The mighty globe that hung over the city glimmered in the morning suns. Beneath it, the white towers and spires of the city reared in alien loveliness above graceful buildings and rounded roofs. A faint mist seemed to hang in the city streets.
"It's empty," said Nichols heavily. "Deserted."
"Something's alive," protested Emerson. "Something that spoke to us, that is controlling this green beam."
A section of the globe slid back, and the spaceship moved through the opening. The globe slipped back and locked after it.
"They have us now," grunted Mussdorf. He slid his fingers along the transparent window, pressing hard, the skin showing white as his knuckles lifted. He said swiftly, "You guys can stay here if you want, but I'm getting myself a sun-blaster. Two of them. I'm not going to be caught short when the time for action comes."
He swung through the trap and out of sight. They heard him running below; heard the slam of opened doors, the withdrawal of the guns. They could imagine him belting them about his waist.
"Bring us some," cried Emerson suddenly, and turned again to look out the window.
The spaceship settled down on the white flagging of an immense square. The green beam was gone, suddenly. The uncanny silence of the place pressed in on them.
"Think it's safe to go out?" asked Nichols.