"Skiing is an interesting sport," Juarez commented. "I enjoy watching the skill with which the skiers perform in these tournaments."
Roger and Juarez watched a symphony of graceful form and movement against a backdrop of snow, blue sky, and tall pines. Both men sat in chairs that moulded automatically to the shape of the body. Radiant heat bathed them in warmth that was a pleasant contrast to the wintry scene in the television wall.
The instrument which showed them the ski tournament so clearly represented a force that had killed an entire industry eighty years earlier. The economic collapse and the development of good color stereo television had resulted in the complete destruction of the movie industry. Although there was still much poor entertainment on the air, any person could usually find entertainment to suit his taste, whether it was for adventure stories or Shakespeare, for popular music or the works of the great composers.
Roger was held in the house for about a week and a half. Although he did not know why he was held for such a long time, he knew that he was being watched with unceasing vigilance. He had no chance to escape. Then suddenly the enforced inactivity was over.
Juarez and two guards entered his room. All three were dressed in outdoor clothing and were armed.
"You will come with us peacefully," Juarez warned. "If you try anything foolish, we will not hesitate to kill you. We have other plans for you, but your death here would serve our purpose."
Roger went. They left the house and prepared to enter a small channel winged plane. The craft had a tear shaped body flanked by two pontoon-like cylinders. Each cylinder contained two small jet engines, one blowing a stream of air forward and the other blowing a stream backward across wing-like plates. The supersonic blasts gave the wings enough lift so that the plane could hover, rise vertically, or move forward or backward with equal ease. Such planes could attain a speed of 450 miles per hour.
At this time, a small patrol plane of the same type was flying slowly through the area. Both of its occupants were thoroughly bored, and one of them began to look around through a pair of light amplifying binoculars. He spotted the abduction scene taking place below. Every detail, including Roger's handcuffs, was crystal clear. The patrolman, his curiosity aroused, switched to ultraviolet sensitivity, but saw none of the code numbers that appeared on the bodies of all police planes. Handcuffs and no police markings meant a check report to police headquarters.
"Patrol 67," the policeman reported into the radio. "There's a prisoner being held in Zone 18. The plane has no police markings. The prisoner is about five feet, eleven inches tall, has light hair, a rather large nose, and is wearing a green jacket over gray coveralls. One of the other men is dark, short, and stocky."