Jonnie lay behind a tree trunk, saturated with rain, perspiring from the heat, looking at the compound through infrared glasses that did not do much good.
For three soaking wet days they had been following a power line, the only sign of civilization. They had landed at the power dam well enough. It was automatic and self-maintaining, and Psychlo machinery had been superimposed upon the ancient man-works. They had no actual clue as to the position of the minesite beyond its existence, but Jonnie knew this power line, huge cables on metal pylons—themselves ancient—would take them to it eventually. And “eventually” seemed to be the right word.
Usually power lines had trees and brush cleared out, but not this one. There for countless years, the power line provided no more open sky than any o
