Two hundred thousand feet above the surface of the outpost world Longone, the Fleet interceptor split the stratosphere, its receptors fine-tuned to the Djann energy-cell emission spectrum.
"Three hundred million square miles of desert," Admiral Carnaby said. "Except for a couple of deserted townsites, not a sign that any life ever existed here."
"We'll find it, Tom," Drew said. "If they'd lifted, Malthusa would have known—hold it!" He looked up quickly, "I'm getting something—yes! It's the typical Djann idler output!"
"How far from us?"
"Quite a distance . . . now it's fading . . ."
The admiral put the ship into a screaming deceleration curve that crushed both men brutally against the restraint of their shock frames.
"Find that signal, George," the vice admiral grated. "Find it and steer me to it, if you have to pick it out of the air with psi!"
"I've got it!" Drew barked. "Steer right, on 030. I'd range it at about two thousand kilometers . . ."