The general tossed them on the table. "It doesn't look like we'll need them.... Well, let's get that second machine going."
Technicians were already stripping out burned wiring. One of them was scribbling a list of replacement parts on a loose sheet of paper.
"I better see how many we've captured, so far," the general said. "How long it will take to get them all."
The colonel stood respectfully aside, and the general walked heavily to the office.
The laboratory was silent. After they heard him speak into the telephone, the technicians resumed conversation, hushed and hopeful, and nervous.
The general listened to the staff report from the Pentagon.
The overall situation was confused. The Army had no idea of how many mutants were still at large. Some had gone into hiding, and dressed as earthlings, they were impossible to identify by appearance.
A group of civilians had reported one mutant in custody. They had been told to knock him unconscious and keep him unconscious until further word.
Since all radio and television transmitters were in use, it was impossible to solicit aid from the great body of civilians—most of whom, indeed, knew nothing as yet of the invasion; most of whom were jamming switchboards with angry calls aimed at determining why their television sets weren't working. The official explanation, issued by the stations themselves, was sunspots.