HAMMOND (SKYWAYS)
McBride said to the messenger: "It's grabbing at straws, but get me a cab and I'll take a whirl at it."
"Think you can do it?" asked the lad.
"Don't know. I'm desperate. After all, it's a wild chance because if Steve Hammond and his gang haven't been able to repair it, how can I expect to?"
"Give it a whirl anyway, sir," said the lad.