Curt watched them, screaming as they fled before the
shadow-things—the tortured humans of Earth. He
watched them die, crushed and seared by the spreading
blue flower, and he cursed himself. With all his
knowledge and strength he could not save his people.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Around them, space—implacable but generous, impalpable buttangible—shot through with a thousand far off suns.
Looming at starboard, blacking out a section of space, the darkstarside of the Moon. Then hundreds of flickering fireflies moving outof the darkness, blinking on by ones ... twos ... threes ... as theypassed the black moon's rim.
Curt Wing relaxing, his dark head nodding softly, his dark eyeswidening as he stared into the teleplate. He stared into the plate, andhis lips, for so many hours a thin gray line, pursed into an almostinaudible whistle.
Without turning his head, he said to the lean rangy blond lieutenantbeside him.
"That did it, Packer. It flushed them from cover. Curiosity did it."
"Now?" Lt. George Packer asked, pulling on his helmet, reaching for thered button to sound the klaxon alarm. One long finger almost touchedthe scarlet dot which would send a hundred crews on a hundred Earthships into the action which they had awaited for these long weeks.
Curt Wing, wing Space Commander, shook his black shock of hair withdeliberate slowness, wiped the sticky sweat from the palms of his handson his gold-striped blue breeches.
"Wait."
"But, Curt! We've waited two weeks. And for the last seven hours thecrew has been going mad. They know the Mercurians must be out therenow. We got the flash on the intercommunicator and it's tuned toall-ship length."
"I know," Wing said. "But what's another moment or two. This has tobe right. We'll never get another chance like this again. Be patient,George."
Curt Wing still stared at the visaplate.
"They must have the whole fleet with them! I've never seen so manyMercurian ships in my life."
"They'll spot us," Lt. Packer said anxiously. "Let me signal, Curt."
"Easy, George. This is Earth's last chance. We've got to be sure it'sgood. They've got us—ten to one. Surprise is our only chance ofwhittling down the odds."
"But every minute, Curt, every minute counts. They'll spot us sure."
His eyes still soldered to the plate, Wing said, an overtone ofexasperation in his deep-timbered voice; "We've been here two weeks.They didn't spot our black ships in the moon's shadow before. I hardlythink they will now. Take it easy."
The two stood there, watching the black shadow of the plate, nowflickering with swarms of silver Mercurian ships. Beads of sweatbuilt up on Curt Wing's forehead, swelled, then rolled down his lean,harsh-planed face to make tiny plopping sounds on the duralloy deckbeneath their feet.
"Man!" Lt. Packer burst out. "Curt, are you mad? We've got to strikenow. Their black light visas'll pick us up any second."
Wing Space Commander Wing didn't answer. Seconds oozed away likeviscous blobs of oil. Then:
"Now!"
Packer's itching finger stabbed the red button viciously. Muted throughthe thick bulkheads surrounding the plotting room came the ululatinghowl of the ready signal.
Curt Wing moved from the visaplate, clicked on the intercommunicationsspeaker, came back to the plate. He studied it for a moment, unmindfulof George Packer who was chewing his nails very deliberately.
Curt Wing lifted his head, tur