When he reached the top he was beginning to perspire. He sat down for a moment to think.
Now that he was close and the moment of contact was so near he could almost touch it, his mind began to function with a cold, comforting clarity. It was time to make a plan. His target was the ship, yes, but he would have to proceed on the assumption that they knew he was coming. They would have some kind of warning system, and a variety of weapons. But for the time being he held the ace.
He grinned cheerlessly to himself and headed for the next rise.
On the other side of this one there was a long flat space, scrub-bushed and empty, and then the last hill, the steep one, began. He went forward across the open space in broad daylight. He felt like he was walking into the mouth of a primed cannon. In effect, he was.
It was in among a clump of pines, silent and green, that the thing fell to the ground near him. He froze, momentarily panic-stricken, his hand to his belt. The fallen thing lay on the ground a few inches from his right hand, stiff and unmoving, dark among the leaves.
He relaxed slightly.
It was only a bird.
A dead bird. He stared at it for a long while, motionless. Out of the trees above him a dead bird had fallen.
Coincidence?
Or were they now turning on the power?