George A. Whittington

“ It looks like they're some other System's dominant intelligence, and we've got planets they want."
"Yes, sir," said the other, "and here we are, with the fastest, most heavily armed space fighter ever built—in the System."
"In the Universe," snapped McPartland. His full lips curved into a grim smile. "Under sealed orders which every citizen from Pluto to Mercury knows 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." ”

“ Instantly the big hammer flashed into the beam and against the metal near its broken edge, swung with every ounce of fury and strength in Jon McPartland's arm, shoulder and torso.
"If I'm right," he muttered with the swing, "we'll know it now. We'll have a fighting—chance." ”

“ McTavish agreed, "and minutes would be long enough for them to blast our spaceboat and cable away."
"And then us," finished Clemens. He drew himself up. "I am ready, sir, when you give the order."
Blazing anger faded from the Commander's eyes and face. "Thank you, Mister Clemens. I know you are, and so is every man of our crew. But we're here to save the System, and there's still hope.
"These animals have come a long way," he said jabbing a fist toward the ship in the screen. "They think they can afford to wait us out. But maybe they can't. Mister Clemens, ask Radio to try and contact Earth." ”

“ But they couldn't use a screen—the enemy: there'd be no balance of forces—they'd bend their own ray!"
"The way we'll bend it, Mister, when we go back after those murderers!" Jon McPartland took a deep, triumphant breath, and his face lit up with a battle smile that made the Engineer's heart lift.
"Mister McTavish, we're going to string a space lifeboat out behind us on about two miles of cable. You are going to rig up our dynamos to make this ship and the lifeboat the poles of an electromagnet. ”

“ They struck almost together, followed as the ship twisted and spun for brief moments. Then, when the ball of metal suddenly ceased its gyrations and floated limply, helplessly in space, those fingers probed, slashed unhindered through its vitals, over every foot of hull. ”

“ They'll be defenseless!"
In the screen, the Marshal's dim figure slumped. "Jon, the Specialists rule the System."
"I understand, sir," McPartland heard himself say. "What are your orders, sir?"
"Just your best, Commander Jon McPartland. That will be the best any of us could give. Good luck!"
"Thank you, sir." McPartland turned from the visa-phone as Marshal Denton faded from view.
Lieutenant-Commander Clemens stood ready beside his intra-phone. Engineer McTavish sprawled before his model, his grey eyes going lovingly over every line of it. Ray Control Officer Reynolds fingered his mike. ”