By
BOB COURTNEY
It was an amazing story that Mrs. Downs heard on that record played to her in the President's study
The flashing government strato-car swooped to the landing space atop the Earth Federation Capitol Building. Space-Marine Guards greeted the lone passenger, a worried-looking little woman, courteously, for they had expected her. Mrs. Mary Downs, mother of Space-Lieutenant Hugh Downs, was about to meet the President, by request. It really amounted to a command. The grizzled sergeant conducted her into the heart of the huge building, where he turned her over to the President's First Secretary, in an ante-room.
After a brief wait, Mrs. Downs stood in the study of the great man, trying to maintain her composure under the stern scrutiny of several high-ranking Space-Navy officers. The President rose behind his massive desk, a smile of welcome lighting his usually grave face.
The deep shadows beneath his eyes, and lines of strain showed that the responsibility of Earth's leadership weighed heavily upon him in the present crisis. Not forty-eight hours had elapsed since the vicious, treacherous attack of the Martians had suddenly launched the Third Interplanetary War.
"Please come in, Mrs. Downs, and sit down over here by my desk. There's nothing to be alarmed about. We need your help."
"Thank you, Mr. President. I'll try to help in any way possible."
"As you know, the Martians have attacked our outposts, without warning. I regret deeply the necessity of telling you that your son has been captured, and is now a prisoner at Roalla."
Mrs. Downs' face paled. Her burning gaze asked the question she seemed unable to voice. One frail, blue-veined hand sought to quiet the violent beating of her heart.
"We have," the President continued,
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