That plane was dropping bombs.

The gun bucked five times rapidly. Five bombs exploded in midair, direct hits by the gun. The explosions up there came back down to them.

“The ones you feel land,” said the Scot officer, “go into the lake. They're beyond our sector. And of course the ones that fall way out in the woods. We don't bother with those.”

Jonnie looked toward the woods. Seven or eight miles away there was quite a fire going. No, three separate fires. Every animal within fifty miles must have left the country. The African buffalo the Sherpas had was probably killed by bombs earlier. Well, the woods wouldn't burn very long. It was pretty wet just now.

He looked back at the gun. What havoc one of these things would have made with their attack on the minesites over a year ago if the attack had not been a total surprise. And if security chiefs like Terl had not let the company defenses go neglected.

Another bomb hit on a hill about ten miles away, and even from here one could see the geyser of smoke and trees. That battleship up there was dropping pretty heavy bombs. If one hit this cone, he didn't know whether the atmosphere screen would repel it.

He was walking back to the entrance when he saw Glencannon come out. He was buttoning up a heavy flying suit. He didn't have a communicator or copilot with him. He was walking toward a plane that was surrounded by sandbags. Jonnie thought he must have special orders and did not stop him.

Glencannon got into the plane, a heavily armored Mark 32 that had been converted to high-altitude flying.

Just as Jonnie started down into the passage, Stormalong came racing out of it.

"Glencannon!" shouted Stormalong. But the pilot had taken off.

Chapter 4

For days Glencannon had brooded over this. His sleep was tortured with nightmares.

In his mind he could still hear the voice of his Swiss friend, “Go on! Go on! I will shoot them down! Keep going!” And then his scream when he was hit just before he ejected. And back of Glencannon's eyes he could still see the viewscreen of his friend's body being shot to pieces in the air.

He had his own playbacks of the war vessel that had launched those planes. And he had the shots taken of this monster overhead.

It was the Terrify-class battle-plane-launching capital ship Capture. There could be no doubt about it. That was the vessel that had butchered his friend.

He felt he should have gone back, regardless of any orders. The two of them could have finished the Tolnep attack plane, he was certain. But instead he had followed orders.

He had suppressed the urge to go up and destroy that ship, and he felt that if he did not go ahead and do it now his whole life would be a nightmare.

He heard Stormalong's voice in clear

Psychlo on the local command channel: "Glencannon! You must come back! I order you to land!” Glencannon clicked the channel off.

This was Stormalong's own Mark 32 he was flying. It had been in “emergency reserve.” It was rebuilt for high altitudes, the doors and ports sealed tight. It had huge firepower and even side bombs that could destroy half a city. It was armored to take a ferocious beating. And while its guns may or may not be able to penetrate the skin of a capital ship, there were other ways.

They could not follow him from the ground. All other Mark 32s were at Lake Victoria and here they were only using interceptors. No, they could not follow him. Not to the heights he was going.

He vaulted skyward higher and higher. He adjusted his air mask so it was snug: he was going to go out of the atmosphere.

The Capture was swinging in a slow and ponderous ellipse, three hundred fifty miles above Kariba. It was fifty miles above the termination of the Earth's atmosphere. It was operating on reaction engines and was no longer simply sailing in orbit.

Planes would leave it, streak downward to targets, and then return to be rearmed. One spotted him and dove. Almost with contempt, Glencannon centered him in his sights and pressed his fire button. The Mark 32 bucked in recoil.

The Tolnep burst into fire and plummeted earthward like a comet.

It alerted the Capture to his presence, and as he neared it the gun ports winked and long laces of flame streaked the sky about him. One splashed on the side of the Mark 32. It made the flight deck hot.

Glencannon danced back out of range. He saw the steering ports of the ship jet fire and anticipated its course.

Twenty-five miles in front of it he began to tap his console to hold his position. It was just out of the Tolnep's range.

He adjusted his viewscreens and began to watch.

The stars were glaring bright in the blackness above him but he had no eye for them. The Earth spread out its curves below him but he saw them not.

His whole, concentrated, obsessed attention was on the Capture, studying it.

The ship resumed operation after a bit, believing his mission must be surveillance, not attack. The arrogance of such a ship was plain. It did not believe it could be hurt. It was once more launching and taking aboard planes.

Glencannon saw that just before they opened the huge front ports of their hangar deck, a small exterior warning light winked, probably to warn approaching planes to stand clear and not get in front of the ship as it was about to open the door and launch.

Each time the door opened he studied the enlarged viewscreen of the interior. The entire hangar deck was cluttered with planes. Tolneps in pressure suits were racing about, fueling ships and loading bombs. They had gotten out much larger bombs now.

They were leaving the interior magazine open. Fuel cans, probably liquid gases, littered the hangar deck. The Tolneps were overconfident and sloppy. But what could one expect of a slaver?

Glencannon shifted his attention to the rearing diamond-shaped bridge. There were two figures there, moving back and forth. One was not in uniform. A civilian, probably. The one in the naval cap seemed to have attention only for the civilian. No, they were not being alert.

He turned his attention back to the outside light and the hangar door. He timed it. He calculated his own position.

In the back of his mind he could hear the voice of his friend from time to time: “Go on! Go on! I will shoot them down! Keep going!”

That was exactly what Glencannon was going to do: shoot them down!

For the first time in quite a while he felt calm, relaxed, confident. And totally determined. He was doing exactly what he had to do.

The next time...

The light went on!

His hands hit the console.

The Mark 32 streaked ahead, almost smashed him through the back of the seat with acceleration.

Guns flamed in the Capture.

Balls of orange glare racketed against the Mark 32.

It sliced straight through the barrage.

Just as it entered the open hangar door Glencannon's hand hit all guns and bombs.

The explosion was a sun blowing apart!

Jonnie and Stormalong saw it as they stood outside the cone, back of a gun viewscreen. They saw the plane enter the hangar door with all guns blazing.

But it required no viewscreen to see the flash. The abrupt glare lit the fading daylight for fifty miles around. It was painful to the eyes.

It would be soundless in the void above the Earth. But it was not motionless.

The giant capital ship began to fall. A flaming arc began to draw its way down the sky, slowly, very slowly at first, but building up speed.

And then it hit the atmosphere and began to burn more brightly.

Down it came, further and further, lower and lower.

“My god!” said Stormalong. “It’s going to hit the lake!”