Beyond All Weapons

BEYOND ALL WEAPONS

The revolt was over and the firing parties had begun. In a single day in Under Washington, three thousand rebels were executed and twelve thousand more condemned to life imprisonment in the camps. And the Bellerophon hung fifteen thousand miles out of reach, caught between death by starvation and swifter death by surrender.

She was the last of the rebel ships, the Bellerophon. Sent by Admiral Correlli during the last hours of the action to the relief of an isolated community on Mars, she had escaped the debacle which had overtaken all her sister ships in contest with Earth.

The revolt was ill begun and worse ended. But the cause had been bright and the emergency large, and Mars, long-suffering colony of an arbitrary and aged Earth, had at last, as the dying bulldog seeks to take one final grip on the throat of his foe, revolted against Mother Earth.

But there was little sense in recounting those woes now, as Captain Guide well knew. The taxes and embargoes had all but murdered Mars before the revolt had begun. The savage bombardment of the combined navies of Earth had left an expanse of wasted tillage and shattered towns and the colonists had been all but annihilated.

Like her sisters, the Bellerophon was a converted merchantman. Any resemblance she bore to a naval spaceship was resident only in the minds of her officers and crew. Plying her trade from Cap City to Denverchicago, she had suffered much from being colonial-built. The inspectors on Earth had inspected her twice as often as regulations demanded and found ten times as much fault. And because she was colonial, her duties, enforced by irksome searches and even crew seizures for the Earth Navy, had all but bankrupted Smiley Smith and the line’s directors—not that that mattered now, for the company and all its people were dead in the wreck which had been the finest city in the colonies.

“I won’t surrender!” said Georges Micard, first mate. “Not while I’ve got a gun to fire! It’s their holiday. Let’s give them a few blazing cities to celebrate by!”

Guide, cool, austere, had looked at his mate in silence for a while. He said, “Your plan is not without merit, Georges. We have suffered beyond endurance and our comrades have died gallantly. And a few blazing cities would be much in order were it not for one thing: the barrier.”

Georges, optimistic, very young, was apt to forget practical details. The reason Earth had won had been the barrier. So well had the secret been kept that when the colonial fleet had attacked, every missile they had launched at the queen cities of their mother planet had exploded a thousand miles out from target. There was an invisible barrier there, a screen, an electronic ceiling. And Mars, new-formed, braver than she was sensible, had found herself unable to retaliate for the thunder of missiles which had wrenched her cities from their foundations and laid them into dust.

“All right,” said Georges, glancing around the wardroom at the other officers. “We’ll sit up here until the cruisers come get us and then we’ll vanish in a puff of atoms.”

“They won’t come,” said Carteret. “They know we are here, but they’ll wait for us to starve. They have every spaceport on Mars and Venus. We’re done.”

Gloom deepened in the room. Then Albert Firth, their political adviser, an intense-eyed Scot, honed keen in the chill clime of New Iceland, Mars, leaned forward.

“You interested me, Captain, when you spoke today of the drives for which our fleet should have waited. Exactly what were those drives, sir?”

Guide looked at him with understanding. It was time to speak. These people had depleted their own stores of ideas. Hundreds of thousands of colonists were dead, and as fast as the orders for execution could be issued, thousands more were dying. These men would not cavil at thin chances.

“I have had, for some time, a plan,” he said.

Eyes whipped to him. They knew Guide. Bilged out of the Space Academy at fourteen for one too many duels, raised by the lawless camps of the southern cap on Mars, cast off by his family, but infinitely esteemed by his comrades and former employers, Firstin Guide was a man to whom one paid attention.

“I think they ought to be whipped,” he said quietly.

