THE COSMIC COMPUTER

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A distillery, bigger than the Menardes plant, long closed and now half
roofless and crumbling. Rows of warehouses, empty after the War until
taken over by homeless vagrants. Jerry-built shanties with rattletrap
aircars grounded around them. Tramptown, a festering sore on the south
side of Litchfield.

"If we put this over," he continued, "all those tramps will have steady
work and good homes. We can have a park there, with fountains that'll
work. Maybe even Flora and Mother will think we've done something worth
doing."

"It'll be kind of hard to take in the meantime, though, but if you can
take it, I can." Rodney Maxwell turned off the underside teleview screen
and put on the forward one. "See that little pink spot over there?
Sunrise on the east side of Snagtooth; Tenth Army's just behind us. Now,
let's see if this airspeed gauge is telling the truth or just bragging."