[Illustration: The girl clawed at Brecken's face as he raised the metalbar . .. ] Social living requires the elimination, or at very best, the modification of many elements necessary to survival in "nature". And when an emergency arises, very often it is the person who would be considered a "criminal", in other situations, who alone is able to cope with the necessities. If we manage to eliminate "violence" from human affairs, what will we find when a need for "violence" arises--a need outside of man's artificial control of his environment? THIS WORLD MUST DIE! Feature Novelet of Dread Necessity "You have been chosen for this mission of murder because you are the only people in our culture who are capable of this type of violence. You have broken our laws, and this is your punishment!" By H. B. Fyfe Lou Phillips sat on the cold metal deck of the control room, seethingwith a growing dislike for the old man. "What you are here for, " the other had told him when the guards hadbrought Phillips in, "is a simple crime of violence. You'll do, I'msure. " The old man paced the deck impatiently, while a pair of armed guardsmaintained a watchful silence by the door. Two more men in plain grayshirts and trousers sat beside Phillips, leaning back sullenly againstthe bulkhead. He guessed that they were waiting for a fourth, remembering that three other figures had been hustled aboard with him atthe Lunar spaceport. The door slid open, allowing another youth in gray uniform to stumbleinside. One of the guards in the corridor beyond shoved the newcomerforward, and Phillips' eyebrows twitched as he had a closer look. Thislast prisoner was a girl. He thought she might have been pretty, with a touch of lipstick and akinder arrangement of her short, ash-blonde hair; but he lowered hiseyes as her hard, wary stare flickered past him. She walked over to thebulkhead and took a seat at the other end of the little group. The old man turned, scanning their faces critically. "I am in charge ofa peculiar project, " he announced abruptly. "The director of the LunarDetention Colony claims that you four are the best he has--_for ourpurposes_!" Long habit kept the seated ones guardedly silent. Seeing, apparently, that they would not relax, he continued. "You were chosen because each of you has received a sentence ofdetention for life because of tendencies toward violence in one form oranother. In our twenty-second century civilization such homicidalinclinations are quite rare, due to the law-abiding habits ofgenerations under the Interplanetary Council. " He had been pacing the cramped space left free by the equipment, theguards, and the four seated prisoners. Now he paused, as if mildlyastonished at what he was about to say. "In fact, now that we are faced by a situation demanding illegalviolence, it appears that no _normal_ citizen is capable of committingsuch an act. Using you may eliminate costly screening processes . .. _andsave time_. Incidentally, I am Anthony Varret, Undersecretary forSecurity in the Council. " None of the four showed any overt sign of being impressed. Phillips knewthat the others, like himself, were scrutinizing the old man with cold, secretive stares. They had learned through harsh experience to keeptheir own counsels. Varret shrugged. "Well, then, " he said dryly, "Imight as well call the roll. I have been supplied with accuraterecords. " * * * * * He drew a notebook from his pocket, consulted it briefly, then nodded atthe man next to the girl. "Robert Brecken, " he recited, "age thirty-one, six feet, one hundred eighty-five pounds, hair reddish brown, eyesgreen, complexion ruddy. Convicted of unjustified homicide by personalassault while resisting arrest for embezzlement. Detention recordunsatisfactory. Implicated in two minor mutinies. " He glanced next at the youth beside Phillips. "Raymond Truesdale, agetwenty-two, five-feet-five, one-thirty. Hair black, eyes dark brown, complexion pale. Convicted of two suicide attempts following failures invarious artistic fields. Detention record fair, psychological reportpoor. " His frosty eyes met Phillips'. "Louis Phillips, age twenty-six, five-ten, one-eighty. Hair brown, eyes brown, complexion darklytanned--that was before Luna, wasn't it, Phillips? Convicted ofunjustified homicide, having assaulted a jet mechanic so as to causedeath. Detention record satisfactory. " The blonde girl was last in Varret's review. "Donna Bailey, agetwenty-three, five-five, one-fifteen. Hair blonde, eyes blue, complexionfair. Convicted of manslaughter by negligence, while piloting anatmosphere sport rocket in an intoxicated condition. Detention recordsatisfactory. " Varret fell silent, regarding them with cynical disgust. His lipstwisted slightly with distaste. "There we have it, " he said. "Aviolent-tempered thief from the business world; an over-expensivepurchase by a rich playboy who became his widow by her own negligence; amentally-unstable fool who thought he was artistically gifted, and arocket engineer who was too brutally careless with his own strength whenirritated by a space-fatigued helper. I wonder if you'll do. .. ?" Phillips felt impelled at last to speak. "Just what plans do you havefor us?" he demanded harshly. "Nothing complicated, " replied Varret, matching the tone. "We need youto perform a mass murder!" Phillips blinked, despite his prison-learned reserve. He heard the girlsuck in her breath sharply, and felt the youth beside him begin totremble. "I have shocked you, I see, " sneered Varret. "Well, I assure you, itshocks me also, probably a good deal more since I have lived a normallife. However--this is the background: "About three months ago, we had reports of the outbreak of a deadlyplague in one of the asteroid groups. As near as can be determined, itwas spread by the crew of an exploratory rocket after the discovery of anew asteroid. It began to sweep through the mining colonies out therewith the velocity of an expanding nova!" "Where was your Health Department?" asked the man named Brecken in asneering tone. Varret frowned at him. "Several members gave their lives trying to learnthe nature of the disease. We have no information to date, except atheory that it attacks the nervous and circulatory systems, because thereports indicate that the reason of the victim is markedly affected asthe disease progresses. Not a single survivor is known--they all die inraving insanity. We do not even know with certainty how it iscommunicated. " "What are you doing?" asked Phillips. "Isolation. It is all we _can_ do, until our medical men can make someprogress. We evacuated an asteroid colony and began to ship into it anyperson showing any of the symptoms, using a cruiser piloted by remotecontrol. That was where we slipped. " "How?" "On the last trip--unless we have not really collected _all_ thesufferers--we lost control. Someone being transported knew hisspaceships. Shortly thereafter, a gibbering lunatic got on the screenand threatened the escorting rocket. He announced the cruiser would headfor Mars, where the passengers would demand their freedom. They are pastreasoning with. " "Can't say I really blame them, " Phillips remarked. "Blame them? Of course not! Neither do I. What has that to do with it?What has the Council so worried is that this thing will get loose onMars, that it may even be carried to Earth and Venus. There are over ahundred persons in that ship, no longer responsible for their actionsbut capable of causing deaths by the billions. We _want_ to help them, but we simply must hold the line on this quarantine until we solve themedical problem. " * * * * * They stared at him in silence, and Phillips noticed that the old man'sforehead was moist with tiny beads of perspiration. "Don't you see? They are as good as dead. No knowledge or help of mancan save them--as of this moment. If we are _ever_ to be of any help, wemust prevent a worse catastrophe. "Yes, the survival ship is a world in itself, but this world must die!" For a minute or two, it seemed to Phillips that he could hear eachperson in the control room breathing. Finally, there was a small soundof cloth rubbing on metal as Brecken stirred. "Why pick on us?" herasped from his seat on the deck. "I'm no volunteer!" "I know what you are, " replied Varret sharply. "I know what you all are. You have been chosen for this mission of murder, because you are theonly people in our culture who are capable of this kind of violence. Youhave broken our laws, and this is your punishment. "It would take us too long to find others like you who had merely neverfaced the same circumstances that sent you four to Luna. We have madeattempts to attack this vessel. Manned by normal men, our ships couldaccomplish nothing. " "Why not?" asked Phillips. "_The crews found they could not kill!_" "What?" "It amounts to that. One pilot blacked out at the start of an offensiveapproach. He lost contact before recovering--you realize how quicklythat happens at interplanetary speeds. On several other ships, therewere passive mutinies. One was destroyed; how, we do not know. " "Why don't you get some _men_ in your Department of Security?" sneeredBrecken. Varret sighed. "It was far from simple cowardice. The crews had finerecords. We have been civilized too long, so long that the idea ofdeliberate killing unnerved them. As to the one ship that did make somemotion to attack, it may have been destroyed by the cruiser's defenses, or even by sabotage. Somebody may quite possibly have found the missiontoo repulsive to face with complete sanity. " He was interrupted by a uniformed man, who slid the door open andgestured significantly. Varret paused. He nodded, and the newcomerretired. "I have only a few minutes, " said the old man, facing them again. "To bebrief, this patrol vessel is armed with the best we have in guidedatomic missiles and sensitive detection devices. Technical manuals aresupplied for everything we could think of, though I doubt you will needthem. We have brought you to within a few hundred miles of _them_. "In a few minutes, my men and I will transfer to an escort ship. We willslip in behind Deimos, not too far away, and pick you up afterward toland you on Mars. Any questions?" "Yes, " said Phillips. "What?" "Why should we do anything at all?" Varret's lips tightened. A guard shrugged contemptuously. "I was told toexpect that attitude, " the old man admitted. "I suppose it is part ofthe character we now think is needed for such an expedition. " "You could hardly expect co-operation, " Phillips pointed out. "Lawsagainst any kind of homicide are all well enough, but I for one don'tsee why I should draw the same sentence as a murderer. I had to protectmyself or die--probably through having that crazy fool blow up my rocketroom. " "You'll make a cold landing on Sol before you'll get any help from me!"Brecken added defiantly. The girl said nothing, but Truesdale muttered darkly. "Please!" said Varret. "I have no time to argue about our social andlegal codes. The Council foresaw that the threat of being yourselvessubject to this plague might not be enough. If you succeed in destroyingor even immobilizing the cruiser, I can offer you anything you wantshort of unsupervised liberty. You must still be watched as potentialdangers to