"Put ours up full power." Jon McPartland was smiling now, but his eyes were flashing hatred of the alien. Another ten seconds would find them in effective range. The enemy was looming in the view screen, a round glistening sphere--a ball of destruction pitted again his own slim, sleek avenger. "Screens up, sir, full power," came the response. Lieutenant-Commander Clemens had headphones clamped over his ears. He was standing by for reports from stations. He turned suddenly, face lined and taut, and reported almost in a whisper: "We're hit, sir, right through our screens at this range! Partial disintegration in section four. Bulkheads holding." The Commander was standing wooden-faced, incredulous. But the hatred was building up in his eyes until Clemens shuddered. "Through our defense screens at this range!" McPartland ground out savagely. He turned back to his view screen with a bitter oath. There was the sphere, gleaming, flashing against the bottomless black of space--catching starlight, and throwing it back as though the touch of that pure light was distasteful. What form of intelligence destroyed, killed without warning---without speech? * * * * * Clemens' voice broke into the red haze that hovered over his Commander: "Hit again, sir, Section 8. Almost complete disintegration of hull. Bulkheads holding." Jon McPartland spoke his thoughts aloud. "I saw the ray that time, just a faint glimmer across the black. It should have hit Section 6! And--and THEY have no magnetic screen!" His hand flicked a lever. "Navigation--break away! Straight course back toward the System." There was a long pause before Lieutenant Parek replied. It was easy to guess his thoughts; quitting, running away! Then he answered; "Yes, sir!" Clemens' voice, speaking softly to the intra-ship, was suddenly the only sound in the control room above the muted whine of generators underneath. Jon McPartland, his battle-ending order acknowledged, glared silently into his screen. There the hateful silver sphere shrank slightly in size. Once again McPartland caught the faint flicker of a ray, the star-studded blackness. The Commander looked a fierce question at Clemens. "No further damage, sir," said the latter. He laid the headphones aside. "I believe we are out of range. Lieutenant Parek reports our speed sixty-five Spatial Units; we are drawing away from the enemy." There was no relief in the last words; and Commander McPartland felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the other break through his own bitter anger. Clemens had been gloomy about their chances in the battle; now, the Earth ship broke away from the fight, the Lieutenant-Commander was gloomier in the belief that they hadn't tried hard enough--that they'd turned in cowardly flight. His eyes avoided his superior's.