 CHAPTER IV. The small fighting ship lifted swiftly from the surface of Kandar. As it rose, the sky turned dark and the sun's brilliant disc, far too bright to be looked at with unshielded eyes, became a blazing furnace that could roast unshielded flesh. Shadows appeared, shining myriads despite the sun, with every one vivid against a background of black. The planet's surface became a half-ball, of which a part lay in darkness. CONTACT! Said a voice through many speakers placed throughout the fighting ship's hull. There was the rushing sound of compartment doors closing. Then a cushion silenced everywhere, save for the faint, standby-scratching sounds that loudspeakers always emit. Screens lighted. A speck moved among the stars. "'Prepare counter-missiles,' said the voice. "'Proximity and track. Fire only as missiles appear.' The moving speck flamed and was again only a moving speck. It ejected something which hurtled toward the ship just up from Kandar. "'Intercept one away,' said a confident voice. The last launched missile fled toward the first moving speck, diminishing as it went. It swung suddenly off course. "'Fire two!' snapped somebody somewhere. Another object hurtled away toward the stars. "'Fire three! Fire four!' Far away something came plunging toward the ship. It did not travel in a straight line. It curved. It was not reasonable for a missile to travel in a curved line. The interceptor missiles had to detect it, swing to intercept, to accelerate furiously. The first interceptor missed. Worse, it had lost its target. It went, wandering vaguely among the stars, and was gone. The second missed. The voice and the speaker seemed to crack. "'Fire all missiles! They're turning too late! Pull them up ahead of the damn thing!' The deadly contrivances plunged away and further away into emptiness. The third interceptor missed. The fourth. Tiny specks moved gracefully on the radar screen. There was something coming toward the ship that had risen from Kandar. The tracer trails of missiles appeared against the stars. They made very pretty parabolas. That was all. The thing that was coming left a tracer trail too. It curved preposterously. It had just risen ship furiously flung missiles at it. It did not dodge. But none of the tracer trails intersected its own. All of them passed to its rear. For the fraction of a second it was visible as an object instead of a speck. That object swelled. It went by. Bors' voice relayed said, "'Coo! You're out of action, right?' The skipper of the ship just up from Kandar said grudgingly, "'Hell, yes. We threw fifteen missiles at it and missed with every one. This is magic. Can we all have this before the Mekinese get here?' "'I hope so,' said Bors' voice. "'We're trying hard anyhow. Will you report to ground?' "'Right,' said the speakers in the ship, which had just fired fifteen missiles without a hit or interception. "'Off.'" Then the compartment doors opened again and the normal sounds of a small fighting ship in space began again. An hour later, aground, Bors said impatiently, "'Half a dozen ships have checked out with me. I sent a single dummy warhead missile at each one. They knew I was trying something new. They tried interceptors. Not one worked. Worse, my missiles drew the interceptors off course, so they'd lost their original aim on the Isis. People set for variable acceleration not only can't be intercepted, but they draw interceptors off course and are super interceptors themselves. I fired one dummy warhead at each target ship. I got six hits with six missiles. They fired an average of twelve missiles against each of mine. They got no intercepts or hits with seventy-two tries. This appears to me a very gratifying development for the situation we're in. The bearded man who'd plumped for negotiation earlier now spoke indignantly in the War Council. "'Why wasn't this revealed earlier? We could have made a demonstration, and Mekin would have been wary of issuing an ultimatum. Why was this concealed until it was too late to use in negotiations with them?' "'It wasn't available until to-day,' Bors answered. It was tried, and it worked." An admiral said slowly, "'As I understand it, this is a proposal of the—hmm—talents-incorporated people.' "'No,' said Bors. "'We got the idea, but couldn't do the math. Talents-incorporated did the computations to make the missiles hit.' "'Why? Why let them do the math? There may be a counter to this device. Talents-incorporated was sent to us to get us to adopt this freakish trick.' "'Talents-incorporated,' said Bors, "'enabled us to smash a submerged Mekinese cruiser. In giving us the necessary information, Talents-incorporated kept the Mekinese from wiping out our space fleet. Talents-incorporated—oh, the devil!' The admiral gazed about him. "'This device,' he said precisely, "'is not a tried and standard weapon. On the other hand, the sally of our fleet is not war. Because of our civilian population we cannot make war on Mekin. The defiance of our fleet will be a gesture only, a splendid gesture, but no more. It should be a dignified gesture. It would be most inappropriate for our fleet to take to space, ostensibly to say that it prefers death to surrender, and for it then to unveil a new and eccentric device which would say that the fleet was foolish enough to hope that a gadget would save it from dying and candor from conquest. The fleet action should be fought with scorn of odds. It should end its existence in a manner worthy of its traditions.' Bors exploded. "'Dammit!' King Humphrey held up his hand and said, fretfully, "'As I remember it, admiral, you have been assigned to hold together the defense forces, those who either did not insist on going with the fleet, or for whom there was no room who have to be surrendered. You talk of gestures. But the young men who will go out in the fleet are not going there to make gestures. They simply and furiously hate Meakin for what it is about to do. They are going out to kill as many Meakinese as they can before they themselves are killed. They would call your speech nonsense, and I would agree with them.' Bors said respectfully, "'Yes, Majesty!' It may also be said that copies of the first talents-incorporated launching-data tables have already been distributed to the missile crews throughout the fleet. More are being distributed as fast as Logan calculates them. I don't think you can keep our ships from trying the new missiles when the fighting starts.' Indignantly the bearded man said, "'I protest. This is a war-council. If the council is to be lectured by strangers, and if its orders won't be obeyed, why hold it?' "'Why, indeed!' King Humphrey looked sternly about the council-table. Sternness did not become him, but dignity did. He said, with dignity, "'You, who are to stay here, have to think of dealing with a victorious Meakin. We, who are to go, have to think of making our defeat count. There is no point in further discussion. The fleet will take off immediately.' He rose from his seat. The bearded man protested. "'But the Meakinese aren't here yet. They won't arrive until day after tomorrow!' "'You're using talents-incorporated information,' objected Bors. And it is wise for the fleet to move off-planet at once. You are reasonable men. Too reasonable. Nothing can destroy a nation so quickly as for it to fall into the hands of practical, hard-headed, reasonable men who act upon the best scientific data and the opinions of the best experts. That happened on Trey Lee, and my uncle and myself are exiles, and Trey Lee is subjugated in consequence. But I am beginning to have hope for Kandar.' He followed King Humphrey out of the council room. Fleet admirals brought up the rear. The stodgy, dumpy figure of the king tramped onward. It became obvious that he was bound for the ground-cars that waited to take him and those who would follow him to the launching area of the fleet. A lean, gray, vice admiral fell into step beside Bors. "'You don't think things are hopeless, Captain?' He asked curiously. I don't see the shred of a chance for us. But my whole life's been in the fleet. Under Meakin I'd be drafted to work in a factory or serve as an under- officer on a guard ship, one or the other. I'd rather end in a good fight.' "'How can you have hope?' Bors said grimly. I'm not sure that I have. But I can't believe that nations can be saved by reasonable practical men. The art made by them. I've no hope except that acting foolishly may be wisdom. Sometimes it is.' "'Ha!' the vice admiral grinned wryly. But fortunes are made by businessmen and only history by heroes. No sensible man is ever a hero. But like you I don't like practical men.' They went out of doors. The king climbed sturdily into a ground-car. It hummed away. There was a sort of ordered confusion. And then other ground-cars began to stream away from the palace. Morgan appeared and waved to Bors. He hesitated and Morgan pointed to an unofficial vehicle. He inside, Gwenlyn was smiling cheerfully at Bors. He found himself returning the smile and allowed himself to be guided to her. The ground-car rolled swiftly after the others. "'I've a little more, Talents, incorporated information,' said Morgan. "'It's written down for you to read when you get to wherever you're going. It's rather important. Please be sure to read it fairly soon. It may affect the fight.' "'I'm headed for the fleet,' said Bors. "'Take me there, will you. I wanted to say something before I left anyhow.' Morgan waved his hand. "'I can guess,' he said blandly. "'Deepest gratitude and all that. But the rush of events blocked any way to arrange a suitable recompense for what Talents Incorporated has done.' Bors blinked. "'That's the substance of what I meant to say,' he admitted. "'We'll take it up later,' Morgan told him. "'We'll get in touch with you after the battle.' "'I doubt it,' said Bors. "'I'm not likely to be around.' Gwynlyn laughed a little. "'What's so amusing?' asked Bors. "'I don't mean to strike an attitude, but I do hate everything Meekin stands for, and I've had chance to throw a brick at it. The price may be high, but throwing the brick is necessary.' "'We,' said Gwynlyn, have Talents