Sparks smiled sourly.
"Finished your sainted sandals! It's all washed up. Listen to this!"
He stepped to the hodge-podge of wires and coils on which he had been laboring, adjusted it. From its diaphragm came dismal sounds. Squawks, squeals, quavering vibrations.
"Static," said Breadon.
"Double it," gloomed Hannigan, "and add a thousand. The worst kind of static. An electrical disturbance field."
Greg frowned. "But that can't be, Sparks. There's no electricity around here. No generating plants or—"
"It can't be," snorted Sparks, "but it is. I don't know what makes it act thataway. Maybe it's the H-layer of this cockeyed satellite. Sun spots, maybe. Whatever it is, it sure gums up my machine." He stared at the tiny set helplessly.
Greg stirred himself.
"Well, then we'll have to look forward to fighting this battle without hope of assistance. Andrews, I want you and Tommy to inspect the cave-mouth barrier immediately, see that it's in perfect shape and reinforce it. Ralph, you and Sparks drive the livestock into the small cave so they'll be hidden. 'Tina, the fuel reserve?"
"Complete, Greg."