t does. If it doesn't--which is more likely--then we can
still get a story when they haul him back to the Bastille."

"Check-check. I'll call you if anything happens."

* * * * *

He hung up and stepped out of the phone booth into the lobby of the
Murray Hotel. Across the lobby, a glowing sign said _cocktail lounge_ in
lower-case script.

He decided that a tall cool one wouldn't hurt him any on a day like this
and ambled over, fumbling in his pockets for pipe, tobacco pouch, and
other paraphernalia as he went. He pushed open the door, spotted a stool
at the bar of the dimly-lit room, went over to it and sat down.

He ordered his drink and had no sooner finished than the man to his left
said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Elshawe."

The reporter turned his head toward his neighbor. "Oh, hello, Mr.
Skinner. I didn't know you'd come to town."

"I came in somewhat earlier. Couple, three hours ago." His voice had the
careful, measured steadiness of a man who has had a little too much to
drink and is determined not to show it. That surprised Elshawe a little;
Skinner had struck him as a middle-aged accountant or maybe a high
school teacher--the mild kind of man who doesn't drink at all, much less
take a few too many.

"I'm going to hire a 'copter and fly back," Elshawe said. "You're
welcome if you want to come along."

Skinner shook his head solemnly. "No. Thank you. I'm going back to Los
Angeles this afternoon. I'm just killing time, waiting for the local
plane to El Paso."

"Oh? Well, I hope you have a good trip." Elshawe had been under the
impression that Skinner had come to New Mexico solely to see the test of
Porter's ship. He had wondered before how the man fitted into the
picture, and now he was wondering why Skinner was leaving. He decided he
might as well try to find out. "I guess you're disappointed because the
test has been called off," he said casually.

"Called off? Hah. No such thing," Skinner said. "Not by a long shot. Not
Porter. He'll take the thing up, and if the Army doesn't shoot him down,
the CAA will see to it that he's taken back to prison. But that won't
stop him. Malcom Porter is determined to go down in history as a great
scientist, and nothing is going to stop him if he can help it."

"You think his spaceship will work, then?"

"Work? Sure it'll work. It worked in '79; it'll work now. The way that
drive is built, it can't help but work. I just don't want to stick