In more optimistic times, that had been a common opinion on Mars. Since the triarchy of the Polar State had destroyed all free government, the thoughts of less disciplined peoples had run in that vein. Martian colonists were, more lately, refugees from the insensate cruelties and caprices of the Polar regime. And they had all thought that the “snow devils”—that strange race who had managed to adapt their metabolism to the blood-chilling climate of the North Pole, and who in half a century had made their un-exploited realm the prime power of Earth—ought to be whipped. But here, in a ship almost out of food, low on ammunition, with half her fuel gone and her cause already lost, those words drew a quick intake of breath from all. But they knew Firstin Guide. He would not speak idly.

“At Spencerport,” he began, “a technician named Jones perfected, about five years ago, an extra-velocity fuel. You all know of that. It burns too fast and has too much thrust for anything but spurt space racing.”

“I know the fuel,” said Albert. “But Spencerport was wiped out.”

“So it was. But it happens that I was loaded with EV fuel for transport to Earth when I was mobilized. I landed that cargo when I landed my merchant crew and took aboard you gentlemen of the Naval Volunteers. That fuel is cached at Rangerhaven. I was not raised to trust the expected to happen, gentlemen. I put it in a vault.”

“But what has this to do with us?” said Georges. “Sure, we can risk a landing at Rangerhaven, that’s ninety leagues south of nowhere, the most godforsaken spot on Mars. But of what value could this fuel be—?”

“Gentlemen, there have been several attempts for the stars.”

They stared at Guide, unwinking, at once stunned and elated. And then Firth relaxed. “No use, sir. Ships have gone. But ships don’t come back. That’s been a closed book, Captain.”

“If you have closed a book recently, Mr. Firth, you doubtless noticed that it could be opened again.”

They were restless then. They wanted to believe they had a chance. They could imagine they heard the firing parties at Under Washington. And they had been on half rations for a week.

Guide looked coolly at them. He had judged his moment rightly. “I picked up a technician from the prisoners we took at Americaville. A very well-educated young Eskimo.”

They recalled this, and they also recalled Guide’s insistence that they sort out the garrison before they executed the Earth infantry.

“He is down in the brig,” said Guide. And he sat back to give them his final stroke, casually, almost bored. “He knows the formulae of the barricade.”

When he saw how deeply this shaft had sunk, he followed it. “And with those formulae a single vessel could penetrate it and, with her drives alone, lay waste the central Polar cities. That done, the restoration of free government on Earth would be very simple. All that is necessary is that we take all we can in the way of technology and personnel, lay a course for the stars—Alpha Centauri first—and locate a habitable planet. That they exist is unquestionable. There we set up a colony, build our barrier-breaker and return to Earth as a combat ship to ruin Polar domination.”

He lighted a small cigar to make it all seem simple. “I think,” he said, “that they should be whipped.”

His attitude, his casualness, drove away the terrible question marks posed by the plan. Ships had gone, using EV fuel. Ships had not come back. Theoretically it was impossible to travel to the stars, but theory is a cold thing and subject to much reversal. Theoretically a ship blew up when it tried to break the “wall of light.” But there had been many another theory which, in practice, had proven wrong.

They were none of them mathematicians. They were what they called practical men. All but Firth had grown up in space travel around the Sun. The heartbeat of Mars was Earth commerce and it had been to preserve that commerce that they had fought. Therefore a stellar voyage was only an extension of what they already knew.

“I have no instruments for measuring speed nor even for navigation to the stars,” said Guide. “I have no idea whether we can ‘break the wall.’ I know no more than you what lies out there en route to Alpha Centauri. But I know what lies before us here—a firing party for ourselves and the end of freedom in this system forever. I think,” he added, after a slow puff at his cigar, “that an unknown and even dangerous adventure is preferable to a sordid certainty. Your votes?”

There was no standing out against this chance. They gave him their “ayes” right gladly and began to quiver with hope as they stabbed outward for Mars and Rangerhaven.

Going up in a puff of pure energy was better any day than going down before the grinning pleasure of a Polar firing squad.

It was black polar night when they again touched Mars. A blizzard was yelling, ninety-below cold and fifty-five miles an hour strong. And the port lay shattered and deserted, roasted into lava by the passing vengeance of the Earth Navy.

