But two days of inactivity had begun to wear on everyone's nerves. Something had to be done.
The shadow showed eerily against the glass in response to Amanda's knock. Amanda stopped pacing.
"Yes, Preparation Group Leader. You have something to report?"
"That stupid Ethel answered the phone when it rang— against my explicit instructions. Discipline is becoming a big problem."
"Who was calling?" the World Master inquired reedily.
"I don't know. She hung up before they said anything."
"That was unwise. It may have aroused suspicion where none existed."
"Should I punish her?" Amanda asked. "I feel like punishing someone. I haven't felt this much like punishing anyone since my husband left me."
"No. There are more important matters before us. I have not yet finished repairing the damage to my craft. It must remain concealed in this barn for at least another day."
"Damn!" Amanda said. "We're all sitting ducks if we're discovered here." She began to pace again, her boots clicking on metal flooring. She pulled at her hair. "Is there anything I can do to help? There must be! Two hands are better than one. If we can get this ship going again, we can all escape to—"
"No, Amanda Bull. I overestimated the ability of my craft to carry human beings through your atmosphere. The strain of bearing Preparation Group Two to this place taxed my propulsion unit. It can be repaired in time. But I must never again attempt such a thing."
A dark notch of perplexity showed between Amanda's eyes.
"I don't get it," she said. "How could the weight of twelve people damage a spaceship that carried you all the way across the universe?"
"Because, Preparation Group Leader Bull, my ship is designed to travel in space, where the forces of gravity are not in operation. In your atmosphere, under Earth's gravity, my ship moves less efficiently. Further, you humans weigh more than my people. I miscalculated that factor, resulting in the temporary crippling of the gravitation spheres I have told you about. Do you understand this explanation?"
Amanda nodded her head thoughtfully. "I think so. Yes... it makes sense now. Sure."
"Good. You will repeat my explanation to the others so that their minds are eased. In the meantime, there is work to be done."
"What kind? I'm ready."
"Our second attempt to destroy an American missile was a success. But it has also alerted those who guard those missiles. Our task is now more difficult, and we must compensate for our success."
"Compensate for our success?..."
"Yes," the World Master said slowly, bringing both sets of pipestem arms to the level of his big head. Amanda felt a chill ripple along her back. "It will be difficult to destroy so many dangerous missiles ourselves. Preparation Group One is no more. We are unable to recruit a third preparation group at this time. But our numbers are sufficient to influence the many nuclear disarmament groups. Influence them, and they will influence the United States government to dismantle all nuclear weapons."
"Do you think we can do that?"
"Yes. We need only demonstrate the danger of such weapons. "
"Ho-ow do we do that?" Amanda asked as a sickness settled deep in her stomach.
"The warhead of the missile you so courageously destroyed is still intact. They will attempt to move it from its silo and dispose of it secretly. Station someone in the area. When the warhead is moved, you will capture it and bring it here. I will decide what will be done with it at that time."
"You— you're not going to explode the warhead, are you?"
"I will decide that when you have successfully completed your task."
"But..."
"Do not question my instructions, nor the glorious destiny in which you share. I am your brain, Amanda Bull. Remember that. I am your brain. You are dismissed."
The figure of the World Master receded behind the concealing glass and grew indistinct.
Amanda swallowed hard. The sick feeling in her stomach felt more like a hot catching of her breath. It was that feeling again. Only this time there was no sense of exhilaration. There was just the fear.
She left the ship, which stood in the cool confines of a barn. None of the craft's lights were on, but it floated three feet above the ground. When they had first pushed the weakened object into the barn, it had floated all the way to the top. The antigravity generators— or whatever they were— had been sluggish all during the flight to the Sump farm. Once Amanda ordered everyone off, the ship began to rise uncontrollably. It had been all they could do to get it into the barn and shut the doors. It had been Martin Cannell who suggested they throw a big net over the ship and stake it down. That had worked.
Checking the stakes again, Amanda saw that they were unaffected by the pull of the levitating spacecraft. Probably they would hold until the World Master had everything going again. That was good, Amanda thought. She didn't need more problems at a time like this.
"Oooh, here she comes!" Ethel Sump breathed, watching Amanda Bull approach the farmhouse, where nothing had grown since her parents had left it to her.
"I hope she has good news," Martin Cannell said. "I'm getting tired of waiting around."
"Shut up, all of you!" Amanda barked when the others crowded around her like eager children. "We've got new orders."
"What are they?" one woman named Marsha asked warily.
"We're going to steal what's left of the nuclear warhead we wrecked," Amanda said sternly.
There was a long moment of breathless silence in the farmhouse.
"Isn't that kinda... risky, Amanda?" Ethel asked.
"It's got to be done. And we've got to move fast. The Air Force could move the warhead to another location at any time. I want half of you to come with me, and the other half will stay here until I call. Volunteers step forward!"
There was another uncomfortable silence.
"I said, volunteers step forward, damn it!"
But no one stepped forward.
"All right, what's wrong?" Amanda demanded of the fidgeting group.
"Ummm. Some of us feel bad about the people who got killed last time," Ethel Sump said slowly.
Amanda frowned. "I feel bad, too."
"Yeah, but you did some of the killing yourself," someone muttered. "And you got one of us by accident."
"That's right," Ethel said. "And you shot that nice officer. He didn't do anything. And he was handsome, too."
"I had no choice, you know. Our glorious work must go on. Or have you all forgotten what this is all about? We're trying to save the world from itself. If a few people have to die, that's a small price to pay to keep all the military idiots from blowing the whole freaking world up."
The others looked at one another sheepishly. No one looked directly at their blonde leader.
"Now I need six people," Amanda said, placing a hand on the automatic clipped to her Sam Browne belt.
"Okay, I'll go," Ethel said. "But no more killing."
"Me, too."
"Count me in."
"Good," Amanda said, relieved that a full-scale mutiny had been avoided and she wouldn't have to shoot anyone as an example. Shooting people didn't seem to solve problems as much as she expected it would. Sometimes it even made things worse.
Giving that realization more thought, she ordered the group to load weapons and equipment into the FOES van.
* * *
Thad Screiber had chased Unidentified Flying Objects across 47 of the 50 states in his time and had never experienced a close encounter of any kind. Yet he had grossed $25,000 last year alone.
Thad was a writer, and a specialist in UFOs. He had never seen one, didn't care to ever see one, and if the truth were ever to be known, he did not even believe in them. But he made his living interviewing people who said they saw flying saucers, so he took the subject seriously when he was in the field.