Incorporated information, some of which is in that letter Father gave you. Our department for predicting dirty tricks has been busy. You'll see. But we've other information, too.' Bors frowned at her. He put the letter away. "'More information, and you'll see me after the fight. You're not telling me you know the future?' Morgan waved a cigar. "'Of course not. That's nonsense. If one knew the future, one could change it, and then it wouldn't be what one knew. You haven't had any prophecies from me. Prophecies absurd. All we've told you is about events whose probability approaches unity.' "'But what Father means,' Gwynlyn told him, "'is that you can't be told beforehand about anything you can prevent, because if you can prevent it you can make your knowledge false. So it isn't knowledge. What we want to say, though, is that we aren't through. Why not?' "'I'm going to retire,' said Morgan blandly, "'but I want to do something first that I can gloat over later.' "'He once,' added Gwynlyn, "'to repose in the satisfaction of his vanity.' She laughed again at her father's expression. "'Seriously, Captain, we wanted to give you the letter and to ask you not to be surprised if we turn up somewhere. There's a talent,' she added, "'a young boy who can find people. He doesn't know how he does it, but we'll find you.' The ground-car turned in at the fleet's take-off ground. The normal interstellar traffic of a planet, of course, was handled by a spaceport, with ships brought down to the ground and lifted out to space again by the force-fields generated in a giant landing-grid. But a war-fleet could not depend solely on ground installations. The fighting ships of Kandar were allowed to use the planet's spaceport only for special reasons. The rocket take-offs and landings were necessary training for war conditions anyhow. So the take-off ground was pitted and scarred with burnt-over circles, where no living thing grew and where very often the clay beneath the humus-top layer was vitrified by rocket flames. A guard at the gate brought the ground-car to a halt. "'War Alert,' said Bors, "'only known officers and men admitted here. It's not worth arguing about.' He got out of the car and shook hands. "'I still regret,' he told Morgan, that we've had no chance to do something in return for the information you've given us. To Gwendolyn,' he said, obscurely, "'I'm glad I didn't know you sooner.'" He turned and walked briskly into the fenced-off area. Behind him Morgan looked inquisitively at his daughter. What was it that he just said? "'He's glad he didn't know me sooner,' said Gwendolyn. She looked smugly pleased. Considering everything, it was a very nice thing to say. I like him, even if he doesn't smile.' Morgan did not seem enlightened. "'It doesn't make sense to me.' "'That's because you're my father,' said Gwendolyn. She stirred restlessly. She was no longer smiling. "'I hope talents-incorporated information isn't wrong this time. Remember, we heard on Norton that the dictator of Mekin consults fortune-tellers.' "'Ah,' said her father, "'but they're only fortune-tellers.' "'One could be a talent,' said Gwendolyn worriedly, maybe without even knowing it. There came a far distant roaring sound, something silvery and glistening rose swiftly toward the sky. It dwindled to a speck. There were more roarings. Three more silvery glistening objects flung themselves heavenward, leaving massive trails of seemingly solid smoke behind them. Then there were bellowings, larger ships rose up. As the din of their rising began to diminish, there were louder booming uproars, and other silvery objects seemed to fling themselves toward the sky. Then thunder rolled, and huge shapes plunged in their turn toward the heavens. The space fleet of Kandar left its native world. It departed in the formation used for space maneuvering, much like the tactical disposition of a column of marching soldiers in doubtful territory. There was a point in advance of all the rest, to be the first to detect or be fired on by an enemy. Then flankers reached straight out and to the right and left, and then an advance guard, and then the main force with a rear guard behind it. The take-off area became invisible under a monstrous, roiling mountain of smoke, from which threads of vapor reached to emptiness. It became impossible to hear oneself talk. It was unlikely that one could have heard a shot as the heavy ships took off, but presently there were only lesser clamors and then mere roaring after them, and the last of the rocket-boomings died away. The smoke remained, rolling very slowly aside. Then there were unexpected detonations. As the rocket-fume mist dissolved, the detonations were explained. Every building in the fleet's home area, the sunken fuel tanks, the giant rolling gantries, every bit of ground equipment for the servicing of the fleet was methodically and carefully being blown to bits. The fleet was not expected back. The ships rose above the atmosphere, and rose still higher, and the planet Kandar became a gigantic ball which filled an enormous part of the firmament. Then there were cracklings of communicators, and orders flittered through emptiness in scrambled and re-scramble broadcasts of gibberish, which came out as lucid commands in the control rooms of the ships. Then first the point, then the advanced flankers, and then the main fleet, line by line and rank by rank, every ship drove on outward under top speed solar system drive. The last of the four chartered space liners, coming to take refugees away before the Mekinese arrived, saw the disappearance of the ships in the rear of the fleet's formation. The liner was lowered to the ground by the landing-grid. It reported what it had seen. Those who were entitled to depart on it crowded aboard. With the fleet gone, panic began. Morgan had to spend lavishly to get copies of the news reports that the liner had brought along as a matter of course. They took them back to the silver, where a frowning man with rings on his fingers read them with dark suspicion. Presently, triumphantly, he dictated predictions of dirty tricks from indications in the news. Morgan returned to what he had called the family-room of the yacht. He relaxed. Gwenlyn tried to read. She did not succeed. She was excessively nervous. Boars was not. The fleet reformed itself well out from Kandar. It made for a rendezvous over a pole of the gas-giant planet, which was the fourth planet from Kandar's son. It was almost, but not quite, in line with that yellow star toward the base, from which the Mekinese flotilla would come. The fleet went into a polar orbit around that gigantic planet, which was useless to mankind because its atmosphere was partly gaseous in ammonia and partly methane. The cosmos paid no attention. An unstable, salt-type star in Cygnus collapsed abruptly, and a number of otherwise promising planets became unfit for human exploitation. In Andromeda a supernova flared. The light of its explosion would not reach Kandar for very many thousands of years. The largest comet in the galaxy reached perihelion and practically outshone the sun it circled. Nobody saw it, because nobody lived there. On a dreary, red sky planted in Musette a thing squirmed heavily out of a stagnant sea and blinked stupidly at the remarkable above-water cosmos it had discovered. Suns flamed and spouted flares. Small dark stars became an infinitesimal fraction of a degree colder. There was a magnetic storm in the photosphere of a sun which was not supposed to have such things. The warfleet of Kandar, in very fine formation, flowed in its polar orbit around the fourth planet out from Kandar's sun. It carefully scrambled and re-scrambled communications. Certain ships were authorized to modify the settings of Mark 13 missiles in this exact fashion, to remove their warheads and to diverge in pairs from the fleet proper. They were to familiarize themselves with the results of making the acceleration of such missiles variable during flight. They would use the supplied data tables to compute firing constants for given ranges and relative speeds. They would, of course, return to formation to permit other ships the same practice with a new method of missile handling. Those read the letter from Talents Incorporated. It gave an exact time for the breakout of the Mekinese fleet. The rest consisted mostly of specific warnings from the Talents Incorporated Department for Predicting Dirty Tricks. It listed certain things to be looked for among the ships of the fleet. The information was like the news of an enemy ship aground on Kandar. It was self-evidently plausible once one thought of it. Mekin was ruled and its military practices governed by men with the instincts of conspirators, using other men with the psychopathological impulses which make for spies. They thought of devices neither statesmen nor fighting men would have invented, but a paranoid talent could think of them and know that they were true. As a result of the warnings the flagship was found to have been somehow equipped by Mekin with a tiny special microwave transmitter which used a frequency not usual on Kandar. It was, in effect, a radio beacon on which enemy missiles could home. Also, the lead ship of a cruiser squadron had been mysteriously geared to reveal its exact position, course, and speed while in space. There were other concealed devices. Some would make the controls of predetermined ships useless when beams of specific frequency and form were trained upon them. Once the basic idea was discovered it was possible to make sure that all such enemy-supplied equipment was out of operation. The fleet was still in no promising situation with a ten-to-one disadvantage. But it could not have put up even the beginning of a fight had these spy-installed devices remained undiscovered. Bors said carefully, by scrambled and re-scrambled communicator, Majesty, I am beginning to be less than despairing. If they expect our ships either to have been destroyed aground or to be made helpless the instant combat begins we may give them a shock. We hoped to smash them ship for ship. Taking out their tricks in advance may give us that, and if