At the head of a landing force of twenty militia and against the protests of his officers, who urged him not to risk his life, Captain Guide made his perilous way toward the operations building, buffeted by the wind and blinded by whirling granules of snow.

They reached their objective and Guide and a sergeant, smashing back the door with blasters, leaped inside. They were almost shot by the startled group around the stove. They almost fired into that group. But then they recognized one another and they laid away their weapons and held a glad reunion.

There was Cadette, captain of the Asteroid V, Miller, skipper of the Swift Voyage, and Gederle, master of the Queen Charlotte, merchantmen all. To see one another alive was surprise enough for the moment and Guide, gloating now at this reinforcement, let them exuberate for a while.

“By whillerkers,” said Cadette, “last I seen of you, Guide, was your flyin’ lights vanishin’ out toward the fleet. And now, by golly, you pop up like bad money. Say, how’d you land out there in the middle of three ships? Might have ruined one of us.”

“I was too late for action,” said Guide. “It’s all over now with the fleet.”

They held a long silence after this, a bitter silence.

Guide broke it at last. “But how did you manage to escape, the three of you?”

“Fleet train,” said Miller. “The Asteroid and the Swift were carrying food and ammunition and Gederle had about five hundred marines on his Queen Charlotte. Then Cadette had a battalion of engineers in case we had to patch up Earth when we took it—devil with it,” he added suddenly. “We’re alive right now but it’s a matter of a few days until the Earth patrols locate us. You can’t hide anything as big as our stuff. We’re done for.”

“Yes,” said Guide, “I suppose so.”

There was something in the way he said it which distracted them from their depression. They knew Guide as a vicious poker player and a stealer of cargos and they respected him.

He sat down beside the glowing potbelly stove, warming his lean hands. He let them work up their own curiosities before he said, “I have a slightly different angle. An unknown adventure is better than a certain defeat. I might be able to use you gentlemen—and your engineers and troops.”

That anything in the universe still had a use for them was almost argument enough. They had come here, intending to make one last battle of it against the hopeless numbers of Earthmen and ships which must, this minute, be combing Mars for the last of the rebels. Polar night would hide them at best for a few days. And then powerful detectors would rake across the place and they would be called upon to surrender and die or fight and die. They had seen as they passed all that was left of Cap City, all that remained of Gold Strike, the ruin of Fort Desolation and the death-strewn ramparts of Base One, once the most powerful single fortress in the Solar System. Out there across the continents they had wives, children, parents, and they knew nothing of their fate. But spacemen have a certain fortitude. And they could look now at Guide.

“I cached,” said Guide, “some fifty pounds of extra-velocity fuel in a vault near here when I was mobilized.”

“Fifty pounds!” said Miller.

“Are you sure it wasn’t blown up?” said Cadette. “You haven’t seen this place in daylight. It’s a ruin.”

“When I was a kid around here, we used to get blown up pretty regularly,” said Guide, “rangers being no better than what they were. And we had an old vault in which we cached loot. The EV is down there by the river in that vault. I took most of the packing off it, so it will be easy handling. We have four ships. That’s twelve and a half pounds a ship or enough for six months’ burning. From what you say, I gather we have about fifteen hundred men amongst us including your troops, and perhaps two or three months’ provisions?”

They were breathless, expectant. They had lost one hope already and they were afraid to lose this one.

But Gederle was a conservative. “If we try to burn EV we’ll be unable to keep our speed down to finite levels. We’d be out of the Solar System in a matter of hou—” He halted. Suddenly they understood.

“But it’s never been cracked!” said Gederle.

“Well, blasting through the wall of light is preferable as a chance,” said Guide. “I never heard of a man surging through a row of Polar burners yet.”

“The wall of light,” whispered Cadette. “And then … then the stars?”

“Yes,” said Guide with an elaborate yawn, crossing his fine boots and pouring a drink. “The good old wall of light. A lot have gone out for a try, but none have come back. Maybe they exploded into pure energy. Maybe they are derelicts. And maybe it’s just so confounded fascinatin’ in the stars that they don’t want to come back. Well?”

