Bors got nowhere, of course. His proposal had all the ear-marks of
lunacy of purest ray serene. He proposed urgently to equip all the ships
of the fleet with the low-power overdrive fields. It could be done in
days. Instructions were already distributed and would have been studied
and understood. The fleet would then go to Kandar--if it appeared that
the Mekinese grand fleet would go there--and set up a dummy fleet of
target-globes in war array. This would be a fleet, but not of fighting
ships. It would be a fleet of metal-foil inflated balloons.
One actual fighting ship, he stipulated, would form part of this
illusory space-navy. He volunteered the _Horus_ for it. That ship would
signal to the Mekinese when they arrived. It would make the king's
proposal to surrender, on the Mekinese promise to spare the civilian
population of Kandar. If the enemy admiral agreed to these terms and the
king believed him, then the true Kandarian fleet could appear and yield
to its overwhelmingly-powerful enemy. If the admiral arrogantly refused
to pledge safety to Kandar's population, then the dummy formation might
be destroyed, but the fleet would fight. Hopelessly and
uselessly--though the new low-power drive worked well in action--but it
would fight.
The First Admiral said stonily, "If I were in the position of the
Mekinese admiral, and I agreed to terms of capitulation, and if it were
then shown to me that the basis of the terms was a deceit, I would not
feel bound by my promise. When the actual fleet appeared, I would blast
it for questioning my honor."
Bors looked at him with hot eyes. The king said drearily, "No, Bors. We
must act in good faith. We cannot question the Mekinese good faith as
you propose, and then expect them to believe in ours. The admiral is
right. We can fight and bring destruction on our people, or we can place
ourselves at the mercy of Mekin. There can be only one choice. We
sacrifice ourselves, but we keep our honor."
"I deny," said Bors savagely, "that any man keeps his honor who enslaves
his fellows, as you will do in surrendering. I resign my commission in
your service, Majesty."
King Humphrey nodded wearily.
"Very well. You have served us admirably, Bors. I wish I thought you
were right in this matter. I would rather follow your advice than my
convictions. Your resignation is accepted."
An hour later, fuming, Bors paced back and forth across the floor of a
cabin in the flagship. The Pretender of Tralee entered. The older man
looked wryly amused.
"It was a most improper thing to do. You resigned your commission and
then ordered the low-power fields built on all ships."
"To the contrary," said Bors, "I spread the news that I had resigned my
commission _because_ the low-power fields were _not_ to be installed to
give us a fighting chance!"
The Pretender sat down and regarded his nephew quizzically.
"But is it so important? To use tables of calculations instead of
computers?"
"Yes," said Bors. "It is important. I should know. I've used the
low-power fields in combat. Nobody else has."
The old man said without reproof, "The First Admiral is indignant. The
fields were not ordered on the ground that they're an untested device
and that at least once such a field blew out, leaving your ship, the
_Isis_, so helpless that it had to be abandoned."
"True," agreed Bors. He made no defense. The attitude of the First
Admiral would have been perfectly logical in ordinary times. Anything
like the new intermediate, low-power overdrive field should have been
proposed through channels, examined by a duly-appointed commission of
officers, reported on, the report evaluated, and then painstaking and
lengthy tests made and the report on the tests evaluated. Then it should
have been submitted to another commission of officers of higher rank,
who would estimate the kind and amount of modification of standard
equipment the new device required, its susceptibility to accident and/or
obsolescence, the ease of repair, the cost of installation and the
length of time in-port required to install it. Somewhere along the line
there should also have been a report on the ease with which it could be
integrated into other apparatus and standard operational procedures, and
there should have been reports on its possible tactical value, the
probable number of times it would be useful, the degree of its utility
and whether the excessive discomfort of going into and out of overdrive
at extremely short intervals would have an adverse effect on crew
morale. Under normal circumstances a ship might have been equipped, for
testing purposes, in six to ten years, and in ten years more all new
ships might be equipped. But it would be well over a generation before
its use was general.
The older man said, "Since your resignation's been accepted, you'll be
put on the _Sylva_ when it comes back. You won't be taken to Kandar with
the fleet."
Bors's hands clenched.
