The destroyers streaked ahead of the _Zemlya_ towards an entrance to a narrow canyon. This led downwards to a chasm where Scone intended to place the _Zemlya_ beneath a giant overhang. But, as the four sped towards the opening two crags, their radar picked up four objects coming over close to the mountains to the north. A battlebird and three destroyers. Scone knew that the Russians had another big craft and three more destroyers available. But they probably did not want to send them out, too, and leave the base comparatively defenseless. He at once radioed the commander of the _Lermontov_ and told him what was going on. "We declare independence, a return to Nationalism," he concluded. "And we call on the other bases to do the same." The commander roared, "Unless you surrender at once, we turn on the bonephones! And you will writhe in pain until you die, you American swine!" "Do that little thing," said Scone, and he laughed. He switched on the communication beams linking the four ships and said, "Hang on for a minute or two, men. Then, it'll be all over. For us and for them." * * * * * Two minutes later, the pain began. A stroke of heat like lightning that seemed to sear the brains in their skulls. They screamed, all except Scone, who grew pale and clutched the edge of the control panel. But the dishes were, for the next two minutes, on automatic, unaffected by their pilots' condition. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the pain died. They were left shaking and sick, but they knew they would not feel that unbearable agony again. "Flutter your craft as if it's going out of control," said Scone. "Make it seem we're crashing into the entrance to the canyon." Scone himself put the lead destroyer through the simulation of a craft with a pain-crazed pilot at the controls. The others followed his maneuvers, and they slipped into the canyon. From over the top of the cliff to their left rose a glare that would have been intolerable if the plastic over the portholes had not automatically polarized to dim the brightness. * * * * * Broward, looking through a screen which showed the view to the rear, cried out. Not because of the light from the atomic bomb which had exploded on the other side of the cliff. He yelled because the top of the _Zemlya_ had also lit up. And he knew in that second what had happened. The light did not come from the warhead, for an extremely high mountain was between the huge globe and the blast. If the upper region of the _Zemlya_ glowed, it was because a tongue from a Russian ship had brushed against it. It must have been an accident, for the Russians surely had no wish to wreck the _Zemlya_. If they defeated the USAF, they could recapture the globe with no trouble. "My God, she's falling!" yelled Broward. "Out of control!"