It was only seconds later that a voice rang in Clemens' headphones, in accents loud enough to be heard through the silent, waiting control room. "McTavish reporting. All in readiness."

"Let them have it then," ordered the Commander. "But be sure you miss!"

With the suddenness of calculated surprise, a thin pencil of violet light stabbed out from the Earth ship. It knifed through space, scant yards behind the silver sphere, and winked out. A second beam reached forth, passed beneath the gleaming enemy.

Immediately, the sphere bobbed in space, began to weave an intricate course toward the Earth ship. It swelled in the viewscreen before McPartland.

He laughed, a low savage sound. "A super-race ego, to think our gunners are that bad. But they'll learn!"

Reynolds began to drone into his phone, his eyes never leaving the calculators over which his fingers were flying. "Range five units, position—"

A faint flicker reached toward the Earth-ship, swung aside. McPartland laughed again.

"Range, four point nine," droned Reynolds, and went on with steady flow of data.

The pale alien beam reached out again. This time Clemens reported. "Spaceboat destroyed by direct hit, sir."

"Range four point six," said Reynolds.

The sphere was looming ahead of them now, its ray sweeping off to the side, direction steady even as the sphere danced and spun.

"Range four point one—"

"Cable almost completely gone, sir," Clemens said.

"Steady," McPartland answered. He took a deep breath and heard the voice of the Ray Control Officer rising triumphantly:

"Units one, three, five and seven, Fire! Range four point zero, position—"

Four livid fingers of red sprang hungrily toward the silver sphere. 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 

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