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Updated: June 21, 2025
They wanted to get as far as possible from the buildings Bors had said would be destroyed. "Forty-five seconds gone," said Bors implacably. A voice spoke from the grid-control building, where men were now placing explosives with precisely calculated effects. The voice came on microwaves to the ship. "Sir," said the voice, "landing-grid reporting.
Microwaves from the ground played upon them radar used by friend and foe alike and the friendly radar guided tight-beam communicator waves to them with comforting assurance that their joint course and height and speed were exactly the calculated optimum. But they could not be seen at all.
The radar bowls atop the roof they seemed almost invisibly small compared with its vastness wavered and shifted and quivered. Completely invisible beams of microwaves lanced upward. Atop the Shed, in the communication room, there was the busy quiet of absolute intentness. Signals came down and were translated into visible records which fed instantly into computers.
"Who do I tell this to?" "I name no names on microwaves," he told her. "Get going, will you?" "To hear," said Gwenlyn cheerfully, "is to obey." Her communicator clicked off. The Sylva showed on a radar-screen, but had not been near enough to be sighted direct. The blip shot out from the planet. Bors growled to himself. The Isis floated a hundred thousand miles off Garen. There was no challenge.
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