that made them
were also made of steel. Not manganese. Not copper. Not electron relays,
nor plastic, nor liquid oxygen. Just steel.

The 'copter relayed south and then turned west over Kentucky. Shandor
checked the auxiliary tanks which he had filled at the Library landing
field that morning; then he turned the ship to robot controls and sank
back in the seat to rest. His whole body clamored for sleep, but he knew
he dare not sleep. Any slip, any contact with Army aircraft or Security
patrol could throw everything into the fire-- For hours he sat, gazing
hypnotically at the black expanse of land below, flying high over the
pitch-black countryside. Not a light showed, not a sign of life.

Bored, he flipped the radio button, located a news broadcast. "--the
bombed area did not extend west of the Appalachians. Washington DC was
badly hit, as were New York and Philadelphia, and further raids are
expected to originate from Siberia, coming across the great circle to
the West coast or the Middle west. So far the Enemy appears to have
lived up to its agreement in the Ingersoll pact to outlaw use of atomic
bombs, for no atomic weapons have been used so far, but the damage with
block-busters has been heavy. All citizens are urged to maintain
strictest blackout regulations, and to report as called upon in local
work and civil defense pools as they are set up. The attack began--"

Shandor sighed, checked his instrument readings. Far in the East the
horizon was beginning to lighten, a healthy, white-grey light. His
calculations placed him over Eastern Nebraska, and a few moments later
he nosed down cautiously and verified his location. Lincoln Airbase was
in a flurry of activity; the field was alive with men, like little black
ants, preparing the reserve fighters and pursuits for use in a fever of
urgent speed. Suddenly the 'copter radio bleeped, and Tom threw the
switch. "Over."

An angry voice snarled, "You up there, whoever you are, where'd you
leave your brains? No civilian craft are allowed in the air, and that's
orders straight from Washington. Don't you know there's a war on? Now
get down here, before you're shot down--"

Shandor thought quickly. "This is a Federal Security ship," he snapped.
"I'm just on a reconnaissance--"

The voice was cautious. "Security? What's your corroboration number?"

Shandor cursed. "JF223R-864. Name is Jerry Chandler. Give it a check if
you want to." He flipped the switch, and accelerated