General Steve Elbertson made his way wearily in through the south lock and on to the bridge where he found the communications officer in complete charge with two Security men for assistants. The captain and Bessie were effectively bound, and placed in spare console seats.
General Elbertson made his way to the captain's console and seated himself.
Hot Rod was dead, but their control was by no means lessened.
That he himself had not been shot dead on the way from Hot Rod was, to him, a confirmation of the weakness of his enemies.
The satellite was under his control. The scientists would repair Hot Rod—and well he knew how to see to it that they did so.
U.N. Security Forces were in complete, dictatorial command of Earth.
He had only to eliminate the renegade Indian, and long before the Security scuttlebug, now on its way from Earth loaded with crack troops, should arrive, Security would be in complete command not only of the Space Lab, but of the weapon, which would by then be in repair.
As a final test of its operation, it would be amusing to use the Indian, Blackhawk, as a target; and perhaps the captain as well, though he might have to use them as examples sooner—the captain and some others.
The fortuitous accident that had put Hot Rod in operation ahead of schedule had also stepped many plans months ahead. No violence had actually been planned until the weapon had been thoroughly tested; but now things looked to be working in orderly fashion; working with the well-oiled precision of a master-plan, properly designed and properly executed in the proper military manner.
Only one small difficulty marred the current smoothness of the operation. The Security men were attempting to instruct the computer to precess the wheel back to its original position.