society, but you may otherwise be as wealthy or independentas you wish. " He motioned to the guards, who had begun to fidget impatiently;wordlessly they left the compartment. "You can settle your relations among yourselves, " said Varret. "We choseBailey partly because she has piloted rockets privately, and Phillipsbecause he was a space engineer. Perhaps Brecken could handle thetorpedoes--I do not know. " He rubbed his chin uneasily. "Frankly, I findintimate discussion of the affair repulsive. I hope you will decide todo what is necessary for the welfare of Earth. " He turned abruptly and left the control room. They heard distant voicesexhorting him to hurry. [Illustration: 2] Brecken arose and crept furtively to the door. He leaned out to peerdown the corridor. The nervous Truesdale bounced up to crowd behind him. Phillips and the girl looked at each other; she shrugged, and they toogot to their feet. She turned to the instrument panels; and after amoment, Phillips joined her. "How have they got it?" he asked. "Controls locked?" "No, " murmured Donna. "Don't need to; we're just coasting. Nice job, though. Fast as a racer, I imagine. " "You know something about racers?" "I used to think I did, " she answered, shortly. He saw pain darken her blue eyes and decided to probe no further. Instead, he wandered about, inspecting the instruments. A few minuteslater, with a spaceman's indefinable alertness, he felt a change in theship. "They still aboard?" he called to Truesdale, who remained at the dooralthough Brecken had disappeared. The youth glanced over his shoulder but did not trouble to reply. Phillips' jaw set, and he took a quick step toward the other. Before hereached the doorway, however, Brecken returned from the corridor. Shouldering Truesdale aside, he strode into the control room. "Well, " heannounced, "the old fool hopped off like he said. Got a viewer in here?" "I have it on now, " called Donna from the instrument desk. "There hegoes. " They gathered around the screen to watch. Near one edge was the image ofanother ship, with several spacesuited figures clustered around itsentrance port. The girl made an adjustment, and the view crept over tothe center of the screen just as the last of the figures vanished intothe opening. Almost immediately, the other rocket slanted away on a newcourse. Donna followed it on the screen until the brief flashes of its jets weredimmed by a new radiance--the ruddy disk of Mars. "We _are_ where hesaid, " she admitted. "Now what?" She looked at Phillips, who merely shrugged. "What do you make of it?"she insisted. "Pretty much as he said, probably, " answered the engineer. "He's headingfor Deimos, I suppose. I hear they're landscaping the whole moon--it'sonly about five miles in diameter--and building a new space station fora radio beacon and relay. " "Does that log say anything about the plague ship?" asked Truesdalenervously. Donna scanned the observation record, then adjusted the viewer. The redradiance of Mars fled, to be replaced by a dimmer scene of distantstars. "In there someplace, " she said. "Out of range of this screen, but wecould probably locate it with detector instruments. " "Why all the jabber?" demanded Brecken. "Let's get going!" Phillips stared at him. "What's the rush? Did he sell you that easily?" "Huh? Oh, hell, no! I mean let's make a dive for Mars. They were dumb toset us loose with a fast ship. We're dumber if we don't use it!" "That's right, " agreed Truesdale eagerly. "We don't owe them anything. They owe us; for the years they took out of our lives!" * * * * * Truesdale had a point there, Phillips felt. This could grow into quite adiscussion, and he was not sure which side he wanted to take. He had nogreat urge to become a hero, but on the other hand there was somethingabout Brecken that aroused a certain obstinacy in him. "Wait a minute!" Donna protested; "what do you think you're going todo?" "Slip into a curve for Mars, " said Brecken. "Slow down enough to take tochutes an' let this can smack up in the deserts somewhere. They'll neverknow if we got out, an' we'll be on our own. " The girl turned to Phillips. "How about you?" she asked. "Don't youthink we should at least consider what Varret told us? If this plague isas dangerous as he says, this is no time to--" "Do you _have_ to be so bloodthirsty?" complained Truesdale. "I don't want to kill anybody, " declared the girl; "maybe we could justdisable the cruiser. " "Aw, kill your jets!" Brecken broke in. "I've been waiting for a chancelike this for years. Don't get any ideas!" "But listen!" pleaded Donna. "It's a terrible thing, but if we don't doit, we won't be safe on Mars ourselves; they'll land and set an epidemicloose. " "I'll take my chances with it, " said Brecken. "You're supposed to knowsomething about piloting. Now get us on a curve for Mars, an' be snappyabout it!" Donna turned desperately to Phillips. "Why not look over the ship, " the engineer suggested, "before we blastoff on half our jets? We can make up our minds when we see what we havefor fuel and weapons. " Brecken opened his mouth to object, but was smitten by an unpleasantthought. "Suppose they didn't leave us enough fuel to make Mars!" "We can find out soon enough, " said Phillips, leading the way to thedoor. They trooped down the corridor on his heels, past the few closet-likecompartments set aside for living quarters. It was a single-deck ship, with storage compartments above and below for fuel, oxygen, and othernecessities. The corridor was liberally supplied with handrails, apparently in case of failure of the artificial gravity system. About halfway to the end, another