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Updated: June 20, 2025
Then a bedlam of deafening sound burst forth anew, a mighty deluge of unbearable noise as the millions of tons of pulverized rock, humus and metal fell back. Some of it had ascended for miles; it settled amid a howling blizzard snow that melted as it touched the madly churned airfield. High above there were ten planes flying about uncertainly.
Yet the balloon, after it was launched southeast of the field, continued on a southeast course and never passed north of the airfield. But the biggest argument against the object's being a balloon was the fact that the pilot pulled in behind it; it was directly off the nose of his airplane, and although he followed it for more than a minute, it pulled away from him.
At the airfield Soames laid the motorcycle beside the edge of the clear area, and left Fran with it, to wait. He moved quietly through the darkness toward close-up buildings with no lights anywhere except in one room reserved for a watchman. Fran waited, breathing fast. He heard night-insects and nothing else.
Tom chuckled as he grabbed a towel and dried himself off. The beefsteak, with crisp golden-brown French fried potatoes, was already at hand on Chow's lunch cart. Tom ate with a hearty appetite and the stout chef went off, secretly plotting to arrange the second half of his prescription. When he reached the galley, Chow plucked the wall phone off its hook and called Bud at an airfield hangar.
They came with hysterical cries from their airfield to the south, and they flopped flat with extravagant crashings on the desert outside the eastern door. By the time the pushpots had been hauled in, one by one, and had attached themselves to the launching cages, Joe and Haney and the Chief and Mike had climbed into the cabin of the one ship which was not a drone.
It probably was not earth-shaking in importance. But now there seemed to be a very great deal of other similar conversation urgently needing to be gone through. "I'll call you!" said Joe. Then somebody approached to take him to the pushpot airfield. They separated very formally under the eyes of the impersonal security officer who would drive Joe to his destination.
Here Tom had used his spectromarine selector to restore the ancient buildings. Tom, Hank, and Arv went back to the airfield and soon took off in the diving seacopter. Landing on the water, they submerged and began the undersea detection test. Tom manned the sonarscope personally, eager to conduct as careful a search as possible. "Getting any blips, skipper?"
As soon as he had finished lunch, he put in a number of calls to suppliers of marine specimens. But none could provide a porpoise on short notice. "Guess I'll have to catch one myself!" Tom told Chow. He drove out to the airfield and took off in a Whirling Duck for Fearing Island.
The transport plane turned clumsily and began to taxi down the runway. It jolted and bumped over the tarmac, then lifted, and Joe saw that the island was nearly all airfield. There were a few small buildings and distance-dwarfed hangars. Beyond the field proper there was a ring of white surf. That was all. The rest was ocean. "I haven't much briefing to do," admitted Joe.
But it was arranged that the booby trap had to be set, the trigger cocked, by somebody doing something very simple at a different place and later on. We've been flying with that grenade in the wheel well for two weeks. But it was out of sight. Today, back at the airfield, a sandy-haired man reached up and pulled a string he knew how to find. That loosened a slipknot.
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