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In a dwindling spiral they circled the planet, and Murph's cold blueeyes studied the radarscreen. Things looked good: no sign of cities,social denizens or humanoids. He was scribbling notes on his desk whenthe all-wave above him started crackling.

He watched the green line sweep back and forth along the dial, finallycentering on the wave length which was broadcasting. As it focused, thespeaker sputtered in.

"... in accordance with Interstellar Code," it sounded like arecording, "... we repeat. Landings and colonizing efforts have beenpreviously attempted upon this planet. They are not welcome and havenot been successful. Change course and seek other areas. This warningis being broadcast upon wavelengths available to you and in languagetranslatable by you in accordance with Interstellar Code...." Murphyswitched it off and looked at his crew of two.

"Well?"

Forsyth grinned at him. "The hell with them! We've heard that fromevery race in the solar system—one way or another. I say we land."

Jamison shrugged. "Put 'er down anywhere. Makes no difference to me."His scarred lips tightened.

"Okay," Murph switched the set back on. The same record was playing,monotonously.

"Load up with combat equipment, boys. We're going in."

The deadly silver needle tightened the spiral course around the planet,and above Murph the speaker crackled again and went dead.

"Guess they got tired of playing that record," he muttered.

Another crackling and the mechanism blared again.

"... we see you intend disregarding our warning. In accordance withInterstellar Code, it is only fair to warn you...." It clicked offabruptly as Murph jabbed at the switch. No use listening to thisoutworld nonsense—he'd heard it all before and lived through it.

"Where's the rest of the fleet?" He threw the question out generally.

"Nine hours behind," Jamison said. "We blast in. They follow us." Thethree men were silent as they scanned the radar screen. They whinedabove a land mass and Murph juggled the controls and the ship swoopedupward, then settled slowly, riding on the jets. While they waited forthe ground around them to cool, the men climbed into combat gear. Theradar scanned the military hemisphere available and Murph casuallyflipped the radio switch again.

"... have disregarded our warning," the voice said, insistently. "Inaccordance with the Interstellar Code, we can not now be furtherresponsible...." It croaked into silence as Murph slammed the switchclosed again.

"Nuts!" he said, buckling a belt around his waist.

"Yeah," said Jamison. "The hell with them—whoever they are."

"Well," said Forsyth—he was the navigator, "now, I'm not so sure...."

"Get dressed," Murph was in command, and he showed it. "We are goingout."

... There was an oddity about the voice, Murph thought, as he dressed.The voice reminded him of his sweetheart, Sitra, back in Philly onearth: husky, throaty—and with the soft, vibrant purr of a happykitten.

... It reminded Forsyth of his son's tones, during the family farewellfor this expedition. A twinge of concern tautened his body as heremembered: one never knew when—or if—crews returned from these grimexpansion campaigns of humanity.

... Jamison had another impression. He remembered his days as aprofessional fighter and that last, rough brawl when he hadn'tquitemade champion. It still rankled. The voice was that of his opponent,in the seventh round—just when Jamison's knees started to buckle. Thesly, calculated insults in the clinches, intended to make him lose hishead. They had accomplished their purpose. He had charged in slugging,when he should have hung on—or run backward until his wind returned.From then on he became a has-been, working steadily downward, until themanpower needs of humanity had offered an opportunity to pick anothercareer. His scarred lips, remembering, were a tight line and his eyescold and uncompromising.

They'd finished dressing. Murph flipped on the radio again, grinning incontempt. The voice still vibrated through the ether.

"... that you blast off immediately or assume responsibility forthe consequences. Interstellar Code states that invaded peoples arejustified in using any tactics...." It clicked off. Murph had beenannoyed by the resemblance to Sitra's voice: perhaps he was homesick.Jamison's lips vanished into a white line and Forsyth looked around,rabbit-eyed with astonishment, expecting to see his son emerge fromthe piles of supplies and equipment. Self-conscious, none of them saidanything.

"Okay," said Murph, "Out we go."

The precision door swung open quietly and the three descended to thestill-smoking ground. Each set up his rapid fire electro-gun, coveringthe entrance and then they sat back, waiting. Nothing happened, andMurph broke the tense silence.

"Turn on the radio," he looked at Forsyth. "We can hear it from here.I'll man both guns."

Forsyth grunted and vanished into the ship. Murph heard the crackleas equipment warmed up, and listened to the voice of Sitra. Oddlyenough, Jamison tensed as he heard the voice of the present champion,and Forsyth nearly cried as his son's tones came through the metallicspeaker. But all the voices said the same thing.

"... subject to unprincipled attack to resist invasion of our homeland.This is the last time this warning will be broadcast." The receiverclicked, then dropped into the monotonous hum of a radio on an unusedbut still alert wavelength.

Forsyth returned and the three men sat, each back of an electro-gun,alert eyes scanning the alien landscape. From over a slight rise a mileoff, a figure approached the ship. Murph blinked, doubting his senses,confused, then his roar broke the silence of the strange world.

"Sitra!" Just one word, but that's all he could do. She looked as shehad when he'd left on this expedition, when they had said goodbye.Sparkling with sequins in her dressing room, undulating with feathersin the right places, she walked toward him with the feline grace he'dlearned to love.

