At last the Commander spoke the thought in the minds of all four: "We're six Spatial units apart. Maximum range of their ray is five units; ours is four. Coming head on, we pass through the gap between their range and ours in seconds--we almost made it last time! But, if we overhaul them from behind, it might take minutes to close that gap with our speed advantage." "Right, sir," McTavish agreed, "and minutes would be long enough for them to blast our spaceboat and cable away." "And then us," finished Clemens. He drew himself up. "I am ready, sir, when you give the order." Blazing anger faded from the Commander's eyes and face. "Thank you, Mister Clemens. I know you are, and so is every man of our crew. But we're here to save the System, and there's still hope. "These animals have come a long way," he said jabbing a fist toward the ship in the screen. "They think they can afford to wait us out. But maybe they can't. Mister Clemens, ask Radio to try and contact Earth." * * * * * It took long, anxious minutes to make the contact. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Parek held the ship on the same course, with instructions to close at once if the enemy moved toward them. But the situation remained unchanged, the great circle being traced and retraced through space, ray guns trained, unused. At last, Radio reported contact. Jon McPartland stepped to the visa-phone. Before him, the faint image of Marshal Denton, supreme commander of all System forces, flickered uncertainly over the great distance. "McPartland," came the Marshal's voice, thin and wavering through the poor connection. "I knew you'd do it!" McPartland saluted smartly. "We have met the enemy, sir, and stopped their advance toward the System, but--" He went on, reporting their first encounter, his decision and action, and concluded: "Sir, we can hold them here until help reaches us. One more ship--rigged as we are--even the slowest old hulk in the fleet--and we can finish them!" There was a long pause. Marshal Denton drew himself up, his face, only a dim blob on the screen, gave no hint of his emotions as he answered. "Commander McPartland, I must refuse your request for reinforcements." There was no mistaking his feeling in the next words: "Jon, I've got a System of confidence in you, but my hands are tied. The Supreme System Congress of Specialists has met and made decisions for defense--decisions that are not subject to change. From here on, I can only carry their strategy into effect." McPartland stood rigidly. He was stunned. He heard his own voice, as from far away; "And those decisions, sir?" "Every ship we have is concentrated just beyond Pluto's orbit." Denton answered. "They are arranged in a defensive pattern of depths, that the Specialists consider impenetrable." His voice was even.