"They'll say I resigned to stay out of the fight!"
"No," said his uncle mildly. "They'll say you resigned to avoid
surrender. I'm being evicted with you. I'm to be dumped on the
hospitality of your friend, Morgan, too. Humphrey is a very kindly man.
Abominably so. But I am tired of being an exile. I'd really rather stay
with the fleet. But he stands on his dignity to preserve our lives. I'm
not sure what for, in a universe where such things as Mekin can happen."
"They happen," growled Bors, "because we value peace and quiet as much
as the Mekinese do power, and much less than freedom. We compromise."
He paced up and down.
"Up to now," he said harshly, "every effort made against Mekin has been
defensive. Twenty-two worlds, in turn, have fallen because they only
wanted to _stop_ Mekin. It's time for some world to resolve very solidly
to _smash_ Mekin, to act with honest anger against a thing that should
be hated. It's got to be done!"
"The time for such a resolution," said his uncle, gently, "went by long
ago."
There was sudden voice from the compartment speaker.
"_Co-o-o-ntact!_"
There was the hissing sound of doors closing. The peculiarly-muffled
silence of a closed compartment fell. The Pretender said quietly, "If
this is the Mekinese fleet, everything is solved. But your friends of
Talents, Incorporated will have to be wrong. They insist the grand fleet
will not come here."
Bors rasped, "I wish I were in that control room! But at least we've got
missiles they can't intercept!"
"Except that they won't be fired, they're a great improvement," the
Pretender said mildly.
He sat at ease. Time passed. Presently the tiny compartment
air-refresher hummed, bringing down the CO{2} content of the air. It cut
off. Bors paced up and down, up and down. He pictured what might be
happening outside. It could be that the grand fleet of Mekin had
appeared and now drove proudly toward Glamis. It could be that the fleet
was offering surrender. There would be near-mutiny on many of its ships.
There would be monumental frustration. Junior officers, in particular,
would have examined the low-power overdrive tables, and would have
studied longingly the reports of Bors's use of low-power overdrive
against an enemy squadron off Meriden. They would yearn passionately to
have their ships equipped with apparatus by which it could vanish from a
place where it was a target to reappear elsewhere, unharmed, and make
the enemy its target. Two fleets equipped with the new device might
checkmate each other. But one fleet....
The speaker said curtly:
"_Captain Bors, a single ship has broken out of overdrive. It
identifies itself as the ship_ Liberty, _of Cela. It declares that it
has come to place itself under your command._"
Bors stared. He had forgotten about the two Cela-built ships which the
Deccan rebels told him about--the first of which had gone on a trial run
with a Mekinese crew and failed to return, and the second of which, with
a Celan crew, had gone off to look for Bors and his marauders.
Somehow, it had found him. It seemed totally improbable. Bors instantly
thought of Talents, Incorporated. The Talents on the ship had spread
rebellion on worlds unthinkable distances apart. It was conceivable that
in some way they'd brought this ship to Glamis.
"Very well," said Bors coldly, in the cabin to which he was confined. "I
request to be put on board."
"I'll come with you," said his uncle. He smiled at Bors, who noted, but
was not surprised at, the genuineness of the smile. "This is the ship
you mentioned as hoping to emulate the _Horus_. I don't think you'll
surrender it. But I've surrendered once and I don't like it. I'd rather
not do it again."
Compartment-doors went back to normal, as combat-alert went off. Morgan
appeared, agitated and upset.
"What's this?" he demanded. "What's happened?"
Bors told him curtly as much as he knew, all that he'd been told on
Deccan. It was the only ship technically in actual rebellion against
Mekin. It had heard rumors of Bors, and it wanted his leadership.
"But you can't go now!" insisted Morgan. "You've got to wait until the
_Sylva_ gets back! You have to have Talents, Incorporated information to
act on! You need my Talents!"
"I'm going to get moving as fast as I can," said Bors. "I don't think we
can wait. If the _Liberty's_ what I think, and her crew what I believe,
they'll crave action."
There was a space-boat at the flagship's lock. Bors and his uncle
entered. Those already in the boat were young men in the nondescript
clothing of ship-workers. They grinned proudly at Bors when he took his
seat.
