A Question Of Courage By J. F. BONE Illustrated by FINLAY _I smelled the trouble the moment I stepped on the lift and took the long ride up the side of the "Lachesis. " There was something wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it but_ five years in the Navy gives a man a feeling for these things. From theoutside the ship was beautiful, a gleaming shaft of duralloy, polisheduntil she shone. Her paint and brightwork glistened. The antiradiationshields on the gun turrets and launchers were folded back exactlyaccording to regulations. The shore uniform of the liftman was spotlessand he stood at his station precisely as he should. As the lift movedslowly up past no-man's country to the life section, I noted a workparty hanging precariously from a scaffolding smoothing out meteoritepits in the gleaming hull, while on the catwalk of the gantry standingbeside the main cargo hatch a steady stream of supplies disappeared intothe ship's belly. I returned the crisp salutes of the white-gloved sideboys, saluted thecolors, and shook hands with an immaculate ensign with an O. D. Badge onhis tunic. "Glad to have you aboard, sir, " the ensign said. "I'm Marsden, " I said. "Lieutenant Thomas Marsden. I have orders postingme to this ship as Executive. " "Yes, sir. We have been expecting you. I'm Ensign Halloran. " "Glad to meet you, Halloran. " "Skipper's orders, sir. You are to report to him as soon as you comeaboard. " Then I got it. Everything was SOP. The ship wasn't taut, she was tight!And she wasn't happy. There was none of the devil-may-care spirit thatmarks crews in the Scouting Force and separates them from the stodgymass of the Line. Every face I saw on my trip to the skipper's cabin wasblank, hard-eyed, and unsmiling. There was none of the human noise thatnormally echoes through a ship, no laughter, no clatter of equipment, nodeviations from the order and precision so dear to admirals' hearts. This crew was G. I. Right down to the last seam tab on their uniforms. Whoever the skipper was, he was either bucking for another cluster or acold-feeling automaton to whom the Navy Code was father, mother, andBible. [Illustration] The O. D. Stopped before the closed door, executed a mechanical rightface, knocked the prescribed three times and opened the door smartly onthe heels of the word "Come" that erupted from the inside. I stepped infollowed by the O. D. "Commander Chase, " the O. D. Said. "Lieutenant Marsden. " Chase! Not Cautious Charley Chase! I could hardly look at the man behindthe command desk. But look I did--and my heart did a ninety degree divestraight to the thick soles of my space boots. No wonder this ship wassour. What else could happen with Lieutenant Commander Charles AugustusChase in command! He was three classes up on me, but even though he wasa First Classman at the time I crawled out of Beast Barracks, I knewhim well. Every Midshipman in the Academy knew him--Rule-BookCharley--By-The-Numbers Chase--his nicknames were legion and not one ofthem was friendly. "Lieutenant Thomas Marsden reporting for duty, " Isaid. He looked at the O. D. "That'll be all, Mr. Halloran, " he said. "Aye, sir, " Halloran said woodenly. He stepped backward, saluted, executed a precise about face and closed the hatch softly behind him. * * * * * "Sit down, Marsden, " Chase said. "Have a cigarette. " He didn't say, "Glad to have you aboard. " But other than that he wasNavy right down to the last parenthesis. His voice was the same dryschoolmaster's voice I remembered from the Academy. And his face was thesame dry gray with the same fishy blue eyes and rat trap jaw. His hairwas thinner, but other than that he hadn't changed. Neither the war northe responsibilities of command appeared to have left their mark uponhim. He was still the same lean, undersized square-shouldered blob ofnastiness. I took the cigarette, sat down, puffed it into a glow, and looked aroundthe drab 6 x 8 foot cubicle called the Captain's cabin by ship designerswho must have laughed as they laid out the plans. It had about the roomof a good-sized coffin. A copy of the Navy Code was lying on the desk. Chase had obviously been reading his bible. "You are three minutes late, Marsden, " Chase said. "Your orders directyou to report at 0900. Do you have any explanation?" "No, sir, " I said. "Don't let it happen again. On this ship we are prompt. " "Aye, sir, " I muttered. He smiled, a thin quirk of thin lips. "Now let me outline your duties, Marsden. You are posted to my ship as Executive Officer. An ExecutiveOfficer is the Captain's right hand. " "So I have heard, " I said drily. "Belay that, Mr. Marsden. I do not appreciate humor during duty hours. " You wouldn't, I thought. "As I was saying, Marsden, Executive Officer, you will be responsiblefor--" He went on and on, covering the Code--chapter, book and verse onthe duties of an Executive Officer. It made no difference that I hadbeen Exec under Andy Royce, the skipper of the "Clotho, " the ship withthe biggest confirmed kill in the entire Fleet Scouting Force. I wasstill a new Exec, and the book said I must be briefed on my duties. So"briefed" I was--for a solid hour. Feeling angry and tired, I finally managed to get away from Rule BookCharley and find my quarters which I shared with the Engineer. I knewhim casually, a glum reservist named Allyn. I had wondered why he alwaysseemed to have a chip on his shoulder. Now I knew. He was lying in his shock-couch as I came in. "Welcome, sucker, " hegreeted me. "Glad to have you aboard. " "The feeling's not mutual, " I snapped. "What's the matter? Has the Lieutenant Commander been rolling you out onthe red carpet?" "You could call it that, " I said. "I've just been told the duties of anExec. Funny--no?" He shook his head. "Not funny. I feel for you. He told me how to be