"No spores?"
"Nope."
"Gosh," smiled Lane. "Imagine a world where they can't smother a steak with mushrooms!"
"So what are you going to do?"
"Me? I'm going out there and tell 'em what they're missing. Imagine—no mushrooms!"
"I'm just thinking of what a nice world this would be to do tropical research. I've even seen fungus growing on steel."
"No, you haven't. Bakelite I'll buy, but when the stuff grows on steel it is growing on the dust that has collected. Well, tell the boys in the back room to cover me as I emerge."
Lane undogged the spacelock and the rams pulled it back out of the frame. Riding on the front of the automatic runway, Lane stood in an indolent attitude, the thumb of his right hand hooked over the belt just one-half inch from the butt of his modine. His other hand held a cigarette.
As the runway hit the ground, Lane took a last puff of the cigarette, stepped to the ground and dropped the glowing butt. He crushed it with his heel, and then took five forward steps, looking about himself with open curiosity.
The catman ship directly in front of him opened its spacelock and one of the catmen emerged.