By John W. Campbell
Edited by way of John W. Campbell, Jr. Seven excellent technology fiction tales by means of such authors as Eric Frank Russell, Murray Leinster, Theodore Sturgeon, and more...
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Elora--would she be with him? Brek knew she would. His mind saw the Martian girl, slim and vivid and intense as ever. He tried to thrust away the image. Time must have changed her. Probably she looked worn from the years of toil and danger; her dark eyes must have lost their sparkle. Brek had to forget that those six little blots represented the lives of Tony and Elora, and the independence of the Earth. They were only six little lumps of matter, six targets for the autosight. He watched them, rising, swinging around the huge, luminous curve of the planet.
Starr was talking. Sonny got up impatiently and turned down the volume. "Pete! Pete! Wake up, will you? I got to tell you something. Listen to me! " "That's better. Now listen. I've just been listening to Starr Anthim—" "She's dead," said Pete. Sonny didn't hear. He went on, explosively, "I've figured it out. Starr was sent out here, and all over, to beg someone not to fire any more atom bombs. If the government was sure they wouldn't strike back, they wouldn't've taken the trouble. " Pete strained groggily toward the faint sound of Starr's voice.
The light hurt him. He carried her to a settee and put her down gently. She did not move. One side of her face was as pale as milk. He stood looking stupidly at it, wiped it on the sides of his trousers, looking dully at Starr. There was blood on her shirt. A doctor . . but there was no doctor. Not since Anders had hanged himself. "Get somebody," he muttered. " He dropped to his knees and gently unbuttoned her shirt. Between the sturdy, unfeminine GI bra and the top of her slacks, there was blood on her side.