But his arm kept going, its muscles loose, and it fell. Heavily. Squarely on the stud-complex toward which its fist had been aimed a split-second before.
The engines roared, and the ship lurched upward from the red sand.
The command flicked into the Captain's brain like a lash of ice.
"Slaazar! Converge, sheaf!"
"Converging, sir...." It would be no use, of course. If the high brass had been content to rely on the beams rather than on their own subtlety in the first place, the Earthman would never have fallen prey to the Nomads, even for a second. But they had wanted to be as forthright as possible—force, they said, would only arouse suspicion. Psibeam units only as a last resort.... The lowliest Patrol Lancer could have told them the folly of that!
Hastily, Slaazar issued orders to his battery crews tracking the ascending Spaceship, their units already nearing overload potential. But the desert-scum would see some real psi-power now! They'd see it wasted completely if they saw it at all.... Because they'd outmaneuvered the brass again!
"Convergence impossible, sir."
As he had expected.
"Colonel Truul, this is Captain Slaazar. Target has passed critical planetary curvature. Convergence impossible. Standing by, sir."