"This afternoon," Mitchell said. "The boys are tightening the last bolts and putting in the final wiring now. The job's just about over, Pete."
Good! thought Torlyn. I'll be able to take it tonight. To be able to bring both the spaceship's plans and the ship itself back to Valdor would be a major feat. It would result in a fine promotion.
The ship was entirely different from any other vessel ever built. The hyperkinetic generator in its center generated a spherical force field around the ship which projected it to wherever it had been aimed for.
It was simple to operate; all the pilot had to do was set up the co-ordinates of his target, turn on the hyperkinetic generator, and press the activator button. The generator itself did the rest. The field enclosed the ship, and instantaneously the ship was a hundred or a thousand light-years away.
That evening, Torlyn Khy stepped out of his room and strolled over toward the spaceship. It was surrounded by guards, and it was bathed in the blaze of a battery of searchlights, but that did not bother the Valdorian. Earthmen were such stupid fools! It would be a blessing for them if the Valdorians took them over and showed them how to run their lives efficiently. On Valdor, everyone had a job and he did it. He obeyed his superiors without asking questions, and the society, therefore, was efficient.
But these Earthmen! Such a lax, sloppy, inefficient society! They needed more regimentation, more precision. They needed to learn to obey orders. And they would learn—after the Valdorian victory.
"Evening, Mr. Mitchell."
"Good evening, Captain. Nice night, isn't it?"
Torlyn Khy looked around warily and saw the lean, spare figure of John Mitchell standing some distance away. He was talking to a man in a military uniform, one of the guards posted on the project. The Valdorian ducked away; he didn't care to be seen. Not tonight, of all nights.