The purring in the ground was louder. Having prepared itself for the fray, it came down from the crag and grumbled southward at cruising speed. It passed the gutted hulk of the Moon-wagon, with its team of overturned tractors. The detonation of the magnapult canister had broken the freight-car sized vehicle in half. The remains of several two-legged enemy appurtenances were scattered about the area, tiny broken things in the pale Earlhlight. Grumbler ignored them and charged relentlessly southward.
A sudden wink of light on the southern horizon! Then a tiny dot of flame arced upward, traversing the heavens. Grumbler skidded to a halt and tracked its path. A rocket missile. It would fall somewhere in the east half of zone Red-Red. There was no time to prepare to shoot it down. Grumbler waited—and saw that the missile would explode harmlessly in a nonvital area.
Seconds later, the missile paused in flight, reversing direction and sitting on its jets. It dropped out of sight behind an outcropping. There was no explosion. Nor was there any activity in the area where the missile had fallen. Grumbler called an emissary ear, sent it migrating toward the impact point to listen, then continued South toward the pain perimeter.
“Salvage Sixteen, this is Aubrey’s runabout,” came the long-wave vibrations. “We just shot the radio-seismitter relay into Red-Red. If you’re within five miles of if, you should be able to hear.”
Almost immediately, a response from the cave, heard by the emissary ear that listened to the land near the tower: “Thank God! He he he he — Oh, thank God!”
And simultaneously, the same vibratory pattern came in long-wave patterns from the direction of the missile-impact point. Grumbler stopped again, momentarily confused, angrily tempted to lob a magnapult canister across the broken terrain toward the impact point. But the emissary ear reported no physical movement from the area. The enemy to the south was the origin of the disturbances. If it removed the major enemy first, it could remove the minor disturbances later. It moved on to the pain perimeter, occasionally listening to the meaningless vibrations caused by the enemy.
“Salvage Sixteen from Aubrey. I hear you faintly. Who is this, Carhill?”
“ Aubrey! A voice—A real voice—Or am I going nuts?”
“Sixteen from Aubrey, Sixteen from Aubrey. Stop babbling and tell me who’s talking. What’s happening in there? Have you go I Grumbler immobilized?”
Spasmodic choking was the only response.