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.…
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