As one of the Guardian ships protecting Earth, the crew had a problem to solve. Just how do you protect a race from an enemy who can take over a man's mind without seeming effort or warning?
"Don't you?" he repeated.
The other men didn't answer. They had settled back to their dreams, staring hypnotically at the Detector face.
"They've had enough time," Edwardson said, half to himself.
Cassel yawned and licked his lips. "Anyone want to play some gin?" he asked, stroking his beard. The beard was a memento of his undergraduate days. Cassel maintained he could store almost fifteen minutes worth of oxygen in its follicles. He had never stepped into space unhelmeted to prove it.
Morse looked away, and Edwardson automatically watched the indicator. This routine had been drilled into them, branded into their subconscious. They would as soon have cut their throats as leave the indicator unguarded.
"Do you think they'll come soon?" Edwardson asked, his brown rodent's eyes on the indicator.
Another boring story. Zero action. Almost zero plot. Some guys sitting around waiting for their telepathic enemy to attack them. The conversations consist mostly of "Are they coming yet?". Save yourself some time and avoid this one.
Interesting, if somewhat predictable, story of interstellar war with a race of telepathic, mind-controlling aliens. Well written by Sheckley, it probably fed his family while he thought up something better.
2013 SFR GALAXY AWARD WINNER
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