anengineer six months ago. " Allyn's thin face looked glummer than usual. "Did I ever tell you about our skip--captain?" Allyn went on. "Or do Ihave to tell you? I see you're wearing an Academy ring. " "You can't tell me much I haven't already heard, " I said coldly. I don'tlike wardroom gossips as a matter of policy. A few disgruntled men on aship can shoot morale to hell, and on a ship this size the Exec is themorale officer. But I was torn between two desires. I wanted Allyn to goon, but I didn't want to hear what Allyn had to say. I was like theproverbial hungry mule standing halfway between two haystacks of equalsize and attractiveness. And like the mule I would stand there turningmy head one way and the other until I starved to death. But Allyn solved my problem for me. "You haven't heard _this_, " he saidbitterly. "The whole crew applied for transfer when we came back to baseafter our last cruise. Of course, they didn't get it, but you get theidea. Us reservists and draftees get about the same consideration as theAdmiral's dog--No! dammit!--Less than the dog. They wouldn't let a mangycur ship out with Gutless Gus. " Gutless Gus! that was a new one. I wondered how Chase had managed toacquire that sobriquet. * * * * * "It was on our last patrol, " Allyn went on, answering my question beforeI asked it. "We were out at maximum radius when the detectors showed adisturbance in normal space. Chase ordered us down from Cth for a quicklook--and so help me, God, we broke out right in the middle of a Rebelsupply convoy--big, fat, sitting ducks all around us. We got off abouttwenty Mark VII torpedoes before Chase passed the word to change over. We scooted back into Cth so fast we hardly knew we were gone. And thenhe raises hell with Detector section for not identifying every class ofship in that convoy! "And when Bancroft, that's the Exec whom you've relieved, asked for aquick check to confirm our kills, Chase sat on him like a ton of brick. 'I'm not interested in how many poor devils we blew apart back there, 'our Captain says. 'Our mission is to scout, to obtain information aboutenemy movements and get that information back to Base. We cannottransmit information from a vaporized ship, and that convoy had a navalescort. Our mission cannot be jeopardized merely to satisfy morbidcuriosity. Request denied. And, Mr. Bancroft, have Communicationscontact Fleet. This information should be in as soon as possible. ' Andthen he turned away leaving Bancroft biting his fingernails. He wouldn'teven push out a probe--scooted right back into the blue where we'd besafe! "You know, we haven't had one confirmed kill posted on the list sincewe've been in space. It's getting so we don't want to come in any more. Like the time--the 'Atropos' came in just after we touched down. She wasbattered--looked like she'd been through a meat grinder, but she had tenconfirmed and six probable, and four of them were escorts! Hell! Ourboys couldn't hold their heads up. The 'Lachesis' didn't have a mark onher and all we had was a few possible hits. You know how itgoes--someone asks where you're from. You say the 'Lachesis' and theysay 'Oh, yes, the cruise ship. ' And that's that. It's so true you don'teven feel like resenting it. " I didn't like the bitter note in Allyn's voice. He was a reservist, which made it all the worse. Reservists have ten times the outsidecontacts we regulars do. In general when a regular and reservist tangle, the Academy men close ranks like musk-oxen and meet the challenge withan unbroken ring of horns. But somehow I didn't feel like ringing up. I kept hoping there was another side to the story. I'd check around andfind out as soon as I got settled. And if there was another side, I wasgoing to take Allyn apart as a malicious trouble-maker. I felt sick tomy stomach. * * * * * We spent the next three days taking on stores and munitions, and I wastoo busy supervising the stowage and checking manifests to bother aboutrunning down Allyn's story. I met the other officers--Lt. Pollard thegunnery officer, Ensign Esterhazy the astrogator, and Ensign Blakiston. Nice enough guys, but all wearing that cowed, frustrated look thatseemed to be a "Lachesis" trademark. Chase, meanwhile, was up in FlagOfficer's Country picking up the dope on our next mission. I hoped thatAllyn was wrong but the evidence all seemed to be in his favor. Evenmore than the officers, the crew was a mess underneath their cleanuniforms. From Communications Chief CPO Haskins to Spaceman Zelinskithere was about as much spirit in them as you'd find in a punishmentdetail polishing brightwork in Base Headquarters. I'm a cheerful soul, and usually I find no trouble getting along with a new command, but thisone was different. They were efficient enough, but one could see thattheir hearts weren't in their work. Most crews preparing to go out arenervous and high tempered. There was none of that here. The men wentthrough the motions with a mechanical indifference that was frightening. I had the feeling that they didn't give a damn whether they went ornot--or came back or not. The indifference was so thick you could cut itwith a knife. Yet there was nothing you could put your hand on. Youcan't touch people who don't care. Four hours after Chase came back, we lifted gravs from Earth. Chase wassitting in the control chair, and to give him credit, we lifted assmooth as a silk scarf slipping through the fingers of a pretty woman. We hypered at eight miles and swept up through the monochromes of Cthuntil we hit middle blue, when Chase slipped off the helmet, unfastenedhis webbing, and stood up. "Take over, Mr. Marsden, " he said. "Lay a course for Parth. " "Aye, sir, " I replied, slipping into the chair and fastening the web. Islipped the helmet on my head and instantly I was a part of the