Calling Phil Mooney. Calling Phil Mooney. New Albuquerque Spaceport Calling Phil Mooney. We are receiving you perfectly. Come in Mooney.
He tried once more.
"Calling New Albuquerque Spaceport. Calling New Albuquerque Spaceport. Please come in New Albuquerque. Emergency. Repeat Emergency. Please come in New Albuquerque."
Calling Phil Mooney. Calling Phil Mooney. We are receiving you perfectly, Mooney. Come in Mooney.
Kitty Kildare took up her notes and prepared to make her way back to her own tiny office.
"I've got it, Jake," she said breathlessly. Kitty was always breathless over any story carrying more pathos than a basketball score. "My column tomorrow'll have them melting. Actually, I mean."
Jake shuddered inwardly after she left.
Ed Kerry came up and drooped on the edge of the desk.
"Here's the dope on this Phil Mooney, Jake," he said. "He's about thirty. Was in the last war and saw action when we had our space-forces storming New Petrograd. Did some fighting around the satellites, too. Piloted a one seater, got a couple of medals, but never really made big news."
"Got any pix of him?"