The roller bounced out fifty ... a hundred ... two hundred yards into the desert-land ... then stalled. It lay there, a dark form dimly outlined against the thin iridescence of the soil, a silent vehicle bearing a single, unconscious occupant.
Lynn Graham stared at it dolefully for a few moments. Then, because there was no use crying over spilt milk—or lost means of transportation—she turned and hurried toward the city as quickly as possible ... afoot.
As they approached the hill in the darkness, the two S.I.D. men were aware of much activity going on around them. They heard the cries of foremen, the grunts of laborers, the chuff-chuff of old-fashioned combustion engines, and the high, shrill whining of a single highpowered atomotor.
Rocky glanced at the New Boston factor inquisitively.
"Mining, Grossman—already?"
Grossman chuckled.
"Mining, yes. But not for what you think. Before we mine for wealth, we must mine for power."
"Mine for power?"
"You shall see in a moment what I mean." Grossman motioned one of his native aides to him. "Ho, there! He is secure? The mighty one is shackled as I commanded?"