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Updated: May 25, 2025
There was a building which would be a commissary. There was every kind of structure needed for a small city, though all were temporary. And there was no movement, no sound, no sign of life except the hot air rising from the mess kitchen stovepipes. Lockley went down into the camp. All was silence. All was lifeless. He looked unhappily about him.
Jill stared, suddenly understanding. "But that means " "It means," said Lockley, "that the terror beam is pretty much of a weapon. It has a range up in the miles or tens of miles. We don't know how to handle it yet. Whoever or whatever arrived in the thing Vale saw, it or they has or have a weapon our Army can't buck, yet. The point is that we can't wait to be rescued.
Jill looked frightened. "It comes from Boulder Lake," he told her. "It's the terror beam, all right! You can walk into it without knowing it. And I suspect that if it were strong enough it would be a death ray, too!" Jill seemed to flinch a little. "They're not using it at killing strength," said Lockley coldly. "They're softening us up.
Breezes blew and from every airbase along the coast fighting planes shot into the air and into formations designed to intercept anything that flew on wings or to launch atom-headed rockets at anything their radars could detect that didn't. At eight-twenty, Lockley went to the electronic base line instrument which he was to use this morning.
Lockley said thickly, "You stand there arguing. You're trying to make me believe you. But there's Jill! What's happened to her? How did you make her record that tape? Where's Jill? She won't tell me it's all right!" Headlights swept up to the floodlit space. The car stopped. Jill came into view. She saw Lockley, standing against the rocket's base. She ran.
It was now close to nine o'clock. But Sattell had expected the call. They checked the functioning of their instruments against each other. "Right!" said Lockley at last. "I'll check with Vale and on out of the park, and then we'll put it all together and wrap it up and take it home." Sattell agreed. Lockley, rather absurdly, felt uncomfortable because he was going to have to talk to Vale.
"There's no one else left, and I want...." Another pause. "But he was up on the mountainside! At least a helicopter could " Lockley called, "Jill!" He heard a gasp. Then she said unsteadily, "Someone just called. Wait a moment." She came to the door. At sight of Lockley her face fell. "I came to make sure you were all right," he said awkwardly. "Are you talking to outside?" "Yes.
Someone ought to tell these broadcasters...." Lockley did not answer. In his own mind, though, there was the fact that of the two workmen who'd been paralyzed and released, the three men in the compost pit shell, and himself, none had seen their captors. But Vale had.
"Can anybody guess the time?" he asked, after aeons seemed to have passed. "It feels like next Thursday," said the voice of the moustached man, "but it's probably ten or eleven o'clock. Looks like we're just going to be left here till they get around to us." "I think we'd better not wait," said Lockley. "We've been pretty quiet.
With the exception of Fred Martin, the rest of the crew of the Lively Poll resembled him in his irreligion, but they were very different in character, Lockley, the skipper being genial; Peter Jay, the mate, very appreciative of humour, though quiet and sedate; Duffy, jovial and funny; Freeman, kindly, though reckless; and Bob, the boy-cook, easy-going both as to mind and morals.
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