And from the Leoniad there dropped a torpedo in a barrier. Invisibly and indetectably it sped, led by the radiation from the thief. Through the fighting globe it went safely, and inside, where no bit of stray energy filled space. Not even detector beams entered this space, and the men in the thief looked out on all sides at the mighty globular battle with wonder. They realized that this fight was over them, and that because of their loot—the thought-beam instrument—neither side would strike at them.
But the barrier-covered torpedo found them. The barrier hid the torpedo from them, but the barrier permitted the detecting radiation to enter and energize the director.
The thief exploded in one coruscating flash. The white-hot gases expanded rapidly, wildly, cooling as they spread.
Action stopped.
Had this been a fight on land between men, they would have turned as one and looked at the ruin. They would have stood elbow to elbow with their enemies, and wondered. Both sides knew the value of what they were fighting for, and they knew the other side knew its value, too. Loss of the thief stunned them beyond belief—
And stunned them beyond the desire to fight one another.
The flashing lights of prematured torpedoes died as the mechanical finders still worked on the already-launched missiles. No more came from the tubes, and gradually the flaring died, leaving the ether clear of crackling radiation.
Far-flung detectors flared, and the cardex machines in hundreds of ships purred, and came up with a single answer. It was called aloud, and on the throats of a million men, Terrans, Ertinians, and Martians, there came the single word:
"Leoniad!"
With no order from High Command, every ship turned and headed for the Leoniad.