Gillian Murray laughed. Walter Pellinger opened his mouth as if to make some retort, then thought better of it, and turned back to the vidar screen.
The screen took up most of the far wall. The image in focus was the scene behind them. In the center, like a giant grapefruit, hung the planet Algon—a world of water with a few islands dotting the surface of an ocean—while anchored in space, some hundreds of miles above, lay a small satellite.
"That's a funny one," said John Bridge.
The lawyer smiled. He'd grown to like Bridge. The mystery of his wealth had been discovered months ago—he'd won a sweepstake fortune. That and his own meager savings had together proved just sufficient to buy him a new lease of life. His family hadn't liked the idea; but, as he'd pointed out to them, it was his money and what use was it to him if he was too old to enjoy it? The simplicity and good nature of the man came as a refreshing change from the sullenness of Pellinger and the cynicism of Jason Tarsh.
"It's a radio-platform," Delman explained.
Sometimes it seemed almost incredible that John Bridge had never left the Earth. He was a Londoner by birth and, before this trip, had traveled no farther than New York. To him, everything they saw and did was a new adventure.
"But we don't have radio-platforms back home," Bridge said. "Why do they need them here?"
"In our own solar system," Delman told him, "there's an interplanetary link-up—an expensive business—but we did have them four hundred years ago. Out here, it's not worth the cost. The platform acts as a go-between. It can intercept messages and pass them down to the spacedrome on Algon, or it can transmit to a spaceship in flight. But direct contact between spaceship and spacedrome is impossible, because the ionized layer of the atmosphere deflects the radio waves."
"I see. Is there one over Rejuvenal, then?"