parents. Including the neat very short-wave radio detector, which by beam process, could pick up any voice anywhere in the world by a simple process of frequency and “personal aura” detection.
Going over to this instrument, she switched it on, set the indicator to her mother’s aura number and then snapped the power button into place. After a second or two the voices of her mother and father came floating through from the bedroom upstairs.
“We’ll probably find it monotonous, Vi, after all we’ve seen and done to just sit around and do nothing.”
Long pause, then Abna spoke again: “In some ways I’m sorry there’s nothing left to fight. I’ve no zest for humdrum things. With Quorne’s exit point from that other plane bottled up in the laboratory safe, our last chance of an enemy has gone. Why don’t we start an exploration of the remoter deeps beyond the solar system and—”
Viona switched off, her eyes bright. Hurrying across to the laboratory safe, she threw the unlocking thought waves against it and then quickly pulled open the door and took out the ampule. Carefully, she placed it in a soft bed of cotton wool inside a specimen case, locked it, then hurried with it from the laboratory and into the lounge.
Here she wrote a letter, propping it up where it could not fail to be seen. Then she left the house, still with the specimen case in her hand, and hurried over to her own garage. In a matter of minutes her completely silent atomicar was speeding down the driveway and she did not stop it until she had reached the Central London spaceport. Here she garaged the car and then headed for the executive offices, where Chris Wilson, a distant relation through law of the Golden Amazon, ruled the destinies of the great space lines.
“Hello, Viona!” he greeted, as the girl entered. “Many a long day since I’ve seen you—or your mother and father. How are you?”
Chris rose from his desk—a kindly-faced, white-haired man of still vigorous health, and probably one of the richest men on Earth.
“Fine, uncle, thanks.” Viona gave him his courtesy title as she kissed him. “I’ve been away on a long voyage with mother and father—something connected with Quorne.”
“Oh, him!” Chris Wilson made a grimace. “I hope he’s out of the way for good. He’s an infernal menace—or was.”
“Also a very clever man,” Viona said. “Anyhow, my reason for being here is to charter the best-equipped and fastest space machine you’ve got. And I want it immediately with a full load in the power plant.”
“Oh? Why the urgency? And what’s the matter with your mother’s Ultra? Surely she’d loan it to you?
“It’s wrecked.”
“Wrecked?” Chris looked astonished. “But how does—?”
“Please, uncle, I’m in a hurry,” Viona pleaded. “I’ve a very long voyage to make. So what can you do for me?”
Chris hesitated.
“Do your parents know about this projected voyage of yours?” he asked, switching through to the chief coordinator of space machines.
“Does it signify?” Viona asked. “I’m at an age to make my own decisions.”
Chris shrugged, eyeing her, and then the specimen case in her hand. He seemed about to say something but the voice of the coordinator distracted him.
“Yes, Mr. Wilson? Coordinator speaking.”
“I want the fastest and best-equipped space machine in the fleet moved immediately to the departure field. Viona Ray Brant will pilot it for herself.”
“Very good, sir. The XM-29 will be there immediately.”
“Thanks, uncle,” the girl said, turning away.
“Where are you planning to go?”
“I’m not quite sure yet, but certainly a long way from the Earth.”
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