ship. It's a strange feeling, this synthesis of man and metal that makes afighting ship the metallic extension of the Commander's will. I wasconscious of every man on duty. What they saw I saw, what they heard Iheard, through the magic of modern electronics. The only thing missingwas that I couldn't feel what they felt, which perhaps was a mercyconsidering the condition of the crew. Using the sensor circuits in thecommand helmet, I let my perception roam through the ship, checking theengines, the gun crews, the navigation board, the galley--all themanifold stations of a fighting ship. Everything was secure, the shipwas clean and trimmed, the generators were producing their megawatts ofpower without a hitch, and the converters were humming contentedly, keeping us in the blue as our speed built to fantastic levels. I checked the course, noted it was true, set the controls on standby andrelaxed, half dozing in the chair as Lume after Lume dropped astern withmonotonous regularity. An hour passed and Halloran came up to relieve me. With a sigh of reliefI surrendered the chair and headset. The unconscious strain of being inrapport with ship and crew didn't hit me until I was out of the chair. But when it did, I felt like something was crushing me flat. Not that Ididn't expect it, but the "Lachesis" was worse than the "Clotho" hadever been. I had barely hit my couch when General Quarters sounded. I smothered acurse as I pounded up the companionway to my station at the bridge. Chase was there, stopwatch in hand, counting the seconds. "Set!" Halloran barked. "Fourteen seconds, " Chase said. "Not bad. Tell the crew well done. " Heput the watch in his pocket and walked away. I picked up the annunciator mike and pushed the button. "Skipper sayswell done, " I said. "He got ten seconds out of us once last trip, " Halloran said. "And he'sbeen trying to repeat that fluke ever since. Bet you a munit to an 'F'ration that he'll be down with the section chief trying to shave offanother second or two. Hey!--what's that--oh . .. " He looked at me. "Disturbance in Cth yellow, straight down--shall we go?" "Stop ship, " I ordered. "Sound general quarters. " There was nodeceleration. We merely swapped ends as the alarm sounded, applied fullpower and stopped. That was the advantage of Cth--no inertia. Webacktracked for three seconds and held in middle blue. * * * * * "What's going on?" Chase demanded as he came up from below. His eyesraked the instruments. "Why are we stopped?" "Disturbance in Cth yellow, sir, " I said. "We're positioned above it. " "Very good, Mr. Marsden. " He took the spare helmet from the Exec'schair, clapped it on, fiddled with the controls for a moment, nodded, and took the helmet off. "Secure and resume course, " he said. "That'sthe 'Amphitrite'--fleet supply and maintenance. One of our people. " "You sure, sir?" I asked, and then looked at the smug grin on Halloran'sface and wished I hadn't asked. "Of course, " Chase said. "She's a three converter job running at fulloutput. Since the Rebels have no three converter ships, she has to beone of ours. And since she's running at full output and only in Cthyellow, it means she's big, heavy, and awkward--which means amaintenance or an ammunition supply ship. There's an off phase beat inher number two converter that gives a twenty cycle pulse to her pattern. And the only heavy ship in the fleet with this pattern is 'Amphitrite. 'You see?" I saw--with respect. "You know all the heavies like that, sir?" I asked. "Not all of them--but I'd like to. It's as much a part of a scoutshipcommander's work to know our own ships as those of the enemy. " "Could that trace be a Rebel ruse?" "Not likely--travelling in the yellow. A ship would be cold meat thisfar inside our perimeter. And besides, there's no Rebel alive who cantune a converter like a Navy mechanic. " "You sure?" I persisted. "I'm sure. But take her down if you wish. " I did. And it was the "Amphitrite. " "I served on her for six months, " Chase said drily as we went backthrough the components. I understood his certainty now. A man has afeeling for ships if he's a good officer. But it was a trait I'd neverexpected in Chase. I gave the orders and we resumed our band and speed. Chase looked at me. "You acted correctly, Mr. Marsden, " he said. "Something I would hardlyexpect, but something I was glad to see. " "I served under Andy Royce, " I reminded him. "I know, " Chase replied. "That's why I'm surprised. " He turned awaybefore I could think of an answer that would combine insolence andrespect for his rank. "Keep her on course, Mr. Halloran, " he tossed overhis shoulder as he went out. We kept on course--high and hard despite a couple of disturbances thatlumbered by underneath us. Once I made a motion to stop ship and check, but Halloran shook his head. "Don't do it, sir, " he warned. "Why not?" "You heard the Captain's orders. He's a heller for having them obeyed. Besides, they might be Rebs--and we might get hurt shooting at them. We'll just report their position and approximate course--and keep ontravelling. Haskins is on the Dirac right now. " Halloran's voice wassarcastic. I didn't like the sound of it, and said so. "Well, sir--we won't lose them entirely, " Halloran said comfortingly. "Some cruiser will investigate them. Chances are they're oursanyway--and if they aren't there's no sense in us risking our nice shinyskin stopping them--even though we could take them like Lundy tookKoromaja. Since the book doesn't say we have to investigate, we won't. "His voice was bitter again. At 0840 hours on the fourth day out, my annunciator buzzed. "Sir, " thetalker's voice came over the intercom, "Lieutenants Marsden and Allynare wanted in the Captain's quarters. " * * * * * Chase was there--toying with the seals of a thin, brown envelope. "Ihave