The Perfect Host by Theodore Sturgeon

first terrifying, harmless blow.
    The world went crazy, but it was a directed madness. With the appearance of the Outsider, all talk of the advisability of defense ceased. There could be no discussion of priorities.
    A Curie Institute scientist announced light-metal fission. A Hungarian broke his own security regulations with the announcement of an artificial element of heretofore unthinkable density which could be cast into fission chambers, making possible the long-awaited pint-sized atomic engine. A Russian scientist got what seemed to be a toehold on antigravity and set up a yell which resulted in a conclave of big brains in Denver—men from all over the world. He was wrong, but a valuable precedent was set. A World Trade Organization was established, with control of raw materials and manufactured goods and their routes and schedules. Its control was so complete that tariffs were suspended
in toto
—the regulation read “for the duration”—and, since it is efficient to give a square deal, a square deal was given in such a clear-cut fashion that objectors were profiteers by definition. Russian ores began appearing in British smelters, and Saar coal was loaded into the Bessemers of Birmingham. Most important of all, a true International Police Force came into being with hardly a labor pain. Its members were free to go everywhere, and their duty was to stop anything which got in the way of planetary production. Individual injustice, faulty diet, poor housing, underpaying, and such items fell immediately into this category, and were dealt with quickly and with great authority.
    Propaganda unified itself and came to a focus in the hourly bulletins about the Outsiders. Every radio station on Earth included that dread triple hiss in its station breaks.
    And the Outsider stayed just where it was, just lay there, breathing, waiting for its two cohorts.
    “It’s makeshift,” said Dr. Simmons, “but it might do. It just might do.”
    The colonel stepped past him and looked at the cradle, on which rested a tubby, forty-foot object like a miniature submarine.
    “A satellite, you said?”
    “Uh-huh. Loaded to the gills with direction-finders and small atomic rockets. It’ll keep a continuous fix on the Outsider during its transit, and relay information to monitor stations on Earth. If one of the ships fires a torpedo, it will be detected and reported immediately and the satellite will launch an interceptor rocket. If the bomb or torpedo dodges, the interceptor will follow it. In the meantime, big interceptors can be on their way from Earth. If a torpedo comes close to the satellite, the satellite will dodge. If it comes too close, the satellite will explode violently enough to take the torp with it. We plan to set out three layers of these things, nine in each stratum, twenty-seven in all, so spaced as to keep a constant scanning in every direction.”
    “Satellites, hm-m-m? Muscles, if we can do this, why can’t we go right out there and get the ships themselves?”
    The physicist ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “First, because if they bracket us, as in every likelihood they will, they’d be foolish to come any closer than the one that’s already here, and he’s out ofany range we can handle just now. We can assume that his ships, if not his bombs, will be prepared against our proximity devices. We’ll try, of course, but I wouldn’t be too hopeful. Second, we still haven’t a fuel efficient enough to allow for escape velocity maneuvers without a deadly acceleration, so our chances of sending manned rockets up for combat are nil at the moment.”
    The colonel looked admiringly at the satellite and the crowd of technicians which swarmed around it. “I knew we’d come up with something.”
    His brother gave him a quizzical glance. “I don’t know if you fully realize just how big a ‘we’ that is you just used. The casing of that satellite is Swedish steel. The drive is a German scientist’s