inside the Shed. The noise was the most sustained and ghastly tumult
that had been heard on Earth since the departure of the Platform.

But this launching was not so impressive. It was definitely untidy,
imprecise, and unmilitary. There were seven eighty-foot hulls in cages
surrounded by clustering, bellowing, preposterous groups of howling
objects that looked like over-sized black beetles. One of the seven
hulls had eyes. The others were blind--but they were equipped with radio
antennae. The ship with eyes had several small basket-type radar bowls
projecting from its cabin plating.

The seven objects rose one by one and went bellowing and blundering out
to the open air. At 40 and 50 feet above the ground, they jockeyed into
some sort of formation, with much wallowing and pitching and clumsy
maneuvering.

Then, without preliminary, they started up. They rose swiftly. The noise
of their going diminished from a bellow to a howl, and from a howl to a
moaning noise, and then to a faint, faint, ever-dwindling hum.

Presently that faded out, too.




8


All the sensations were familiar, the small fleet of improbable objects
rose and rose. Of all flying objects ever imagined by man, the launching