Jesse F. Bone

“ Under Fiske's command, it was a constant striving for perfection. Five years of battle experience had taught him that neither officers nor crew could become too familiar with the offensive and defensive armaments of a ship. Constant practice was the only answer to Eglan coordination and every man aboard knew that the more proficient they became the better were their chances of coming home alive. So all hands spent every spare moment refining skills of war, solving simulated tactical problems, trying to increase response speed and improve combat efficiency. ”

“ There was some trick of discipline or communication that welded a group of Eglan fighting ships into a single cohesive unit that was thus far unbeatable. Humanity had to learn—or it was lost—and would go the way of the other civilizations that had been in the path of alien conquest.
Fiske shrugged. Given time, men might learn the answer. But time was getting short. Koenig felt that if the answer wasn't found soon, humanity would pass the point of no return. Already the inner worlds were glutted with refugees. ”

“ Fiske was glad that he wasn't one of the Ulcer Echelon, that his worries involved relatively simple things such as fighting a ship and getting home alive.
As it was, the pain of leaving again was bad enough, and if it weren't for Ellen's "get-togethers" it would be greater. They were the one fault in her otherwise perfect character. How a perfectly sane and sensible woman could endure those gabfests where every blessed female was talking at the same time was more than he could understand. But Ellen not only took them in her stride, she took them three or four times a week. ”

“ The aliens looked like they would shatter at a touch, brittle shells held intact by a force greater than their wills.
"Gives you the creeps, doesn't it?" Pedersen asked in a low voice.
"It's worse than anything I've ever seen," Fiske replied. "These people are on the edge of collapse. This is chaos!"
The feeling of brittle tension increased as they entered the control room in the center of the ship. A short wide Eglan stood beside the master console. He raised his arm in what was obviously a salute, which Fiske punctiliously returned. A muscle in the Eglan's cheek twitched spasmodically. ”

“ Such a belief is not life. It is death—extinction first of the soul, then of the mind, and finally of the body. Your weapon struck us here at the core of our belief and through our weakest link—a link we had to keep because, paradoxically, it was also the source of our strength and unity. ”

“ Civilizations were built. Wealth was produced, traded, and exploited. And in time a loosely organized Confederation was established,—a glorified Board of Trade that advised rather than governed. And as system after system passed by default into mankind's hands, the idea grew that the galaxy was man's oyster and the Creator had graciously provided him with a knife.
At that, there was some justice in the thought. An expanding civilization meeting no obstacles for centuries is unlikely to believe the minority of Cassandras. ”

“ Koenig had said bitterly, "we'd be through now. But we can't hold out much longer. This delaying policy is going to split wide open. We're going to be forced to mount a counter offensive against an enemy we know can outmaneuver and out-fight us in large formations,—an enemy who knows a great deal about us, but about whom we know nothing. We simply have to get a line on how they operate."
So here he was again, chasing the will-o-the-wisp of an Eglan prisoner. ”

“ Central Research, it seemed, still wanted a live Eglan trooper. It didn't matter that the Navy hadn't captured one in five years of trying. The requirement still stood. It took no great intelligence to understand why Central wanted a prisoner. A great deal about the aliens could be understood if there was live meat available. The only trouble was that there never had been, and probably never would be a live Eglan prisoner of war. Fiske automatically excluded the Eglan civilians. They were essentially no different than a civilized human. ”

“ To many of my crew it was too horrible. You undoubtedly saw some of them on your way here."
Fiske nodded. "Now about the surrender terms—" he began.
"There are no terms," the alien said woodenly. "You have won." His face twitched. "Can't you appreciate what your weapon has done? I am an Eglan. An Eglan never surrenders. Yet I and half my crew have surrendered. Don't you appreciate the implications of that? Can't you realize that the Directorate is doomed—that you have won a victory here that is more complete than any we have won in a thousand years of war?" ”

“ Fiske looked at Pedersen.
Pedersen looked at Fiske.
The blank incomprehension on the face of one was precisely matched in the face of the other. This was incredible! The Eglan was still in fighting trim. The "Dauntless" was a wreck. Yet the aliens were offering to surrender—and they never surrendered!
"A trap?" Pedersen asked.
"Why? They've got us. We're helpless and they know it." Fiske turned to the intercom. "Tell them we accept. Tell them to lower their screens and prepare to receive boarders." He turned to Pedersen. "Wonder how we're fixed for a boarding party? You have any idea?" ”

“ The Eglani had the habit of concentrating their works, which made for greater efficiency of operation, but also made them far more remunerative targets.
There was no waiting. The cruiser flashed into normal spacetime, a bank of red lights blossomed on the control board, and the gunnery officer launched a salvo of torpedoes at the Eglan Base. The torps were new. Each carried a tiny hyperspace converter that pushed them up into the lower orange. They would arrive on target milliseconds after they were launched, breakout into normal space, and detonate. ”

“ Lieutenant Fitzhugh, still ten feet from the open airlock saw the flare of the explosion and the premonitory shudder of the ship. He knew that he didn't have time enough to make it. With the strength of desperation he threw the object he carried toward the rapidly closing airlock as the ship vanished from sight and the searing fireball enveloped his body. He never had time to decide whether his aim had been true or not....
Fiske looked at the Eglan head Lockman Vornov was holding up to his viewplate. The man was talking. ”

