The autopilot was bringing the ship down toward the ground out of the stratosphere, slanting toward the Ruhr when Jenna snapped the intercom switch. "Breakfast," she called. Her voice rang out through the ship. Grant came immediately and sat down. Lindsay was already seated. Jenna served up a heaping plate of ham, eggs, fried potatoes, and a small pancake on the side. "This," she smiled, "is too late for a real breakfast, but I demand a breakfast even if it's nine o'clock in the evening when I first eat for the day. There's more if you're still hungry."
"We'll see," said Grant. He picked up his knife and fork but stopped with them poised. "Where's Lacy?"
"I'll give another call," said Jenna, repeating her cry.
They fell to, attacking their plates with vigor. But no Lacy. They finished and still no Lacy. "Come on," said Jenna. "Maybe he's still feeling remorse. We'll find him and then we'll feed him if we have to hold him down and stuff him. O.K.?"
"Yeah," drawled Grant. "Feeding does wonders for my mental attitude. It'll do Tom good, too! Let's find him."
They headed for the scanning room, but it was empty. The desk where they'd left him was as though he had not been there, except—
"Letter?" queried Lindsay, puzzled. "Now, what—" his voice trailed away as he slit the envelope and took out the sheet of paper. He cleared his throat and began:
"Dear Folks:
"I put no faith in Garrard's suspicions, but since he was lost without an honest chance to prove them, I am taking this chance.
"I am taking my skeeter when I finish this and I'm going on ahead, alone. Knowing you as I do, I'll have plenty of time to inspect that robomb before you read this. I'm explaining my actions because I feel that you may need explanation.