All this—Gone.
Curt Wing looked at the seven governors.
"If that's the case," he said finally. "I can't see any reason why we should worry about the force field. Let the damn Mercurians worry about it. Earth is theirs now."
"Wait, Wing!" Eliel cried out as Wing strode past the long narrow table, Dead-Eye's bulk dogging his heels. "You don't understand!"
Wing spun around. "I don't understand?" he repeated, and his deep voice was harsh.
"Look, you governors. There was only one way Earth could have licked this force field. Someone would have found the way out—the way to chop this blue flower off at its source if you hadn't taken it away.
"Scan back through Earth's history. Way back in the 15th century, a sea captain did the impossible. He crossed water as vast to him as space once was to us. He had a way. Earthmen flung their power at a dictator called Schickelgruber or some such name. It had been impossible to stop him. But a way was found."
"Then the moon rocket. That was impossible, too. There was no way to break gravity chains without killing any living thing on the ship. But a way was found. Oh, there are scores of instances where Earthmen did the impossible. But they had something worth fighting for. Columbus his adopted country; the united nations their people; Dawson and his moon rocket, the welfare of a world."
"We had Earth. Now what have we got? Not a mote of dust to call our own. I don't understand! Hell, I hope the Mercurians use you to fire those ghastly gas pots they use here to keep Earth's air from poisoning them."
Space Commander Curt Wing was balanced on the balls of his feet, leaning forward now, breathing hard, his fine-muscled body quivering as his dark eyes burned at the seven governors.