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Updated: July 10, 2025
The stewards disposed of the debris of the last meal, and began to get ready for the next. In the crew's quarters, those off duty read or worked at scrimshaw, or simply and contentedly loafed. Diane handed over the transparent radar graph, to be fitted into the three-dimensional map in the making. "There's a lump of stuff here," she said interestedly.
One by one, they checked in to Tom on the control deck. "Power deck, ready to blast off!" reported Astro. "Radar bridge, all set. Clear trajectory forward and up," said Roger. "Energize the cooling pumps!" bawled Tom into the intercom. The great pumps began to wheeze under the strain of Astro's sudden switch to full load without the usual slow build-up.
"What terms can you hope for?" it demanded. "You attacked our ships. You indulged in destruction! How can you hope for terms?" The Pretender scratched his ear thoughtfully. He regarded the radar screen with regret. "We ask life for the people of our planet," he said steadily. He was annoyed that he had to speak for the tardy King of Kandar. "We ask that they not be punished for our resistance."
By "knowing" how fast the radio, or radar, wave travels and from which direction the echo is coming, the radar tells the direction and distance of the object that is causing the echo. Any "solid" object like an airplane, bird, ship, or even a moisture-laden cloud can cause a radar echo.
Or as if the radar had encountered an almost-something which was on the verge of becoming real, and didn't quite make it. "What the " The inter-base radio screamed. At the same instant the twin radar-screens flashed bright all over. The twin pens of the tape-writing machine scrambled crazy lines on the paper. The noise was monstrous. A screaming, shrieking uproar such as no radio ever gave out.
His target was at 6,000 yards, 10 degrees to the right and 10 degrees below the F-94. The lock-on was held for ninety seconds as the ground controller watched both the UFO and the F-94 make a turn and come toward the ground radar site.
Mike said in a cracked voice: "Radar reports we went a little bit too low. They think we weren't tilted up far enough. We didn't bounce as soon as we should." Joe unstrapped himself. "How about the other ship?" "It did better than we did," said Mike. "It's a good 200 miles ahead. Down at the Shed, they're recalculating for us. We'll have to land with six grazes instead of eight.
To understand why there is always some disagreement whenever a flying saucer is picked up on radar, it is necessary to know a little bit about how radar operates. Basically radar is nothing but a piece of electronic equipment that "shouts" out a radio wave and "listens" for the echo.
"You see," he said, "in space there isn't much time for individual heroics. Too many things can happen too fast for it to be a one-man operation." "I'll say," piped up Roger. "A couple of times I've been on the radar deck and seen a hunk of space junk coming down on us fast.
Millie laid down her soldering iron, and disappeared through the bulkhead, returning shortly with a tray of sandwiches and coffee. Coffee in real cups, for there was spin on the satellite, things were working well, and those bottles ugh. "Relax, boys, we've still got three hours," she told them. "Radar hasn't spotted the scuttlebug yet.
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