to open this in the presence of at least two officers, " he saidnodding at Allyn who came in behind me. "You two are senior on the shipand have the first right to know. " He slid a finger through the flap. "Effective 12, Eightmonth, GY2964, " he read, "USN 'Lachesis' willproceed on offensive mission against enemy vessels as part of advancecovering screen Fleet Four for major effort against enemy via sectors YD274, YD 275, and YD 276. Entire Scouting Force IV quadrant will begrouped as Fleet Four Screen Unit under command Rear Admiral SIMMS. Initial station 'Lachesis' coordinates X 06042 Y 1327 Betelgeuse-Rigelbaseline. ETA Rendezvous point 0830 plus or minus 30, 13/8/64. "A. Evars, Fleet Admiral USN Commanding. " There it was! I could see Allyn stiffen as a peculiar sick look crossedChase's dry face. And suddenly I heard all the ugly littlenicknames--Subspace Chase, Gutless Gus, Cautious Charley--and the dozenothers. For Chase was afraid. It was so obvious that not even the graymask of his face could cover it. Yet his voice when he spoke was the same dry, pedantic voice of old. "You have the rendezvous point, Mr. Marsden. Have Mr. Esterhazy set thecourse and speed to arrive on time. " He dismissed us with thetraditional "That's all, gentlemen, " and we went out separate ways. Ididn't want to look at the triumphant smile on Allyn's face. We hit rendezvous at 0850, picked up a message from the Admiral at 0853, and at 0855 were on our way. We were part of a broad hemisphericalscreen surrounding the Cruiser Force which englobed the Line and supplytrain--the heavies that are the backbone of any fleet. We were headedroughly in the direction of the Rebel's fourth sector, the one top-heavywith metals industries. Our exact course was known only to the brass andthe computers that planned our interlock. But where we were headedwasn't important. The "Lachesis" was finally going to war! I could feelthe change in the crew, the nervousness, the anticipation, the adrenalresponses of fear and excitement. After a year in the doldrums, Fleetwas going to try to smash the Rebels again. We hadn't done so well lasttime, getting ambushed in the Fifty Suns group and damn near losing ourshirts before we managed to get out. The Rebs weren't as good as wewere, but they were trickier, and they could fight. After all, whyshouldn't they be able to? They were human, just as we were, and any oneof a dozen extinct intelligent races could testify to our fightingability, as could others not-quite-extinct. Man ruled this section ofthe galaxy, and someday if he didn't kill himself off in the processhe'd rule all of it. He wasn't the smartest race but he was thehungriest, the fiercest, the most adaptable, and the most unrelenting. Qualities which, by the way, were exactly the ones needed to conquer ahostile universe. But mankind was slow to learn the greatest lesson, that they _had_ tocooperate if they were to go further. We were already living on borrowedtime. Before the War, ten of eleven exploration ships sent into thegalactic center had disappeared without a trace. Somewhere, buried deepin the billions of stars that formed the galactic hub, was a race thatwas as tough and tricky as we were--maybe even tougher. This was commonknowledge, for the eleventh ship had returned with the news of thealiens, a story of hairbreadth escape from destruction, and a pattern oftheir culture which was enough like ours to frighten any thinking man. The worlds near the center of humanity's sphere realized the situationat once and quickly traded their independence for a Federal Union topool their strength against the threat that might come any day. But as the Union Space Navy began to take shape on the dockyards ofEarth and a hundred other worlds, the independent worlds of theperiphery began to eye the Union with suspicion. They had never believedthe exploration report and didn't want to unite with the worlds of thecenter. They thought that the Union was a trick to deprive them of theirfiercely cherished independence, and when the Union sent embassies toinvite them into the common effort, they rejected them. And when wesuggested that in the interests of racial safety they abandon theirhaphazard colonization efforts that resulted in an uncontrolled seriesof jumps into the dark, punctuated by minor wars and clashes whencolonists from separate origins landed, more or less simultaneously, ona promising planet, they were certain we were up to no good. Although we explained and showed them copies of the exploration ship'sreport, they were not convinced. Demagogues among them screamed aboutmanifest destiny, independence, interference in internal affairs, and athousand other things that made the diplomatic climate between Centerand Periphery unbearably hot. And their colonists kept moving outward. Of course the Union was not about to cooperate in this potential racesuicide. We simply couldn't allow them to give that other race knowledgeof our whereabouts until we were ready for them. So we informed each ofthe outer worlds that we would consider any further efforts atcolonizing an unfriendly act, and would take steps to discourage it. That did it. * * * * * We halted a few colonizing ships and sent them home under guard. Weuprooted a few advance groups and returned them to their homeworlds. Weestablished a series of observation posts to check furtherexpansion--and six months later we were at war. The outer worlds formed what they called a defensive league and withcharacteristic human rationality promptly attacked us. Naturally, theydidn't get far. We had a bigger and better fleet and we were organizedwhile they were not. And so they were utterly defeated at the Battle ofOphiuchus. It was then that we had two choices. We could either move in and takeover their defenseless worlds, or