“But do we just leave everything? The war … well, that’s lost. But how about our people?”

“The only reason I’d risk it,” said Guide with sudden viciousness, “is to get a chance to come back and wipe out these ice-brains! We pledged our lives to kill them. Earth is ours. We aren’t done yet! I feel,” he added, leaning back and grasping his drink, “that they can still be whipped. You see, I’ve one of their engineers aboard who knows the secret of their barrier.”

This catalyzed them into instant enthusiasm. Their bitter hatred had carried them far. Now it was going to carry them further. Words of savage hope rushed from them and they fell into an involved discussion of ways and means.

After a while Guide interrupted them. “I think it unwise to put all our chips on one stack of cards, gentlemen. I would like to form a colony in the stars, build the necessary equipment and then come back with a small portion of our people and wreck the ice-brain towns. If we fail to take Earth, we will at least have made it possible for our own people to revolt. But we may have to retreat again. We need a base in the stars. I think the Queen Charlotte, being a fast liner, could give us her troops and then join us after we are gone to a certain rendezvous.”

“But why should she stay behind?” said Cadette.

“I’ll do whatever you say, Guide,” said Gederle.

“We’ve fifteen atmosphere planes,” said Guide. “While the enemy is still trying to consolidate his gains here, I suggest we spend what time we can getting our families, those we can find, and women down to the Queen Charlotte. If she gets caught, she gets caught. At least the rest of us will be free to attempt the project and avenge her.”

They looked at him, the glare of determination on their faces. They knew nothing of the stars or the navigation to them. They had no way of computing their future speed. They were grasping a thin hope. And they drank greedily to it.

Just outside the giddily whirling Mercury, the three space vessels waited. They had improved their time by patching up battle damage and distributing stores. And they waited now tensely for the Queen Charlotte.

Hers was the most daring role in this part of the mission. But there was danger to the others as well, for the Queen Charlotte might be allowed to get free only to lead the victorious navy down upon the rendezvous. They were tense, then, trying to hide their anxiety, trying not to appear overwrought with worry over the fates of their own people.

A hasty canvass of the entire small fleet had netted a large number of addresses. Only a fool could suppose that a third of those to whom rescue was directed for the Queen Charlotte would be reached. Many might be perfectly well and alive and still miss the call of the atmosphere planes. In the act of escaping the garrisons, several planes, or all of them, might be blasted down. And a stray cruiser might have come upon the old freebooter holdout at Rangerhaven and blown the Queen Charlotte and all her rescued people to questionable glory.

But they worked on the Asteroid V, the Swift Voyage and the Bellerophon. They intended to go four ships as one, banded together with something more than signals. As they intended to reach at least fifty times the speed of light, they knew that they would become invisible and lost to one another in the first few hours. And so, with torches and metal bars, they were uniting themselves as a cluster of ships, all using their drives, all forging ahead but only the Bellerophon steering. They had argued on the safety factor for some time and had decided that it was better to perish as a unit than to get lost as a fleet.

But the workmen were laggard, scrambling over the hulls, clumsy in their space kits. Their eyes were continually raking the dark skies about Mercury which lay a thousand miles from them. The Sun’s corona lashed and blazed, a gorgeous sight. They had eyes only for the possible coming of the Queen Charlotte.

High purpose and higher resolve stirred them. But their hope lagged as long as the fourth ship remained unreported.

And then, at the end of the fifth day of their wait, yells of joy sang out through the ships and crackled over the workmen’s intercoms. Down from the Sun came the Queen Charlotte, intact, braking and jockeying to drift to a halt beside them.

Within the hour, Guide was reading over the intercoms of men and ships the list of those saved.

