station that they had passed. The sweeping was being done
for Sweeney, by the big radio-telescope atop Howe’s pi.
Sweeney paid little attention to the near, low, fast streaks
on the screen. They were painted there by rocket ordnance of
low calibrea part of the fighting which had no bearing on
the overall pattern. That pattern was already clear: it showed,
as it had for days, that the insurgent forces still held the
mountain and its heavy weapons, but that the attacking salient
from the loyalists’ camp up north was maintaining the ini-
tiative, and was gathering strength.
It had developed into a running stalemate. Though the in-
surgents had obviously managed to drive the loyalists out of
Howe’s pi, perhaps by some trick with the ventilators, perhaps
by some form of guerrilla warfare, they were equally evi-
dently no match for the loyalists in the field. There they were
losing ground twice as fast as they had originally taken it.
The supporting fire from the mountain didn’t seem to be
helping them much; it was heavy, but it was terribly inaccur-
rate. The frequent starshells told their own story of bad visi-
bility and worse intelligence. And the loyalists, ousted though
they were, had all the planes; they had the effrontery to fly
them over the lines with riding lights.
What the loyalists would do when confronted with the
problem of retaking the mountain was another question.
Nothing short of very heavy stuff would make much of a
dent on Howe’s pi. And, even overlooking the fact that the
heavy stuff was all inside the mountain, it would be suicide