our missiles work as they've promised we may get two for one. King Humphrey's voice was dogged. I will settle for anything but surrender. From an honorable enemy I would take severe terms rather than see my spacemen die, but I will do nobody any good by yielding to Macon. This clicked off. He looked at a clock. The prediction from Talents Incorporated was that the Mekinese fleet would break out of overdrive at eleven point one nine hours astronomical time. He went over his ship. His crew was by no means depressed. There had been a terrific lift in spirits when dummy war-headed missiles made theoretic hits, though fifteen interceptors tried to stop them. The crewmen now tended elaborately to explain the process. A part of the trick was the curved path along which the reset missiles flashed. Such courses alone could never be computed by an unworn enemy under battle conditions. But the all-important thing was that the missiles changed their acceleration as they drove. That couldn't be solved, and the solution put into practice during one fleet action. Once the enemy had experienced it they could later duplicate it without doubt, but it would still be impossible to counter. So Bors' men were cheerful to the point of gaiety. They would fight magnificently because they were thinking of what they would do to the enemy instead of what the enemy might do to them. If enemy crews had been assured that the fleet was half defeated before the fight began, to find the fleet not crippled by spy-set devices would be startling. To find them fighting like fiends would be alarming. And if, Bors grimly repeated to himself, if the modified missiles worked as well in battle as in target practice, he turned in and despite his tensions fell asleep immediately and slept soundly. When he awoke he felt curiously relaxed. It took him a moment to realize he had dreamed about Gwenlyn. He couldn't remember what he had dreamed, but he knew it was comfortable and good. He wouldn't let himself dwell on it, however. There was work to be done. It was singularly like mourning on a planet. The ship was spotless, immaculate. There was the fresh smell of growing things in the air. To save tanked oxygen the air-room used vegetation to absorb CO2 and excess moisture from the breathing of the crew. There was room to spare everywhere because unlike aircraft and surface ships the size of a spaceship made no difference in its speed. There was no resistance due to size, only the mass counted. So there was spaciousness and freshness and something close to elation on Bors's ship on the day it was to fight for the high satisfaction of getting killed. Bors saw to it that his men breakfasted heartily. We've got a party ahead, he told the watch at mess. Eat plenty, but give the other watch a chance to fill up, too. Somebody said cheerfully, The condemned men ate a hearty breakfast, sir? Bors grinned. The breakfast we can be sure of. The condemned part we'll have something to say about that. Some Mekinese wouldn't have good appetites if they knew what's ahead of them. One word, don't waste missiles. There are a lot of Mekin ships, we've got to make each missile count. There was laughter. He went to the control room. He checked with the clock. Shortly after the other watch was back at its stations he calculated carefully. The enemy fleet would break out of overdrive short of Kandar, of course. It would have broken out once before to correct its line and estimate the distance to its destination. It would have assembled itself at that breakout point, but it would still arrive in a disorderly mob. One's point of arrival could not be too closely figured at the high speeds of overdrive, so when the Mekinese came they would not be in formation. Bors called the flagship, when the gas giant planet was in line and a barrier against the radio waves. King Humphrey's voice came from the speaker by Bors' side. Bors? What? Majesty! said Bors. Talents Incorporated said the enemy fleet will break out of overdrive in just about ten minutes. We're out here waiting for it, instead of a ground as they'll expect. They'll break out in complete confusion. Even with great luck they'll lose some time assembling into combat formation. Being out here, we may be able to hit them before they're organized. A pause. I've been discussing tactics with the High Command, said the King's voice. There's some dispute. The classic tactic is to try for englobement. I want to point out, Majesty, Bors interrupted urgently, that when we cross the North Pole again we're apt to detect the fleet signalling frantically to itself, sorting itself out, trying to get into some sort of order. It'll be stirred up as if with a spoon. But if we come around the planet's pole, and they don't expect us to be out here waiting for them, we'll be in combat ready formation. We may be able to tear into them as an organized unit before they can begin to cooperate with each other. Long pause. Then King Humphrey said grimly, There is one weak point in your proposal, Bors. Only one. It is that talents incorporated may be wrong about the time of breakout. The more I think, the less I believe in what they've done, or even what I saw. But we'll be prepared, however unlikely your idea, we'll be ready. He clicked off. Only minutes later the combat alert order came through. In the next ten minutes Bors's ship, Humphrey, for five, was quiet for three, and then, two minutes early, all inner compartment doors closed quietly, and there was that muffled stillness which meant that everybody was ready for anything that might happen. In the control room, Bors watched out of a direct vision port, giving occasional glances to the screens. There were flecks of light from innumerable stars. Then the shining cloud bank of the gas giant planet went black. Bors showed all of the fleet, each blip with a nimbus about it, which identified itself as a friend, not a foe. There was the blip of the leading ship, the point of the formation. There was the flanking ships, and all the marshal array of the fleet. Then the screens sparkled with seemingly hundreds of blips, which seemed to swirl and spin and whirl again in total and disordered confusion. Bors clanged. A voice said, Contact! Enemy fleet ahead! Wide dispersion! They're milling about like gnats on a sunny day! A curt and authoritative and well-organized voice snapped. All ships keep formation on flagship! Course coordinates! The voice gave them. There's a clump of enemy ships beginning to organize. We hit them. The fleet of Kandar came around the gas giant world and flung itself at the fleet of Mekin. It seemed that everything was subject to intolerable delay. For long, sweating, unbearable minutes, nothing happened except that the fleet of Kandar went hurtling through space with no sensation or direct evidence of motion. The gas giant planet dwindled, but not very fast. The bright specks on the screens which were enemy ships seemed to separate as they drew nearer, but all happened with infinite and infuriating deliberation. It was worth waiting for. There was truly a clumping of enemy ships ahead. Some of them were less than ten miles apart. In a two hundred-mile sphere there were forty ships. They'd been moving to consolidate themselves into a mutually assisting group. What they accomplished was the provision of a fine accumulation of targets. Before they could organize themselves the Kandarian fleet swept through them. It vastly outnumbered them in this area. It smashed them. Bombs flashed in emptiness. There were gas clouds and smoke clouds which stayed behind in space as the fleet went on. New coordinates, said the familiar authoritative voice. It gave them. There's another enemy condensation. We hid it. The fleet swung in space. It drove on and on and on. Interminable time passed. Then there were flashes brighter than the stars. A Kandar cruiser blew up soundlessly. But far, far away, other things detonated, and what had been proud structures of steel and beryllium, armed and manned, became mere incandescent vapor. A third clumping of Mekinese ships, the Kandarian fleet overwhelmed it, overrode it, used exactly the tactics the Mekinese might have used. It ruthlessly made use of its local concentrated strength. It was outnumbered in the whole battle area by not less than ten to one. But the Mekinese fleet was scattered. Where it struck, the Kandarian fleet was four and five and sometimes twenty ships to one. It was a smaller fleet in every class of ships. But it was compact and controlled, and it made slashing plunges through the dispersed and confused enemy. With ordinary missiles, three ships could always destroy two, and four could destroy three. But in the battle of the gas giant planet, where there was fighting, the Kandarians were never less than two to one. They were surrounded by enemies, but when those enemies tried to gather together for strength, the mass of murderously fighting ships of Kandar swung upon the incipient group and blasted it. Only half the Mekinese fleet was out of action before Bors' ship fired a single missile. He'd sat in the skipper's chair, and from time to time the course of all the fleet was changed, and he saw that his ship kept its place rigidly in formation. But he had given not one order out of routine before the enemy strength was half gone. Then the communicator said coldly, All ships, attention! With old-style missiles we could do everything we've accomplished so far. But the Mekinese are refusing battle now. They'll begin to slip away in overdrive if we keep chopping them down in groups. We have to give them a chance, or they'll run away. The new missile system works perfectly. All ships, break formation. Find your own Mekinese. Blast them! The communicator said in a conversational voice, There are three Mekinese ships yonder. They look like they're willing to start something. We'll take them on. He pointed carefully to a spot on the screen. His small ship swung away from the rest of the fleet. It plunged toward a battleship and two heavy cruisers, who had joined forces and appeared to attempt to rally the stills stronger than Kandar invaders. They became objects rather than specks upon