The Zen Gun

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Around the blue, green and white planet, Ten-Fleet disposed itself with a suddenness that was intentionally frightening. On the diagrammatisation screens in the control centres of both sides, the criss-cross orbits of the hundred and forty ships resembled the electrons of a heavy atom orbiting an engorged nucleus like an enclosing web. In the first seconds of the occupation the planet’s own service satellites, a gnat’s haze, had been vapourised, the staffs of a dozen manned stations taken prisoner. Robbed of communications, the planet was helpless and nearly blind.

Meantime Ten-Fleet substituted its own satellite haze. Everything on and below the surface was being monitored at a resolution level of one to one.

Relaxing in his den, Admiral Archier could imagine the consternation now reigning on the planet. Its government would be ignorant—or so he hoped—of what he as a military man understood all too well, namely that to be in a position to blast a planet by missile, beam or blanket was merely an exercise in military impotence. The criterion of practical power was the capability to land effectives, and just as important, to take them off again.

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