And the outnumbered Earth ships, pulling in their horns of atomic bolts, flashed away from the darkness, their rocket exhausts spurting fire. They blasted into the sky in unison, climbing above the slower Mercurian ships, and hurtled downward, their blue bolts thrusting before them, lashing at the silver ships. The Mercurian ships swung upward, lumbering, but the Earth ships were darting in and out like slashing knives wielded by agile, practiced hands. Curt Wing's tight-held breath relaxed, made a whistling sound in the plotting room. He said, "The longest chance I ever took, and it worked." His voice was very low, almost like a prayer. "Look at them run!" Packer chortled. "You did it again." He was staring into the visaplate, watching the silver ships begin to scatter away from the black Earth ships above them. "This is the knockout punch. We'll drive them away now, forever. Five years they've been nagging us and all the time they waited until they were strong enough to strike." "Yes," said Wing, "and they almost got us in the slaughtering pit by the asteroid belt. But now...." He halted, snapped into the intercom: "Attack at will, you itchy-fingered monkeys. They're all yours. Take 'em." The oval door to the plotting room burst open; a big-framed, heavy-paunched Blackbeard came plowing in. "Gee, Cap," his heavy voice lumbered. "I bin missing somepin, huh?" Commander Wing turned to the newcomer. The harsh planes of his face softened as he grinned. "Yes, Dead-Eye, I guess you bin missing something all right. Making love to Elizabeth again?" * * * * * Dead-Eye Lindstrom grinned, his white square teeth glaring through the black of his bearded face. "Yep, I sure have. Y'know, Cap, Elizabeth's coming along fine now. I jest got through placing five out of six slugs in the bull'e eye, and I warn't even looking. I jest grabbed leather and started fanning the hammer and whamo! Elizabeth put 'em right in thar." Dead-Eye patted the bulky length of the archaic powder gun strapped to his right leg. Then he jerked his hand up quickly and the white steel of the ancient Frontier .44 revolver sparkled in the light. "Pard," he said, "Pard, them were the days. You stood face to face with another owlhoot rider and reached. By gosh, you could see the whites of his eyes and whamo! You got him or he got you." "Shut up, will you, Lindstrom?" Packer snapped. "You and your ancient history give me a pain. They buried the last beef striker--" "Cowpuncher!" Dead-Eye corrected. "Three hundred years ago," Packer went on. "And where you ever found that excuse for a pistol, only Neptune knows." "Easy," said Curt Wing quietly. Dead-Eye drew himself up to his full six feet six so that he towered a full head over Lt. Packer. "Brother," he growled, and his pale blue eyes were cold, "I'll match you Elizabeth against any of these modern guns and I'll kill you so quicker that you'll have to be cremated ahead of time. Why--"