"Surely we should see Rona by now," murmured Var Dalum.
"We should," assented Tir Latoka grimly. "And since there's obviously such a pall of smoke over it that we can't, the situation doesn't look any too good."
The etheradio had been silent, as it was a strict rule that only highly necessary messages be broadcast during an emergency. It now gave voice, unconsciously confirming the Chief Scientist's words.
"Ros Vinla here! All incoming Squadrons exercise extreme care in landing; visibility practically nil, owing to smoke. Alter your course to nearest clear space and come in under smoke. Squadron IV, join Squadron VII; your objective has been destroyed. That is all."
"There's Sita," remarked the pilot, naming one of Rona's three moons. "Once we pass her—"
In a few moments the spacecar had passed the satellite, and an involuntary groan burst from them all. The planet was a horror. Mile upon square mile, formerly consisting of green fields and bulging granaries, was now a seething mass of molten lava; lakes were rapidly disappearing in clouds of superheated steam. Over all hovered dense masses of black smoke and volcanic ash, blowing aside now and then to reveal the terrible scene beneath.
"Hold it here, pilot," instructed the Chief, then spoke into the etheradio. "Lan Yotar here! My spacecar will stay by Sita till further notice. The Chief Scientist and Chief Scribe are with me. Communicate only when urgent. Ros Vinla, report to me when evacuation is accomplished. That is all."
"I hear and obey," answered Ros Vinla.
For hours that seemed years, the four men sat watching the scene of destruction through the telescopic lenses. Below them, space-ships of every size and description plunged into the chaos and rose again with survivors, hastening to land them on Mira, which was nearest, and returning to pick up more unfortunates from such parts of Rona as were not yet covered with lava or engulfed by earthquakes. Orderly Squadrons of the Spacefleet arrived from their respective planets, landed at their objectives, and took off with full loads of frantic Ronans. Freighters and private craft, including spacecars no larger than the Chief's, moved here and there, singly and in groups, darting in when they saw a chance and saving hundreds of thousands of lives.
Finally Ros Vinla's voice sounded again, and by the fact that he had reverted to official phraseology, all knew that the emergency had passed: