But not quite emptiness. Far, far away there was a great half-globe rising against the horizon. The car hummed toward it, tires singing. And Joe looked at it and felt ashamed, because this was the home of the Space Platform, and he hadn’t brought to it the part for which he alone was responsible.
Sally moistened her lips. She brought out a small box. She opened it. There were bandages and bottles.
“I’ve a first-aid kit, Joe,” she said shakily. “You’re burned. Let me fix the worst ones, anyhow!”
Joe looked at himself. One coat sleeve was burned to charcoal. His hair was singed on one side. A trouser leg was burned off around the ankle. When he noticed, his burns hurt.
Major Holt watched her spread a salve on scorched skin. He showed no emotion whatever.
“Tell me what happened,” he commanded. “All of it!”
Somehow, there seemed very little to tell, but Joe told it baldly as the car sped on. The great half-ball of metal loomed larger and larger but did not appear to grow nearer as Sally practiced first aid. They came to a convoy of trucks, and the horn blared, and they turned out and passed it. Once they met a convoy of empty vehicles on the way back to Bootstrap. They passed a bus. They went on.
Joe finished drearily: “The pilots did everything anybody could. Even checked off the packages as they were dumped. We reported the one that blew up.”
Major Holt said uncompromisingly: “Those were orders. In a sense we’ve gained something even by this disaster. The pilots are probably right about the plane’s having been booby-trapped after its last overhaul, and the traps armed later. I’ll have an inspection made immediately, and we’ll see if we can find how it was done.
“There’s the man you think armed the trap on this plane. An order for his arrest is on the way now. I told my secretary. And—hm.... That CO2——”