Garlock and Belle were already bombing; James and Lola began. Slow and awkward at first, Lola soon picked up the technique and was firing blast for blast with the others. No more loaded transport vessels left the moon. No empty one, returning toward the moon, reached there. In much less than the three hours Garlock had mentioned, every Ozobian transport craft had been destroyed.
"And now the real job begins," Garlock said, as James dropped the starship down to within a few miles of the moon's surface.
That surface was cratered and jagged, exactly like that of the half always facing Clamer. No sign of activity could be seen by eye, nor anything unusual. Even the immense trap-doors, all closed now, matched exactly their surroundings. Underground, however, activity was violently intense; and, now, confused in the extreme.
"Why, there isn't a single adult anywhere!" Lola exclaimed. "I thought the whole place would be full of 'em!"
"So did I," Belle said. "However, by hindsight, it's plain enough. Their job done, they were killed and eaten. Last meal, perhaps."
"I'm afraid so. Whatever they were, they had hands and brains. Just look at those shops and machines!"
"What do we do, boss?" James asked. "Run a search pattern first?"
"We'll have to, I guess, before we can lay the job out."
It was run and Garlock frowned in thought. "Almost half the moon covered—honeycombed. We'll have to fine-tooth it. Around the periphery first, then spiral into the center. This moon isn't very big, but even so this is going to be a hell of a long job. Any suggestions, anybody? Jim?"