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Scanned by Highroller. Proofed by an unsung hero. Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet. The Coils of Time A. Bertram Chandler I There was a scorching gale blowing, as usual, and the poisonous air was thick with the fine, abrasive dust. Christopher Wilkinson, struggling through the deep drifts in his borrowed Venus- suit, cursed at the dimness of his vision through the faceplate of his helmet. Then he grinned sourly to himself; after all, the state of the helmet, as long as it did not leak, was of no real importance. Even had the armor glass been as clear as when the suit had left the hands of the maker, it would still have been impossible for him to see for more than a couple of feet through the swirling dust clouds. The fantastically expensive, radar-equipped, powered suits—spaceships |
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