passage crossed the fore-and-aft one, and a few steps farther was a ladder. This extended up and down avertical well, which in space amounted to a second cross corridor. Phillips was right when he guessed that the door beyond opened into therocket room. The others were bored by the power plant of the ship. The engineer, however, could not repress a thrill at once more standing surrounded bythe gauges, valves, and pumps with which he had formerly lived. Hestrode about, examining and comprehending such appliances as seemed newsince his last service in space. "How about it?" demanded Brecken. "Can you handle it?" "Sure, " answered Phillips confidently. "Mostly automatic anyway. " "Then we can get movin' whenever we want?" "I suppose so. The tanks are nearly full; let's find those spacetorpedoes the old man mentioned. " "Maybe it won't hurt, at that, " grumbled Brecken. * * * * * He led the way out, but paused indecisively. Phillips stepped past himand considered the cross passages near the midpoint of the corridor. Those in the plane of the control room deck probably led to port andstarboard airlocks, he reasoned, so the others might lead to the torpedoturrets. He went to the vertical well and started up the ladder, hearing theothers follow. At the top, he was confronted by a hatch with a reddanger sign. Glancing about, he located the gauges that reported the airpressure beyond. Normal. "Make a little room, " he said, looking down to Brecken. The big, ruddy face retreated a few rungs. Phillips could hear theothers scrambling further down. He got his head out of the way beforepulling the switch that opened the hatch. With a subdued humming ofelectric motors, the massively constructed door swung down. One afteranother, they pulled themselves up into the compartment. "This must be where they set controls for launching, " guessed Phillips, leaning back against a rack of emergency spacesuits. "That intercomscreen on the bulkhead is probably plugged in to the control room. Looksas if the torpedoes themselves are stored under that hatch at the afterend. " "How do they kick them off?" asked Brecken. "Those conveyor belts run them into tubes in the forward bulkhead. Acharge of compressed air blows them out, and then the rockets arestarted and controlled by radio. " "You mean we have to point at a target to fire?" "Oh, no. Once the rockets are going, the torpedo can be maneuvered andaimed anywhere by remote control. " "I've seen enough, " announced Truesdale. "I'm hungry. " At that, they all decided to return to the main deck. Phillipscarefully closed the airtight hatch as they left, then followed theothers in search of the galley. Later, after a very unsatisfactory meal of packaged concentrates, theyloitered sullenly in the control room once more while Donna studied thecontrols. Phillips had finally decided that he could wear the thirdspacesuit on the rack if he had to. He was idly examining the toolssupplied with it when his thoughts were interrupted. Young Truesdale had been monkeying with a range indicator for some time, but now his sharp outcry drew all eyes to him. The others immediately gathered to peer over his shoulder. A needleflickered wildly from one side of the dial to the other. "Here! Get it balanced, " said Phillips, thrusting a powerful arm betweenthe crowded bodies. As his deft adjustment steadied the needle, hestepped back and leaned against the bulkhead to study their faces. Truesdale's was pale. "It's them!" he panted. "Well, " asked Donna, "what will it be?" "Whaddya mean?" demanded Brecken, red-faced. "It'll be get dam' wellouta here, that's what it'll be!" "Let's see you go, " invited the girl coolly. "How well do _you_ pilot arocket?" Brecken's jaw dropped. "Wh-wh-what? You crazy? Did you swallow all thatstuff the old man told you?" he sputtered. "Why not?" asked Donna. "They didn't bring us all the way out here fornothing. Varret was scared. If it's that dangerous, somebody just has todo it--and we're here!" "Not for long, " said Brecken in an ugly tone. "Get hot on thosecontrols. You, Phillips! Run back to that rocket room and see thatthings work!" "You try it, " suggested the engineer quietly. He would have preferred to avoid the trouble the girl had been stirringup, but he did not relish Brecken's tone. A few days off Luna, hereflected, and already he was getting independent. "Listen, " said Donna, encouraged in her defiance, "when I touch thosecontrols, we'll go right up and touch noses with them. You'd better havea torpedo ready!" She turned to the banks of buttons and switches. Muffled thunder fromthe stern jets trembled through the hull as the men staggered. [Illustration: 3] Brecken recovered his balance first. With a snarl, he grabbed the girlby the nape of the neck and shook her roughly. Glimpsing Phillips' coldsneer, he reached back and seized a heavy metal bar from the spacesuitrack. "Now, dammit!" he grated. "You'll do like I tell you! And _you_ get backthere an' see that those tubes recharge okay!" Phillips felt a hard anger swelling his throat. From the corner of hiseye, he saw Truesdale shrinking back against the bulkhead. He glancedabout desperately for something with which to parry Brecken's bar. It was the girl who broke the tense silence. With a gasping intake ofbreath, she reached up to claw at Brecken's face. Cursing, the mantwisted his head away to protect his eyes. He released his grip on thegirl's neck and swung a clumsy, backhand blow at her head. Donnastumbled, and collapsed to the deck. _Now or never_, Phillips told himself. Without waiting to think, hehurled himself forward. Brecken saw him coming, and tried