Malevolent death reared out of inky space before the hurtling liner. From it a frantic voice reached Commander Gray--"You know what to do!" He smiled grimly. Yes, he knew what to do....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1946. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Fifth Sector Commander was known as a rigid man, that was true, and yet no one could say exactly how rigid.
His office, aboard the _Polaris_, was a rather grim place. All command offices were, essentially, being limited pretty much to regulation furnishings, but rare was the Commander who did not manage to plant some of his personality there. It was perhaps characteristic of Commander Gray that there was only one item in his office which could be said to reveal anything about him.
He sat now behind the cubical steel desk and looked down at the glowing screen of the television set. The face in it was not at ease. Far from it.
Ordinarily, John Brullar, the Commissioner over Gray, was a self-important, unconsciously comical person. Now he looked neither comical nor important. He just looked very, very frightened.
He licked his trembling lips and said, in a voice hoarse with fear, "Of _course_ there is something you can do, Commander! After all," he brightened faintly, "there are important people on the _Stella_. Important people." He emphasized "important."
"I am aware of that, Commissioner Brullar," said the Commander. "Yet, what can I do?"
"You have authority!" sputtered Brullar. "And you know what you can _do_! Get through to Interstellar Command on Sirius VII and tell them just exactly what these Beolins are up to!" He glared, a fat man in mortal fear for his life. "And you can do it quickly, Commander! Quickly, do you understand?"
"Good." Brullar started to speak again, gulped, hesitated, and finally repeated, "Good." He switched off.
The Commander gazed reflectively down the catwalk, through the ship, at the faint glimmer of green outside of an open lock. There was a turbulence deep in his steel-colored eyes. He tapped a small stud with a slim, tapering forefinger.
Kina wasn't all Solarian. He had enough Sol blood in him to make him one in almost every respect, but there were differences, if you looked closely. He was the Commander's personal aide. There was actually more than that between them. The tremendousness of all the Commander governed--and which Kina helped him run--made for a rather involved relationship.