"Okay, lady, you win."
"Also," she pointed out, "it gives me something to do."
"Why not take some time to think of what we do next?"
"Not a chance," she replied.
He looked at her quizzically. "Supposing we do think of some answer,"
she said slowly. "Remember that we are still surrounded by the enemy;
I'd rather have nothing to tell when, as, or if we are captured."
He nodded. "Against a coldly rational and logical machine, that would
automatically eliminate one of the all too few possible answers,
wouldn't it?"
"Sure would. About the only thing that the machine will ever try twice
are those things that work very well and which it has reason to
believe will continue to do so. But give it one idea that might work
against it and you can wager that a foolproof defence will be set up
instantly."
"So we keep our minds blank--what is it, Narina?"
"Just on the horizon--might be either a migratory flight of birds or a
fleet of aircraft."
"This isn't the time of year for migrating birds," he said.
"No, and migrating birds do not fly in cold, precise pattern. That's
it, Harry."
"Identify 'em yet?"
Narina shook her head. "Not positively. But it will either be your
fleet--or ours."
"Or both."
Narina looked at him understandingly. "Or both," she agreed solemnly.
"I don't know enough about our fighting planes," he said reflectively.
"But this thing has been souped up in some fashion and we may be able
to outrun them."
"You discount the fact that they may be friends?"
"They may have friends in them," he said.
"Then why not tell them how to disconnect the doo-gadget?"
"Right!" Vinson snapped on the radio and called, "Vinson to commander
of fleet. Vinson to--"
"This is General Lloyd, Vinson. Go ahead."
"Are you tracking us?"
"The machine--wants you."
"We know."
"Well, we can do nothing to stop the pursuit."
"Yes you can. In the--"
A roar of static drowned Vinson's voice. It racketed against the
eardrums and nothing could be heard but the raucous, rough-edged noise.
Then it stopped.
* * * * *
"Look in the--"
It was there again, as completely ruinous to communications as ever.
Then the noise ceased and the machine spoke: "Narina Varada and Harry
Vinson, you are directed to come to me. You have destroyed my control
over your own plane. You are the only ones who really have the answer;
therefore I must receive you indirectly instead of merely driving your
plane this way."
"No thanks."
"But you _will_ come sooner or later: why not make it easy?"