"During the period it was being transported in sections?" she said quizzically.
He nodded. "We took the guts out of this thing just in time. Now—"
"Dare we go back?" she whispered. "Dare we approach another machine—any kind of machine?"
Vinson hefted the block of metal. "I don't know," he said soberly. "It depends purely on how many of these damned things the machine-brain has manufactured and in what equipment it has them installed. However," he added with clenched teeth, "we can not sit here and wait for the end. We'll fly—and we'll avoid all machinery as long as we can. No radio, no radar, nothing. We fly it blind back to Washington and report to Secretary Hegeman—if we make it."
He went to the pilot's compartment and started the engines. The flying boat took off after a short run, and Vinson turned its nose towards Washington.
Narina closed her eyes, and almost instantly it seemed as if she were back in the cabin, helpless again. She was reaching for the microphone to call for help. Narina spoke desperately into the microphone, not daring to look up. She sensed rather than saw the monstrous metal hand reaching for her....
Narina spoke desperately into the microphone, not daring to look up. She sensed, rather than saw the metal hand reaching for her....