"I don't know whether you know, sir," said the young man at the
space-boat's controls, "but we heard about your revolt, sir, and we were
about at the limit so we--"
"I stopped at Deccan," Bors said briefly. "They told me about you. Do
you want action against Mekin?"
"Yes, sir!" It was a chorus.
"You'll get it," said Bors. "I'll try you out on a concentration of
Mekin ships that should be turning up at Kandar. How are you equipped
for repairs and changes?"
"We left Cela for a test trip, sir," said the young man at the controls.
There were grins behind him. He chuckled. "Naturally we had materials to
repair anything that went wrong on a trial run!"
"I've got some new settings for missiles," said Bors, "which make them
hard to dodge. And we'll want to set up a special overdrive control,
which makes it easy to dodge Mekinese ones. We can attend to it on the
way to Kandar. How many aboard?"
He asked other curt questions. They answered. What Bors asked was what a
commanding officer would need to know about a new ship, and his new
followers realized it. They had been exultant and triumphant when he
entered the space-boat. In the brief time needed to get to the _Liberty_
they became ardently confident.
His reception was undisciplined but enthusiastic. He made a hurried
inspection. The _Liberty_ had started out with a skeleton crew of
shipyard workers and no stores or arms. The ranks were now filled with
volunteers from Deccan and elsewhere, and its storage-rooms fairly
bulged with foodstuffs. Bors, however, really relaxed only once. That
was when he saw the filled racks of missiles. On Deccan they'd been
lavish in their gifts to the rebel space-ship.
Bors went into the control room, glanced about, and spoke crisply into
the all-speaker microphone.
"All hands attention! Bors speaking. A concentration of Mekinese ships
is expected at Kandar. We shall head for that planet immediately. On the
way I shall arrange for some changes in the settings of the missiles we
have on board. We will fix and distribute aiming-tables for their use.
We will stop twice on the way for target practice. Much more than your
lives or mine depends on how well you do your work. We'll also modify
the overdrive to make this ship able to do everything my other ships
did--and more. You will work much harder on the way to Kandar than you
ever worked before, but we have to accomplish more than usual. That's
all."
He stood by while the ship was aimed for Kandar. The young astrogator
said enthusiastically, "Prepare for overdrive. Five, four, three--"
A voice out of a speaker:
"_Calling_ Liberty! _Calling_ Liberty! _Morgan calling_ Liberty!"
"Hold it," said Bors.
He answered the call. Morgan's voice, in a high state of agitation,
"_Bors! The_ Sylva's _just back! Just broke out! The grand fleet will
get to Kandar in five days, four hours, twenty minutes! My Talent on
the_ Sylva _is sure of it. It's Talents, Incorporated information!_"
"We haven't any time to spare, then," said Bors.
"_Bors!_" panted Morgan's voice. "_There were three ships of our fleet
hanging about, on watch for Mekinese. They expected one. Twelve came.
The observation-ships attacked. They got eleven of the twelve. The last
one went into overdrive and got away! Bors! Do you see what that
means?_"
"It means," said Bors coldly, "that Mekin won't be accepting surrenders
this week. Destroying the first division was bad enough. I got one off
Meriden. Now that a third squadron's wiped out, Mekin will insist on
somebody getting punished--and plenty! All right! We're leaving for
Kandar now."
He nodded to the young man at the control board. He noted with approval
that he'd kept the _Liberty's_ aim exact while Bors talked to Morgan.
"Proceed," Bors ordered.
The young man said, "Five, four, three, two, one--"
There was the familiar dizzying sensation of going into overdrive. The
_Liberty_ wrapped stressed space about itself and went hurtling into
invisibility.
This was one voyage in overdrive which was not tedious. Bors had to
organize the ship for combat. He had to train launching-crews to work
like high-speed machinery. He had to teach the setting of missiles for
ranges he had to show how to measure. Once he stopped the ship between
stars and all the launching-crews took shots at an inflated metal-foil
target. The Pretender of Tralee displayed an unexpected gift for
organization. He divided all space outside the ship into sectors,
assigning one launcher to each sector. If an order to fire came, the
separate crews would cover targets in their own areas first. There would
be no waste of missiles on one target.