the screens. They were visible things on the direct vision ports. Something flashed and rushed toward the little Kandarian space-can. Fire one, two, three, Boars ordered. Things hurtled on before him. A screen showed that the missiles first fired by the enemy went off course, chasing the later fired missiles from the Isis. The Mekinese shots had automatically become interceptors when Kandarian missiles attacked their parent ships. But they couldn't anticipate a curved course, and their built-in computers weren't designed to handle a rate of change of acceleration. The three Mekinese ships ceased to exist. Let's head yonder, said Boars. He pointed again on the screen. Within the radar's range there were hundreds of tiny blips. Some were marked with a nimbus apiece. They were friends. Many many more were not. The Mekinese fleet too could determine its own numbers in comparison to the defending fleet. Pride and rage swept through Mekinese commanders as they saw the Kandarians deliberately break up their formation to get their ships down to the level of the enemy. It was unthinkable for a Mekinese ship to refuse single combat, and when two and three could combine against a single ship of Kandar, the invaders had reason to fight rather than slip into overdrive. They still outnumbered the ships from Kandar, and for a Mekinese commander to flee the battle area without having engaged or fired on an antagonist would be treason. No man who fled without fighting would stay alive. There had to be a recording of battle offered or accepted, or the especially merciless court-martial system of Mekin would take over. There was one problem, however, for the Mekinese skippers. When they engaged a ship from Kandar they died. Still no ship left the scene of the battle to report defeat. It was absolute and complete. It was not only a defeat. It was annihilation. The Mekinese fleet was destroyed to the last ship, even to the armed transports carrying bureaucrats and police to set up a new government on Kandar. Those ships which dared not run away without a token fight discovered the fleet of Kandar wasn't fighting a token battle. It had started out to be just that, but somehow the plans had changed when the fighting started. For the aggressors it was disaster. When his fleet reassembled King Humphrey issued a general order to all ships. He read it in person, his voice strained and dead and hopeless. I have to express my admiration for the men of my fleet, he said drearily. An unexampled victory over unexampled odds is not only in keeping with the best traditions of the armed forces of Kandar, but raises those traditions to the highest possible level of valor and devotion. If it were not that in winning this victory we have doomed our homeworld to destruction, I would be as happy as I am reluctantly proud. CHAPTER V Nobody had ever found any use for the Glamis solar system. There was a sun of highly irregular variability. There were two planets, of which the one farther out might have been useful for colonization except that it was subject to extreme changes of climate as its undependable sun burned brightly or dimly. The near planet was so close to its primary that it had long ceased to rotate. One hemisphere, forever in sunshine, remained in a low red heat. Its night hemisphere, in perpetual darkness, had radiated away its heat until there were mountains of frozen atmosphere piled above what should have been a mineral surface. It was a matter of record that a hundred standard years before a ship had landed there and mined oxygen containing snow, which its air apparatus was able to refine so the crew could breathe while they finished some rather improbable repairs and could go on to more hospitable worlds. The farther out planet was sometimes a place of green vegetation and sprawling seas, and sometimes of humid jungles with most of its oceans turned to a cloud bank of impenetrable thickness. Also sometimes it was frozen waste from pole to pole. The vegetation of that planet had been studied with interest, but the world itself was simply of no use to anybody. Even the sun of the Glamis system was regarded with suspicion. The fleet of Kandar made rendezvous at the galactic north pole of the second planet. On arrival the mast cruisers and battleships went into orbit. The smaller craft went on a scouting mission, verifying that there was no new colony planted, that there was no man-made radiation anywhere in the system, that there was no likelihood of the fleet's presence, for for that matter its continued existence, becoming known to anybody not of its ship-cruise. The scout ships came back, reporting all clear. The great ships drew close to one another and small space-boats shuttled back and forth, taking commanders and captains and vice-admirals to the ship, which, by convention, was commanded by King Humphrey VIII of Kandar. Captain Bors got to the conference late. There were some gray faces about the conference room, but there were also some whose expressions were unregenerate and grimly satisfied. As he entered the room the King was speaking. I don't deny that it was a splendid victory, but I'm saying that our victory was a catastrophe. To begin with, we happened to hit the Mekinese fleet when it was dispersed and disorganized. It was great good fortune, if we'd wanted a victory. The enemy was scattered over light minutes of space. His ships could not act as a massed, maneuverable force. They were simply a mob of fighting ships who had to fight as individuals against our combat formation. Yes, Majesty, said the gray vice-admiral, but even when we broke formation, again, said the King more fretfully still, I do not deny that the fighting ability of our ships was multiplied by the new way of using missiles. What I do say is that if we'd come upon the Mekinese fleet in combat formation instead of dispersed, if we'd attack them when they were ready for us, it would be doubtful that we'd have been so disastrously successful. Say that the new missile-settings gave each of our ships firepower as effective as two or three or five of the enemy. The enemy has ten to one. If we hadn't hit them when they were in confusion, we'd have been wiped out. And if we'd hit their fleet anyhow, we'd be dead. We did not hit the main fleet. We annihilated a division of it, a small part. We are still hopelessly inferior to the vast Mekinese fleet. Bors took a seat at the rear of the room. A stout rear-admiral said somberly, We hope we annihilated it, Majesty. There's no report of any ship fleeing an overdrive. But if any did escape, its report would lead to an immediate discovery of the exact improvement in our missiles. I am saying, Majesty, that if one enemy ship escaped that battle, we can look for all the enemy ships to be equipped with revised missiles like ours." Bors raised his voice. May I speak? Ah! said the king, Bors, by all means. I make two points, said Bors with reserve. One is that the Mekinese are as likely to think our missiles captured theirs as that they were uncomputable. Missile designers have been trying for years to create interceptors that capture enemy missiles. The Mekinese may decide we've accomplished something they've failed at. But they're not likely to think we've accomplished something they never even thought of. This is babbled. A pompous voice said firmly that nobody would be so absurd. Several others said urgently that it was very likely. All Defense Departments had research in progress, working on the capture of enemy missiles. If it were accomplished, ships could be destroyed as a matter of routine. Bors waited until the king thumped on the table for silence. The second thing I have to say, Majesty, is that there can be no plans made until we know what we have to do. And that depends on what Mekin thinks has happened. Maybe no enemy ship got home. Maybe some ships took back inaccurate reports. It would be very uncomfortable for them to report the truth. Maybe they said we had some new and marvellous weapon which no fleet could resist. In that case, we are in a very fine position. The king said gloomily, You think of abominably clever things, Captain, but I'm afraid we've been too clever. If Mekin masses its entire fleet to destroy us, they can do it. New missile system, or no new missile system. We have somehow to keep them from resolving to do just that. Which, said Bors, may mean negotiation, but there's no point in negotiating unless you know what your enemy thinks you've got. We could have Mekin scared. There was a murmur which could not be said to be either agreement or disagreement. The king looked about him. We cannot continue to fight. He said sternly, Not unless we can defend Kandar, which we can't as against the Mekinese main fleet. We were prepared to sacrifice our lives to earn respect for our world and to leave a tradition behind us. We must still be prepared to sacrifice even our vanity. The vice-admiral said, But one sacrifices majesty to achieve. Do you believe that Mekin will honor any treaty one second after it ceases to be profitable to Mekin? That, said the king, has to be thought about. But Bors is right on one point. We should come to know final conclusion without information. Majesty, Bors interrupted, his words came slowly as if an idea were forming as he spoke. The enemy may have no news at all. They may know they've been defeated, but they'd never expect our freedom from loss. Why couldn't a single Kandarian ship turn up at some port where its appearance would surely be reported to Mekin? It could pose as the sole survivor of our fleet, which would indicate that the rest of us were wiped out in the battle. If we had all been wiped out, there'd be no point in their fusion bombing Kandar. Certainly they expected us to be destroyed. One surviving ship can prove that we have been. The king's expression brightened. Ah! And we can go and intern ourselves! There was a growl. The papa's voice said, We would gain time, majesty. Our fear is that Mekin may feel it must avenge a defeat. But if one ship claims to be the sole survivor of our fleet, it announces a Mekinese victory. That is a highly desirable thing. The king nodded. Yes, we