"Some kind of IFF," I said. "A recognition signal. I wonder what we're supposed to do now."
Foster watched the screen, saying nothing.
"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.
A yellow light blinked on the control panel. On the screen, the pattern of dots vanished. The red blip separated, a smaller blip moving off at right angles to the main mass.
"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."
The climb back up the tunnel took three hours, and every foot of the way I was listening to a refrain in my head: This may be it; this may be it; this may be....
I crawled out of the tunnel mouth and lay on my back, breathing hard. Foster groped his way out beside me.
"We'll have to get to the highway," I said, untying the ten-foot rope of ripped garments that had linked us during the climb. "There's a telephone at the pub; we'll notify the authorities...." I glanced up.