Parr, tossing a handful of bills at the driver, leaped from the cab and ran frantically toward the office.
The wait was terrible. Should the Oholos arrive, he was boxed in spaciously, with no escape. In gnawing at the inner side of his lower lip, he bit through his disguise into real flesh and real blood.
There were forms to sign, responsibility to be waived.
And with every minute, they drew nearer.
Finally the airplane motor coughed into reluctant life, and Parr could feel the coldness of artificial leather against his back.
The ship shuddered, moved heavily, shifted toward the wind onto the lighted runway. The motor roared louder and louder and the ship trembled. Slowly it began to pick up speed, the wings fighting for lift.
A searchlight from the pier made a slow ring of light toward the invisible stars.
The ground fell away and Parr was on his way to Denver.
Almost immediately, with the pressure still on his mind but fading swiftly, he fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of treason, while, in the background ominous clouds shifted and gathered to darken the sun of his native planet. Finally, all was a starless black except for half-forgotten faces which paraded before him, telling his treason with hissing tongues in words he could not quite grasp the meaning of.