were unwise to survive the battle. We can hide our unwisdom. Captain Bors, I will give you orders presently. As of now I will accept reports on battle damage given and received. As Bors saluted and turned to the door, the king added, I will be with the pretender presently. It was an order and Bors obeyed it. He went to find his uncle. He found the former monarch in the king's cabin of this, the largest ship of the fleet. The pretender greeted Bors unhappily. A very bad business, he observed. Bad, agreed Bors. But for the two of us a defeat for Mekin is not bad news. For us and Tre Lee, the old man said reprovingly, there is some pleasure. But it is still bad. Every ship we destroyed must be replaced. Like every other subject-planet, Tre Lee will be required to build how many ships, ten, twenty? We have increased the burden Mekin lays on Tre Lee. And worse, much worse. There's such a thing, protested Bors, as using a microscope on troubles. We did something we badly wanted to, if we can keep it up. The pretender said, How is the food supply on your ship? How long can you feed your crew without supplies from some base? Bors swore. The question had the impact of a blow. His ices, like the rest of the fleet, had taken off from Kandar to fight and be destroyed. There were emergency rations on board, of course, but the food storage compartments hadn't been filled. The fleet did not expect to go on living, so it did not prepare to go on eating. It would have been absurd to carry stores for months when they expected to live only hours. It simply hadn't occurred to anyone to load provisions for a long operation away from base. That's what the king is worried about, said the pretender. Weave some thousands of men who will be hungry presently. If we reveal that we survived the battle, Mekin's tributaries will begin to think. They might even hope which Mekin would have to stop immediately. If we do not reveal that we still exist, what can be done about starving ship crews? It is a bad business. It would have been much better if the fleet had been destroyed, as we expected, in a gesture of pure fury over its own helplessness. Mekin said sardonically, We can all commit suicide, of course. The pretender did not answer. His nephew sank into a chair and glowered at the wall. The situation was contrary to all the illusions cherished by the human race. To act decently and with honor is somehow fitting to a man and consistent with the nature of the universe, so that decency and honor may prosper. But recent events denied it. Men who were willing to die for their countrymen only injured them by the attempt, and now the conduct which honor would approve turned upon them to bring the consequences of treason and villainy. A long time passed. Boars sat with clenched hands. It was the barbaric insistence of Mekin upon conquest that was at fault, of course. But this happens everywhere, as it has throughout all history. There are really three kinds of people in every community, as there have always been. There are the barbarians, and there are the tribesmen, and there are the civilized. This was true when men lived on only one planet, and doubtless was true when the first village was built. There were civilized men even then. If there was progress, they brought it about. And in every village there were, and are, tribesmen. Men who placidly accept the circumstances into which they were born, and who wish no change at all. And everywhere, and at all times, there are barbarians. They seek personal triumphs. They thrive on high emotional victories. And at no time will barbarians ever leave either civilized men or tribesmen alone. They crave triumphs over them and each other, and they create disaster everywhere, until they are crushed. Bors said evenly, If the king's planning to surrender the fleet to Mekin as ransom for Kandar, it won't work. He is considering it, said his uncle. It will be a way of giving them the victory we cheated them of, though we didn't intend to win. It won't work, repeated bores. It won't do a bit of good. They'll want to punish Kandar because it wasn't beaten. They feed on destruction and brutality. They're barbarians. The economic interpretation of history doesn't apply here. The Mekinese who run things want to be evil. They will be until they're crushed. Crushed, asked the pretender bitterly, Is there a chance of that? Bors considered gravely. Then he said, I think so. The door opened and the king came in. Bors rose and the king nodded. He spoke to the pretender. Somebody raised the question of food, he said. There isn't any to speak of, of course. You'd think grown men would face facts. There's not a man willing to accept what he is and work from that. Lunatics. He flung himself into a chair. Suggested, he continued, that a part of the fleet go to Norden to buy food and bring it back. Of course, Mekin wouldn't hear about it, wouldn't guess at the survival of the fleet because food was bought in such quantities. Suggested, that a part of the fleet go to some uncolonized planet and hunt meat. Try to imagine success in that venture. Suggested, that we travel a long distance, pick out a relatively small world, land and seize its spaceport and facilities and equip ourselves to bomb Mekin to extinction and do it in a surprise attack. Suggested, the king shook his head angrily. He did not look royal. He did not look confident. He looked embittered and even helpless. He still looked like a very honest man trying to make up for his admitted deficiencies. Majesty, said Bors. The king turned his eyes. You're going to send me off for news, said Bors. I suggested earlier that my ship pretend to be the sole survivor of the fleet. I suggest now that the ship add the wild and desperate boast that since there's no longer a world which will sponsor it, it's turned pirate. It will take vengeance on its own. It defies the might of Mekin and it dares the Mekinese fleet to do something about it. Why? asked the king. Pirates, Bors answered, controlling his enthusiasm, have to be hunted down. It takes many ships to hunt down a pirate. I should be able to keep a good sized slice of the Mekinese navy busy, simply lying and wait for me here and there. And? There are tribute ships which carry food from the subject worlds to Mekin. Hating Mekin as befits the sole survivor of this fleet, Majesty, it would be natural for me to capture such ships, even if I could do nothing better with them than send them out to space to be wasted. They wouldn't be wasted naturally, they'd come here. The king said, but you couldn't supply the fleet indefinitely. Bors nodded agreement, but he waited. You may try, said the king, querilously. Have you something else up your sleeve? Bors nodded in his turn. Don't tell me what it is, said the king. So long as the fleet gets some food and its existence isn't known, if I knew what you were up to, I might feel I had to object. I think not, Majesty, Bors said, showing a rare smile. I'll need some extra men. If I do capture food ships, they'll be useful. I can't imagine that anything would be useful, said the king bitterly. Tell the admiral to give them to you. Bors saluted and left the room. He went directly to the admiral, who in theory was second in command only while the king was aboard. He explained his mission and some of his intentions. The admiral listened stonily. I'll give you 50 men, he said. I think you'll be killed, of course, but if you live long enough to convince them that the fleet's been destroyed, you'll be of service. What, Bors asked, with a trace of humor, can possibly be done about the fact that we wiped out a Mekinese fleet instead of letting it exterminate us? The matter, the admiral answered seriously, is under consideration. Bors shrugged and went to his own ship, the Isis. He was excessively uncomfortable. He said to his uncle, implied to the king that he had some plan in mind. He did, but it angered him to know that he counted on assistance, that in theory he could not possibly accomplish it alone. It was irritating to realize that he expected Gwendolyn and her father to turn up with their talents, when absolutely nobody outside of the fleet could possibly imagine where the fleet had gone. On Kandar it must be assumed by now that it was dead. His ship's boat clanked into position in the lifeboat blister. The valves closed on it. A moment later there was a whistling murmur and the boat's vision ports clouded over outside and then cleared. He stepped out into the ship's atmosphere. His second-in-command greeted him in the control room. I was trying to reach you at the flagship, sir, he said. The yacht Silva is lying a few miles off. Her owner has forwarded news reports to the flagship. He asks that you receive him when you can, sir. Bohr's apparent lack of surprise was real. He wasn't surprised, but he was annoyed with himself for expecting something so impossible as the Silva, tracing the fleet through an overdrive voyage of days to a most unlikely destination like Glamis. Tell him to come aboard, he commanded. He went to talk to the mess officer, reflecting that he would ask the Morgans how the Silva had known where to come and they'd tell him and it would be extremely unlikely and he would accept the explanation. The mess officer looked harassed at the news of 50 additional crewmen to be fed. Principles of prudence and common sense, said Bohr's, don't apply any more. We'll feed them somehow. He went back to the control room. When Morgan appeared, beaming expansively, Bohr's was again unsurprised to see Gwendolyn with him. Logan, the mathematics talent, followed in their wake, looking indifferently about him. We wiped out the fleet headed for Kandar, Bohr's observed. I don't suppose that's news to you. Morgan cheerfully shook his head. And we're inconsiderably more trouble than before. Is that news? No, admitted Morgan. It's reasonable for you to be. Then dammit, I'm going off on a pirating news-gathering food-rating cruise alone, said Bohr's. Is that news? We brought Logan, said Morgan, to go with you. He'll be useful. That's talents, incorporated information, I can depend on it, said Bohr's dourly. In plain common