that the Cetus was a specially adapted make, for it was unusually deep-bodied.

“This is your ship,” the general explained. “It’s a model that was built especially to carry the C-bomb. There’s one room for a crew of six. The rest of the bulk is for shielding against radiation from the bomb.”

Rob could readily appreciate this latter fact, knowing that cosmic-ray energy was many times more powerful than nuclear fission.

“Is the crew on Luna now, sir?” Rob asked.

“They’ll arrive on the ferry from the space station later today,” the other replied. “Let’s go back.”

As they retraced their way through the tunnel, the general filled in more facts. “We had hoped to let the R-cloud approach closer before launching an attack, but the pressure of public suspicion makes it necessary to get on the job right away. You’ll carry the X-500 to Titan where you’ll pick up the bombs from our Command unit there and get your final instructions. After that, you’re on your own.”

Six men battling the greatest pack of energy ever faced by mankind! It was almost like tempting fate, Rob thought; like facing a mechanized army with only a club for a weapon. But Rob had confidence in the scientists of this day and their devastating brain child, the cosmic ray bomb.

Rob met his crew in the general’s office. He silently studied the young men, selected as the best in their field, who would be entrusted with the lives of three billion people.

General Forester introduced them: Mort Haines, the chubby, burr-headed mechanic; tall, thin-faced Lieutenant Fox, chief pilot; navigator-radiation officer Lieutenant Swenson—big, blond and Swedish; small, prematurely balding Goode, the medic; and lastly the youngest of them all, the one who made the greatest impression on Rob. His name was Clay Gerard, a “sputter” or graduated space cadet without a rating, who would fill in on odd jobs which did not fall under the province of his more experienced companions.

Clay extended a big palm to Rob. His grip crushed Rob’s hand. Rob looked into his expressive blue eyes and thought he detected some amusement in them. Rob marveled at the boy’s muscle-padded shoulders, thinking how well he would fit into somebody’s football backfield. Then it came to him suddenly that Clay had done just that, and exceptionally well.

“Aren’t you last season’s 

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