"Destroy the Invader," the orders
read—and Captain McPartland's expendable
spacer flashed into suicidal battle.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Commander Jon McPartland stared with hard blue eyes into his viewscreen. He watched a tiny dot in one corner grow slowly, and heard theunnecessary words of his Lieutenant-Commander, Clemens:
"Observation Officer reports enemy craft sighted, Sir."
"Very good," acknowledged McPartland. "Have Lieutenant Parek computetheir speed and course."
Clemens spoke softly into the intra-ship phone, and Commander JonMcPartland returned momentarily to his thoughts. His square jaw was setas though cast in bronze, with hard muscles machined into its contour.
Here was the enemy—the unknown, the alien, who spoke only withdestruction! This was the ship that had destroyed System patrols; latera full battle fleet of the Solar System's most powerful space fighters.The interceptors had been unable to establish communication of anysort; and they were blasted into fiery chunks of space debris beforegetting close enough to use their own guns.
"Well, here they are, Clemens," the Commander said aloud, "and gettinguncomfortably close to the System. It looks like they're some otherSystem's dominant intelligence, and we've got planets they want."
"Yes, sir," said the other, "and here we are, with the fastest, mostheavily armed space fighter ever built—in the System."
"In the Universe," snapped McPartland. His full lips curved into a grimsmile. "Under sealed orders which every citizen from Pluto to Mercuryknows are: 'Destroy this ship—or it conquers our System.'"
Lieutenant-Commander Clemens bent to his intra-phone, turned to relay."Navigation Officer reports enemy ship has altered course to head on.Speed fifty Spatial units."
"Thank you," McPartland stepped to the phone himself.
"This is it, men. You know what it means!" His hands flicked leversswiftly, as he spoke to component units individually:
"Propulsion—full speed ahead. Make every blast tell!
"Navigation—evasive course. Swing wide to draw them away from theSystem so that if—if—"
"I understand, sir," came the crisp reply from Lieutenant Parek.
"All ray stations," went on McPartland, "fire at maximum range.Radio—any contact?"
"None, sir."
"Magnetic screen interference?" asked the Commander.
"No, sir. No magnetic defense screens apparent on enemy."
"Put ours up full power." Jon McPartland was smiling now, but his eyeswere flashing hatred of the alien. Another ten seconds would find themin effective range. The enemy was looming in the view screen, a roundglistening sphere—a ball of destruction pitted again his own slim,sleek avenger.
"Screens up, sir, full power," came the response.
Lieutenant-Commander Clemens had headphones clamped over his ears. Hewas standing by for reports from stations. He turned suddenly, facelined and taut, and reported almost in a whisper:
"We're hit, sir, right through our screens at this range! Partialdisintegration in section four. Bulkheads holding."
The Commander was standing wooden-faced, incredulous. But the hatredwas building up in his eyes until Clemens shuddered.
"Through our defense screens at this range!" McPartland ground outsavagely. He turned back to his view screen with a bitter oath.
There was the sphere, gleaming, flashing against the bottomless blackof space—catching starlight, and throwing it back as though the touchof that pure light was distasteful.<