He inspected the telescopic pictures. They were very clear. They showed the city with astonishing detail. There was a lacy pattern of highways, with their medallions of multiple-dwelling units. There were the lavish park areas between the buildings of this planetary capital. There was the landing grid itself—a half-mile-high structure of steel girders, a full mile in diameter.
But there were no vehicles on the highways. There were no specks on the crossing bridges to indicate people on foot. There were no copters on the building roofs, nor were there objects in mid-air to tell of air traffic.
The city was either deserted or it had never been occupied. But it was absolutely intact. The structures were perfect. There was no indication of past panic or disaster, and even the highways had not been overgrown by vegetation. But it was empty—or else it was dead.
But somebody in it had tried very ferociously and with singular effectiveness to try to destroy the Med Ship.
Because it was a Med Ship.
Calhoun raised his eyebrows and looked at Murgatroyd.
"Why is all this?" he asked. "Have you any ideas?"
"Chee!" shrilled Murgatroyd.
II