A pursuing rocket closed in. There was a huge ball of smoke and a flash of light, but it was not brighter than the sun. It wasn't atomic flame. Calhoun relaxed. He watched as every one of the first-ascended rockets was tracked down and destroyed by another. The last, at that, was three-quarters of the way up.
The Med Ship quivered a little as the force fields tightened again. It descended swiftly. It came to ground. Figures came to meet Calhoun as, with Murgatroyd, he went out of the air lock. Some were uniformed. All wore the grim expression and harried look of men under long-continued strain.
The landing-grid operator shook hands first.
"Nice going! It could be lucky that you arrived. We normals need some luck!"
He introduced a man in civilian clothes as the planetary Minister for Health. A man in uniform was head of the planetary police. The others weren't introduced.
"We worked fast after your call came!" said the grid operator. "Things are lined up for you, but they're bad!"
"I've been wondering," admitted Calhoun dryly, "if all incoming ships are greeted with rockets."
"That's the paras," said the police head, grimly. "They'd rather not have a Med Service man here."
A ground car sped across the spaceport. It came at a headlong pace toward the group just outside the Med Ship. There was a sudden howl of a siren by the spaceport gate. A second car leaped as if to intercept the first. Its siren screamed again. Then bright sparks appeared near the first car's windows. Blasters rasped. Incredulously, Calhoun saw the blue-white of blaster bolts darting toward him. The men about him clawed for weapons. The grid operator said sharply: