They slunk back to their posts. O'Dea raised his helpless eyes to the portrait above the controls.
"What can I do, Mercedes?" he whispered. "The guy is stiffer than King Tut and still you can't beat him!"
They avoided each other's eyes. Each knew what the other was thinking. Defeat meant that the Centaur had won. There would be no warning to Earth.
Avignon would become a planet of slave humans, blindly following the skillful teachings of the Centaurs. They would infiltrate Earth, tear down from within.... Generations would be required, but the Centaurs had time. They thought in long term strategy.
Hawthorne was staring unbelievingly through the telescope. His trembling fingers closed on O'Dea's arm.
"Let go, you ape—"
O'Dea stopped, impelled by the smoldering hope in the eyes that warned him to silence. He glanced swiftly to be sure that Morguma was still hunched stupidly in his chair, then followed Hawthorne's gaze. He gasped at what they saw.
In their line of vision was a mass that looked like twisted wire, coiled up in a planless tangle. O'Dea leaned forward, stared without belief.
"Our fuel," he breathed. "If we can get hold of that—"
Hawthorne waved him frantically, silently, to the seizure beams. O'Dea tiptoed to the levers, waited with one eye on Morguma while Hawthorne crept up on the precious fuel.