Their rapid steps took them onto one of the main streets of the city where moving sidewalks, called “Ped-A-Rides,” were operating. The sidewalk was a continuous belt, about six feet wide, and there were benches located at intervals upon it where the pedestrians could sit. A railing was on both sides of the Ped-A-Ride, but at intervals of about half a block there were gates where pedestrians could enter.
Patch and Garry went to the nearest gate, and Garry pulled the lever which slowed the sidewalk down so that they could board it. When Garry had deposited their fare in the meter, a bar slid away so that they could enter. It was about 2230 o’clock, an hour and a half before midnight, and not many people were on the Ped-A-Ride.
The boys took seats, and the sidewalk carried them along into the night.
As the Ped-A-Ride topped the crest of a hill, Garry pointed into the distance.
“There she is, Patch—the Orion, smoking and straining like a race horse, just as if she can’t wait to get going!”
“She sure is a beauty,” Patch agreed. “The earth-bound ships are a whole lot trimmer and better looking than the ships that never touch down.”
“The earth-bound ships have to be streamlined so that they can slide smoothly through the earth’s atmosphere,” Garry said, “but the ships that remain in space look like a bunch of globes and girders, because they never meet the friction of any planet’s atmosphere and they don’t need the sturdiness and rocket power.”
Patch laughed. “You sound like one of our schoolbooks, Garry,” he said.
As the Ped-A-Ride neared the spaceport, the brilliant lights of the busy area merged into a hazy glare that brightened the night until it was almost as light as day. The slim prow of the Orion reached higher into the sky than any other object on the vast field, even loftier than the giant control tower.
“They say the Orion is more space scarred than any other ship in the Space Service,” Garry remarked. “Meteor dust has grooved her sides so much that they look like the scratches on a rifle bullet.”