Hilton rose. He said rapidly.
"I've done the best I can. It's crude, but the batteries are strong. The helmets will pick up and amplify the energy-impulses of our brains. We'll broadcast a single negative impulse, opposed to every desire the Sun-thing has.
"Stay close together, because if the wires are broken between the helmets we lose power, and it's going to take all the strength we have to beat that creature."
Falken put on his helmet. Little copper discs, cut from the sheet in the repair kit and soldered to wires with Hilton's blaster, fitted to his temples. Through the vision ports he could see the web of wires that ran from the three helmets through a maze of spare grids and a condenser, and then into the slender shaft of a crude directional antenna.
Hilton said, "Concentrate on the single negative, No."
Falken looked at the lovely shimmering cloud, coming toward them.
"It won't be easy," he said grimly, "to concentrate."
Sheila's eyes were savage and feral, watching that foam of living flame. Hilton's face was hidden. He said,
"Switch on your radios."
Power hummed from the batteries. Falken felt a queer tingle in his brain.