Operation Highjump - Digital Artwork Causes Long-Sought Psychic Breakthrough.

"They're not following us, sir!" The ensign's voice was full of hope, his eyes bright with nearly-avoided calamity. His outstretched finger gesticulated toward the levitating horrors in the sky, each its own Flaming Sword of Damocles, man's judgement and disinheritance. Perhaps there were only a few men who had ever lived who could check back amazement enough not to follow that finger and gaze rapt on the reason for its lifting, but Admiral Byrd was indeed such a man. He knew why the saucers weren't going to follow, though - now more than ever - he supposed they could if they wanted to, easily enough. The capacities of the things for destruction were nearly endless with their masters at the helm - but that wasn't who had the keys today. Theirs was a license only to defend, he now knew, and smiled through his heavy heart. The human race was not running the show

on Planet Earth anymore, it was true. But that applied just as much to Adolf Hitler as himself. "Take some pictures, Ensign," said the admiral grimly. For tonight and for all times to come, that wormy consolation prize was the best he was ever going to do.