irritating. It wasn't scornful
suspicion. There'd be snide and snappy characters in the Security force,
of course, swaggering and throwing their weight about. But even they
were guarding something that men--some men--were willing to throw away
their lives for.

Joe and his guard reached one of the huge entrances as a ten-wheeler
truck came in with a load of shining metal plates. Joe's escort went
through the opening with him and they waited outside. The sun had barely
risen. It looked huge but very far away, and Joe suddenly realized why
just this spot had been chosen for the building of the Platform.

The ground was flat. All the way to the eastern horizon there wasn't
even a minor hillock rising above the plain. It was bare, arid,
sun-scorched desert. It was featureless save for sage and mesquite and
tall thin stalks of yucca. But it was flat. It could be a runway. It was
a perfect place for the Platform to start from. The Platform shouldn't
touch ground at all, after it was out of the Shed, but at least it
wouldn't run into any obstacles on its way toward the horizon.

A light plane came careening around the great curved outer surface of
the Shed. It landed and taxied up to the door. It swung smartly around
and its side door opened. A bandaged hand waved at Joe. He climbed in.
The pilot of this light, flimsy plane was the co-pilot of the transport
of yesterday. He was the man Joe had helped to dump cargo.

Joe climbed in and settled himself. The small motor pop-popped
valiantly, the plane rushed forward over hard-packed desert earth, and
went swaying up into the air.

The co-pilot--pilot now--shouted cheerfully above the din: "Hiya. You
couldn't sleep either? Burns hurt?"

Joe shook his head.

"Bothered," he shouted in reply. Then he added, "Do I do something to
help, or am I along just for the ride?"

"First we take a look," the pilot called over the motor racket. "Two
kilometers due north of the Shed, eh?"

"That's right."

"We'll see what's there," the pilot told him.

The small plane went up and up. At five hundred feet--nearly level with
the roof of the Shed--it swung away and began to make seemingly erratic
dartings out over the spotty desert land, and then back. Actually, it
was a search pattern. Joe looked down from his side of the small
cockpit. This was a very small plane indeed, and in consequence its
motor made much more noise inside its cabin than much more powerful
engines in bigger ships.