The Pretender would have made an excellent officer. He was patient with
those who did not understand immediately. He had dignity that was not
arrogance. In five days the _Liberty_ was a fighting ship and a
dedicated one. There were rough edges, of course. Man for man and weapon
for weapon the ship would not compare with a longer-trained and more
experienced fighting instrument. But the morale on board was superb and
the weapons were--to put it mildly--inspiring of hope.
The _Liberty_ broke out of overdrive and the sun of Kandar shone fiery
yellow in emptiness. The gas-giant planet had moved in its orbit. It was
more evenly in line than before with a direct arrival-path for a fleet
from Mekin. Bors was worn out from his unremitting efforts to turn the
ship into a smooth-running unit. He looked at a ship's clock.
"The Mekinese," he said over the all-speaker circuit, "will break out in
two hours, forty minutes. And we're going to set up a dummy fleet for
them to deal with."
His uncle said gently, "I suggest some rest, to be fresh for the
handling of the ship. I'll set up the dummy fleet."
Bors resisted the idea, but it was not sensible to humor his own vanity
by insisting on his indispensability. He flung himself down on a bunk.
He was much better satisfied with the ship and crew than he would have
admitted. And he was dead-tired.
Around him, young men of Cela and Deccan prepared target-globes for
launching. The Pretender gently pointed out that the formation was to
remain perfectly still and in ranks. Therefore, each globe had to be
launched with no velocity at all, so it would remain in fixed position
with relation to the others, to convincingly appear to be a fleet of
ships.
Far away the _Sylva_ hurtled through space with a much-agitated Morgan
on board. Gwenlyn, too, was frightened. For the first time, both of them
seemed doubtful of the value of Talents, Incorporated information.
Again, far away, the fleet of Kandar rushed through emptiness. On its
various ships, junior officers had come threateningly close to mutiny.
There was now a sullen, resigned submission to discipline and what
orders might be given, but the fleet was fighting angry. The _Sylva_ had
brought back news of a third defeat of Mekinese by Kandar ships and hot
blood longed to make a full-scale test of its own deadliness. There were
few ships of the fleet which did not have a low-power overdrive field
unit ready to be spliced into circuit if the occasion arose. If the king
could not make acceptable terms for surrender, the junior officers were
prepared to make a victory by Mekin a very costly matter.
Stretched out on his bunk, Bors thought of all these things. Finally he
slept--and--dreamed. It was odd that anyone so weary should dream. It
was more strange that he did not dream of the matters in the forefront
of his mind. He dreamed of Gwenlyn. She was crying, in the dream, and it
was because she thought he was killed. And Bors was astonished at her
grief, and then unbelievably elated. And he moved toward her and she
raised her head at some sound he made. The expression of incredulous joy
on her face made him put his arms around her with an enormous and
unbelieving satisfaction. And he kissed her and the sensation was
remarkable.
Half-awake, he blinked at the ceiling of the control room of the
_Liberty_. His uncle was saying amiably to the young man at the
control-board, "That's a very pretty fleet-formation, if we do say so
ourselves!"
Bors stood up, one-half of his mind still startled by his dream, but the
other half reverting instantly to business.
But all matters of business had been attended to. Out the viewports he
could see the dummy fleet in an apparently defensive formation. Its
ships were only miles apart, and if they had been fighting ships, every
one could have launched missiles at any point of attack from the pattern
they constituted. At a hundred miles they could be seen only as specks
of reflected sunlight. At greater distances a radar would identify them
only as dots which must be enemy ships because the radar-blips they made
lacked the nimbus of friendly craft.
"Hm," said Bors. He looked at the clock. "The Mekinese should have
broken out five minutes ago."
"They did," said his uncle. "They're yonder. They're heading straight
for this fleet."
He pointed, not out a port but at a screen where a boiling mass of
bright specks showed the Mekinese fleet just out of overdrive and
speeding toward the dummy formation, sorting itself into attack
formation as it moved.
"The king's not here on time," observed Bors grimly. "We have to play
his hand for him, Uncle. We haven't the right to commit Kandar by
beginning to fight ourselves. Offer surrender, as he'd wish it to be
done. If they accept, he can carry out his part when he arrives. He'll
be here!"