to shift around to meet the engineer'scharge. Phillips crashed into him shoulder first, and they both broughtup against the opposite bulkhead with a thud. He concentrated all hisstrength into wringing the other's forearm until he heard the bar clangto the deck. Brecken clubbed him on the side of the head with a wild left swing, andPhillips found the big man's foot in the way when he tried to sidestep. He lost his balance, but kept his grasp on the other so that they wentdown together, thrashing about for some opening. Brecken was red-facedwith a maniacal rage. Beads of saliva sprayed from his twisted lips ashe sputtered curses. The engineer let go suddenly and jolted the other under the chin withthe heel of his left hand. The man arched backward, but Phillips caughta knee in the chest that sent him slithering across the deck. As hestrove to twist to his hands and knees, he saw Brecken groping for thebar. _Never reach him_, thought Phillips frantically. Thrusting one foot against the leg of an anchored data desk, he raisedhimself half upright as he lunged desperately at Brecken. Strangely, itoccurred to Phillips for a fleeting lapse of time that old Varret hadbeen reasonably astute in his selections, if he desired violent-temperedthrowbacks. Then the breath was knocked out of him as he smashed intoBrecken with a force that sent them both hurtling into the bulkhead. The other's grunt of pain was almost lost beneath the sharp smack ofbone against metal. Phillips scrambled up hastily, but his opponent laystill. Over by the data desk, Donna was beginning to squirm quietly and makegroping motions with her outstretched hands. Truesdale had retreated tothe forward end of the control room, his features blanched byapprehension. _I'll bet_, thought Phillips, _that old Varret slipped up in your case, my lad. Your reaction to violence must be what they call normal_. He beckoned brusquely. "Give me a hand with him, " he ordered. Brecken still showed no sign of consciousness. Truesdale approachedwarily, and with his aid Phillips lifted the unconscious man. With theirburden limp in their hands, they staggered down the corridor to one ofthe sleeping compartments. There, they slung him into a bunk. "He needs attention, " said Truesdale. "He won't get it from me, " snapped Phillips. "Lumps on the head were hisidea; there's no time to fool with him. " He pulled the sliding door shut, noticing that it had no lock. SinceBrecken would probably be some time recovering, however, he put that outof his mind. * * * * * Having returned to the control room, they discovered Donna sitting up. At the sight of them, she pulled herself somewhat shakily to a standingposition, and brushed back her blonde hair. "What happened?" she asked. "He bumped his head on the bulkhead, " said Phillips shortly. This was accepted without comment. They turned to the instruments andexamined the dial of the range indicator. "They aren't very far away, " said Donna quietly. "Where do you standnow, Phillips?" "I suppose we'd better do it, " he admitted. "Pretty vicious, aren'tyou?" "No!" she snapped. "I don't like it either; I've never caused the deathof any human being. " "Oh, sure. That's why you were on Luna!" She looked at him levelly in the eye, but her shoulders drooped a triflewith the resignation of one who has often been disbelieved. "My husband was a nice guy, " she murmured, "but he never did know whenhe had a drink too many for piloting his jet. He passed out trying togive me a wild ride, and I got to the controls just in time tocrash-land the rocket; that's where they found me before I came to. " "Oh, " said Phillips. "I'm not half as hard as I'm trying to pretend, " Donna went on, "evenafter a year on Luna. But I was a nurse before I was married. I'mthinking about what it will be like if this plague hits the planetsbefore they find something to fight it with. The children . .. Imaginethat, will you?" Phillips stared at the range indicator. It seemed there were times whenan ugly thing had to be done for the common good. He wondered how theold-time executioners had felt, in the days when there had been judicialhomicide. There were still jailers, for that matter, and men whobutchered cattle. "Call it a mercy killing, " murmured Donna between pale lips. "Maybe youthink _that_ isn't still done once in a while, in spite of modernsociety. " "Ummh, " Phillips grunted. "Well, if you can watch at this end, Truesdaleand I can go set up a couple of torpedoes. I hope those rocket blastsdidn't give us away. " "According to Varret, " said Truesdale, "there can't be many of themstill able to think straight enough to stand on watch. I wonder whatit's like. .. . " Phillips glanced askance at him, but led the way into the corridor. First of all, he stopped at the rocket room to check the tube readings. The fired jets had been automatically recharged. * * * * * They left the rocket room and climbed the ladder to the turret. Onceinside, Phillips spent the first few minutes inspecting the equipmentand thumbing through the manuals left there by Varret. Finally, thebored Truesdale broke in upon his study. "That old goat must be crazy to think he could toss us out here and haveus act like a trained crew. How can we even hope to do anything right, without blowing ourselves up?" "We can try, " said Phillips coldly. "It shouldn't be impossible to getone started, at least. " He found the twin control panels in the bulkhead, and pulled a pair ofswitches. There was a smooth humming and a slight click as two hatchesin the deck slid open. Slanting metal chutes rose out of the darkapertures, just behind the conveyor belts. "Look