we could let them rebuild and getstrong, and with their strength acquire a knowledge of cooperation--andtake the chance that they would ultimately beat us. Knowing this, wewisely chose the second course and set about teaching our fellow men alesson that was now fifteen years along and not ended yet. By applying pressure at the right places we turned their attentioninward to us rather than to the outside, and by making carefully timedsorties here and there about the periphery we forced them through sheermilitary necessity to gradually tighten their loosely organized Leagueinto tightly centralized authority, with the power to demand andobtain--to meet our force with counterforce. By desperate measures andstraining of all their youthful resources they managed to hold us off. And with every strain they were welded more tightly together. Andslowly they were learning through war what we could not teach throughpeace. Curiously enough, they wouldn't believe our aims even when capturedcrews told them. They thought it was some sort of tricky mentalconditioning designed to frustrate their lie detectors. Even while theytightened their organization and built new fleets, they would notbelieve that we were forcing them into the paths they must travel toavoid future annihilation. It was one of the ironies of this war that it was fought and would befought with the best of intentions. For it was obvious now that we couldnever win--nor could they. The Rebels, as we called them, were everywhit as strong as we, and while we enjoyed the advantages of superiorposition and technology they had the advantage of superior numbers. Itwas stalemate, --the longest, fiercest stalemate in man's bloody history. But it was stalemate with a purpose. It was a crazy war--a period ofconstant hostilities mingled with sporadic offensive actions like theone we were now engaged in--but to us, at least, it was war with apurpose--the best and noblest of human purposes--the preservation of therace. The day was coming, not too many years away, when the first of thealiens would strike the Outer worlds. Then we would unite--on theLeague's terms if need be--to crush the invaders and establish mankindas the supreme race in the galaxy. But this wasn't important right now. Right now I was the ExecutiveOfficer of a scout ship commanded by a man I didn't trust. He smelledtoo much like a stinking coward. I shook my head. Having Chase runningthe ship was like putting a moron in a jet car on one of thesuperhighways--and then sabotaging the automatics. Just one fearfulmistake and a whole squadron could be loused up. But Chase was thecommander--the ultimate authority on this ship. All I could do was praythat things were going to come out all right. We moved out in the lower red. Battles weren't fought in Cth. There wasno way to locate a unit at firing range in that monochromatic madness. Normal physical laws simply didn't apply. A ship had to come out intothreespace to do any damage. All Cth was was a convenient road to thebattlefront. With one exception. By hanging in the infra band, on the ragged edge of threespace, a scoutship could remain concealed until a critical moment, breakout intothreespace--discharge her weapons--and flick back into Cth before anenemy could get a fix on her. Scouts, with their high capacityconverters, could perform this maneuver, but the ponderous battlewagonsand cruisers with their tremendous weight of armor, screens, andmunitions couldn't maneuver like this. They simply didn't have theagility. Yet only they had the ability to penetrate defensive screensand kill the Rebel heavies. So space battle was conducted on the classicpattern--the Lines slugging it out at medium range while the screen ofscouts buzzed around and through the battle trying to add their weightof metal against some overstrained enemy and ensure his destruction. Amajor battle could go on for days--and it often did. In the Fifty Sunsaction the battle had lasted nearly two weeks subjective before wewithdrew to lick our wounds. * * * * * For nearly a day we ran into nothing, and such are the distances thatseparate units of a fleet, we had the impression that we were alone. Wemoved quietly, detectors out, scanning the area for a light-day aroundas we moved forward at less than one Lume through Cth. More would havebeen fatal for had we been forced to resort to a quick breakout to avoidenemy action, and if we were travelling above one Lume when we hitthreespace, we'd simply disappear, leaving a small spatial vortex in ourwake. On the "morning" of the third day the ships at the apex of Quadrant Oneran into a flight of Rebel scouts. There was a brief flurry of action, the Rebels were englobed, a couple of cruisers drove in, latched ontothe helplessly straining Rebel scouts and dragged them into threespace. The Rebs kept broadcasting right up to the end--after which theysurrendered before the cruisers could annihilate them. Smart boys. But the Rebels were warned. We couldn't catch all their scouts and thedisturbance our Line was making in Cth would register on any detectorwithin twenty parsecs. So they would be waiting to meet us. But that wasto be expected. There is no such thing as surprise in a major action. We went on until we began to run into major opposition. Half a dozenscouts were caught in englobements at half a dozen different placesalong the periphery as they came in contact with the Rebels' coveringforces. And that was that. The advance halted waiting for the Line tocome up, and a host of small actions took place as the forward screeningforces collided. Chase was in the control chair, hanging in theblackness of the infra band on the edge of normal space. But we weren'tflicking in and out of threespace like some of the others. We had aprobe out and the main buffeting was taken by the