e men terrified
almost to the point of insanity."

"Jim, if you'd seen ..."

Rothwell interrupted. "I know. Five radioactive planets with the fresh
scars of cobalt bombs and the remains of civilizations. Then radar
screens erupting crazily with signals from a multi-thousand ship space
fleet; vector computers hurriedly plotting and re-plotting the
fast-moving trajectory, submitting each time an unvarying answer for the
fleet's destination--our own solar system." He slapped his hand flat
against the desk. "The point is, Doc, it's not much to go on, and we
don't dare send another ship to check for fear of attracting attention
to ourselves. If we could only be _sure_."

"Jim," over the intercom, Philips' voice seemed to waver slightly,
"those men honestly saw what they say. I'd stake my life on it."

"All of us are, Doc." He flipped the off button. Just thirty days now,
since the scout ship _Leo's_ discovery and the panicked dash for home
with the warning. Not that the warning was worth much, he reflected,
Earth had no space battle fleet. There had never been any reason to
build one.

Then, two weeks ago, Aku's trading fleet had descended from nowhere,
having blundered, he said, across Earth's orbit while on a new route
between two distant star clusters. When told of the impending attack,
Aku immediately offered to cancel his trip and evacuate as many humans
as his ships could hold, so that humanity would at least survive,
somewhere in the galaxy. Earth chose to accept his offer.

"Hobson's choice," Rothwell growled to himself. "No choice at all."
After years of handling hot and cold local wars and crises of every
description, his military mind had become conditioned to a complete
disbelief in fortuitous coincidence, and he gagged at the thought of Aku
"just happening by." Still frowning, he punched a yellow button on his
desk, and reviewed in his mind the things he wanted to say.

* * * * *

"Jim! Isn't everything all right?"

Chagrined, Rothwell scrambled to his feet, the President had never
answered so quickly before. He faced the screen on the wall to his right
and saluted, amazed once again at how old the man looked. Sparse white
hair criss-crossed haphazardly over the President's head, his face was
lined with deep trenches that not even the most charitable could call
wrinkles, and the faded eyes that stared from deep caverns no longer
radiated the flaming vitality that had ins