INVADERS
Russ Evans, Pilot 3497, Rocket Squad Patrol 34, his seat belt, and with a push "up" into the air the ship. He himself, and broadly.
"Red, how soon do we eat?" he called.
"Shut up, you'll wake the others," a low voice from the of the little ship. "See anything?"
"Several stars," Evans in a voice. "And—" His severe. "Assistant Murphy, your manners when your officer. I've a mind to report you."
A of a around the of the door. "Lower your wavelength, your wavelength! You may think you're a sun, but you're just a planetoid. But what I'd like to know, Chief Pilot Russ Evans, is why they a ship in a forlorn, out of the way place like this—three-quarters of a billion miles, out of plane. No ships come out here, no pirates, not a to help a ship. All we can do is here and watch the other do the work."
"Which is why we're here. Watch—and tell the other ships where to go, and when. Is that ready?" asked Russ looking at a small clock New York time.
"Uh—think she'll be on time? Come on an' eat."
Evans took one more look at the screen, then it off. A tiny, unit in his hand, he pointed toward the door to the and room, and in the wake of Murphy.
"How much fuel left?" he asked, as he into the room. A room, at high speed, an "weight" for the foods and materials in it, of food a less difficult task. Expertly, he himself to the rail near the center of the room, and the spiral. Braking himself into motion, he soon its length, and on his feet. He and his muscles, waiting for the now-busied to to the and reply.
"They gave us two extra. Lord only why. Must us to clean up on some fleet. That makes four left, untouched, and two of the original pound. We've been here fifteen days, and have six more to go. The main power have about the same amount left, and three in each bin," Red, a moving coffee pot that to itself to air as it the center of the room.
"Sounds like a fleet's power stock. Martian lead or the isotope?" asked Evans, a dish him. "Say, this is energy food. I we didn't any more till Saturday." The from the energy-less, pastes that up the of a space-pilot's diet, to prevent over-eating, when no energy was used in walking in the ship, was a welcome change.
"Uh-huh. I got hungry. Any objections?" the Irishman.
"None!" Evans fervently, in with a will.
Seated at the once more, he the little that the screen to with flashing, colors as the came to life. A thousand points of appeared on a black with a that them to into being. Points, points of light, save one, a of blue-white flame, old Sol from a of close to one billion miles, and under magnification. The hands at the were now, and that of to toward him with a hundred light-speeds, to a as large as a in an instant, while the points of the to like chickens, from the sun, out of the screen. Other points, invisible, appeared, grew, and away.
The sun from the center of the screen, and a smaller reddish-green came into view—a planet, its the light that left it toward the red. It nearer, larger. Earth spread as it took the center of the screen. A world, a of a world, a continent, a of a as the increased, it seemed.
Finally, New York spread across the screen; New York from the air, with a of perspective. The did not all to toward some point, but to vertical, for, from a of a billion miles, the lines were parallel. Titanic of color in the early sun appeared; the from the sun, now only 82,500,000 miles away, on the metal walls.
The new Airlines Building, a mile and a high, supported at points by units, was a of shifting, hues. A new in had been used here, and Evans at it. Arcot, of the ship that him, had it to Fuller, of that ship, and of that building. The metal of the had been with 20,000 lines to the inch, scratches, but a grating. The result was beautiful. The sunlight, up to its colors, was in millions of shifting tints.
In the air, supported by to their backs, thousands of people were moving, where they wished, in any direction, at any elevation. There were none of the of five years ago, now. A power was more convenient, cost nothing to operate, and but $50 to buy. Perfectly safe, no skill, owned them. To the in space, they were moving, lines of that and to in the of the air. Passing over them, to pass almost through them in this perspectiveless view, were the of space liners, hulls. They were for no good reason, save that they looked and more than the more freighters, just as of two centuries earlier, with their steam engines, had four and used two. A space so minute a of its in the that it was to them.
"Won't be long!" Russ, at the familiar, city. His to the him. The view to be taken from a ship that was across the like a thing, as it ran across from Manhattan Island, the Hudson for a way, then cut across into New Jersey, over the great area of Kittatiny Park, on the New Jersey of New York in the Kittatinies, Blairtown. Low buildings, ten or twelve high, in the green of trees in the old roadways. When ground traffic ceased, the had been up, and parkways substituted.
Quickly the view out a single apartment, and the great was on the screen to the maximum clarity, till resulted in distortion. On the were white of some material, making a V by two I's. Russ watched, his hand on the the view under the Earth's motion, and rotation, for the ship's motion making the job one great skill. The view the center with clarity. Something to be to the last of the I's. It suddenly, rolled in on itself and disappeared.
"She's there, and on time," Russ happily.
He more magnification. Could he—
He was tired, terribly, tired. He took his hands from the controls, relaxed, and off to sleep.
"What me so tired—wonder—GOD!" He with a jerk, and his hands to the controls. The view on the machine retreated, with a inconceivable. Earth away from the ship with an a thousand times that of light; it was a ball, a pinpoint, gone, the sun—a minute disc—gone—then the was views into focus from the other of the ship. The did not reply. Evans' hands were heavy, his whole for sleep. Slowly, he for a little stud. Somehow his hand it, and the ship suddenly, little jerks, as the message was out in a of such power that the pressure it noticeable. Earth would be notified. The would be warned. But light, slow thing, would take hours to the of space, and radio no faster.
Half conscious, for his with all his will, the pilot to the screen. A ship! A strange, thing to the degree, every till the was at the minimum. But, in the great pilotport of the stranger, the pilot saw faces, and in as he saw them! Terrible faces, blotched, contorted. Patches of white skin, of brown, of black, and across the faces. Long, faces, great wide above, squared, more box-like than man's skull. The ears were large, pointed at the top. Their was a that low over the forehead, and ran back, above the ears, and the neck.
Then, as that of and his will momentarily, came, with what a of memories. His life to his mind in rank, a file of events, his childhood, his life, his marriage, his wife, an image of comfort, then the years, images of great and near great men, his knowledge of history, pictures of great of 2074, pictures of the of the Black Star—then oblivion, blankness.
The long, ship that had near him turned, and pointed toward the pinhead of that in the box of the heavens. It was gone in an instant, toward Sun and Earth at a speed that the radio message, the ship of the Guard Patrol behind, and the Pilot as he our story.
