He was a nice kid, but it was a flagrant piece of criminal negligence, monkeying with robots."
"Agreed. So he makes retribution in the best way he can. Those damned protean machines control about half a billion robots apiece after they manufacture them." He shuddered briefly as he remembered what the protean had looked like. Bartok had expected a neat, man-sized robot: instead it had been a million cubic feet of solid machinery.
The Commander yawned; "So, having taken over this protean's control factors with his own brain he is in a position at last to direct the creatures he made. Of course he'll use his robots to fight the other robots. Here comes the first contact."
Far to the rear of the speedy craft there was a titanic flaring of lights and colors as two righting ships met. Unimaginable forces roared from the search-light-shaped projectors, impinged spectacularly on thinly glowing ray-screens. The ray screens went down after about three minutes of brilliant resistance and the ship vanished in a puff of vapor.
"Ugh! Disintegrators!" said the girl. "So they really had them!"
"Why not? To the mechanical mind everything is possible except common-sense. Instead of negotiating with Allistair they'll be confident of their superiority. And, fire for fire, they are stronger. Also their tactics are perfect. But young Allistair's tactics are bound to be faulty, which means that his ships will show up where they couldn't possibly be and blow whole protean units to hell and gone. His fire-control has the edge on them in that it's unpredictable."
Babe's eyes were astern, on the colossal battles going on; on the forces being released that made a Fleet flagship's biggest big guns seem feeble. "This part of space," she said, "will never be the same. It'll be like trying to plot a course inside the orbit of Mercury. I suggest that you proclaim that fact to the world."
Bartok grinned. "More speed," he said. "I wouldn't want to be caught, in one of their fire-balls. See that?" He pointed excitedly at a moving fleck of light that had separated itself from a monster flying fort just of the ground. "That thing's as big as Ceres—and it's explosive. More speed, Babe, if you value my hide."
"I do," she said shortly. "The Colonial system, or what's left of it, is going to need a firm hand to tide over the stresses and strains of this robot's war."
"It shouldn't last for more than a few years," said Bartok. "When a force like that gets split they haven't got time for anything else. And don't fret about the colonial system. There's a lot left of it yet, and it's right in the palm of my hand."
Babe MacNeice looked hard at the Commander. "If any other man," she said, "told me that I'd make it a point to blow up this ship before we touched Earth. But I think you can be trusted."
"Algol ahead," said Bartok, pointing to a star-disk off the bow. "The outposts of empire, where they're chewing their nails about the strange noises and flashes to be seen and heard over the communications systems. We'll have to evacuate them nearer Alpha Centauri or thereabouts. Can't chance one of those fireballs hitting a planet of the system!"
He reached for a recorder and began barking orders into the mouthpiece. Before the cylinder was half grooved he had—verbally—evacuated three galactic sectors, reorganized the Intelligence Wing, scrapped the now-obsolete graving docks where no battlewagon would ever dock again, converted the lighters and tenders of the Fleet into freight ships for emergency use, and begun to draft a new constitution for the All Earth and Colonies Federation.
"That," said Babe happily, "is the way I like to hear you talk."
Algol loomed ahead.
Fantasy and the War
Just after the editors had completed this issue of Stirring Science Stories, the news came of the sudden assault upon our nation. In the days that followed, America gave thought to the new emergency. So, likewise, did the clubs of Science-fiction readers for shortly we received the following communication from John B. Michel, Director of the famous Futurian Society. We pass it on to you:—
"The Futurian Society of New York declares its unswerving sympathy and loyalty to the great struggle being carried on by four-fifths of the population of the Earth headed by the alliance of the United States, Great Britain, the Soviet Union and China against the barbarian thrust of the Nazi-Fascist-Japanese Axis It makes this declaration in the firm conviction, that the further progress of science and civilization upon which the visions and dreams of science-fiction are mainly based is dependent entirely upon an Allied victory. The shape of the Future is being decided on the field of battle of the Present. Science-fiction readers, writers and enthusiasts have no other possible choice but to do all in their power to aid and speed the triumph of civilization over fascism. To this end, the Futurian Society appeals to all science-fiction clubs, publications and readers to issue similar declarations and to do all in their power to help the United States to absolute victory."
The editors and publishers of this and the other magazines of the Manhattan. Fiction group are completely in agreement. Fantasy can play a good part by helping men relax and keeping alive the right to dream. Stirring Science Stories will do its share to that end.
