They marched in a hollow square of guards to the ship. Flash guns dazzled their eyes and television scanners followed their movements. It seemed impossible that this was the same lonely spot where, only hours before, they had worried about silent prowlers in the dark.
Cargraves had the boys climb in, then turned to Buchanan and Captain Taylor. “Ten minutes, gentlemen. Are you sure you can keep everybody clear? Once I get in the seat I can’t see the ground near me.”
“Don’t worry, Captain Cargraves,” Taylor assured him. “Ten minutes it is.”
Buchanan stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Doctor. Bring me back some green cheese.” `
A man came puffing up, dodged past a guard, and thrust a folded paper in Cargraves’ hand.
“Here, what’s this?” demanded Taylor. “Get back where you belong.”
The man shrugged. “It’s a court order.”
“Eh? What sort?”
“Temporary injunction against flying this ship. Order to appear and show cause why a permanent injunction should not be issued to restrain him from willfully endangering the lives of minors.”
Cargraves stared. It felt to him as if the world were collapsing around him. Ross and Art appeared at the door behind him. “Doc, what’s up?”
“Hey, there! You boys-come down out of there,” yelled the stranger, and then said to Captain Taylor, “I’ve got another paper directing me to take them in charge on behalf of the court.”
“Get back in the ship,” Cargraves ordered firmly, and opened the paper. It seemed in order. State of New Mexico and so forth. The stranger began to expostulate. Taylor took him by the arm.
“Take it easy,” he said.
“Thanks,” said Cargraves. “Mr. Buchanan, can I have a word with you? Captain, will you hang on to this character?”
“Now, I don’t want any beef,” protested the stranger. “I’m just carrying out my duty.”
“I wonder,” Cargraves said thoughtfully. He led Buchanan around the nose of the craft and showed him the paper.
“It seems to be in order,” Buchanan admitted.
“Maybe. This says it’s the order of a state court. This is federal territory, isn’t it? As a matter of fact, Captain Taylor and his men are here only by your invitation and consent. Isn’t that right?”
“Hmmm.. . yes. That’s so.” Buchanan suddenly jammed the paper in his pocket. “I’ll fix his clock!”
“Just a minute.” Cargraves told him rapidly about the phony inspector, and the prowlers, matters which he had kept to himself, save for a letter to the Washington CAB office. “This guy may be a phony, or a stooge of a phony. Don’t let him get away until you check with the court that supposedly issued this order.”
“I won’t!”
They went back, and Buchanan called Taylor aside. Cargraves took the stranger by the arm, not gently. The man protested. “How would you like a poke in the eye?” Cargraves inquired.
Cargraves was six inches taller, and solid. The man shut up. Taylor and Buchanan came back in a moment or two. The state policeman said, “You are due to take off in three minutes, Captain. I had better be sure the crowd is clear.” He turned and called out, “Hey! Sergeant Swanson!”
“Yes, sir!’
“Take charge of this guy.” It was the stranger, not Cargraves, whom he indicated.
Cargraves climbed in the ship. As he turned to close the door a cheer, ragged at first but growing to a solid roar, hit him. He clamped the door and locked it, then turned. “Places, men.”
Art and Ross trotted to their hammocks, directly behind the pilots’ seats. These hammocks were vertical, more like stretchers braced upright than garden hammocks. They snapped safety belts across their knees and chests.
Morrie was already in his chair, legs braced, safety belts buckled, head back against the shock pad. Cargraves slipped into the seat beside him, favoring his bad foot as he did so. “All set, Morrie.” His eyes glanced over the instrument board, particularly noticing the temperature of the zinc and the telltale for position of the cadmium damping plates.
“All set, Captain. Give her the gun when you are ready.”
He buckled himself in and glanced out the quartz glass screen ahead of him. The field was clear as far as he could see. Staring straight at him, round and beautiful, was their destination. Under his right hand, mounted on the arm rest, was a large knurled knob. He grasped it. “Art?”