But not unscathed. Trailing lines of whispy, incandescent vapor from their intrinsic velocity, nine Terran ships traced their lives across the sky.
"Made it! Call base and tell 'em," said Downing.
The connection was already established. "Thompson? We got twenty-two. Thirteen definites and nine more-than-probables. Seven with light damage. Lost nine."
"Good, Stellor. Now don't try it again. They're wise and they'll clean you out."
"I'd like to take my chance on one more run."
"Don't do it. You'll be cleaned."
"But they'll make a base here."
"They'll make it anyway. How's their numbers?"
"Terrific. They've got everything."