sense, the odds are rather high against my accomplishing anything, such as coming back. Morgan looked at his daughter. He grinned. We heard gloom from him the other day before a certain space battle, didn't we? He turned back to Bohr's. Look, Captain, our talents don't prophesy. Pre-cognition simply says that when there are so many thousand ways an event in the future can happen, then, in one of those several thousand ways, it will. Pre-cognition doesn't say which way. It doesn't say how. Especially, it doesn't say why. But we have a very firm pre-cognition by a very reliable talent that you'll be alive in doing something very specific a year from now. So, we assume you won't be permanently killed in the meantime. But anything else can happen? More or less, admitted Morgan. What will happen? We don't know, said Morgan again. Someday I may take you aside and explain the facts of pre-cognition and other talents as I understand them. I am probably quite wrong, but I do know better than to try to pry certain kinds of information from my talents. Right now, I'm going to try to capture what you might call a tribute ship loaded with food from Eakin. Traylee, said Morgan with finality, you'll try there. Will I capture a food ship there? Asked Bors. How the devil would I know? Morgan snapped. You asked the wrong question, said Gwendolyn cheerfully. If you asked if there's a cargo ship down on Trayvie, loading foodstuffs from Eakin, there can be an answer to that. Is there? At the moment, yes, Morgan answered. So the dousing talent says. Then I'll go there, said Bors. I thought you might, said Morgan. He looked at his daughter. May I come along, asked Gwendolyn. With an assortment of talents. My father's going to have long conferences with the king. He'll need some talents here to work out things. But I could go along on your ship with a few of the others. We could help a lot. No, said Bors grimly. I thought not, said Morgan. Very well. Logan, you'll help Captain Bors, I'm sure. The math talent said offhandedly. Any calculations he needs, of course. He looked about him with a confident, modestly complacent air. Bors walked with Morgan and his daughter to the airlock. He turned to Gwendolyn. I don't mean to be un-gallant, refusing to let you run risks. I'm flattered, but annoyed, Gwendolyn answered. It means I'll have to take drastic measures. Luck! She and her father went into the silver space boat. The blister doors closed. Bors went back to the control room. He began to set up the computations for astrogation from the son of Glamis to the son of Tralee. He shortly heard the sound of arrivals via the Isis's airlock. Presently, his second-in-command reported 50 additional hands aboard. They included astrogators, drive engineers, and assorted specialists. After clearance with the flagship, the little warship aimed with pains taking exactitude at Tralee's son, making due allowance for its proper motion, Glamis's proper motion, the length of time the light he aimed by had been on its way, the distance, and the Isis's travel rate in overdrive. Presently, Bors said, Overdrive coming and counted down. After one, he pressed a button. There was the singularly unpleasant sensation of going into overdrive. Then the small fighting ship was alone in its cocoon of warped and twisted space. Until it came out again, there was no possible way by which any message could reach it, or its existence be detected or proved. Theory said, in fact, that the cosmos could explode and a ship in overdrive would be unaware of the fact so long as it stayed in overdrive. But Bors' light cruiser came out where the son of Tralee was a disk of intolerable brilliance, and all the stars in every direction looked exactly as usual. End of chapter five. Chapter six of Talents Incorporated by Murray Leinster. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Talents Incorporated, chapter six. The Isis approached Tralee from the night side and at a time when the planet's spaceport faced the sun. Tralee was not a base for Mekinese Warcraft. To the contrary, it was strictly a conquered world. It was desirable for Mekinese ships to be able to appear as if magically and without warning in its skies. There would be no far-ranging raiders on the planet except at its solitary spaceport. Mekinese ships could come out of overdrive, time a solar system drive approach to arrive at Tralee's atmosphere and darkness, and be hovering menacingly overhead when dawn broke. Such an appearance had strong psychological effects upon the population. Bores used the same device with modifications. This ship plunged out of the sunrise and across half a continent, descending as it flew. When it reached the planet's capital city, there had been less than a minute between the first notification by radar and its naked eye visibility. When it came to sight at the spaceport, it was less than 4,000 feet high, and it went sweeping for the landing grid at something over Mach 1. Its emergency rockets roared. It decelerated smoothly and across the upper rim of the great lacy metal structure with less than a hundred feet to spare. In fraction of an additional minute, it was precisely aground some 50 yards from the spaceport office. Steam and smoke rose furiously from where its rocket flames had played. Lock doors opened. Briskly moving landing parties trotted across the ground toward the grid control building. There were two ships already in the spaceport. One was Amikini's guard ship of approximately the armament of the Isis. Weapons trained swiftly upon it. Missiles roared across the half mile of distance. They detonated, chemical explosives only. The Amikini's guard ship flew apart. What remained was not truly identifiable as a former ship. It was fragments. Bors asked curtly, Grid Office? The landing party was inside. A small tumult came out of a speaker. A voice said, All secure in the grid, officer! Hook into planetary broadcast. Bear a first priority emergency and run your tape, commanded Bors. He said over the ship speakers, Everything going well so far. Prize crew, take the cargo ship, Keep the crew aboard, then report. Ten men poured out of the grounded light cruiser's starboard port and trotted on the double toward the other ship aground. The weapons on Bors' ship did not bear upon it. The sun shone. Missiles drifted tranquilly across the sky. Masses of smoke from the demolition missiles that had smashed the guard ship rose, curled, and very slowly dissipated. Ten men entered the bulbous cargo ship. Up to now the entire affair had consumed not more than five minutes, from the appearance of a blip on a spaceport radar screen to the beginning of a full-volume broadcast. Bors turned on the receiver and listened to the harsh voice, only chosen from among the crew, which now came out of every operating broadcast receiver on the planet. Notice to the people of Tralee! There is aground on Tralee a ship with no home-planet nor any loyalty except to its hatred of Mekin. We were part of the fleet of Kandar until that fleet was destroyed. Now we fight Mekin alone. We are pirates. We are outcasts. But we still have arms to defend ourselves with. We demand!" A voice said curtly in Bors's ear. Cargo ship secured, sir. "'Take off on rockets and maneuver as ordered,' said Bors. Then rendezvous as arranged.' He returned his attention to the broadcast. It was a deliberately savage, painstakingly desperate, carefully terrifying message to the people of Tralee. It demanded supplies and arms on threat of destroying the city around it. A single one of its combat missiles, as a matter of fact, could have done a good job of destruction on this metropolis. The broadcast would be a shattering experience to men who had reconciled themselves to subjugation by the rulers of Mekin. The planet Tralee was now governed for the benefit of Mekin by the kind of men who would do such work. They knew that they could stay in office only so long as Mekin upheld them. To hear their protectors denounced if only by a single voice. There was a monstrous roaring outside. The cargo ship took off for the skies. It was a thousand feet high before the weapons on the ISIS stirred. It seemed to those below that the pirate crew was taken unawares by the cargo ship's escape. That was part of Bors' plan. A weapon of the grounded ISIS roared. A missile hurtled after the fugitive and missed. It went on past its apparent target and did not even detonate at nearest proximity as it should have done. It vanished and the cargo ship continued to rise in seemingly panicky fashion. It slanted from its headlong lift and curved away and darted for emptiness at its maximum acceleration. A second missile from the fighting ship missed. The cargo ship dwindled and dwindled, and now the ISIS appeared to take deliberate measurements of the distance and acceleration of its target. It might be assumed that its radars needed to be readjusted from the long-range finding required in space to the shorter-range measurements called for now. Something plunged after the fleeing cargo boat by now merely a pin-point in the blue. The rising object moved so swiftly that it was invisible. Then it detonated and the fumes of the explosion blotted out the fugitive. When they cleared the sky was empty. There had now been a lapse of less than ten minutes from the first sighting of the ISIS screaming toward the spaceport. The guard ship had been destroyed and the cargo ship, which seemed to flee, had apparently been destroyed. When someone had leisure to think, it would appear that the cargo boat's crew had overcome the armed party which entered it, and then taken the foolish course of flight. Boars waited, listening absently. A voice. All clear on board the prize, sir. The cargo seems to be mostly foodstuff, sir. Proceeding to rendezvous as ordered. Off. Boars nodded automatically and resumed listening to the broadcast. Matters were going well. Everything had gone through with the precision of clockwork, which meant simply that Boars had planned in detail something that had never been anticipated and so had not been counterplanned. Before anyone on Tralee realized that anything had happened, everything had