casual as he turned his lips toward the intercom.

"Sock it to 'em, you precious monkeys. You've got a million Earthmen to avenge!"

Then he kicked the tuning dial over, swept the visascreen from Earth ship to Earth ship. Only the flashing blue bolts identified most, but here and there an Earth ship blazed red, then white and molten metal dripped off into the darkness as the Mercurian ships lashed back at the dark shrouded hornets which were poisoning them with quick flashing death.

The huge Mercurian fleet, its thousands scattered through with broken hulks, was turning slowly, its own bolts searching out, lighting up the blackness which hid the tiny Earthian fleet.

The silver ships moved in, and concentrated hell poured on to one of the far-flung ships of Earth. The Earth ship exploded into myriad shells of molten metal, and the horrible atomic rays moved to the next blue flashing terrestrial ship.

Curt Wing's voice barked into the intercom: "Plan L."

And the outnumbered Earth ships, pulling in their horns of atomic bolts, flashed away from the darkness, their rocket exhausts spurting fire. They blasted into the sky in unison, climbing above the slower Mercurian ships, and hurtled downward, their blue bolts thrusting before them, lashing at the silver ships.

The Mercurian ships swung upward, lumbering, but the Earth ships were darting in and out like slashing knives wielded by agile, practiced hands.

Curt Wing's tight-held breath relaxed, made a whistling sound in the plotting room. He said, "The longest chance I ever took, and it worked." His voice was very low, almost like a prayer.

"Look at them run!" Packer chortled. "You did it again." He was staring into the visaplate, watching the silver ships begin to scatter away from the black Earth ships above them. "This is the knockout punch. We'll drive them away now, forever. Five years they've been nagging us and all the time they waited until they were strong enough to strike."

"Yes," said Wing, "and they almost got us in the slaughtering pit by the asteroid belt. But now...." He halted, snapped into the intercom: "Attack at will, you itchy-fingered monkeys. They're all yours. Take 'em."

The oval door to the plotting room burst open; a big-framed, heavy-paunched Blackbeard came 

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