Cally stared out the open door of the Agusta and felt her heart skip a
beat. A beam of energy, so strong it ionized the air and turned it deep
mauve, seemed to be engulfing Michael. Staring down, she was almost
blinded by its intensity. He was there, she was sure, but where she
could not tell.
Then it shut off for a second, and she realized it had been directed
toward the base of VX-1. Next came an enormous clap of thunder as the
splintered air collapsed on itself, sending out shock waves. Just like
lightning, she thought. The Cyclops is sending energy as though it were
lightning. . . .
Then the blue flashed again, and this time it began microsecond pulses,
like a massive strobe light. All the action was now highlighted in
jerky snippets of vision, as unreal as a disco dance floor. The air
around the beam was being turned to plasma, ionized pure atoms . . .
but the next burst of energy came from the propulsion unit of VX-1,
which slowly began discharging a concentrated plume out of its nozzles,
a primal green instead of the usual reds and oranges of a conventional
rocket.
The Cyclops had just gone critical, right on the money, ionizing the
dry-ice propellant in VX-1. Would the impulse be enough to lift it off?
she wondered. Was Isaac's grand scheme going to work? Years had been
spent planning for this moment. She felt her heart stop as she waited
for the answer, totally forgetting the man who was dangling just below
the chopper, bathed in the hard, pulsing strobes.