But it should have remained visible during all its
flight. Its trail should have been a thick red line. Instead, the red
sparks were so far separated--the trail was so attenuated that it was
visible only from a spot near its base. The observatory voice said more
blankly still:
"_Hey! I've picked up the trail! I can't see it nearby, but it seems to
start, thin, about fifty miles up and go on away from there! That
rocket shouldn't ha' gone more than twenty miles! What happened?_"
"_Watch for the microwave signals_," said Jones' voice in Cochrane's
headphones.
The voice from the observatory squeaked suddenly. This was not one of
the highly-placed astronomers, but part of the mechanical staff who'd
been willing to do an unreasonable chore for pay.
"_Here's the blip! It's crazy! Nothing can go that fast!_"
And then in the phones there came the relayed signal of the auto-beacon
in the vanished rocket. The signal-sound was that of a radar pulse,
beginning at low pitch and rising three octaves in the tenth of a
second. At middle C--the middle of the range of a piano--there was a
momentary spurt of extra volume.
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