Then they sighted the station and Channing’s ill spirit left. A man of action, what he hated most was the no-action business of just sitting in a little capsule waiting for the relay station to come up out of the sky below. Once it was sighted, Channing foresaw action, and his grousing stopped.
They zipped past the station at a distance of ten miles, and Channing opened the radio.
“Walt Franks! Wake up, you slumberhead.”
The answer came inside of half a minute. “Hello, Don. Who’s asleep?”
“Where are you? In Joe’s?”
“Joe has declared a drought for the duration,” said Franks with a laugh. “He thinks we can’t think on Scotch.”
“We can’t. Have you seen the boys?”
“Murdoch’s crew? Sure, they’re circling at about five miles, running around in the plane of the ecliptic. Keep running on the
