MARY ANONYMOUS

By BRYCE WALTON

There wasn't one person on all of Earth to even suspect. No worry about security, saboteurs or spies in this interspatial war with Mars. Earth was firmly united this time ... that is, of course, if you just happened to overlook Mary—the sweetest, most incongruous little girl ever to hang around a launching site.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Ten miles out of New Washington the duralium observation tower was a slim needle stuck in the ground. Three officers of the UN High Command waited at the top of it, within view of the rocket. They waited for zero hour. They were Major-General Engstrand, Lt. Colonel Morgenson, and Major Schauffer.

At 0500, Professor Michelson entered. He still wore a chemical-stained smock, a faded shirt and a pair of baggy trousers. He sat down in a dissolving way indicating a vast accumulated weariness. He felt old, very old, now that the last big project was finished.

"The G-Agent's all loaded," he finally said. "Three tons." He looked out the window. "You may give the firing orders, sir," he said to Major-General Engstrand.

Relief sighed voicelessly in the tower room.

Schauffer also looked out the window. Morgenson contemplated his fingernails. Engstrand stood very straight, filled with the magnitude of this moment's promise of final victory. Then he grabbed up the phone. "All right, Burkson. Everything's set. The rocket will go as scheduled."

He sat down and wiped slowly at his puffy but somehow powerful face.

The slim and calm Schauffer turned, got a bottle out of the liquor cabinet, poured four drinks. "We've worked long and hard," he said. "A toast to a well earned victory, gentlemen."

They drank.

Michelson was thinking, not of a well earned victory, but of retirement and rest. Forty years he had worked. For victory over the Eurasians. After that, for victory over the Martians. He wanted to sleep late, fish and rest in the sun.

"Three tons of G-Agent," Engstrand said softly.

The rocket would hit Mars. 

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