commander of all System forces, flickered uncertainly over the great distance.

"McPartland," came the Marshal's voice, thin and wavering through the poor connection. "I knew you'd do it!"

McPartland saluted smartly. "We have met the enemy, sir, and stopped their advance toward the System, but—"

He went on, reporting their first encounter, his decision and action, and concluded: "Sir, we can hold them here until help reaches us. One more ship—rigged as we are—even the slowest old hulk in the fleet—and we can finish them!"

There was a long pause. Marshal Denton drew himself up, his face, only a dim blob on the screen, gave no hint of his emotions as he answered. "Commander McPartland, I must refuse your request for reinforcements." There was no mistaking his feeling in the next words:

"Jon, I've got a System of confidence in you, but my hands are tied. The Supreme System Congress of Specialists has met and made decisions for defense—decisions that are not subject to change. From here on, I can only carry their strategy into effect."

McPartland stood rigidly. He was stunned. He heard his own voice, as from far away; "And those decisions, sir?"

"Every ship we have is concentrated just beyond Pluto's orbit." Denton answered. "They are arranged in a defensive pattern of depths, that the Specialists consider impenetrable." His voice was even.

"Sir," the Commander groaned, "this attacker has the range and a ray that makes our magnetic screens useless. These fiends will go through that fleet like light through glass. And the planets—they've been disarmed for years! 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.

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