MY NAME IS ROBERT RANCE. You’ve heard of me, of course—through the recent weird affair of the Crimson Comet, if for nothing else. It seems to me rather ironic: for five years I have been reporting popular science items on the split-wave band of non-visual broadcasting. Station WANA-NYC—the main outlet of Amalgamated Newscasters’ Association, for whom I work. I struggled for personal publicity. Then I was plunged—certainly entirely against my will—into the blood-chilling, gruesome adventure which is now popularly known as “The Death of the Crimson Comet.” Out of it has come publicity beyond my wildest dreams. And now that I’ve got it, I don’t want it. I’m not a hero, of dauntless, fearless courage. I’m not a scientific genius, who has made possible to Earth the New Era of Interplanetary Tra
