"But I don't mean you," said Gary. "Is there anything the five of us can do? Any war service we can render you?”
"Not now," said the Engineer. "Perhaps later there will be something. But not now.”
He adjusted the screen again and in it they watched the defending ships of the Engineers shooting spaceward, maneuvered into far-flung battle lines — like little dancing motes against the black of space.
In breathless attention they kept their eyes fixed on the screen, saw the gleaming points of light draw closer together, the invaders and the defenders. Then upon the screen they saw dancing flashes that were not reflections from the ships, but something else — knifing flashes that reached out, probed and stabbed and slashed, like a searchlight's beam cuts into the night. A tiny pinpoint of red light flashed momentarily and then went out. Another flamed, like lightning bugs of a summer night, except the flash was red and seemed filled with a terrible violence.
"Those flashes," breathed Caroline. 'What are they?”
"Exploding ships," said the Engineer. "Screens break down and the energy drains out and then an atomic bomb or ray finds its way into them.”
"Exploding ships," said Gary. "But whose?”
"How can I tell?" asked the Engineer. "It may be theirs or ours.”
Even as he spoke a little ripple of red flashes ran across the screen.