The former monarch spoke gently into a beam transmitter.
"Calling Mekinese fleet," he said. "Defending fleet calling Mekinese
fleet!"
In seconds a reply came back.
"_Mekinese Grand Admiral calling Kandar_," the voice answered
arrogantly. "_What do you want?_"
"We will discuss capitulation on behalf of Kandar," said the old man.
"Will you give us terms?"
He grimaced, and said, aside, to Bors, "I'm speaking for Humphrey as I
know he'd speak. But I am ashamed!"
There was a pause. It took time for the Pretender's voice to reach the
enemy and as long for the reply to come back. The reply was ironic and
arrogant and amused.
"_What terms can you hope for?_" it demanded. "_You attacked our ships.
You indulged in destruction! How can you hope for terms?_"
The Pretender scratched his ear thoughtfully. He regarded the radar
screen with regret.
"We ask life for the people of our planet," he said steadily. He was
annoyed that he had to speak for the tardy King of Kandar. "We ask that
they not be punished for our resistance."
The young men in the control room looked astonished. Then they saw
Bors's expression, and grinned.
A long pause. The boiling, shifting specks on the radar-screen began to
have a definite order. The Mekinese voice, when it came, was triumphant
and overbearing.
"_We will spare your planet_," it said contemptuously, "_but not you.
You have dared to fight us. Stand and be destroyed, and there will be no
punishment for your world. There are no other terms._"
The Pretender looked at Bors. He shrugged.
"_Now_ what would the king do?" He looked puzzled.
"What can our dummy fleet do?" asked Bors.
The Pretender nodded. "We will offer no resistance," he said into the
transmitter.
There was a long silence. Bors looked at the radar-screen. The mass of
bright specks at the edge of the screen seemed to have sent a shining
wave before it. It was actually a swarm of missiles. They were so far
away that they could not be picked up as individuals on the screen. They
were a glow, a shine, a wave of pale luminosity.
"We shift to low-power overdrive readiness," said Bors. "That is an
order."
A ship-voice murmured, "_Low-power overdrive in circuit, sir._"
He watched the screen. The Mekinese missiles accelerated at a terrific
rate. They left their parent ships far behind. They were a third of the
way to the drone-fleet and the _Liberty_ before Bors spoke again.
"Launch and inflate another target-globe," he ordered drily. "We could
speak for the king since he was late. But we won't stay here to be
killed as his proxy! Not without fighting first!"
A voice, crisp: "_Target globe launched, sir._"
"Low-power overdrive toward the gas-giant planet. One-twentieth second.
Five, four, three, two, one!"
There was the unbearable double sensation of going into, and breakout
from, overdrive simultaneously. The _Liberty_ vanished from its place in
the formation of the dummy fleet, but left a metal-foil dummy where it
had been. It reappeared a full five thousand miles away.
The rushing missiles now were brighter. They were individual,
microscopic specks like stars. They began visibly to converge upon the
space occupied by the dummy fleet.
"They'll be counting the ships," said the Pretender mildly, "to make
sure that all stay for their execution. This would be a tragic sight if
it were Humphrey's real fleet. He is just obstinate enough to let
himself be killed, on the word of a treacherous Mekinese!"
The cloud of radar-blips grew bright and came near. The dummy fleet also
appeared on the screens in the _Liberty's_ control room. Bors and the
others could see the rushing, shining flood of missiles as it poured
through space upon the motionless targets.
"There!" Bors pointed. "The king's ship's breaking out! Away over at the
edge. I wonder if the Mekinese will notice!"
There were very tiny sparkles off at the side of the radar-screen. They
increased in number.
There was a flash, like the sun brought near for the tenth of a second.
Another. Yet another. Then an overwhelming spout of brilliance as tens
and twenties and fifties of the trajectiles went off together. It was an
unbelievable sight against the stars. Missiles flamed and flashed and
there seemed to be an actual sun there, now flashing brighter and now
fainter, but intolerably hot and shining.
It went out, and left a vague and shining vapor behind. Then, belated
missiles entered it and detonated. Their flares ceased. Then there was
nothing where there had seemed to be a fleet.
