Peace had had its fling in the 21st century.
Now was the time for violence ... and rugged
Third Officer Webster ... and the miserable
Uranians who knew not what they unloosed.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories November 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Hanford Webster, third officer of the space ship Polaris, wasafflicted with what would have been known in the twentieth centuryas a first class jinx. However, more about the jinx later. Hewasn't thinking about that right now where he was on duty standinghis trick in the astrogation chamber. The fleet was nearing itsdestination—Uranus. And then it happened.
One instant the ten-ship Earth fleet was streaking through space. Thenext moment nine of the ships broke up into small pieces, actuallydisintegrating there in his visi-plate before the bulging eyes of Mr.Webster. Twisted fragments of metal formed a cloud in space and beganto fall in a gentle arc toward the planet Uranus some fifty thousandmiles away. It was a hideous cloud, liberally sprinkled with frozenbits of human beings who had been the pride of the space fleet only asplit second before.
The tenth ship almost didn't get away. It was flying lookout positionfour hundred miles behind and above the main fleet. Even so, it got asevere jolt—like smashing into a solid wall. If anybody except ThirdOfficer Hanford Webster had been at the controls God only knew whatwould have happened.
Third Webster saw the whole thing in the visi-plate just as his ownship gave a mighty lurch. A lesser man might have blacked out under theshock. But Webster kept his faculties. Almost automatically he kickedthe Polaris in a wide circle away from the tiny ship that had put outfrom Uranus. And at the same time he started to check the damage.
"First," he called over the intercom. "First."
No answer.
"Second," he called.
"Here," came a weak answer. "What happened?"
"I don't know yet, but we're the only ship left. Find the First andcome up."
"Okay."
One after another Webster checked the crew. No one dead or evenseriously hurt. Fourteen men had been knocked out. There were a fewsprains and pulled tendons and at least one bruised soul. Even disasterseems to have a sense of humor. The Chief Machinist had been sitting inthe head when the blow struck. They found him there helpless, thrustdeep into the toilet, wildly cursing.
The First arrived at the Control Room. The Polaris by this time washeading swiftly back to Earth.
"Have you warned Earth?" asked the First.
"Not yet," said the Third, "I've just finished checking. We're in goodshape."
"I'll tell them then," said the First. "What a surprise this is goingto be. It will upset everything."
And so the call went out to Earth. The Uranians had destroyed an EarthFleet at 0622 Greenwich on April 13, 2072.
Right after the Polaris grounded, its officers were summoned toappear before the World Court. All the officials were there. Everybranch of science was well-represented.
Third Officer Webster led off. He minutely described what he had seen.He explained how the Polaris had acted. But it had happened so fastthat his description was sketchy. No one was able to figure out how theUranians had done it. Webster's best guess was:
"It looked like the ships were yanked off their course and just brokeup under the strain—like a strong magnetic field suddenly appearedin the middle of them. But that couldn't be."
The others agreed. Scientists long a