happened. The ISIS aground, the guard ship demolished, the grid taken over, and a fleeing cargo ship apparently destroyed in the upper atmosphere. And a harsh voice now rasped out of loudspeakers everywhere, uttering threats, cursing meeken. Few could believe their ears, and rousing hopes which Boars knew regretfully were bound to be disappointed. The rasping broadcast cut off in the middle of a syllable. Somebody had come to believe that he had really heard what he thought he heard. Now there would be a reaction. At the sunrise line on Tralee only a handful of people were awake. They were dumbfounded. Where people breakfasted, the intentionally savage voice made food seem unimportant. Where it was midday waves of violent emotion swept over the land. Call the defense forces, Boars commanded the grid office by transmitter. They'll be meek and ease, meek and ease officered anyhow. We don't want them to get ideas of attacking us, so identify us as the pirate ship ISIS, and order all police and garrison troops to stay exactly where they are. Say, we've got all our fusion bombs armed to go off in case of an artillery fire hit. This was the most valid of all possible threats against the most probable form of attack. Fusion bombs could be used against enemies in space, or for the annihilation of a population, but they could not be used in police operations against a subject people. To coerce people one must avoid destroying them, so while a ship the size of the ISIS could, and did, carry enough confined hellfire in its missile warheads to destroy an area hundreds of miles across, the occupation troops of Meekon could not use such weapons. They needed blast rifles for minor threats, and artillery for selective destruction. In any case, no sane man would try to destroy the ISIS aground after an announcement that its bombs were armed and that they were fused to explode. Now repeat the demand for stores, ordered Boars. We might as well stock up. It is essential. We can't use stores they've timed to booby-trap or poison. Give them twenty minutes to start the stuff arriving. Demand fuel, extra rocket fuel especially. Remind them about our bombs. He waited. Speakers beside him could inform him of any action anywhere outside or inside the ship. The landing party in the spaceport building reported, as it went through the spaceport records, picking up such information concerning Meekon's commercial regulations, identification calls, and anticipated ship movements as might prove useful elsewhere. The rasping voice began to broadcast again. It went on for fifteen seconds and cut off. Tell the government broadcasting system that if they stop relaying our broadcast, said Boars, we'll heave a bomb into the police barracks and the supply depots. We heard the threat issued, and very soon thereafter an agitated voice announced to the people of Tralee that a pirate ship was in possession of the planet's spaceport, and that it insisted upon broadcasting to the planet's people. It was considered unwise to refuse. Therefore the broadcast would continue, but of course citizens could turn off their sets. There came a roar of anger, and the harsh-voiced broadcaster returned to the air. His taped broadcast had run out. Now he bellowed such subversive profanity directed at the officials of Tralee under Meekon that Boars smiled sourly. It was not good for Meekonese prestige to have a subject people know that one ship could defy the Empire, even for minutes. It was still less desirable to have the members of the puppet government described as dogs of particularly described breeds, of particularly described characteristics, and particular lack of legitimacy. Boars had chosen for his broadcast a man of vivid imagination and large vocabulary. He did not want the Isis to appear under discipline, lest it seemed to act under orders. He wanted to create the impression of men turned pirates because everything they lived for had been destroyed, and who now were running amuck among the planets Meekon had subjugated. The broadcast was not incitement to revolt, because Boars' ship was posing as the only survivor of a planet's fleet. But it conveyed such contempt and derision and hatred of all things Meekonese that for months to come men would whisper jokes based on what an Isis crewman had said on Tralee's air. The respect the planet's officials craved would drop below its former low level. Time passed. Boars of course could not send a landing-party anywhere lest it be sniped. He had actually accomplished the purpose for which he'd landed, the getting of a shipload of food out to space, the announcement of the destruction of Kandar's fleet, and the spreading of contempt and derision for Meekon in Tralee. Now he had to keep anyone from suspecting the importance of the cargo ship. The demand for stores was a cover-up for things already done. But that cover-up had to be completed. Vehicles appeared at the edge of the landing-grid. Figures advanced individually, waving white flags. Boars sent men out with small arms to get their messages. These were the supplies he'd demanded. Food. Rocket fuel. More food. The vehicles trundled into the open and stopped. Men from the Isis waved away the drivers and took over the trucks. They brought most of them to the ship's side. A petty officer came into the control room and saluted. Sir, he said briskly. One of the drivers told me his load of grub had time bombs in it. The secret police used time bombs and booby traps here, sir, to keep the people terrified. He says the bombs will go off after we're out in space, sir. What did you do, asked Boars. I pretended the truck stalled and I couldn't start it. Two other drivers tipped off our men. We left those trucks and some others out on the field so the drivers wouldn't be suspected of alerting us. Good work, said Boars. Better put detectors on all parcels from all trucks before bringing them aboard. Booby traps can be made very tricky indeed, but when they are used by secret police Boars allowed himself to rage for a moment only at the idea of that kind of terrorism practiced by a government on its supposed citizens. It would be intended to enforce the totalitarian idea that what is not commanded for the ordinary citizen to do is forbidden to him. But secret police booby traps and time bombs would be standardized. He hadn't allowed time for complex, detection-proof devices to be made. Detectors would pick out any ordinary trickery. The harsh-voiced broadcaster continued to harangue the population of Tre Lee, of which the least of his words was high treason. They enjoyed the broadcast very much. Presently Boars began to fidget. The ISIS had been aground for thirty-five minutes. He had sat in the control room that whole time, supervising a smoothly running operation. He had had to supervise it. Nobody else could have planned and carried it out. But it was not heroic. He had the line officer's inherent scorn for administrative officers, who are necessary but not glamorous or admired. He was stuck with just that kind of duty now. But he fretted. The local officials were given time to get over their panic. They ought to be planning some counter-measure by this time. He called the Spaceport office. There should be a map of the city somewhere about, he said crisply. Send it along special. Bring a communicator call-book. If you find any news reports, new or old, we want them. Yes, sir," said a brisk voice. The broadcasts, right, sir? It is, said Boars. You're mining the grid set up. We'll blow it before we leave. There's no point in letting meekens set down transports, loaded with troops, to punish innocent people because they heard the meekenes accurately described. Make them land on rockets, and there won't be so many landing. Yes, sir, we'll do, sir." A click. Boars heard heavy materials being loaded aboard. Each object was being examined by a detector. The loading process stopped. Boars pressed a button. What happened, he demanded. Looks like a booby-trapped box, sir," said a voice. Among the supplies, sir. Take it off a hundred yards and riddle it, ordered Boars. This may settle a problem for us. Yes, sir." Boars fidgeted again. A messenger from the grid control building arrived. He had a map of the capital city of Tralee. There was an explosion, a violent one. Boars looked out a port and saw where the suspected parcel had been set up as a target a hundred yards from the ship. It had been riddled with blast-rifle bolts and had exploded. It might not have destroyed the Isis if it had exploded in space, but it would not have done it any good. Boars pushed the button for the loading-port compartment. Throw out all the stuff loaded so far, he commanded. Some of it may be booby-trapped like that last one. We won't take a chance. Heave it all out again. Yes, sir." Boars gave other orders. The harsh-voiced broadcast stopped. Boars' own voice went out on the air, steely hard. Captain Boars, pirate ship, Isis speaking, he said coldly. We demanded supplies. They were sent us. Government supplied. We have found one booby-trap included. In retaliation for this attempted assassination, we are going to lob chemical explosive missiles into the principal government buildings of this city. We give three minutes leeway for clerks and other persons to get clear of those buildings. The three minutes start now. The sun shone tranquilly on the planet Tralee. White clouds floated with infinite leisureliness across the blue sky. There was no motion of any sort within the wide, open area of the landing grid. Over a large part of this world's surface all activity had stopped while men listened to a broadcast. Fifteen seconds gone, said Boars, icily. He rode out in order and passed it for execution. Thirty seconds gone. From twenty giant buildings in the city a black tide of running figures began to pour. When they reached the street they went on running. They wanted to get as far as possible from the buildings Boars had said would be destroyed. Forty-five seconds gone, said Boars, implacably. A voice spoke from the grid control building, where men were now placing explosives with precisely calculated effects. The voice came on microwaves