It had been hot and nervous work. One atmosphere ship had been sighted and shot down, another had been badly damaged but had come through. And one hundred and eighty-five members of the families of those in this fleet had been contacted, still alive, and rescued. At first thought, the personnel looked at this as a bad show; but then the tales of the adventure began to circulate through the ships and the rescue took on the complexion of the miraculous. Hardly a building was left standing in the major cities. All communications were out. Ice-brains were everywhere, raping, burning, looting. One hundred and eighty-five names out of two thousand was a phenomenal high.

The fates of many of the missing were known, a fact which dispelled much uncertainty, for the families were close as spacemen are close. And then, a victorious factor—there were two thousand women on the Queen Charlotte, rescued at random from the floods of terrorized civilians pouring from the towns of Mars.

They had a staff meeting on the Bellerophon while workmen put graps on the Queen Charlotte and brought her into the cluster.

The tales Gederle’s people had brought had inflamed them to a desperate pitch.

“I hope, gentlemen,” said Guide, as they took their chairs, “that we have done and will do all that we can. It is obvious that upon us depends any future freedom in the Solar System and upon us devolves the whole responsibility of rescuing our late comrades and our people. We have the nucleus of a new base. But we must remember that our primary mission is the rescue of Earth. It will take months to build up the necessary technology to crack the barrier. We must invent and perfect a most complicated device. And we must have a base from which to strike again should we, this first time, fail—for if we even remain near the Sun, we will be discovered and destroyed.

“If we reach the stars, Earth can be saved!”

They made their adjustments, discussed their courses, rearranged their personnel for cluster travel and then stood up.

Ceremoniously they shook hands.

“In a very few days,” Guide said, “we will be certain in the knowledge of victory, or a mist of pure energy between Earth and the stars. Your posts, gentlemen.”

In ten minutes their drives thundered and they were outward bound.

It ran through the ships like an electric impulse, the miracle they had experienced. It dazed them.

Nine days had passed, and here they gazed down upon a shimmering, lovely world, wrapped in cloud mists, plated with seas, colorful with continents.

Nine days!

This was Alpha Centauri. It was many light-years of travel from Earth and here they were in nine days! Light, traveling at 186,000 miles per second, required years to get there from Sol. They had made it in nine days!

The wonder of this was second only to their wonder about the planet below. An atmosphere plane had skipped off two hours since and had radioed back technical data which elated them all. Three-quarter gravity, good air, good water, wildlife, a multitude of plants.

And Guide gave the orders to strike away their bonds and land in units.

He stood, watching the rest ease to a landing on a grassy plain where a river ran, and fooled perplexedly with his pencil. He could not calculate exactly how many, many times the speed of light they had had to come to do this. For Guide was no astronomer, nor were the rest of the officers. But he had made the daring gesture and he had come through. They had not exploded, they had not encountered meteor belts. They were here and that should be enough. But it puzzled him and through the months which came would rise again and again to confuse him. Nine days to go several light years…

But the others were jubilant. Those who had had to leave their women behind them, those who knew their families to be alive still, confidently expected an early reunion. Those who had but lately watched the white fleet burst into flame and vanish before the gunnery of the Earth Navy swaggered over their chance at revenging their friends.

The selected site quickly sprouted shacks. The season and climate had been chosen for food raising and soon gay groups of women could be seen bringing gardens into being from the seeds they found there and from the various grains in their supplies.

A doctor got busy on the captive Eskimo engineer and shortly hypnotics and persuasion garnered a harvest of technical information.

Men laid out a factory site and built the necessary huts from logs and equipped them from the vessels.

It was a season of high hopes and violent effort and few there were who spent less than eighteen hours of twenty-six—the planet’s day—at their tasks.

“The enemy did not wait for us,” said Guide. “We will not wait for him to recover from the disorders he has brought on himself. The faster we are finished here, the sooner we will again own Earth. We’ll deliver her and present her with a colony and a new commerce. We’ll wipe out the ice-brains, rebuild our cities and then, of course, develop all the stars. We’ve won already. The rest is mere technical detail.”

