The aliens offered Earth one chance for
survival: beat them in an intellectual duel. So
Joe Waters rose to the task, grim--and drunk!...
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
September 1953
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Security Council was in emergency session. The four delegates would
have had easier consciences had more nations been represented, but it
was hard to travel now. Only Russia, England and France were able to
send their men to New York.
Sergei Moskov, USSR, presided unofficially. He wore a harried look, and
addressed them wearily.
"To think, gentlemen, that it has taken circumstances like these to
bring us into accord!"
The others said nothing. Overhead, above New York's stone and glass UN
building that had been conceived in hope and wrought with faith, they
could hear the whine of the patrolling ships. The delegates stared at
the table in front of them.
"Your country, Mr. Conrad," Moskov said to the American
representative, "is the mother of our last hope." He looked around the
table for concurrence. Sir Manly straightened a bit, and M. Tourneau's
mustache twitched, but they all nodded. What use national pride now?
There was not much time, anyway. Tonight....
"He will be here?" Moskov asked.
Conrad cleared his throat. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled
out a slip of paper.
"Joe--I mean, Dr. Waters--sent an answer to our request." He read:
"'I take my vorpal sword in hand. Beware, Jabberwock--I come. Joe
Waters.'"
"The courage of youth," Sir Manly said, but he smiled.