duralloy tube with itstiny converter at its bulbous tip. With consummate pilotage Chase washolding us in infra. It was a queasy sensation, hanging halfway betweennormalcy and chaos, and I had to admire his skill. The infra band wasblack as ink and hot as the hinges of hell--and since the edges ofthreespace and Cth are not as knife sharp as they are further up in theCth components, we bucked and shuddered on the border, but avoided thebone-crushing slams and gut-wrenching twists that less skillful skipperswere giving their ships as they flicked back and forth betweenthreespace and Cth. Our scouting line must have been a peculiar sight toa threespace observer with the thousand or so scouts flickering in andout of sight across a huge hemisphere of space. And then we saw them. Our probe picked up the flicker of enemy scouts. "Action imminent, " Chase said drily. "Stand by. " I clapped the other control helmet over my head and dropped into theExec's chair. A quick check showed the crew at their stations, thetorpedo hatches clear, the antiradiation shields up and the ship infighting trim. I stole a quick glance at Chase. Sweat stood out on hisgray forehead. His lips were drawn back into a thin line, showing histeeth. His face was tense, but whether with fear or excitement I didn'tknow. "Stand by, " he said, and then we hit threespace, just as the enormouscone of the Rebel Line flicked into sight. The enemy line had taken thefield, and under the comparatively slow speeds of threespace was rushingforward to meet our Line which had emerged a few minutes ago. Ourlaunchers flamed as we sent a salvo of torpedoes whistling toward theRebel fleet marking perhaps the opening shots of the main battle. Wetwisted back into Cth as one of the scanner men doubled over with agony, heaving his guts out into a disposal cone. I felt sorry for him. Thetension, the racking agony of our motion, and the fact that he wasprobably in his first major battle had all combined to take him for thecount. He grinned greenly at me and turned back to his dials andinstruments. Good man! "Target--range one eight zero four, azimuth two four oh, elevation oneoh seven, " the rangefinder reported. "Mass four. " Mass four:--a cruiser. "Stand by, " Chase said. "All turrets prepare to fire. " And he took usdown. We slammed into threespace and our turrets flamed. To our leftrear and above hung the mass of an enemy cruiser, her screens glowing onstandby as she drove forward to her place in the line. We had caught herby surprise, a thousand to one shot, and our torpedoes were on their waybefore her detectors spotted us. We didn't stay to see what happened, but the probe showed an enormous fireball which blazed briefly in theblackness, shooting out globs of scintillating molten metal that cooledand disappeared as we watched. "Scratch one cruiser, " someone in fire control yelped. * * * * * The effect on morale was electric. In that instant all doubts of Chase'sability disappeared. All except mine. One lucky shot isn't a battle, andI guess Chase figured the same way because his hands were shaking as hejockeyed us along on the edge of Cth. He looked like he wanted to vomit. "Take it easy, skipper, " I said. "Mind your own business, Marsden--and I'll mind mine, " Chase snapped. "Stand by, " he ordered, and we dove into threespace again--loosedanother salvo at another Reb, and flicked out of sight. And that was theway it went for hour after hour until we pulled out, our last torpedofired and the crew on the ragged edge of exhaustion. Somehow, by somemiracle compounded of luck and good pilotage, we were unmarked. AndChase, despite his twitching face and shaking hands, was one hell of acombat skipper! I didn't wonder about him any more. He had the guts allright. But it was a different sort of courage from the icy contempt fordanger that marked Andy Royce. Even so, I couldn't help thinking that Iwas glad to be riding with Chase. We drove to the rear, heading for thesupply train, our ammunition expended, while behind us the battlewagonsand cruisers were hammering each other to metal pulp. In the quiet of the rear area it was hardly believable that a majorbattle was going on ahead of us. We raised the "Amphitrite, " identifiedourselves, and put in a request for supply. "Lay aboard, " "Amphitrite" signalled back. "How's the war going?" "Don't know. We've been too busy, " our signalman replied. "I'll bet--you're 'Lachesis, ' aren't you?" "Affirmative. " "How'd you lose your ammo? Jettison it?" "Stow that, you unprintable obscenity, " Haskins replied. "We're afighting ship. " "Amphitrite" chuckled nastily. "That I'll believe when I see it!" "Communications, " Chase snapped. "This isn't a social call. Get ourheading and approach instructions. " He sounded as schoolmasterish asever, but there was a sickly smile on his face, and the gray-green lookwas gone. "Morale seems a little better, doesn't it, Marsden?" he said to me asthe "Amphitrite" flicked out into threespace and we followed. I nodded. "Yes, sir, " I agreed. "Quite a little. " Our cargo hatches snapped open and we cuddled up against "Amphitrite's"bulging belly while our crew and the supply echelon worked like demonsto transfer ammunition. We had fifty torpedoes aboard when the I. F. F. Detector shrilled alarm. Three hundred feet above us the "Amphitrite's" main battery let loose asalvo at three Rebel scouts that had flickered into being less thanfifty miles away. Their launchers flared with a glow that lighted theblackness of space. "Stand by!" Chase yelled as he threw the converter on. "Hatches!" I screamed as we shimmered and vanished. Somehow we got most of them closed, losing only the crew on number twoport turret which was still buttoning up as we slipped over into theinfra band. I ordered the turret sealed. Cth had already