at those babies!" breathed Phillips. The snouts of two miniature spaceships protruded from the storage hold. Phillips touched other switches, and the sleek missiles were proddedonto the belts and moved forward until the full, twenty-foot lengthswere in view. "Phillips, you better be careful with those things!" quavered Truesdaleas the engineer unscrewed a small hatch on one. "Afraid I'll blow it up?" asked Phillips, peering inside. "Why not? You never touched one before. " "You go ahead and believe that, " retorted the engineer. "Now, I'll justturn on the radio controls, check the batteries, and feed the bad newsinto the launching tubes. Watch!" Replacing the hatch and securing it, he thought out the procedure to useat the remote control panels. Turning on the screen above one of themproduced a cross-haired image of the bulkhead directly in front of thenear torpedo. He tried various manipulations until he had focused theview and caused it to sweep all around the interior of the turret. Afteridly watching himself and Truesdale appear on the screen, he returnedthe view to dead ahead, switched it off, and turned to the other panel. "I guess I can finish checking, " he said. Truesdale clambered hastily down the ladder. Phillips shook his head. "Don't know what use he'll be, " he muttered. "Too bad Brecken wouldn'tlisten. He at least . .. Oh, well!" He wondered whether he himself would stand up when the time came. WhatVarret had asked did not sound like much. Just a quick shot and watchthem blow apart. What inhibitions made men black out rather than carryit through? It was not as if there were any hope for these people. Surely, it was obvious that to permit them, in their deranged state, tospread a catastrophic plague was inconceivable. But perhaps emotionswere stronger than reason. "I'll find out pretty soon, " he reflected. There was little more to do in the turret, except to run the torpedoesinto the launching tubes and bring up a new pair in reserve. With thatmuch done, he closed the hatch and climbed down the ladder. * * * * * In the control room, he found Donna and Truesdale peering into thescreen. He crowded close to look over their shoulders. A small blob oflight floated near the center of the view. "That it?" he asked. "Yes, " answered Donna. "Just enough Mars-light to show it. " "How near are we?" asked Phillips. "About a hundred and fifty miles. I have quite a large magnification, but they may spot us if they're alert. Are you ready to . .. Dosomething?" "Reasonably, " said Phillips. "Where's Brecken?" "You probably _killed_ him!" Truesdale broke in accusingly. "I found a first-aid kit and gave him a shot, " said Donna. "He has anasty lump on the head, but he might sleep it off. " Phillips was watching Truesdale. The youth was visibly nervous. Was itthe thought of Brecken, the engineer wondered, or fear of what they wereplanning to do? Perhaps it would be best to clear the air now, before itwas too late. "I guess you can handle it here, Donna, " he said. "Truesdale and I willgo to the turret and stand by. " The youth shrank away. "No! I won't go up there again! You can't make medo this!" "Do what?" demanded Phillips. "It's _murder_! You both know it is! They won't even have any warning. " "I _hope_ not, " said Phillips drily. "They might get _us_!" "You _would_ put it that way, " sneered Truesdale; "you're homicidal atheart anyway!" He turned on Donna, wiping perspiration from hisforehead. "Are you going to let him do it?" he shrilled. "Are you goingto help him commit such a crime?" The girl stared at him with a worried look in her blue eyes but saidnothing. "Come on, Truesdale, " said Phillips, making an effort at a peaceful, persuasive tone. "It will be either their lives or ours if they spotus--and millions more if they get by. They'll be too desperate to thinkof us. Do you want to die?" The instant he spoke the last words, he remembered the other's recordand wished he had kept quiet. He saw, a strange, wild expression creepover Truesdale's features. It changed into a look of hateful cunning asthe youth, began to sidle toward the door. "_I'm_ not afraid to die!" he boasted in a low-pitched but tense voice. "But how about you, Phillips? How about the big, brutal space engineerwho is proud of smashing men's skulls against steel walls, who wouldlike nothing better than to blow up a shipload of innocent people. Howdo you really know they're dangerous? But you don't care, do you?" "Truesdale!" snapped Phillips. "Calm down!" "I'll calm you down with me!" shouted the other hysterically. "I'll_show_ you who's afraid to die!" He ducked through the door toward which he had been backing. Phillipslunged after him, just barely missing a grip. "On your toes!" he shouted over his shoulder to Donna, and turned on alljets. But Truesdale, driven by his peculiar fury, not only stayed ahead asthey raced along the corridor, but actually gained. He was fifteen or twenty feet out in front as they reached the midwaypoint. Phillips, expecting him to take refuge in the rocket room, wascompletely fooled when Truesdale leaped for the ladder in the verticalwell. He stumbled, and grabbed a handrail to stop himself. The other wasswarming upward. Phillips sprang to follow. Hardly had he climbed half a dozen rungs, however, than he saw he wasoutdistanced. Truesdale's feet were already disappearing beyond thehatchway. Phillips waited for the airtight door to slam shut. Itremained open. .. . Then a thrill of instinctive fear shot through him as he thought of whatTruesdale might do--probably was _doing_ at that very instant! [Illustration: 4] Throwing his feet clear of the