Redevelopment

By WESLEY LONG

Illustrated by Williams

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science-Fiction, November 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

John McBride hung the phone on the hook and wiped his face. This face-wiping was not the usual gesture of a man whose face is dirty, or covered with perspiration. It was the dazed sort of gesture made by a man who has just been subjected to a surprise, and since the wiping tended to remove the awed look, replacing it with a slightly dazed smile, the surprise must not have been too unpleasant.

He shook his head, as though to clear it, and then made his way through Station 1 of the Plutonian Lens to the landing platform. Just inside the gigantic lock, a medium-sized space-ship stood, and sitting on the edge of the space lock, swinging her feet, was Sandra Drake.

"Hello," she said brightly.

"Hi," said John. This was entirely new. Sandra Drake was not usually given to greeting men as anything but absolute imbeciles. "What brings you out here? And how did you make it?"

"Oh," said Sandra lightly, "I remembered the charge on Station 1 and brought along a charge-compensator. We hardly sparked when we lit."

One of the attendants said, in a low aside: "About three hundred amperes! She'd call a major explosion a snap of the fingers! You could hide an egg in the crater she made."

But Sandra was still talking. "John," she said in a voice that would have caused Shylock to give her his last gold piece, "I want help."

"You need help? What can we do for you?"

"It's pretty big," warned Sandra. Her low contralto dared him to ask what it was—and also dared him to deny it to her.

"Look, Drake, you did us a favor not too long ago. I think we owe you one."

Sandra smiled uncertainly. "I was afraid that that little stunt was only repaying you for the first meeting we had."

"Shucks," said McBride. "Anyone can make a mistake. Forget it."

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