"Which," said Bors, "is that!"
Then a voice spoke coldly from space.
"_Connect all speakers for a message in clear_," it commanded. "_Alert
all personnel for a general order._"
There was a pause. The voice spoke again.
"_Spacemen of Mekin_," it said icily. "_The fleet of Kandar is now
destroyed. Kandar itself will be destroyed also as an example of the
consequences of perfidy toward Mekin. But it should be a warning to
others who would conspire against our world. Therefore, in part as
penalty and in part as a reward to the men of the Grand Fleet, you will
be allowed to land during a period of two weeks. You will be armed. You
may confiscate, for yourself, anything of value you find. You are not
required to exercise restraint in your actions toward the people of
Kandar. They will be destroyed with their planet and no protests from
such criminals will be listened to. You will be landed in groups, each
on a fresh area of the planet. That is all._"
There was silence in the control room of the _Liberty_. After a long
time the Pretender said very quietly, "I will not live while such beasts
live. From this moment I will kill them until I am killed!"
"I suspect King Humphrey heard that," Bors said, and drew a deep breath.
"Combat alert!" he ordered crisply. "We're attacking the Mekinese fleet.
Handle your missiles smoothly and don't try to fire while we're in
overdrive! We'll be going in and out.... Choose your targets and fire as
we come out and while I count down. Overdrive point nine seconds. Five,
four, three, two, one!"
The cosmos reeled and stomachs retched when the _Liberty_ came out in
nine-tenths of a second. She was in the very midst of a concentration
of the Mekinese fleet. Missiles streaked away, furiously, as Bors
counted down. "Two-fifths second, five, four, three, two, one!"
More missiles shot away. Bors almost chanted, while with gestures toward
the radar-screen he picked out the objects near which breakout should
fall.
"Point oh five seconds." The ship went into overdrive and out. It seemed
as if the universe dissolved from one appearance to another outside the
viewports. "Five, four, three, two, one! Hold fire!"
The _Liberty_ came out a good ten thousand miles from its starting-point
and beyond the area occupied by the enemy fleet. Three thousand miles
away a flare burst among the distant stars. A second. A third. Six
thousand miles away there were flashings in emptiness.
"We're doing very well," said Bors calmly into the all-speaker
microphone. "A little more care with the aiming, though. And read your
ranges closer! They're not intercepting our missiles. We're not aiming
them right. We try it again now...."
The universe seemed to reel and one felt queasy, but there was work to
be done, while a voice chanted, "Five, four, three, two, one!" Then it
reeled again and the same voice continued to chant. Sometimes the crews
saw where missiles hit, but they could never be sure they were their
own. Then, suddenly, the number of hits increased. They doubled and
tripled and quadrupled.
"All hands!" barked Bors. "The fleet of Kandar is wading into this
fight. Be careful to pick your targets! No Kandar ships! Save your
missiles for the enemy!"
Someone, man-handling missiles for faster and more long-continued firing
than any ship-designer ever expected, gasped, "Come on boys! Missiles
for Mekin!"
It became a joke, which seemed excruciatingly funny at the time.
Nobody saw all the battle, or even a considerable part. There was a
period when the _Liberty_, alone, fought like the deadliest of
gadflies. It appeared in the middle of a Mekinese sub-formation, loosed
missiles and vanished before anything could be intercepted. There was no
target for Mekinese bombs to home on when they got to where the
_Liberty_ had been.
Then the fleet of Kandar appeared. It broke out in single ships and in
pairs, and then in groups of fives and tens. The general order for the
Mekinese fleet had been picked up, and the fleet of Kandar seemed to
have gone mad.
The flagship tried to fight in orthodox fashion, for a time. It depended
on the attraction its missiles had for Mekinese to keep it in space. But
presently it was alone, and the battle was raging confusion scattered
over light-minutes, and somebody went down in to the engine room and
brazed in a low-power overdrive unit--providentially made by a junior
officer--and the flagship of the Kandarian fleet waded in erratically,
never knowing where it would come out, but rarely failing to find a
Mekinese ship to launch at.
