Through his haze of shock, Xaymar's words came dimly: "A storm is a dynamo, blue one--a dynamo greater than it lies within man's power even to conceive! It generates the lightning. Mighty bolts crash from it down to earth--spent, wasted. But these projectors,"--she gestured to the massed banks that lined the tracks overhead--"these projectors can direct its fury! They focus its shafts, throw out magnetic targets for it...." * * * * * Now the whole sky above them had grown dark. For as far as Haral could see, the storm-clouds gathered. The roar of thunder drowned out the shrilly keening whine that filled his tortured ears. Lightning leaped in blinding sheets and chains and flashes. With an effort, the blue man tore his eyes from the violence overhead and looked again to the viewer plate by the control board. It blazed with the glint of Sark's carrier ships. A rushing silver wall of death, they hurtled ever nearer. "Twenty seconds more!" Xaymar cried into his ear. "Twenty seconds--and they perish!" The hurtling ships overflowed the screen. Hulls blotted out the sky. "Ten seconds!" The plate blurred, out of focus. "Look! They come!" shrieked Xaymar, and there was a vindictive triumph in her scream that whispered of something close to madness. Haral followed her sweeping gesture--up, to the sky itself, and the rocket-borne death that dwelt there. There were Sark's ships--a fleet, a horde. Now they lanced downward on their final strike. The roar of their rockets slashed through the storm. In spite of himself, Haral felt the clutch of fear. Overhead, the projector banks were tracking. The lightning was a blinding, continuous flash. "Is it power you want?" screamed Xaymar madly. "I'll show you power, blue warrior!" Her hand darted out and pressed a button. The heavens exploded. Desperately, Haral kept his eyes on the raider fleet. Through the blaze and glare, he saw great, jagged bolts spear down upon it. Some ships were split, some torn asunder. A hundred smashed themselves to atoms on the cruel crags of the mountains. Others simply disappeared in mid-air. In ten seconds not one was left still in the sky. Haral sagged limp against an upright. How many battles had he seen across the void? How many ships gone down in blood and flame? But beside this, all the rest were nothing. Where they left off, this cataclysmic holocaust began. * * * * * It was the answer to his dream of power, his pact with destiny. Given this weapon--yes, this weapon only--the universe was his! He swayed in the grip of his mad ambition. His heart was a driving, hammering piston. Xaymar said: "Throw the switches, blue one. Let the storm pass." Numbly, Haral stepped to the box and slammed down the four heavy levers. The whining died away. The smell of ozone faded. The woman came close to him. "We shall rule the universe together, warrior...."