rungs, he plunged back toward the deck, guided only by his hands brushing the sides of the ladder. As Phillipsreached the junction of the passages, he kicked desperately away fromthe ladder. He landed with a thump that would have hurt had he been in acalmer state. Rolling over toward the control room, he came to his feet in time toglimpse Donna looking out the doorway before a jarring shock floored himagain. The deafening roar of an explosion resounded in the corridor as abrilliant light was luridly reflected from somewhere behind him. Thebewildering force hurled him at the deck; he saw he could not preventhis head from striking-- Phillips found himself on hands and knees, staring stupidly at the decka few inches past his nose. As in a nightmare, he seemed to spend aneternity pushing himself painfully to his feet. Clutching a handrail, hefinally made it. He saw Donna kneeling in the doorway, hand to head. As he watched, thegirl looked at her hand, and dazedly pulled out a handkerchief to wipeoff the blood. Then Phillips became aware of a high breeze in his face. Behind him, thesound of rushing air rose to a moan, then to a shriek. That shocked himto his senses. "_Button up!_" he screamed above the noise, bringing his hands togetherin an urgent gesture understood by all spacemen. As the girl staggered to her feet, he whirled and leaped toward thejunction of the cross corridors. He wasted no time in a vain glanceupwards--he knew what Truesdale had done. Only setting off thetorpedoes' rockets in the enclosed turret compartment would have causedan explosion just severe enough to rupture the ship's skin; if thewarheads had gone off, he never would have known it. Diving headlong through the opening in the deck, he experienced adizzying shift of gravity as he passed through the plane of the maindeck. When he had his bearings again, he scrambled "up" the laddertoward the belly turret. By the time he got the airtight hatch open, hewas beginning to pant in the thinning air. He pulled himself through atlast, and sealed the compartment. Phillips sucked in a deep, luxurious breath while he glanced about. Thisturret, he saw, was a duplicate of the other. He immediately located theintercom screen and called the control room. Donna's worried faceappeared. "Where are you?" was her relieved inquiry. Phillips explained what had happened. "The only thing, " he concluded, "is to try it from here. " "I think they must have spotted the flash, " Donna told him. "Theinstruments show a shift in their course. " "Blast right at them!" said Phillips. "We might get away with it ifwe're quick. " He turned away, leaving the intercom on. A few quick steps took him tothe control panels in the bulkhead. Guided by his lessons in the otherturret, and by faded memories of space school on Earth, he brought uptwo of the torpedoes. He checked the radio controls and ran the missilesinto their launching tubes. As he worked, with nervous sweat runningdown into his eyes, he was aware of the intermittent jar of rocketblasts. "Run 'em down!" he muttered, trying to steady his hand on the controls. He had a hand at each panel, with the torpedoes poised viciously in thetubes, when he heard Donna's shout, shrill with excitement, over theintercom. Instantly, he launched the missiles. He started the rockets by remotecontrol, and scanned the screens for a sight of the other vessel. For a moment, his view was confused by the expanding puff of air; thenthat froze, and drifted back to the hull, and he could see the stars. * * * * * Donna's voice, strained but coldly controlled, came over the intercomwith readings from her instruments. He corrected his coursesaccordingly. Then he saw the image of their target centered on one screen, so heconcentrated on steering the other missile. He made the nose yaw, butwas unable to locate anything on its screen. "You're sending one of them too far above, I think, " Donna reported. "I have something wrong, " he shouted. "I can't spot them at all for thatone. The jets must be out of line and shooting it in a curve. " Nevertheless, he fired a corrective blast on the weight of the guess, before returning his attention to the first torpedo. This one was right on the curve. He could see the massive hull of thecruiser plainly now. It was almost featureless until, as he watched, several sections seemed to slide aside. The screen showed him a momentary glimpse of a swarm of small, flame-tailed objects spewing forth from one of the openings. Then theview went dark. "Interceptor rockets with proximity fuses, " he muttered. "They'll be after us next, crazy-mean and frantic!" Over the intercom, he heard Donna exclaim in dismay. He caught afleeting sight of her face and realized that the situation must betorture for the girl, as for himself or any normal person of theircivilization. Cursing himself for an optimist, he raised two more of the missilesfrom the magazine. Hopping about like a jet-checker five minutes beforetake-off time, he made them ready. It seemed like hours before he gotthem into the launching tubes and blew them out into the void. Again, he watched the other vessel appear ahead of his torpedoes, thistime on both screens. Before the gap narrowed, he had a betteropportunity to see the defenses of the cruiser in action. A whitish cloud of gas was expelled from his target's hull, bearing amyriad of small objects which promptly acquired a life of their own. Both screens were filled with flashing, diverging trails of flame. Then--nothing. "They're heading at us!" called Donna. "Hang on!" Phillips had already pulled the switches to bring up a new pair oftorpedoes. Hearing the