JABBERWOCK, BEWARE! By Richard A. Sternbach The aliens offered Earth one chance for survival: beat them in an intellectual duel. So Joe Waters rose to the task, grim--and drunk!... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy September 1953 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Security Council was in emergency session. The four delegates would have had easier consciences had more nations been represented, but it was hard to travel now. Only Russia, England and France were able to send their men to New York. Sergei Moskov, USSR, presided unofficially. He wore a harried look, and addressed them wearily. "To think, gentlemen, that it has taken circumstances like these to bring us into accord!" The others said nothing. Overhead, above New York's stone and glass UN building that had been conceived in hope and wrought with faith, they could hear the whine of the patrolling ships. The delegates stared at the table in front of them. "Your country, Mr. Conrad," Moskov said to the American representative, "is the mother of our last hope." He looked around the table for concurrence. Sir Manly straightened a bit, and M. Tourneau's mustache twitched, but they all nodded. What use national pride now? There was not much time, anyway. Tonight.... "He will be here?" Moskov asked. Conrad cleared his throat. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "Joe--I mean, Dr. Waters--sent an answer to our request." He read: "'I take my vorpal sword in hand. Beware, Jabberwock--I come. Joe Waters.'" "The courage of youth," Sir Manly said, but he smiled. Moskov looked at his watch. "He should be here, then." "I am." They all turned at the sound of that voice, and rose as Joe Waters strode in. Just thirty years old, athletic, brilliant. He was accompanied by a wizened character in a baggy brown suit and crumpled felt hat. "Gentlemen." Joe said, and bowed. They all sat down. "A friend," he explained, indicating his companion. "Name of Mike." "Friend _and_ buddy," Mike said in a whiskey-hoarse voice. "We thought you understood, Dr. Waters," Moskov said, eyeing Mike distastefully, "that this was to be a secret conference." M. Tourneau, who had a sensitive nose, shifted his chair slightly away from the bum. Joe said, "I met Mike in a bar last night and he's been with me since. I like his unsophisticated point of view." "Bar!" Sir Manly exclaimed, visibly shaken. "Bar." Joe answered. "For the same reason I'm here now." He leaned forward.