"Hey," grunted Slade. "You Lansing, the physicist?"
"That's right, doctor."
"Didn't place you at first. Well, what's going to end this lousy old world of ours?"
"Well," Lansing answered, "we wiped out our late antagonists with skill and dispatch. But, in the end, they outsmarted us. Left behind some sort of radioactive dust which ... spreads. It's rolling down on us from Chicago and up from Texas. God knows what other parts of the country are like—we haven't had time to discuss it with them on the radio."
Goldsmid muttered something in Hebrew.
"Isn't that lack of communication rather odd?" asked the warden.
"Not so very. We've been too busy building rocket ships."
"Rocket ships!" Court was jarred out of his icy calm.
"You mean spaceships?" cried the doctor.