Sleeping Planet
William R. BurkettAt 11a.m., Greenwich time, 2432a.d., upon what was to be his last day on Mars, Donald Shey was rudely awakened by the shrill ululation of sirens passing beneath his third-floor hotel window. He sat bolt upright in bed, listening tensely.So soon?he wondered.Ifso, I've overslept or they've jumped the gun. His eyes lighted on the bedside clock and his tenseness vanished. No. The time was not yet. It was 1p.m. in Cairo and twelve o'clock in Rome and there were still ten hours to go. And the sirens had been of the police, not Civil Defense. Nearby, the sirens died horrible moaning deaths, and anxiety of a new kind gripped him. Had he been sniffed out at last? With so little time left to trickle away, was he to be taken? Were feet already pounding on stairs, shifting impatiently on escalators bearing them to his floor? Were guns in hands, fingers ready on triggers?........