He laughed, a low savage sound. "A super-race ego, to think our gunners are that bad. But they'll learn!"
Reynolds began to drone into his phone, his eyes never leaving the calculators over which his fingers were flying. "Range five units, position—"
A faint flicker reached toward the Earth-ship, swung aside. McPartland laughed again.
"Range, four point nine," droned Reynolds, and went on with steady flow of data.
The pale alien beam reached out again. This time Clemens reported. "Spaceboat destroyed by direct hit, sir."
"Range four point six," said Reynolds.
The sphere was looming ahead of them now, its ray sweeping off to the side, direction steady even as the sphere danced and spun.
"Range four point one—"
"Cable almost completely gone, sir," Clemens said.