The surface of the lake was alive with tiny, frothy bubbles. The whole lake was seething with motion.
Cap Hanson cried, "Sweet saint, now I understand! You—you've turned that lake into a stew-kettle! You're boilin' 'em alive!"
"No!" I contradicted. "It can't be that. The ships are insulated against the absolute zero of space. Heat and cold mean nothing to them. Electricity! You must be electrocuting them, Biggs—?"
"You're half right," acknowledged my lanky friend. "Not electrocuting, though—"
He never finished his sentence. For at that moment there came to us over our still-connected audio the voice of Governor Otto Steichner issuing a command to his men.
"Fleet, prepare for action! Set studs! Battle formation! Set to lift gravs—"
"No!" cried Biggs. "Don't, Steichner! It will mean death to you all!"
"Ready!" rasped the stern voice. "Follow me! Lift!"
There sounded the rising tumult of mighty motors thundering into action. Then:
"The fools!" cried Lancelot Biggs pityingly. "The poor doomed fools! Why wouldn't they believe me?"