vitals, over every foot of hull.

It was a scene of awesome destruction, as the ship that had thrown back starlight so proudly, haughtily, was blotted out of existence, its atoms torn apart and hurled back to the universe as free energy.

The glow in his viewscreen threw red highlights into McPartland's black hair, matched the blazing vengeance in his blue eyes. But he watched, jaw hard, fist clenched, until destruction was complete.

"They got what they gave our ships," he said at last, "merciless destruction. They deserved no better.

"We'll go back to the System, and turn in our report. Our Scientists will perfect a defense against a mono-charge ray, and we won't need to worry about handling any other ships that might follow this one."

"Right, sir," said McTavish. "And, man, begging your pardon, sir, I hope we're in on the handling!"

Lieutenant-Commander Clemens shook his head moodily. "We did well. But the Congress of Specialists will be disappointed. We didn't bring back prisoners for examination."

But his eyes were smiling—again.

 Prev. P 11/11