“Keep your fingers crossed, fellows! We’re back in business!” His crewmates’
faces brightened at Tom’s report. “Pete-”
“Right here, amigo!” the Basque responded.
“Are you receiving any messages?”
“Not a thing. In fact I have a strange feeling-as if I am surrounded by an invisible curtain that shuts off all outside influences.”
Tom frowned, then snapped his fingers. “What a blockhead I am! It must be that special headgear, Pete. Take it off for a while.”
Uzcudun did so. His face blanched. “The Orb … it seems to be in pain!” he muttered. “It wishes a truce. If you cease your attack, it will permit you to land without harm.”
“Brand my shootin’ stars, you’ve got ‘em bulldozed, boss!” Chow exclaimed gleefully.
Tom called Billing and ordered all transmitters 172 3-D TELEJECTOR
turned off. Soon the ship was plunging into the thick, swirling green mist.
Long minutes later the mist began to thin. At last the Challenger emerged below the heavy cloud cover.
Tom’s pulse quickened as he gazed at the eerie landscape spread out beneath them. The scene was bathed in a weird sea-green twilight.
“No need to use power,” Uzcudun murmured. “The Orb will support us with its own output.”
Bud flashed Tom a suspicious glance. “Think it’s safe to shut off our repelatron beam? If this is a trick, we’ll crash!”
The young inventor decided to comply. “I’m sure we can start up again fast enough to avoid a crash if necessary. But we’ll have to trust the Orb on this, if we hope to parley.”
Tom’s trust seemed to be justified as the Challenger floated gently downward and came to a hovering halt above the green hillocks.
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