Nolan nodded. Then, his thoughts reverting, he said. "Where's the—where's Ailse now?"
Petersen looked unhappy. "Uh—I don't know. After you left we sent for her, just to see what she knew that might help. The maid went after her—and couldn't find her. She'd gone out of town, wasn't expected back for some time. We couldn't wait. All the leaders of the Junta meeting here—it was too big a chance."
Nolan said, "Well, what are we doing about it? They're all there, and they're warned. And we're out here, parked on the edge of nowhere, waiting for them to get up a scout party and grab us."
Petersen turned to look out the window in the direction of the dome. He scanned the skies carefully, then pursed his lips.
"Well, no, Steve," he said, pointing. "Take a look."
Arrowing lines of fire were swooping down from far into the blackness. Three trails of white flame showed where three ships were plummeting to the surface. Nolan turned to Petersen with a startled question in his eyes.
"Watch," Petersen advised. "This'll be worth seeing!"
Down and down they drove, faster than meteor ever fell. A mile above the ground the jets behind died, and yellow flame burst ahead of them, flaring quickly to white. They slowed, poised, and then, in perfect unison, spun off to one side. They came around in a great circle and dived at the ground again. And repeated the operation, over and over.
And abruptly Nolan saw what was happening. He was witnessing the systematic annihilation of the domed settlement! Immense bursts of fire from ship-sized pyros were blazing into the ground. The hummocks prevented a dear view, but Nolan could see from the reflected glare on the mountainsides behind that the destruction was frightful.
"I called them," Petersen said softly. "You saw me call them. That black box—it's a telesonde."