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The titanium prefab-huts, set up to house the laborers and intended to be taken north with them for their stay on the polar desert, were simply wiped away. Among the wreckage, resistance was being blown out like the lights of a candelabrum. He took up the hand-phone and called HQ. "Von Schlichten; what's the wavelength of the officer in command at the equipment-park?"
"Well, that seems to be the information," he said. "The rest is just noise." "Maybe one of them is saying, 'John Doe, me, son of Joe Blow, and another is saying, 'Tough guy, me; lick anybody in town." "All in one syllable?" Then he shrugged. How did he know what these people could pack into one syllable? He picked up the hand-phone and said, "Fwoonk," into it.
He drank what was left of his highball, looked at the bits of ice in the bottom of his glass and then rose to mix another one. "I'd have done the same as you did, Jack, but I still wish this hadn't happened." "Huh!" Mamma Fuzzy looked up, startled by the exclamation. "What do you think Victor Grego's wishing, right now?" Victor Grego replaced the hand-phone. "Leslie, on the yacht," he said.
The screen lit, and Yandar Yadd automatically pressed a button for a photo-copy. The two newsmen stared for a moment, and then even Yandar Yadd's shell of drowsy negligence cracked and fell from him. His hand brushed the switch as he snatched the hand-phone from his belt. "Marva!" he barked, before the girl at the news office could more than acknowledge.
The man with the grizzled beard began talking rapidly into his hand-phone, then hung it up. There was a series of bumps, and the armor-tender, weightless on contragravity, shook as the handling-machine came aboard. "You ever see any nuclear bombing, Miss Quinton?" the young man with the hairy legs asked, offering her his candybag.
He had finished it and was lighting a cigarette over his coffee when a red light flashed and a voice from one of the speakers shouted. "Detection! Detection from planet! Radar, and microray!" Karffard began talking rapidly into a hand-phone; Harkaman unhooked one beside him and listened. "Coming from a definite point, about twenty-fifth north parallel," he said, aside.
They didn't need the order; Vann Larch was speaking rapidly into his hand-phone, and Alvyn Karffard was hurling his voice all over the Nemesis, warning of sudden deceleration and direction change, and while he was speaking, things in the command room began sliding.
When she pressed a button, a recorded voice said, "Fwoonk." An instant later, a pattern of vertical lines in various colors and lengths was projected on the screen. "Those green lines," she said. "That's it. Now, watch this." She pressed another button, got the photoprint out of a slot, and propped it beside the screen. Then she picked up a hand-phone and said, "Fwoonk," into it.
They'd have detection, and he knew what they were detecting a clump of sixteen rending distortions of the fabric of space-time, as sixteen ships came into sudden existence in the normal continuum. Beside him, Bentrik had a screen on; it was still milky-white, and he was speaking into a radio hand-phone. "Simon Bentrik, Prince-Protector of Marduk, calling Moonbase."
Then they went into a huddle, arguing vehemently. The argument spread, like a ripple in a pool; soon everybody was twittering vocally or blowing on flutes and Panpipes. Then the big horn started blaring. Immediately, Gofredo snatched the hand-phone of his belt radio and began speaking urgently into it. "What are you doing, Luis?" Meillard asked anxiously. "Calling the reserve in.
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