ruined theunshielded sighting mechanisms and I had already seen what happened tomen caught in Cth unprotected. I had no desire to see it again--or letour crew see it if it could be avoided. A human body turned inside outisn't the most wholesome of sights. "How did _they_ get through?" Chase muttered as we put out our probe. "I don't know--maybe someone wasn't looking. " "What's it like down there?" Chase asked. "See anything?" "'Amphitrite's' still there, " I said. "She's _what_?" "Still there, " I repeated. "And she's in trouble. " "She's big. She can take it--but--" "Here, you look, " I said, flipping the probe switch. "My God!" Chase muttered--as he took one look at the supply ship lyingdead in space, her protective batteries flaming. She had gotten one ofthe Rebel scouts but the other two had her bracketed and were pouringfire against her dim screens. "She can't keep this up, " I said. "She's been hulled--and it looks likeher power's taken it. " "Action imminent, " Chase ordered, and the rangefinder took up hischant. We came storming out of Cth right on top of one of the Rebel scouts. Aviolent shock raced through the ship, slamming me against my web. Therebound sent us a good two miles away before our starboard batteryflamed. The enemy scout, disabled by the shock, stunned and unable tomaneuver took the entire salvo amidships and disappeared in a puff offlame. The second Rebel disappeared and we did too. She was back in Cth lookingfor a better chance at the "Amphitrite. " The big ship was wallowing likea wounded whale, half of one section torn away, her armor dented, andher tubes firing erratically. We took one long look and jumped back into Cth. But not before Haskinsbeamed a message to the supply ship. "Now you've seen it, you damnedstorekeeper, " he gloated. "What do you think?" "Amphitrite" didn'tanswer. "Probe out, " Chase ordered, neglecting, I noticed, to comment on thesignalman's act. * * * * * I pushed the proper buttons but nothing happened. I pushed again andthen turned on the scanners. The one aft of the probe was half coveredwith a twisted mass of metal tubing that had once been our probe. Wemust have smashed it when we rammed. Quickly I shifted to the auxiliaryprobe, but the crumpled mass had jammed the hatch. It wouldn't open. "No probes, sir, " I announced. "Damn, " Chase said. "Well, we'll have to do without them. Hold tight, we're going down. " We flicked into threespace just in time to see a volcano of fire eruptfrom "Amphitrite's" side and the metallic flick of the Rebel scoutslipping back into Cth. "What's your situation, 'Amphitrite'?" our signal asked. "Not good, " the faint answer came back. "They've got us in the powerroom and our accumulators aren't going to stand this load very long. That last salvo went through our screens, but our armor stopped it. Butif the screens go down--" Our batteries flared at the Rebel as he again came into sight. He didn'twait, but flicked right back into Cth without firing a shot. Pollard wason the ball. "Brave lad, that Reb, " Chase said. There was a sneer in his voice. For the moment it was stalemate. The Reb wasn't going to come into closerange with a warship of equal power to his own adding her metal to the"Amphitrite's, " but he could play cat and mouse with us, drawing ourfire until we had used up our torpedoes, and then come in to finishthe supply ship. Or he could harass us with long range fire. Or he couldgo away. [Illustration] It was certain he wouldn't do the last, and he'd be a fool if he did thesecond. "Amphitrite" could set up a mine screen that would take care ofany long range stuff, --and we could dodge it. His probe was stillworking and he had undoubtedly seen ours crushed against our hull. If hehadn't he was blind--and that wasn't a Rebel characteristic. We couldhyper, of course, but we were blind up there in Cth. His best was tokeep needling us, and take the chance that we'd run out of torps. "What's our munition?" Chase asked almost as an echo to my thought. Iswitched over to Pollard. "Thirty mark sevens, " Pollard said, "and a little small arms. " "One good salvo, " Chase said, thoughtfully. The Rebel flashed in and out again, and we let go a burst. "Twenty, now, " I said. Chase didn't hear me. He was busy talking to Allyn on damage control. "You can't cut it, hey?--All right--disengage the converter on theauxiliary probe and break out that roll of duralloy cable in thestores--Pollard! don't fire over one torp at a time when that lad showsup. Load the other launchers with blanks. Make him think we're shooting. We have to keep him hopping. Now listen to me--Yes, Allyn, I mean you. Fasten that converter onto the cable and stand by. We're going to make aprobe. " Chase turned to me. "You were Exec with Royce, " he said. "You should know how to fight aship. " "What are you planning to do?" I asked. "We can't hold that Rebel off. Maybe with ammunition we could, butthere's less than a salvo aboard and he has the advantage of position. We can't be sure he won't try to take us in spite of 'Amphitrite's'support and if he does finish us, 'Amphitrite's' a dead duck. " The"Lachesis" quivered as the port turrets belched flame. "That leavesnineteen torpedoes, " he said. "In Cth we're safe enough but we'rehelpless without a probe. Yet we can only get into attack position fromCth. That leaves us only one thing to do--improvise a probe. " "And how do you do that?" I asked. "Put a man out on a line--with the converter from the auxiliary. Givehim a command helmet and have him talk the ship in. " "But that's suicide!" "No, Marsden, not suicide--just something necessary. A necessarysacrifice, like this whole damned war! I don't believe in killing men. It makes me sick. But I kill if I have to, and sacrifice if I must. " Hisface twisted and the gray-green look came