The third phase of the battle was much more of an open fight, ship
against ship, except that more and more Kandarian ships were using
low-power overdrive--clumsily and inefficiently, but to the very great
detriment of Mekin's grand fleet. The Mekinese officers could not quite
grasp that their antagonists were doing the impossible. They became
confused.
The fourth phase of the battle consisted of mopping-up operations in
which individual ships were hunted down and destroyed by the simple
process of a Kandarian ship seeming to materialize from nowhere a mile
or half a mile from an enemy, launching one missile and seeming to
dematerialize again and vanish.
Very few Mekinese ships went into overdrive. Probably most of them
didn't believe what was happening. Perhaps four ships, out of the entire
grand fleet, escaped.
* * * * *
Later, of course, there was embarrassment all around. King Humphrey the
Eighth landed on Kandar to assure his people that they were no longer in
danger. He was embarrassed because he was a victor in spite of himself.
The fleet officers were embarrassed because Bors had been forced out of
the fleet, and had literally tricked them into battle.
Bors, too, was embarrassed. There was the admiration displayed by junior
officers of the fleet. He had become, very unwillingly, a model for
young space-navy officers. They tried to pattern themselves after him in
all ways, even to the angle at which they wore their hats. He squirmed
when they looked at him with shining-eyed respect.
He was embarrassed, also, by the necessary revelation to the _Liberty's_
crew that he was neither the leader of a rebellion nor in command of a
fleet; nor that he had performed quite all the fabulous feats credited
to him. He had to explain that he'd only commanded two ships, the _Isis_
and the _Horus_, one of which had to be destroyed, and that when the
_Liberty_ placed itself under his command he'd just been forced to
resign his commission from King Humphrey. The young men who'd fought
under him were unimpressed.
The fleet was re-supplied with food and missiles, and in one day more
the major part of it would take off for Mekin. Other ships would
journey, of course, to the twenty-odd, once-subject worlds. There they
would--they were calmly confident about it--mop up any surviving
Mekinese ships and enforce the surrender of Mekinese garrisons. And they
would gather emissaries to be carried to the fleet as it rode in orbit
about Mekin. The fleet and the representatives of the twenty-two worlds,
together, would firmly rearrange the government and the policies and the
ambitions of Mekin.
There was still the matter of Gwenlyn. The _Sylva_ came down on Kandar,
of course, where Morgan swaggered happily, pointing out the
indispensable help given to Kandar by Talents, Incorporated. Bors
reminded King Humphrey that Morgan collected medals, and he was duly
invested with sundry glittering decorations, which would have staggered
a lesser man.
Gwenlyn found Bors secluded in the palace, waiting until it was time to
board ship and head for Mekin. Her father accompanied her.
"I've come to say goodbye," she said gently. "We've done what we came
for."
"I still don't understand why you came," said Bors, who would much
rather have said something else. "We can't possibly do anything adequate
in return. Why _did_ you come?"
He turned to Morgan, who answered blandly, "One of our Talents
precognized an event. We had to come here and help it to happen. Gwenlyn
was doubtful, but she's come around."
"What was it?"
"It hasn't happened yet," said Morgan. He produced a cigar and lighted
it. "Gwenlyn, shall I tell him?"
"Don't you dare!" said Gwenlyn hotly.
Bors said unhappily, "I'm sorry you're going away, Gwenlyn. If things
were--different, I--I--"
"You what?" asked Morgan. "By the way! One of our Talents has
precognized that your uncle's going back to Tralee as its king again.
Largely on your account. You're his heir, aren't you?"
Bors blinked.
"Hero," said Morgan, waving his hand. "Twenty-two planets adoring you,
believing you brought Mekin down single-handed. Aching to work with you,
follow you, admire you. Naturally, Tralee wants your uncle back. Then
they'll have you. Of course," he added complacently, "our Department for
Disseminating Truthful Seditious Rumors had something to do with it. But
that was necessary wartime propaganda. And you didn't let anybody down."
Then he said peevishly, "Not until now!"
Bors gaped. He looked at Gwenlyn. Her cheeks were crimson. Revelation
struck Bors like a blow.
"I don't believe it!" he said, staring at her. He said more loudly, "I
don't believe it!"
