The map is expanding rapidly, great lengths of coastline shooting out of sight at the edge of the screen. Mr. Yardo has the cross-hairs centered on the dot which is Gilgamesh. The dot is changing shape; it is turning into a short ellipse, a longer one. The gyros are leaning her out over the sea.
I look at my chronometer; 12.50 hours exactly. B looks, too, and grips my hand.
Thirty seconds later the Andite has not blown; first fuse safety turned off. Surely she is leaning far enough out by now?
We are hovering at five hundred feet. I can actually see the white edge of the sea beating at the cliff. Mr. Yardo keeps making small corrections; there is a wind out there trying to blow us away. It is cloudy here: I can see neither moons nor stars.
Mr. Yardo checks the radio. Nothing yet.
I stare downwards and fancy I can see a metallic gleam.
Then there is a wordless shout from Mr. Yardo; a bright dot hurtles across the screen and at the same time I see a streak of blue flame tearing diagonally downwards a hundred feet away.
The hopper shudders to a flat concussion in the air, we are all thrown off balance, and when I claw my way back to the screen the moving dot is gone.
So is Gilgamesh.
B says numbly, "But it wasn't a meteor. It can't have been."