If he only
changed the course one degree, at a range of five hundred miles, it
would miss the _Polaris_ by several miles. And Loring wouldn't be able
to see anything because of the dust cloud.
"Course corrected," said Roger. "New course is one forty-two!"
"One forty-two!" repeated Loring.
Roger sat back and waited for the small space craft to blast off from
the ship. In his mind, he saw Loring setting the trigger on the bomb,
adjusting the controls, setting the automatic pilot, and then pressing
the acceleration button. Roger gripped the sides of the chart table and
stared at the radar scanner. A fast-moving blip was streaking across its
surface. Loring had started the jet boat.
His eyes showing his great fear, Roger watched the blip as it sped down
like a maddened hornet toward the _Polaris_ resting on its directional
fins in the green jungle. He could hear the hatch slam closed below as
Loring re-entered the ship, but he continued to watch the rapidly moving
blip.
Suddenly it disappeared, and Roger knew it had reached Tara. He slumped
back in his chair. His eyes were glassy, his ears deaf to the roar of
triumph from below as Loring and Mason, watching the flight of the jet
boat on the control deck teleceiver screen, saw it explode.
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