A yellow strip of Equatorial desert could be seen between his feet that were hanging in the emptiness.

It was uncomfortable and cold, the air conditioning system of the suit was working properly. The chill came from the heart – 297, 6 miles at perigee. He clenched his teeth, and with one jerk reached the unfortunate bracket. He clasped the transmitter and was digging into its innards with a gleaming sting of a soldering iron.

Next to him, in a t-shirt, hovered Dybal, waving away the parts that popped up from the hands of a flight engineer:

– So what? We don’t need this, do we? Why did you throw away the sixth board?

– No, we don’t. Can you imagine, – Mackliff has been maliciously commenting on his massacre with the transmitter.

Lieutenant Whitehouse gradually came to himself, carefully fastened to the plane of the bed by his comrades.

A hard bitter K was stuck in his throat, and even the third package of orange tonic could not push it through; his chest responded with a dull ache to each breath, white spots were flashing before his eyes, and his folded hands involuntarily floated over his head, as if they were still clutching the bracket.

He finally managed to get away from the chaos of the brain, and tear off his tongue from the palate:

– Al, John, what’s up, guys?

– It sucks, – answered Dybal in Russian and turned his tired sweaty face to him. – That probe with no identification marks, Ronny, that were the Arabs…

– Nonsense, it can’t be, – Whitehouse opened the belts that were holding him, stood up from the bed and hung over the handrails of a racing simulator. – Nonsense.

– If a neighboring space object interferes with the work of one or more computers and jams several channels of communication, it may be an unfortunate coincidence, – said Mackliff tediously and shrugged his shoulders. – But if this object paralyses the work of all computer systems and moreover does this permanently, than it is…

– An invasion! – finished off Dybal.

– An invasion? You must be out of your minds. Since last year the Arabs have been lurking in their holes like mice, thanking Allah they were able to sign a rectification on fire suspension at four levels: sea, land, air and space. Mutual nuclear attacks in Asia, nuclear canopy and burning oil fields taught them well.

They are now engaged in extinguishing fire in the wells, deactivation of mosques and military coups. No, guys, there is something confusing about it. – Whitehouse barely crept to the window and stared into space; they went round the dark side of the Earth.

Dybal sighed deeply and heavily:

You are both right and wrong, Ronald. Islamists are actually sitting quietly and they are not going to start a new campaign in the near future, although it is possible. But believe me they will not miss a chance to capture two of the newest and magnificent spaceships, which are moreover very high-tech. Well, is this clear? This is a tidbit. Apparently they found out that we failed to notify the Center about our dislocation and situation. You see? They jammed our signal and surrounded us. They are going to take us like helpless blind kittens and they will find out whatever they want. Remember, how they have tortured two British pilots who were brought down over Balkhash?

– What ring? I don't see anything, – said the pilot, still staring into the darkness; he decided this was a joke; he didn't want to; he dreaded the thought of believing them. -This is a bad joke, guys.

"Well… I burned the decoder because of you! – Something shorted and burned under the soldering iron of the flight engineer. A cloud of bluish grey and caustic smoke appeared. Mackliff angrily spat at the steaming board and by several hysterical blows of the screwdriver turned the remains of a transmitter, and block orientation of external antennas into a swarm of ugly debris: