The place was wide open to the world. It was located on a very busy street in what appeared to be a good-sized city; but, to all appearances, any one might enter who chose to.
"Free amusements," thought Smith, "to keep the boobs happy."
Shortly his agent stepped down the street, which seemed to be greatly like one in any city on the earth, except that there was remarkably little noise. Perhaps it was due to the total lack of street-cars and surface machinery in general. Certainly the space between the sidewalks was used for little else than the parking of flying-machines. The buildings housed a variety of stores, all built on a large scale. There were no small shops at all.
Smith's agent quickly reached his own flier, a small two-seater ornithopter finished in dull gray—Smith's favorite color, incidentally—and in a minute or two he was well under way. Smith had a chance to watch, at close range, the distorted S-motion of the machine's wings. But the flight lasted only a few minutes, and presently the craft was again at rest.
This time it was parked under a tremendously long shed, which Smith afterward saw was really a balcony, one of a tier of ten. Opposite the spot was a large building, like a depot; and over its roof Smith saw the huge bulk of an airship.
It was, of course, the Cobulus; and it was when Smith's agent passed through a checking-in room that his name was heard for the first time. "All right, Reblong," was the way it came, from the official who punched his time-card. And Reblong, with Smith making eager use of his eyes, went directly through a hatch in the side of the great ship, and thence down a corridor to his engine-room.
Smith got little opportunity to study the machinery. Reblong gave the place a single sweeping glance, then strode to a short, black-bearded chap who stood near the instrument board.
"Everything as usual, my friend?" He had a pleasant voice, as Smith learned for the first time.
"Yes—as usual!" The man's voice was bitter. "That's just what's wrong! There's never any improvement; it's always—as usual! Say, Reblong; no offense, but I think we are fools to put up with what we are given!"
Smith's man complacently seated himself in front of the instruments.
"Personally, I think we are mighty lucky, instead of foolish."