Wadsworth spoke: “Those represent transmitter stations equally spaced over the country. They are all manned by mutants.”

Hoshawk actually snorted. “Transmitter stations! You can’t fight with words! And, anyway, there won’t be any power at all within a half hour.”

“They each have their own power plant,” The President said quietly.

Hoshawk looked at the map again and groaned. The nation was almost covered by a canopy of orange lights marked with black crosses. “There must be at least a million bombers over us! They’ll wipe out the whole country within an hour. If there’s anything you can do, do it !”

The President was pale, but he sat quietly. “Stalled,” Hoshawk thought sardonically. It took something besides smartness to win a war. It took character, too.

Wadsworth pointed to the American shores. Long lines of green and white and black and yellow dots coming from the sea, crawling in among the orange lights that swarmed over America like a gigantic swarm of hornets. “Submarines, amphibian battleships, flamethrowers, tanks,” he said.

Hoshawk stood erect. “If it were not against regulations, Sire, I would be tempted to blow my head off. We shall be destroyed as a people and as a continent.”

The President’s hands were clenched, but he answered slowly, “As a continent, perhaps. But the buildings can be built again. As a people⁠—no, I don’t think so. As a civilization, I hope we can be saved.”

Hoshawk’s eyes narrowed. “How?” he demanded.

“Those purple lights represent sonic transmitters. In other words, generating stations for sound frequencies above the narrow band which