I gazed at it curiously. It was a single-story building, without windows, flat-roofed and no more than twenty feet high. In width, possibly thirty feet, but it was at least five times that long.
It lay crosswise on the hill. At a glance I could not guess of what materials it might be constructed. Wood, stone, metal—it seemed none of these. Its aspect was whitish, not silvery, or milky; rather was it a dead flesh white, with a faintly lurid cast of green to it.
In the starlight it lay silent and unlighted. But there seemed to it a glow, as though it were bathed in moonlight. And then I saw that the glow was inherent in it, almost a phosphorescence. Abruptly I felt that there was something uncanny, unnatural about this structure.
I made no comment. But I saw surprise on Jim’s face, and at the lower end of the building where there appeared to be a door, he stopped, irresolute.
“Is . . . is the projectile in here?”
“Yes,” said Alice. “Inside. But we’re going to the test room first, aren’t we, Grandfather?”
We went through a door and along a narrow passage. It was dimly illumined by small blue vacuum tubes overhead. I found myself with Dolores.
“It’s very wonderful,” she said. “You will see, very soon. Oh, yes, where is Jim? I want Jim to see it.”
“You’re not afraid, Dolores? Afraid of this voyage they talk about?”