I couldn't pick out any individual sounds. The racks vomited lightning
and thunder far too fast for that. The rumble and roar bored itself
into a remote corner of my brain while I watched that barnacled hulk
and concentrated. I couldn't attempt to think of each rocket, or each
shot, individually, so I was forced to try to erect a mental wall and
say to myself, "Nothing gets past that line _there_."
[Illustration]
And nothing did. Just like slamming into a stone wall, every rocket
blew up its thrumming roar far short of the target. The racks finally
pumped themselves dry, and through the smoke Smith grasped my arm
tighter than I liked. I couldn't hear what he was saying, deafened as
we all were by the blasts. He steered me back to the cabin and I
flipped off drops of sweat with the helmet. I turned unexpectedly and
caught the old man staring at me.
"Now what's the matter with you?"
* * * * *
He shook his head and sat down heavily. "You know, Miller, or Pete, if
you don't mind, I still don't actually believe what I've just seen."
I borrowed a light from the ubiquitous Stein. His expression told me
he'd seen the matinee.
"I don't believe it either, and I'm the one that put on the show." I
blew smoke in the air and gave back the lighter. "But that's neither
here nor there. When do I get out of this Black Hole of Calcutta?"
"Well...." Smith was undecided. "Where would you like to spend some
time when we're through with all this?"