A rumble of sound like the mutter of surf vibrated against the soles of Joel's feet. He felt Priscilla tug at his sleeve.
"The control room," she was saying. "Hurry!"
Pandemonium burst on Joel's ears as they entered the control hall. The uproar of battle was emanating from banks of televisors. They were being operated by a score of young officers—General Roos' staff. The general himself strode back and forth in front of the screens.
Scenes of the bitter house-to-house fighting, the stampeding mobs of civilians flashed across the screens with terrifying reality. Joel was appalled. He felt his throat tighten, his heart hammer against his ribs.
A young field officer appeared briefly in one of the screens. "We can't hold them, sir," he panted. "It's those damn rays!"
"Fall back to L Street," Roos ordered, "We're making a stand along the monorail."
"Look!" Priscilla said, clutching Joel's arm and pointing at another screen.
It mirrored a broad empty street down which rays were probing like searching fingers. They were pale green, scarcely visible in the blinding light of Asgard's twin suns.
Serfs in white ketons were carrying the deadly projectors at their hips. There was a Ganelon with them, Joel saw. One lone naked man walking in their midst.
"There's a Ganelon with every squad!" Roos said at Joel's elbow. "They're directing the attack."