He'd been surprised that night—it was over a year ago now—that Colonel Gotch had contacted him. (Just when he was wondering where he might get a job. He hadn't liked the prosaic prospects of pushing passengers around the country in some jet job.) Sure, he'd jumped at the offer. But the question had never left his mind. Why had Gotch selected him? The Aztec, a silver needle plunging through space followed by her drones, all in his tender care. He was planning the step-by-step procedure of take-off when sleep came.
CHAPTER 2
Crag woke with a start, sensing he was not alone. The sound came again—a key being fitted into a lock. He started from bed as the door swung open.
"Easy. It's me—Gotch." Crag relaxed. A square solid figure took form.
"Don't turn on the light."
"Okay. What gives?"
"One moment." Gotch turned back toward the door and beckoned. Another figure glided into the room—a shadow in the dim light. Crag caught the glint of a uniform. Air Force officer, he thought.
Gotch said crisply; "Out of bed."
He climbed out, standing alongside the bed in his shorts, wondering at the Colonel's cloak-and-dagger approach.