During the next ten months of ceaseless effort the only complaint came from the women. They were not certain. The trip had once been made, true, but should they be left here with only a small fighting force to protect them, they would have little chance of building any kind of a strong colony. They wanted to know why the thoughts of vengeance which obsessed these men of theirs could not find outlet in the creation of a new world. Was not New Earth a promising land? With their technology and skill, could they not build here everything they had left behind on Mars? Why risk a trip?

Guide heard them out complacently. In his buoyant good spirits he would not hear of any failures. But at length, seeing that this new colony would indeed be helpless without manpower and good technicians, he agreed that they could have one ship, the Asteroid V. With a skeleton crew, the Asteroid would stay behind, providing at once the necessary guard for the colony and the means of going off for aid if the main mission failed. It would not carry half the people who would be left behind, being the smallest vessel, but it could go for relief. That would give the colony a safety factor. And beyond that Guide would not go.

At the end of ten months, with all the effort devoted to the barrier uncoupler, with the colony barely able to support itself, Guide announced the time of takeoff. There was a loud girding and harsh rattle as soldiers and spacemen and marines prepared for the coming action.

In the midst of departure an atmosphere pilot who had been testing his ship returned to base with news. But little attention was paid to him.

“Over that range of mountains,” he said, “there’s a lot of mounds. I landed for a look-see and, by golly, it’s a colony. Been gone for hundreds of years, I guess, but there’s a cemetery and the names cut in the stones are Earth names—Jones, Smike, Dodgers—”

“Hmm,” said Guide, his mind on getting a transformer aboard the Bellerophon. “Must be an early expedition. Old-time ship. No women. Broke down here or ran out of fuel and there they are. Well, well. Steady on that tackle, there.”

“I don’t think so,” said the atmosphere pilot. “I mean I said hundreds of years, but that place is really old. It’s a long time before space travel, looks to me. Stones all weathered away, graves sunken, big buildings all crumpled like the Parthenon. Really old. An expedition wouldn’t have gone to that trouble if they hadn’t had women.”

“Been no tries for the stars before fifty years ago,” said Guide. “Guess you must be wrong. Easy, easy now. You want to knock the side of the ship out?” He smiled at the youngster. “Been no fuel before EV that would have made the grade. You hop over and give them a hand loading your plane. Won’t be more than an hour before we leave dirt.”

Some of the women hovered on the outskirts of the commotion. One of them at last plucked up nerve to talk to Guide. “Sir, I’m worried.”

“Nonsense,” said Guide. “We’ll be back in a matter of weeks.”

“But without help we can’t construct our irrigation dam or do any of the hundred other things we’ll have to do to make this a good colony. You’re taking all the technicians.”

“Need ’em,” said Guide. “Got to break that barrier. And don’t worry a minute. We’ll be right back. I like this place. Mars is too dry for good agriculture.”

“I’m afraid,” she said. “I have a terrible feeling that you may never come back. We’d … we’d perish here.”

“Think I’d let that happen?” said Guide heartily. “You’ve got the Asteroid. You can send her for help if we don’t make it. Even the ice-brains will respect you for being the first star colonists.”

“Oh why, why don’t you give up this mad vengeance!” she wept. “It will do no one any good! Haven’t enough men been killed? Here we have the stars. Don’t throw them away! Send a secret ship to land on Mars and bring off new colonists. But forget this war!”

Guide looked at her. She was very pretty, very frail. He had a weakness for pretty, frail women. But suddenly he straightened. “We’ll be back. Don’t you worry about that! We’ll be back!”

The flotilla returned on separate courses and rendezvoused behind the Moon. They were watchful, stealthy, filled with a high spirit but well knowing that the forces they faced were more than a match for their puny strength.

They were waiting for the Swift Voyage. It had had another destination and was to join them here.

The easy passage home had raised their morale to the heights. Even a major accident to one of the ships would not prevent the return of the majority to New Earth, a victorious return to a planet infinitely better than Mars or worn-out Earth.

And then the lookouts sung out the Swift Voyage and shortly Miller boarded the Bellerophon. His face was enraged.

