"Right, sir," McTavish agreed, "and minutes would be long enough for them to blast our spaceboat and cable away."
"And then us," finished Clemens. He drew himself up. "I am ready, sir, when you give the order."
Blazing anger faded from the Commander's eyes and face. "Thank you, Mister Clemens. I know you are, and so is every man of our crew. But we're here to save the System, and there's still hope.
"These animals have come a long way," he said jabbing a fist toward the ship in the screen. "They think they can afford to wait us out. But maybe they can't. Mister Clemens, ask Radio to try and contact Earth."
It took long, anxious minutes to make the contact. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Parek held the ship on the same course, with instructions to close at once if the enemy moved toward them.
But the situation remained unchanged, the great circle being traced and retraced through space, ray guns trained, unused. At last, Radio reported contact.
Jon McPartland stepped to the visa-phone. Before him, the faint image of Marshal Denton, supreme 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—"