Two flights of ships changed course.
Down on Mojave, in the control and operations tower, signal officer Clancey's face popped with beads of cold sweat. He sat down heavily in a chair and:
"Tony! Get me the chief!"
"What's wrong, sir?" asked Tony.
"This desert ain't a big enough landing field to take on Lane and Downing. Not all at once."
"Lane and Downing!" Tony streaked for the telephone. He called, and handed the phone to Clancey, who plugged it into his switchboard, putting it on his own headset so that he could hear both the chief and the operations.
"Chief. Look, this is too hot to handle. Lane and Downing are both heading for Mojave."
"I know."
"Do you?" asked Clancey sarcastically. "They're heading for Mojave. They're racing for Number One. And they're due to arrive within three or four milliseconds of one another!"