“The dirty little devils! The dirty, stinking devils! You know what they’ve done?” He threw down his gloves with a bang. “Mars is smashed. There isn’t a building left on it. Cap City, Rangerhaven—they’ve been disintegrated!”

The other two captains stared at him.

“We took a scout, got right down close. And there’s nothing! Nothing! They butchered every colonist on the planet. They knocked apart every station. There isn’t a thing left. Not a dam, a radio tower, nothing!”

“You got right down close? Then they don’t even patrol it,” said Guide.

“Why should they,” said Miller bitterly, “when there isn’t even a sheep or a pig left on it to be patrolled!”

“That bad,” said Guide. And he squared up. “Standby to break the barrier!”

They slashed at Earth in a vengeful V, the barrier trips running high, their guns ready, set all three to level entire cities with their blasts. Their immediate target was Nordheim, capital city of Polaria.

From the Bellerophon came a signal: “Standby to fire.” And then, suddenly, inexplicably from that flagship came the countermand, “Wait.”

They slowed. They turned.

“Shift target!” barked Guide. “Our own fleet must have gotten here before it was destroyed. Shift target to New York.”

And they curved off, these three improvised warships, and rode the curve over the rim to North America and New York.

“Standby. Range coming up. Ready—” Thus cracked Guide’s voice. And then, “Wait!”

They sheered off and the Bellerophon detached herself and swept lower. Then before Cadette’s and Gederle’s incredulous eyes, Guide swooped in for a landing and came to rest, a tiny spot of silver on the plain far below. They hovered.

And then Guide’s voice asked them if they would land.

Guide was standing in the center of a grassy place when Cadette and Gederle came up. Guide was looking with weary wonder in his eyes at a plaque which stood, aged and unthinkably weathered, where New York’s many levels had once towered.

They could not read the plaque. The language on it was not Nordic nor any other American script. And it was not European or English.

Above them blazed the Sun, unmistakable, setting in a blaze of red clouds. About them crouched the fallen towers of a city long dead.

And then stars began to show in the gathered dusk and Guide looked up to find new wonder there.

“Vega! That’s Vega, isn’t it?”

And Guide fished hurriedly through his kit for an infantry compass. He looked at it and he looked at where the Sun had set and he looked at the great, bright star.

“That’s Vega,” he said in a hushed voice. “And it is the North Star.”

For a long time they stood there, trying to assimilate what had happened, trying to understand. In them died the last heat of the battle they had sought to engage. They knew little enough about higher orders of astronomy. But every spaceman knew that once in every twelve thousand five hundred years Vega became Earth’s North Star.

That was their time factor, then. That was their time. And where was the enemy? Dead these mossy stones and ruins said, dead these thousands of years. And the atmosphere scouts they sent through the night at length came back to prove it.

Man had perished from the Earth millennia ago.

And Guide, sunk down on a fallen block of bleached granite, scratched in the sand with a stick. He nodded at last in slow and awful comprehension.

Cadette knelt and looked at the symbols and figures and then Gederle knelt down. They looked at one another.

“I was never much for school,” said Guide. “But they taught us once about this. Man must use it daily now and we all knew it well. It is the Einstein Relativity Equation. And few of us have ever considered that it had yet its second step. And yet that is common knowledge too.”

In the stillness of a quiet night, under far and lonely stars, they still knelt.

“As mass approaches the speed of light,” said Cadette, hushed, “it approaches infinity. And as mass approaches infinity, time approaches zero. It was only nine days back from Alpha. But in those nine days, six thousand years have passed by Earth.”

“We never broke the wall of light,” said Guide, bitterly, clenching his hands. “We only approached within fractions of 186,000 miles per second.”

“Time stood still for us,” said Gederle. “We’re probably the last men alive. It’s a good thing we planted—”

Suddenly chilled and hushed, as one man they stared upward at the cold, far stars.

Overhead, their colony and their women were already—six thousand years dead.