"Sitra!" he shouted again. Astonished, he deserted his position behindthe gun and started running across the plain. Gracefully, daintily,encountering difficulties because of her spiked heels on the roughterrain, she smiled bravely and hurried toward him.

Forsyth saw the approaching figure too. He tensed with disbelief andsurprise and then his voice rose excitedly.

"Jimmy,Jimmy!" What was his boy doinghere? Reason faded as hewatched his nine-year-old son stumbling toward the ship. He unfastenedhis harness and slipped from behind the gun:his boy on an alienplanet, confronting unknown dangers! He must—must—get him back tothe ship and the little ring of certainty behind the guns. Forsythstarted across the level space, grateful that the towering hulk ofMurph had recognized his boy and would, on this unknown world, helpbring the kid back to comparative safety. In six hours, now, thefleet would be here. The boy could be sent home on one of the capitalships....

Behind him Jamison watched the two figures running away. His face frozeinto granite. Rage and resentment surged within him. Across the plainhe saw the man who had stolen, yes,stolen, the championship fromhim. The fighter loped toward him casually, sneering and confident.Jamison felt a surge like an electric shock across his shoulders. Histeeth ground together and he could hear their roaring within his ears.Deliberately he moved from behind his gun, started at a fighter's dogtrot toward his opponent. It occurred to him that Murph and Forsythwould beat him there. He was glad they were willing to help, but forthe sake of his own integrity he considered thishis fight.

Jamison ran swiftly then. He passed Forsyth and Murph, determined to bethe first to reach the one man he hated. He sprinted eagerly, suckingthe strange air chemicals of this world into his lungs. He was shortof breath. Behind him he heard the heavy thudding of Murph plungingand plowing toward him, and in addition, the light but rapid steps ofForsyth. By now he didn't care. He was confronting his opponent.

Dropping into a crouch, Jamison moved in. Feet wide, tense; therewould be no mistake, no error, this time. His fist lashed out andhis opponent fell on the strange and powdery dust of a strange worldmillions of miles from their first fight.

The man started struggling up—and again flat-footed, tense, fists likecrunching sledge hammers, Jamison dove at him.

And then it happened. Murph hit Jamison from the side. Raw and chokingwith rage, Murph clubbed, groped, kicked, fouled, until the ex-fighterfell in the pale and strange dust. Murph's voice was hoarse and shaking:

"Hit my woman, will you!" he screamed in rage.

Jamison tried to rally, but each time he moved Murph's fists slammedagainst his face and head.

There was a final crash as the back of his head struck against therocks on the ground. Jamison lay in the dust on an alien planet andfrom behind his right ear gray and reddish matter oozed. He didn't move.

Murph stood up. He looked again at Sitra. He was choked and tired,standing there, and as he grasped for breath, Forsyth ran by him, ranup to her. Angrily he watched. Forsyth running up tohis woman! Whatwas wrong with these men? Murph saw Forsyth put his arms around Sitra,and say—meaninglessly to Murph—"Jimmy, Jimmy!"

Again a red rage filled Murph. He dove forward, smashed into Forsyth,and the navigator reeled backwards. As he fell back, his feet tangledin the scrubby vegetation of the planet, he reached toward his belt andhis electro-gun jerked free from the holster. He saw the bull shape ofMurph over him, an enraged beast, and as he fell, the twin electrodesshot out an energy stream. Fear and hatred tensed his nerves, butdespite the emotion, he set the range right. The sparks arced togetherjust in front of the great bulk of Murph. There was a crackling andthe smell of burning flesh, then a surprised look upon Murph's face.The surprise turned to rage and the last thing Forsyth saw was Murphfalling down on him, his clothes and his chest burned away until theribs showed, animal rage welling from his lips.

A figure stood fifty feet away and watched this drama. Murph, bloodcoughing from his mouth and nose, the great muscles of his chestnothing but crisp burned meat, reached for Forsyth, picked him up,holding him over his head as an ape would a man, and slammed him againand again to the ground.

The final time Murph tried to lift Forsyth, his strength gave out. Hedropped Forsyth's limp form, coughed in a final paroxysm, and fellbeside Forsyth and Jamison.

The figure which stood fifty feet away turned and walked leisurelyback over the rise.

Now, it was not a fighter, and it was not Jimmy, and it was not Sitra.It was a denizen of the planet and it looked like no human.

Shortly thereafter the all-wave radio in the deadly, powerful silveryneedle standing serenely on the strange world blared again.

"... in accordance with Interstellar Code we have asked that we not beinvaded and are warning you that according to Article 19, Section 3,fleets which invade a peaceful people become subject to unprincipledattack, even to the use of psychological weapons."

Five hours away the main fleet streaked toward the planet. The Admirallooked at the tape reports from the scout ship and at transcripts ofthe recorded warning.

"Nuts!" he said. "We go in."

He felt an odd, intuitive twinge. The voice was so much like hismother's—and she hadn't been well when he'd last seen her. Besidehim the Radioman busily, tersely, sent out landing instructions. Hefelt irritable: the voice had sounded just like Peggy—that no-good,cheating!... He shrugged: just imagination.

In a diminishing spiral, the fleet swung around the planet while theAdmiral scanned the screen for a free landing site.