to the ship. Sir, said the voice, landing grid reporting. Space Yacht Silva reports break out from overdrive and asks coordinates for landing. Purpose of visit, pleasure travel. Boars swore, then smiled to himself. Quenlin had threatened to do something drastic. Sayed landings forbidden, he commanded an instant later, advise immediate departure. He pressed a button and said evenly, One minute gone. In two minutes more we send our bombs and take off. Streets outside the government buildings were filled from building wall to building wall by clerks drafted to staff the incredible arbitrary government set up on its tributary worlds by Mekin. Boars scribbled a list of buildings to be ranged on. The map from the spaceport office would help. He marked the Ministry of Police, which would contain the records essential to the operation of the planet-wide police system. Anything that happened to those records would be so much good fortune for Tre Lee and so much bad for the master race and its inquislings. He marked the Ministry of the Interior, which would house the machinery for requisitions of tribute to Mekin. The Ministry of Public Order would be the headquarters of the secret and the political police. It ran the forest labor camps. It filed all anonymous accusations. It kept records on all persons suspected of the crime of patriotism. If anything happened to those records, it would be all to the good. Two minutes gone, said Boars. The voice from the spaceport control building said briskly, demolition charges placed, sir, ready to evacuate and fire. Sir, the Space Yacht Silva sends a message to the captain of the pirate ship. It says they'll wait. Boars said, damn, all right. Then into the broadcast microphone. Two and a half minutes. There will be no further countdown. In thirty seconds we fire missiles into government buildings, in retaliation for an attempt to assassinate us with time bombs. The next sound you hear will be our missiles arriving. He cut back to the grid control building. Fire all charges and report to the ship. Almost instantly, curt, crisp reports sounded nearby. The landing party came smartly back to the airlock, while explosions continued in the building they'd left. Launcher tubes, train on targets, Boars commanded. He pressed another button. Rocket room, make ready for lift. Back to the launcher tube communicator. Fire missiles one, two, three, four, five, six. There were boomings which rose to bellowings as devastation tore away from the Isis's launching tubes. Boars said irritably to the rocket room, take her up. And then the ship lifted on a rockets. They were not solely for emergency use as on cargo ships, and rushed towards the sky. As the ship mounted on its column of writhing smoke, other smoky columns spouted up. Six of them. But they were limited. They went up two thousand feet and then tended to mushroom. Bits of debris went higher and spread more widely, and for a time there were fragments of buildings and their contents flying wildly about. But the ship went straight upward. The city and the open country beyond it shrank swiftly. The spouted smokes of explosions in the city were left behind. Mountains appeared at one horizon and a sea at another. Then the vast expanse of the planet suddenly acquired a curved edge, and the ship again went up and up, while the sky turned dark and some stars appeared in futile competition with the sun. And the surface of Tray-D became visibly the near side of an enormous globe. Then the planet became plainly what it was, a great ball floating in space, one half of it brilliant in the sunshine and one part of it bathed in night. Bors put on the solar system drive and changed course. A voice came through. �Calling pirate ship, calling pirate ship, Spaciot Silver calling pirate ship!� Bors growled into a microphone. �What the devil are you doing in this place? What's happened?� Gwendolyn's voice bland and amused. Nothing happened. But we've got some news for you. Big rendezvous at the fourth planet? Bors swore again. That was where he was to meet the cargo ship captured and sent aloft, supposedly destroyed on Tray-D. But he drove on out, around and away from Tray-D. He was reasonably satisfied with his landing on Tray-D. With some luck the news of the landing of a lone survivor of the Kandarian fleet might reach Mekin before it was aware of what had happened to its occupation force. With a little more luck the attention of Mekin would be devoted more to a ship which dared to turn pirate than to Kandar itself. With unlimited favourable fortune Mekin might actually send ships to hunt the Isis instead of asking questions on Kandar. But Bors made a mental note. The more time that passed before Mekin knew what had happened the better. So a ship or two or three might be detached from the fleet and sent back to hang off Kandar. If a single ship came inquiringly it might be sniped and the news of Kandar suppressed for a while longer. And it was conceivable that Mekin might come to worry more about other matters than the success or failure of a routine expansion of its empire. The fourth planet loomed up on schedule. Overs was irritated, as often before, by the relatively slow solar system drive. Overdrive was sometimes not fast enough, but solar system drive was infuriatingly slow. Yet one couldn't use overdrive in a solar system. Approaching a planet on overdrive would be like trying to garage a ground car at sixty miles an hour. One couldn't stop where one wanted to. He wondered, vaguely, if Logan, the math talent, could handle such a problem and dismissed the idea. One could break a circuit with an accuracy of microseconds, but that wouldn't be close enough for overdrive. It wouldn't be practical. Then the ice sheet of Trady's nearest neighbor planet spread out in the vision port's range of view. Boris called for the cargo ship. It answered almost immediately. It was standard practice, of course, that the sight of a meeting planned at a given planet would be wherever its poles pointed nearest to Galactic North. The cargo ship had just arrived. It barely responded before the silver began to call again. The three ships then joined their orbits and went swinging about the glacier world beneath them while they conferred. The report from the cargo ship was unexpectedly satisfactory. It had been almost completely loaded, and its cargo was largely food stuffs intended for Mekin. Kandar's fleet in hiding was already subsisting on emergency rations. This cargo of assorted frozen foods would be welcome. Boris gave orders for it to head for Glamis immediately in overdrive. Communication had been three-way, and Gwendolyn said quickly, Just a moment. Did you pick up any news reports on Trady? Hmm, yes. I'd better send them. You'd better," echoed Gwendolyn, scolding. My father stayed with the fleet to try to explain what talents incorporated can do. He kept most of the talents with him for demonstrations. The Department for Predicting Dirty Tricks is there. Don't you remember what that department works on? Of course you've got to send those news reports! Boris ordered a space boat to come from the cargo ship for the reports. Would you like to come to dinner on the yacht? asked Gwendolyn. You're all living on emergency rations. Nobody asked us to divide our supplies with the fleet. I can give you a nice meal. Better not," said Boris curtly, and mumbled thanks. He ordered the cargo ship to send as much of its stores as the space boat could conveniently carry. Then, how about some cigars? asked Gwendolyn. She seemed at once amused and approving, because Boris would not indulge himself in a really satisfying meal while his crew lived on far from appetizing emergency foodstuffs. No," said Boris, no cigars either. You said you had some news for me, what is it? I brought along our ship arrival talent," said Gwendolyn blandly. He can only tell when a ship will arrive at the solar system where he is, so he had to come here to precognize. Boris felt again that stubborn incredulity which talents incorporated would always rouse in a mind like his. There'll be a ship arriving here in two days, four hours, sixteen minutes from now, said Gwendolyn matter of factly. He thinks it's a fighting ship, though he can't be sure. It could be a cruiser, or something like that, doing mail duty, coming to deliver orders and receive reports. You can't run an empire without a regular news system, and Mekin wouldn't depend on commercial ships for government business. Good," said Boris, thanks. There was a pause. What will you do now? Try to raise the devil somewhere else, said Boris. Try to pick up another food ship, probably. Maybe I ought to let this ship alone, to carry news of the pirate ship Isis back to Mekin. But, now, they use booby traps as police devices. It was not reasonable, but Boris could not think of missing a Mekinese warship. The idea of a government using booby traps to enforce its orders somehow put it beyond forgiveness, and with the government all those who served it willingly. You'll go to Garen then, asked Gwynlyn. Boris felt a sharp sting of annoyance. He had carefully kept secret the choice of Garen III as the next planet to be invaded by the pseudo pirate ship. It was upsetting to find that Gwynlyn knew about it. Blast, talents incorporated. The dousing talent, said Gwynlyn, says there's a battleship around there. There've been some riots. The people of Garen don't like Mekin either. Strange, the battleship is to overaw them. How do you know that, demanded Boris. The department for predicting dirty tricks was reading old news reports, she told him. We're leaving now. Bye. Goodbye, said Boris, and sighed, not knowing whether he felt regret or relief. The space-yacht Silva flicked out of sight. It had gone into overdrive. Boris realized that he had noticed which way it pointed. He should have taken note, but he shook his head. He gave the cargo ship detailed orders, receiving its spaceboat and what food it had been able to bring. He sent it off to meet his fleet at Glamis. He stayed in orbit around the fourth planet to wait for Mekinese fighting ship. He began, too, to make long-range plans. End of chapter 6