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Stability by A. BERTRAM CHANDLER Balance is important in modern planes—but a serious misbalance in something trying to balance on a jet of flaming gas could be more than merely annoying! The port captain snatched the gold-crusted cap from his head, dashed it to the gleamingly spotless deck of the control tower. With the crest of white hair standing stiffly erect above the scarlet face, the plump body in the glittering uniform, he looked like an angry cockatoo. And his voice, when at last he found words, heightened his resemblance to that unmelodious bird. "Why don't they come in?" he demanded shrilly of the world at large. "Why don't they come in?" Then, to the girl at the R/T— "Why don't they answer?" "Search me," replied the blonde wearily. "Sir," she added as an afterthought. The wisps of straw-colored hair hanging over her face made her look as tired as she sounded. "Perhaps—" she lay back in her chair and looked lazily up at the big screen upon which, against the blue- black background of the upper
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