A wave of howling men swarmed up the wall.
CHAPTER I
Return from Luna
A voice roared, "All clear! Lower away!" The great ship rocked and quivered as its jet rockets flared, forming a solid, cushioning pillar on which the Spica lowered itself to the land cradle on Long Island Spaceport.
"Tub!" muttered Flick Muldoon, and made a hasty grab for a case of equipment slithering across the deck.
Gary Lane snapped, "Careful, Flick!" ... which was not like Lane. It was not his nature to be brusque. But now his voice, like his manner, was strained and unnatural. His eyes were tense as he glanced at his wrist chronometer. He sighed relievedly as the wallowing motion of the space-cruiser ended in a final, weary, convulsive heave.
Blue uniformed attendants, luggage-laden, brushed by the pair of young scientists. Commands clacked with metallic authority from the brazen throats of deck audiophones. Locks wheezed asthmatically, and the warm, sweet fragrance of Earth air flooded through a nearby port.
Flick drew a deep, contented breath.
"Home again! Oh, boy! Linen suits instead of those damn bulgers ... sandals instead of lead boots ... breathable air instead of oxygen...."