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 aslim needle stuck in the ground. Three officers of the UN High Commandwaited at the top of it, within view of the rocket. They waited forzero hour. They were Major-General Engstrand, Lt. Colonel Morgenson,and Major Schauffer.
At 0500, Professor Michelson entered. He still wore a chemical-stainedsmock, a faded shirt and a pair of baggy trousers. He sat down in adissolving 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 lookedout the window. "You may give the firing orders, sir," he said toMajor-General Engstrand.
Relief sighed voicelessly in the tower room.
Schauffer also looked out the window. Morgenson contemplated hisfingernails. Engstrand stood very straight, filled with the magnitudeof this moment's promise of final victory. Then he grabbed up thephone. "All right, Burkson. Everything's set. The rocket will go asscheduled."
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 liquorcabinet, poured four drinks. "We've worked long and hard," he said. "Atoast to a well earned victory, gentlemen."
They drank.
Michelson was thinking, not of a well earned victory, but of retirementand 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. Countless other rockets would fly out of it,each directed, each exploding and casting out its deadly sprays andgases of the G-agent.
"Within an hour," Morgenson said, "after the rocket hits, there won'tbe a bug, a germ, a piece of lichen left alive. Unless somebody sendsit there, there won't be anything alive on Mars again for a long time."
"I'd still like to know what kind of life it is," Schauffer said.
Michelson looked at the floor. "Now we'll never know."
"But we'll stay alive to speculate about it, and some day maybe they'llfigure how to get a man across space. And then we'll know what died upthere."
There was a chance, Michelson knew, but a very slim one, that somethingmight go wrong. The rocket might crash on the Earth somewhere. But noone else probably even dared to think about it. None of them were asold nor as tired as Michelson. A lot of people would die. Just in casethe Martians might have something in the way of gases as deadly as theG-agent, the population had been supplied with hypos of antidote, gasmasks, and suiting. But still, so many people would die. However such athing was very highly improbable.
They drank again.
Engstrand put his hand on Michelson's bowed shoulders. "Again you'vedone a magnificent job, old friend." His voice was low. "Three weeksahead of schedule. That time advantage may have saved us all. Godknows what the Martians are getting ready to send now!"
"One thing we can be thankful for," Schauffer said. "No spies. No