Genre - Science Fiction. You are on the page - 12
magining that, I'm right there with you."He went back to the main building to get Gail and Captain Moggs. They went out to the 'copter hangar together. "I've talked to the radar and loran operator," said Soames. "I explained that you wanted to see some crevasses from the air, and I'd be wandering around looking for them on the way to the rookery. He will check on us every fifteen minutes, anyhow." * * * * * The 'copter went up the long, sloping, bulldozed snow-ramp.
a few weeks before, but the idea had spread through the crew like wildfire. Now, I couldn't afford drastic action, or risk forcing a blowup by arresting ringleaders. I had to baby the situation along with an easy hand and hope for good news from the Survey Section. A likely find now would save us.There was still every reason to hope for success in our search. To date all had gone according to plan. We had followed the route of Omega as far as it had been charted, and then gone on, studying the
ed. We were at war.There was no craft near us, and our surface speed is nearly twice that of our submerged, so I blew out the tanks and our whale-back came over the surface. All night we were steering south-west, making an average of eighteen knots. At about five in the morning, as I stood alone upon my tiny bridge, I saw, low down in the west, the scattered lights of the Norfolk coast. "Ah, Johnny, Johnny Bull," I said, as I looked at them, "you are going to have your lesson,
stro, turning red with embarrassment, "we're going to Venus.""What's so unusual about going to Venus?" asked Strong. "We're going hunting," replied Astro. "Hunting?" "Yes, sir," gulped the big Venusian. "For tyrannosaurus." Strong's jaw dropped and he sat down suddenly on the nearest acceleration cushion. "I expected something a little strange from you three whiz kids." He laughed. "It would be impossible for you to go
ntry. It might, I thought, be the Happy Future, or Utopia, or the Land of Simple Dreams; an errant mote of memory, Henry James's phrase and story of "The Great Good Place," twinkled across my mind, and passed and left no light.The man I saw wrote with a thing like a fountain pen, a modern touch that prohibited any historical retrospection, and as he finished each sheet, writing in an easy flowing hand, he added it to a growing pile upon a graceful little table under the window. His
e American."I contend, nevertheless, that it was 'Rule Britannia!'" "And I say it was 'Yankee Doodle!'" replied the young American. The dispute was about to begin again when one of the seconds-- doubtless in the interests of the milk trade--interposed. "Suppose we say it was 'Rule Doodle' and 'Yankee Britannia' and adjourn to breakfast?" This compromise between the national airs of Great Britain and the United States was adopted to the general satisfaction. The