"What do you make of it?" he said.
"I'm no expert on stone-age relics," I said. "But if that's not a radar screen, I'll eat it."
I sat down in the single chair before the dusty control console, and watched a red blip creep across the screen.
"That blip is either a mighty slow airplane—or it's at one hell of an altitude." I sat upright, eyes on the screen. "Look at this, Foster," I snapped. A pattern of dots flashed across the screen, faded, flashed again....
"I don't like that thing blinking at us," I said. "It makes me feel conspicuous." I looked at the big red button beside the screen. "Maybe if I pushed that...." Without waiting to think it over, I jabbed at it.
"I'm not sure you should have done that," Foster said.
"There is room for doubt," I said in a strained voice. "It looks like I've launched a bomb from the ship overhead."
A TRACE OF MEMORY
Look for these other TOR books by Keith Laumer:
THE BREAKING EARTH
THE GLORY GAME
THE INFINITE CAGE
KNIGHT OF DELUSIONS
THE MONITORS
THE HOUSE IN NOVEMBER AND THE OTHER SKY
ONCE THERE WAS A GIANT
PLANET RUN
WORLDS OF THE IMPERIUM