"Damnit," said Morgan indignantly. "She didn't believe it either! She
said she'd come here because she was curious, nothing more. But that
particular Talent's never missed yet! She just plain _knows_ every time
who--"
"Hush!" said Gwenlyn fiercely. "Goodbye."
Bors moved toward her, not to shake hands. She ran out of the door. She
ran fast, for a girl. He ran faster.
Morgan puffed contentedly. Presently the completely unreal figure of
King Humphrey the Eighth came to where Morgan had surrounded himself
with aromatic smoke.
"Where's Bors?" asked the king.
"Yonder," said Morgan. He waved his hand. "Kissing my daughter, I think.
D'you know, Majesty, I've known this would happen all along? One of our
Talents precognized you opening parliament next year. So I knew things
had to come out right."
"Y-yes," said the king, dubiously. "I suppose so. But there had to be
efforts, too, to bring it about. Otherwise it wouldn't seem right."
"Naturally!" said Morgan. "When one of my Talents precognized that
Gwenlyn was going to marry the heir of the Pretender of Tralee and be
Queen of Tralee some day, why, it didn't seem a bit likely. But once I
knew about that precognition, I put in a little effort...."
King Humphrey was thoughtful.
"Things look good," said Morgan expansively. "My Talents are
precognizing all over the place. They tell me that this planet's going
to be a fine place to live. Quiet and peaceful, and serene.... Gwenlyn
will be living on Tralee, most likely, and I don't want to be underfoot.
I'll probably settle down here. Retire, you know."
"Splendid," said the king, politely, his mind occupied with the prospect
of a warless future.
"And as for Gwenlyn and Bors," Morgan added, confidentially, "I'll tell
you something. My Talents've been working on her future. I wouldn't tell
her all of it. Some of it should be a surprise. But she and Bors are
going to be what you call happy ever after! And that's Talents,
Incorporated information! You can depend on it!"
TWO MORE AVON S-F HITS YOU'RE SURE TO ENJOY
LITTLE FUZZY
_by H. Beam Piper F-118 40c_
Zarathustra belonged to the chartered Zarathustra Company as a Class-III
uninhabited planet. They owned it lock, stock and barrel; they exploited
it without interference from the Colonial Government.
The Company was sitting pretty until Jack Holloway turned up with a
family of Fuzzies and the claim that they were not just nice little
animals, but human. If he was right and the Fuzzies were declared the
9th extrasolar sapient race, there went the Company, charter and all!
LITTLE FUZZY is our candidate for the most delightful science-fiction
book of the year.
* * * * *
THE STAR DWELLERS
_by James Blish F-122 40c_
They were beautiful creatures, highly intelligent and playful. The
inhabitants of Terra nicknamed them "Angels," yet they were awesome--the
youngest were 4,000,000 years old and the oldest had been around since
the birth of the universe.
Space cadet Jack Loftus was almost overwhelmed when he had to assume the
responsibility of negotiating a treaty with them--a treaty which could
mean the life or death of earth and mankind.
* * * * *
Available at your local newsdealer. If he cannot supply you, order
direct from Avon Book Division, The Hearst Corporation, 250 West 55th
Street, New York 19, New York. Enclose price listed plus 10c extra per
book to cover cost of wrapping and mailing.
TALENTS, INCORPORATED
Charlatans or Prophets?
At best, the tiny Kandarian Air Fleet would fight until its last ship
was blown into infinity. At worst, it would be annihilated without a
chance. To young Captain Bors, either course was unthinkable.
The ruthless Dictator of Mekin had already subjugated twenty-two
helpless planets. Now he wanted Kandar's unconditional surrender, or his
vastly superior forces would blast it out of existence.
It took a lot of guts, and the hope that is frequently born of despair,
for a military man like Bors to throw in his lot with TALENTS,
INCORPORATED, an untried, unscientific organization. Through peculiar
gifts of extra-sensory perception, its personnel could, their leader
insisted, out-think and out-guess even the most deadly dictator in the
history of mankind. Could it? It just might.
And it just might not.... But there was absolutely nothing to lose, and
a free world (and a beautiful girl) to win. Captain Bors made his
decision, and the loaded die was cast!
Printed in the U.S.A.