In harsh black and white, row on row of identical hulls cast long shadows across the pitted metallic surface of the satellite. Retief whistled.
"They had quite a little surprise in store. Your visit must have panicked them."
"They should be about ready to go, by now. Nine years...."
"Hold the picture," Retief said suddenly. "What's that ragged black line across the plain there?"
"I think it's a fissure. The crystalline structure—"
"I've got what may be an idea," Retief said. "I had a look at some classified files last night, at the foreign office. One was a progress report on a fissionable stockpile. It didn't make much sense at the time. Now I get the picture. Which is the 'north' end of that crevasse?"
"At the top of the picture."
"Unless I'm badly mistaken, that's the bomb dump. The Groaci like to tuck things underground. I wonder what a direct hit with a fifty mega-ton missile would do to it?"
"If that's an ordnance storage dump," the captain said, "it's an experiment I'd like to try."
"Can you hit it?"