"Think, we need to think," repeated Thurston later. "A creature that is just one big hideous brain, that can think an arm into existence--think a head where it wishes! What does a thing like that think of? What beastly thoughts could that--that _thing_ conceive?" "If I got the sights of a Lewis gun on it," said Riley vindictively, "I'd make it think." "And my guess is that is all you would accomplish," Thurston told him. "I am forming a few theories about our visitors. One is that it would be quite impossible to find a vital spot in that big homogeneous mass." The pilot dispensed with theories: his was a more literal mind. "Where on earth did they come from, do you suppose, Mr. Thurston?" * * * * * They were walking to their hotel. Thurston raised his eyes to the summer heavens. Faint stars were beginning to twinkle; there was one that glowed steadily. "Nowhere on earth," Thurston stated softly, "nowhere on earth." "Maybe so," said the pilot, "maybe so. We've thought about it and talked about it ... and they've gone ahead and done it." He called to a newsboy; they took the latest editions to their room. The papers were ablaze with speculation. There were dispatches from all corners of the earth, interviews with scientists and near scientists. The machines were a Soviet invention--they were beyond anything human--they were harmless--they would wipe out civilization--poison gas--blasts of fire like that which had enveloped the army flyer.... And through it all Thurston read an ill-concealed fear, a reflection of panic that was gripping the nation--the whole world. These great machines were sinister. Wherever they appeared came the sense of being watched, of a menace being calmly withheld. And at thought of the obscene monsters inside those spheres, Thurston's lips were compressed and his eyes hardened. He threw the papers aside. "They are here," he said, "and that's all that we know. I hope the Secretary of War gets some good men together. And I hope someone is inspired with an answer." "An answer is it?" said Riley. "I'm thinkin' that the answer will come, but not from these swivel-chair fighters. 'Tis the boys in the cockpits with one hand on the stick and one on the guns that will have the answer." But Thurston shook his head. "Their speed," he said, "and the gas! Remember that cold. How much of it can they lay over a city?" The question was unanswered, unless the quick ringing of the phone was a reply. "War Department," said a voice. "Hold the wire." The voice of the Secretary of War came on immediately. "Thurston?" he asked. "Come over at once on the jump, old man. Hell's popping." * * * * *