ZERO HOUR By RAY BRADBURY PLANET STORIES proudly presents one of the best science-fiction stories we have ever seen. Perhaps you will vote it _the_ best! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1947. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Oh, it was to be so jolly! What a game! Such excitement they hadn't known in years. The children catapulted this way and that across the green lawns, shouting at each other, holding hands, flying in circles, climbing trees, laughing.... Overhead, the rockets flew and beetle-cars whispered by on the streets, but the children played on. Such fun, such tremulous joy, such tumbling and hearty screaming. Mink ran into the house, all dirt and sweat. For her seven years she was loud and strong and definite. Her mother, Mrs. Morris, hardly saw her as she yanked out drawers and rattled pans and tools into a large sack. "Heavens, Mink, what's going on?" "The most exciting game ever!" gasped Mink, pink-faced. "Stop and get your breath," said the mother. "No, I'm all right," gasped Mink. "Okay I take these things, Mom?" "But don't dent them," said Mrs. Morris. "Thank you, thank you!" cried Mink and boom! she was gone, like a rocket. Mrs. Morris surveyed the fleeing tot. "What's the name of the game?" "Invasion!" said Mink. The door slammed. In every yard on the street children brought out knives and forks and pokers and old stove pipes and can-openers. It was an interesting fact that this fury and bustle occurred only among the younger children. The older ones, those ten years and more disdained the affair and marched scornfully off on hikes or played a more dignified version of hide-and-seek on their own. Meanwhile, parents came and went in chromium beetles. Repair men came to repair the vacuum elevators in houses, to fix fluttering television sets or hammer upon stubborn food-delivery tubes. The adult civilization passed and repassed the busy youngsters, jealous of the fierce energy of the wild tots, tolerantly amused at their flourishings, longing to join in themselves. "This and this and _this_," said Mink, instructing the others with their assorted spoons and wrenches. "Do that, and bring _that_ over here. No! _Here_, ninnie! Right. Now, get back while I fix this--" Tongue in teeth, face wrinkled in thought. "Like that. See?" "Yayyyy!" shouted the kids. Twelve-year-old Joseph Connors ran up. "Go away," said Mink straight at him. "I wanna play," said Joseph. "Can't!" said Mink. "Why not?" "You'd just make fun of us." "Honest, I wouldn't." "No. We know _you_. Go away or we'll kick you." Another twelve-year-old boy whirred by on little motor-skates. "Aye, Joe! Come on! Let them sissies play!" Joseph showed reluctance and a certain wistfulness. "I _want_ to play," he said.