“ As usual the aliens were thorough. They fought while they could and died when they could fight no more, and headless bodies were no use to Central Research. Reluctantly, Intelligence released the officers and crew.
The Eglan Enigma was no closer to solution than it was five years ago when the aliens had blasted a Confederation exploration ship and had started the war. But Commander Alton Fiske wasn't worried about that. Ellen was out there waiting for him and he'd been delayed too long already. ”

“ The prayer, Ellen thought bitterly, didn't have a ghost of a chance of being answered. God apparently was on the side of the biggest fleet and the best battle discipline, and neither of these was the property of the Confederation.
For centuries men had travelled the starlanes unopposed. Intelligent races were seldom encountered, and those that were were always on a lower technological level than the outward-sweeping hordes of Earth. They could be safely ignored and their worlds bypassed. There were plenty of others without intelligent life. ”

“ Pedersen shook his head.
"I'm going to have a look." Fiske removed his safety harness and rose stiffly from his chair, moving painfully toward the manway that led aft to the main gun batteries and the drives.
He passed shambles. Bodies were everywhere. The sick bay had been destroyed by a direct hit. Guns and torpedo mounts were twisted wreckage garnished with dead. The communications center was miraculously untouched, still operating on emergency power, still broadcasting over the all wave transmitter as the endless tape ran and reran through its guides. ”

“ No skipper in his right mind would tackle two to one odds in favor of the aliens. But it was unavoidable now. Fiske shrugged. If he was right about the effect of his broadcaster, he had a chance—but the chance was a slim one anyway you looked at it. Sure—he knew the secret of Eglan coordination, but could he disrupt that coordination? ”

“ Fiske sighed as he took the ship up through the Cth components. It handled smoothly enough, but not as smoothly as the "Dauntless." The two men sat silently with the control board between them.
Fiske spoke finally. "You know, Oley," he said. "I thought it was a calamity when Bordoni broke his recordings."
Pedersen looked at him soberly. "You might still be right," he said. "We're going to win this war now. We're going to win it completely. They can't stop us now we know their weakness." ”

“ Ellen said. "The one time I saw him at close range he scared me half to death."
"Oh well, you needn't worry. It's just another try for prisoners. The Research Institute wants a live Eglan."
"Haven't they got some? Ed Albertson came in with a few last trip."
"Those were civilians. The labs want a military man or two. There's a lot of differences between the Eglan military and civilians that don't make sense."
"All they'd need to do is look at our fighting men. There's a lot of differences between them and civilians that don't make sense."
Fiske grinned. ”

“ The converters aren't going to take much more of this—we're on twenty percent overload right now!"
"They'll have to take it," Fiske snapped. "If we want to stay alive!"
"I'll try to keep 'em going, boss," Sandoval's voice broke in.
"Thanks Sandy." Fiske cut off. "Now about the noise business—"
"Well," Pedersen said—"You might try doing it yourself. Seems that I remember you howling like a wounded wolf a few days ago, just before we clobbered that Eglan base. If it's noise you want, why don't you give out with a few warwhoops. ”

“ The red monochrome deepened a trifle as the "Dauntless" dropped closer to breakout.
"Damn—they're quick!" Fiske muttered.
"We're not going to be here long at this rate," Pedersen observed.
"We do what we can. Unless we get that broadcast rigged we've got no chance at all." Fiske lapsed into silence.
A minute passed as the "Dauntless" dodged frantically and the Eglan maneuvered for position.
"Enemy has matched component," the talker said. Instantly the "Dauntless" was surrounded by a reddish-black gloom.
"Infra band coming," Pedersen remarked. "Our spotting isn't too good there. ”

“ Fiske ordered and familiar acceleration clutched at the bodies of the crew. With every electronic and visual sense extended, screens glowing on standby, drives flaring a fierce blue against the dark of space the "Dauntless" swept forward toward the frontier far ahead. Her speed was less than a snail's crawl compared to the inconceivable velocities she had been travelling in Cth but in normal spacetime weapons functioned and subetheric communicators worked. Here, fighting was an art—refined by years of drill and practice.
"Bearing zero two four—enemy cruiser. ”

“ We've lost two secondary batteries, but the mains are all right and our screens are keeping out the stuff our playmate's sending over."
"Our drives?"
"Okay—except for the converters like I said."
Fiske looked into the plotting tank. "Full right turn," he ordered. "If he won't close—we will."
"Skipper!" the intercom chattered. "We've got that tape in. We're ready to roll down here."
"Well—get going," Fiske snarled. "Do I have to tell you everything?" ”

“ And with the Lorcom converted to a subetheric broadcaster he had no exterior communications. The "Dauntless" was on her own—cut off from help—wholly dependent upon the skill of her crew for survival.
"Stand by for breakout," Fiske ordered.—"Execute."
Smoothly the ship swapped ends, halted instantly, and dropped like a stone through the Cth components as Sandoval cut the converters. With scarcely a shudder the "Dauntless" slipped into normal space. ”

“ She looked at the recorder with an odd expression on her pointed face. "Well," she said finally, "I didn't think anyone wanted it worse than I did. I thought it might amuse Ed. He's pretty low. He lost a lot of men." ”

“ Fiske's eyes widened. "You have something there," he admitted. He flipped the selector to communications. "George," he said, "can you rig a continuous tape playback into that broadcaster? Bordoni's aborted,—smashed his records." ”