Battlefield In Black

By GEORGE A. WHITTINGTON

The Avenger was waging its deadliest
fight—in a battlefield where weapons were useless.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1945.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


A lovely image shimmered on the visa-phone screen in Captain JonMcPartland's cabin. He stood before the instrument, drinking in thevision with his eyes, and feeling it race through his blood like arocket wash. But his square jaw was set in a determined line, and hisbig hands were clenched hard.

The vision was Almira Denton, whose hair was a red-gold nebula, whoseeyes were the cool green of Terra itself. To Jon McPartland, she wasmuch more than just the daughter of his superior, Marshal Denton,Supreme Commander of all Solar System forces.

A memory of her soft lips had been with him through long weeks ofdangerous outer planet patrol. Now, bringing his sleek battle cruiser,Avenger, homeward, he reached toward her over maximum visa-phonerange. Jon tried to keep anger from his blue eyes as he answered hersuggestion.

"Almira, I don't care if you are a full-blown psychologist now andaching to qualify for the Congress of Specialists! You can't make acase report out of me."

"Now, Jon, dear," pleaded the girl softly, "you know how father needshelp with Congress. Our scientists make the laws—but they think ofscience, and neglect System Defenses. I could make them listen!"

There was persuasion in her throaty voice that convinced McPartland shecould do exactly that. He knew, too, there was real cause for worryabout System Defense. The planets had long been disarmed. Only theCongress of Specialists had power to maintain armed forces.

It had neglected bases and fighting units for years. The Space Patrolalone remained as a weapon for law and safety—and it took all thefighting heart of Marshal Denton to get purchase credits for that! Ifinvaders ever struck—

Jon shuddered, his anger slipping away. "I know, Almira," he murmured,"I know. But why serve me up to the Specialists on a platter? You canpsychoanalyze somebody else."

Almira shook her radiant head in dissent. "The Eligibility Committeeonly certifies candidates for election if they present outstanding work.

"An analysis of you would be outstanding because you're a popular hero,Jon. You've just destroyed a powerful alien ship—been promoted! I'd becertified. Earth would elect me to Congress!"


She stood before the visa-phone in the Denton home. Jon McPartlandvisualized her among the Specialists. He could see her slim, perfectfigure in abbreviated formal dress, arresting attention like a shaft ofwarm sunshine in a musty vault. The Specialists would listen to her!

An emotion from below his consciousness pushed the realization aside.He was a man, and this was the woman he loved! "Almira," he saidslowly, "I wouldn't mind if it were someone else—but I can't—I won'tbe just a guinea pig to you!"

The girl came closer to the screen, her eyes alight with eagerness."Think of what it would mean to the Marshal, Jon—and to the Patrol!You'd be a perfect subject Jon. You're—well, impulsive, and—"

"Before you studied psychology," he flared, "you called mequick-tempered, maladjusted!"

McPartland felt the muscles bunch along his jaw, and drew anger fromthe memory of a long forgotten quarrel to force back a sick heavinessin his stomach. "Maybe I am all that, Almira—even atavistic, you saidthen. But I'm more than a specimen in a glass box."

He stopped suddenly. Almira's beautiful face had faded from thevisa-phone screen. There had been no cut-off click from

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