The figures had become clear. It seemed to be a view of some kind of underground cavern where men were working on an object that looked like—Zen squinted his eyes, to make certain.
"A small space ship!" the colonel said. He felt eagerness rise in his voice. Like so many kids born in the age of science, he had harbored the dream of the days to come when men would fly beyond the sky, to storied space islands that lay afar. Science had promised that this would happen and the fiction writers had embellished this belief with dream worlds. Somehow, it had never come to pass. One problem after another had prevented realization of this dream. The war, which should have accelerated development, had stopped it completely. Neither side had the materials or the engineers or the skilled technicians to construct a vessel capable of space flight.
"No," West said. His voice was toneless and the far-away note was still strong in it. "Sorry to contradict you, colonel, but that is not a small space ship, though it is designed to get out of the atmosphere for a short time. Look again."
"Hell, it's a super bomb!" Zen gasped, as recognition came to him.
"Right, colonel!"
"A bomb big enough to devastate a continent!" Cold currents suddenly flurried at the base of Zen's spine.
"Right, colonel." West's voice was as dry as the Nevada wind.
"I didn't know we had such a bomb under construction," Zen blurted out.
"We haven't."
"Then who—where?" The cold currents at the base of Zen's back were flowing down both legs and up his spine.