back. "There are over athousand men on the 'Amphitrite, ' and a vital cargo of munitions. Onelife, I think, is fair trade for a thousand, just as a few hundredthousand is fair trade for a race. " The words were schoolmasterish andwould have been dead wrong coming from anyone except Chase. But he gavethem an air of reasonable inevitability. And for a moment I forgot thathe was cold-bloodedly planning someone's death. For a moment I felt thespirit of sacrifice that made heroes out of ordinary people. * * * * * "Look, skipper, " I said. "How about letting me do it?" I could havekicked myself a moment later, but the words were out before I could stopthem. He had me acting noble, and that trait isn't one of my strongsuits. He smiled. "You know, Marsden, " he said, "I was expecting that. " Hisvoice was oddly soft. "Thanks. " Then it became dry and impersonal. "Request denied, " he said. "This is my party. " I shivered inside. While I'm no coward, I didn't relish the thought ofslamming around at the end of a duralloy cable stretching into a nowherewhere there was no inertia. A hair too heavy a hand on the throttle inCth would crush the man on the end to a pulp. But he shouldn't goeither. It was his responsibility to command the ship. "Who else is qualified?" Chase said answering the look on my face. "Iknow more about maneuver than any man aboard, and I'll be controllingthe ship until the last moment. Once I order the attack I'll cut free, and you can pick me up later. " "You won't have time, " I protested. "Just in case I don't make it, " Chase continued, making theunderstatement of the war with a perfectly straight face, "take care ofthe crew. They're a good bunch--just a bit too eager for the _real_Navy--but good. I've tried to make them into spacemen and they'veresented me for it. I've tried to protect them and they've hated me--" "They won't now--" I interrupted. "I've tried to make them a unit. " He went on as though I hadn't said athing. "Maybe I've tried too hard, but I'm responsible for every lifeaboard this ship. " He picked up his helmet. "Take command of the ship, Mr. Marsden, " he said, and strode out of the room. The "Lachesis"shuddered to the recoil from the port turrets. Eighteen torpedoes left, I thought. We lowered Chase a full hundred feet on the thin strand of duralloy. Hedangled under the ship, using his converter to keep the line taut. "You hear me, skipper?" I asked. "Clearly--and you?" "Four-four. Hang on now--we're going up. " I eased the "Lachesis" intoCth and hung like glue to the border. "How's it going, skipper?" "A bit rough but otherwise all right. Now steer right--easy now--aagh!" "Skipper!" "Okay, Marsden. You nearly pulled me in half--that's all. You did fine. We're in good position in relation to 'Amphitrite. ' Now let's get oursignals straight. Front is the way we're going now--base all mydirections on that--got it?" "Aye, sir. " "Good, Marsden, throttle back and hang on your converters. " I did as I was told. "Ah--there she is--bear left a little. Hmm--she's looking for us--lookssuspicious. Now she's turning toward 'Amphitrite. ' Guess she figures weare gone. She's in position preparing to fire. _Now!_ Drop out andfire--elevation zero, azimuth three sixty--_Move!_" I moved. The "Lachesis" dropped like a stone. Chase was dead now. Nothing made of flesh could survive that punishment but we--we came outright on top of them, just like Chase had done to the other--except thatwe fired before we collided. And as with the other Rebel we gainedcomplete surprise. Our eighteen torpedoes crashed home, her magazinesexploded, and into that hell of molten and vaporized metal that had oncebeen a Rebel scout we crashed a split second later. Two thousand milesper second relative is too fast for even an explosion to hurt much ifthere isn't any solid material in the way, and we passed through onlythe outer edges of the blast, but even so, the vaporized metal scouredour starboard plating down to the insulation. It was like a giant emerywheel had passed across our flank. The shock slammed us out of controland we went tumbling in crazy gyrations across space for several minutesbefore I could flip the "Lachesis" into Cth, check the speed and motion, and get back into threespace. * * * * * Chase was gone--and "Lachesis" was done. A week in drydock and she'd beas good as new, but she was no longer a fighting ship. She was a wreck. For us the battle was over--but somehow it didn't make me happy. The"Amphitrite" hung off our port bow, a tiny silver dot in the distance, and as I watched two more silver dots winked into being beside her. Haskins reported the I. F. F. Readings. "They're ours, " he said. "A couple of cruisers. " "They should have been here ten minutes ago, " I replied bitterly. Icouldn't see very well. You can't when emotion clogs your tubes. Chase--coward?--not him. He was man clear through--a better one than I'dever be even if I lived out my two hundred years. I wondered if the crewknew what sort of man their skipper was. I turned up the command helmet. "Men--" I began, but I didn't finish. "We know, " the blended thoughts and voices came back at me. Sure theyknew! Chase had been on command circuit too. It was enough to make youcry--the mixture of pride, sadness and shame that rang through thehelmet. It seemed to echo and reecho for a long time before I shut itoff. I sat there, thinking. I wasn't mad at the Rebels. I wasn't anything. All I could think was that we were paying a pretty grim price forsurvival. Those aliens had better show up pretty soon--and they'd betterbe as nasty as their reputation. There was a score--a big score--and Iwanted to be there when it was added up and settled. THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ December 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.