urgency in Donna's tone, he leaped toward a rackof spacesuits and grabbed. * * * * * The next instant, he was pinned forcibly against the rack byacceleration, as Donna made the ship dodge aside. From one side, heheard a screech of grating metal. The fresh missiles must have jammedhalfway out of the storage compartment. It gave him a weird feeling of unreality; as he hung there helplessly, to see one of the screens on the bulkhead pick up something moving, gleaming, metallic. "Donna!" he shouted hoarsely. "Let up!" "I don't dare, " she gasped over the intercom. "I lost them, but theywere starting after us!" "Let up!" repeated Phillips. "They're dead ahead of that wild shot ofours. Let me get to the controls!" He dropped abruptly to the deck as the acceleration vanished. One leapcarried him to the radio controls. The metallic gleam had swelled into a huge spaceship. The cruiser wasangling slightly away from the point from which he seemed to be viewingit. How soon, he wondered, would they detect the presence of historpedo? Or would they neglect this direction, being intent upon thedestruction of those who were attempting to frustrate their mad dash forMars? Phillips stood before the screen, clenching his fists. There was, afterall, nothing for him to do but watch. The gleaming hull expanded with aswelling rush. Details of construction, hitherto invisible, leaped outat him. A crack finally appeared as a section began to slide back. This time, however, there was no blinding flare of small rockets. Theblacking out of the screen coincided with Donna's scream. "_It hit!_" In the silence that followed, he thought he heard a sob. "Oh, Phillips, " she said, recovering, "we did it. They're--" "Hang on, " said Phillips. "I'll climb into a spacesuit and comeforward. " He switched off the intercom and dragged a suit from the rack. It tookhim a good fifteen minutes to get the helmet screwed on properly and tocheck everything else. He realized that he was very tired. He opened the exit hatch, seized the top of the ladder in his gauntletsas the air exploded out of the turret, and climbed back to the maindeck. Clumping forward through the airless corridor, he stopped to look intothe compartment where he had left Brecken. He quickly slid the door shutagain. He found that Donna had sealed off the corridor just short of thecontrol room by closing a double emergency door that must have beendesigned to form an airlock in just such a situation. He hammered uponit, and she slid it open from the control desk. It closed again behind him, and he entered the control room through theusual door. The girl helped him to remove the suit and motioned himtoward the screen. * * * * * Phillips regarded the scene without enthusiasm. The sight of the deadman had reminded him of what the compartments of that other vessel mustlook like by now. Its parts were beginning to scatter slowly. He looked at Donna, and found her regarding him soberly. "What will theydo with us now?" she asked. She looked exhausted. He extended an arm, and she leaned against him. "You heard what Varret said, " he told her. "Yes, but will he keep his word? They might be . .. Ashamed of us, nowthat it's done. Even if they're not, I can't bear the thought of goingback to Earth and having them stare at me!" Phillips nodded. He remembered the morbid curiosity during his owntrial, the crowds who had watched him with a kind of shrinkinghorror--and he had actually been responsible for saving a spaceship andits crew, had they cared to look on that side of the affair. But he had killed. That was no longer the action of a normal humanbeing, according to popular thinking. "I guess you and I are the only ones who will understand one anotherfrom now on, " he shrugged. Donna smiled faintly, just as the signal sounded on the communicationscreen. It was Varret, looking pale and strained. He listened to Phillips'account, including the deaths of Truesdale and Brecken, and apologizedfor his appearance. He had, he informed them, been unpleasantly ill whenhe had seen the explosion. "It was a terrible thing, " Varret continuedsadly, "but necessary. They were beyond reasoning with, and a deadlymenace. " He pulled himself together and tried to hide his agitation by remindingthem of his promise. He suggested that they consider their requestswhile his ship attempted to tow them in to Deimos. Phillips glanced speculatively at Donna. They would be two outcasts, however much their deed might be respected abstractly, however muchofficial expressions of gratitude were employed to gloss over the fact. He might as well take one chance more. "We have already decided, " hesaid boldly. "I hear you are building a new space station on Deimos. " The old man nodded, surprised. "We will ask for a deed to that moon, and a contract to operate thebeacon and radio relay station, " Phillips stated flatly. Varret blinked, then smiled slightly in a sort of understandingadmiration. "Reasonable and astute, " he murmured after a moment's hesitation. "Ithink I appreciate the motive. Perhaps, if that ship can be repaired andremodeled, we can include it so that you may make short visits to Mars. " He warned them to watch for the emergency crew he would send to theiraid, and switched off. Phillips then dared finally to turn and look inquiringly at Donna. Hersmile was relaxed for the first time since they had met. "Nicebargaining, " she said, and Phillips felt like the king of somethinglarger than a tiny Martian satellite. Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Future combined with Science Fiction Stories_ September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.