His hand came down on the button.
And Earth Three Washington erupted in a massive incandescent flame.
Kingston shouted in anger as the report came. He twirled his own dials, found a response and pressed the button.
He cried, "Orders! Everyone possessing a Type One transmitter, help spread the atomic fire on Earth Two!"
Out across the face of Earth Three went the orders and the mobilized hundreds of thousands of people started their space resonators.
It was furious work. Bronson whirled the dials until the plane of view looked down upon Earth Two from several thousand miles above. From this point, Bronson knew that Kingston—from whatever hideout he was in—was directing a full-scale attack against Earth Two. The lights twinkled like a field of fireflies.
Bronson knew that his own attempts were pitiful against Kingston's massed attack.
Maybe Virginia was right. Maybe, in the final analysis Earth Three did hold all the tricks and would win. But whether or not he won or lost Bronson was going to fight to the bitter end. He directed his fire against Earth Three—and saw two disappear as one flared forth.
Bitterly, Bronson nodded. Kingston was well staffed. He could without difficulty set a number of his stations to the job of sending back upon Earth Two the few fires that Bronson could start. He was one man fighting a world well-armed—a gnat batting its head against a wall of polished chromium steel.
Bronson stopped punching the button with a gesture of sheer futility.