“Give me an all-ship hookup,” he said. There was a few seconds pause, and then a Third Officer spoke from the control panel.
“You’re hooked in, sir.”
“Men,” said Donal. “This is Captain Graeme.” He paused. He had no idea what he had intended to say. He had asked for the hookup on impulse, and to break the strain of the last few moments which must be weighing on all the rest as much as him. “I’ll tell you one thing. This is something Newton’s never going to forget. Good luck to all of you. That’s all.”
He wigwagged to the Third Officer to cut him off; and looked up at the clock. A chime sounded softly through the ship.
It was 23:15.
SUB-PATROL CHIEF II
Newton was not to forget.
To a world second only to Venus in its technical accomplishments—and some said not even second—to a world rich in material wealth, haughty with its knowledge, and complacent in the contemplation of its lavish fighting forces, came the shadow of the invader. One moment its natives were secure as they had always been behind the ringing strength of their ninety ships in orbit—and then enemy craft were upon them, making runs across the skies of their planet, bombing them with—what1?
No, Newton was never to forget. But that came afterward.
To the men in the five ships, it was the here and now that counted. Their first run across the rich world below them seemed hardly more than another exercise. The ninety ships were there—as well as a host of other spacecraft. They—or as many of them as were not occluded by the body of the planet— registered on the instruments of the Freilander ships. But that was all. Even the second run was almost without incident. But by the time Donal’s leading ship came through for the start of the third run, Newton was beginning to buzz like a nest of hornets, aroused.
The sweat was running freely down Donal’s face as they broke into the space surrounding the planet; and it was not tension alone that was causing it. The psychic shocks of five phase shifts were taking their toll. Halfway in their run there was a sudden sharp tremor that shook their small white-walled world that was the control room, but the ship continued as if unhurt, released its second torpedo and plunged into the safety of its sixth phase shift.
“Damage?” called Donal—and was surprised to hear his voice issue on an odd croaking note. He swallowed and asked again, in a more normal, controlled tone. “Damage?”
“No damage—” called an officer sharply, from the control panel. “Close burst.”
Donal turned his eyes almost fiercely back onto the scene in the Eye. The second ship appeared. Then the third. The fourth. The fifth.
“Double up this time!” ordered Donal harshly. There was a short minute or two of rest and then the sickening wrench of the phase shift again.
In the Eye, its magnification jumping suddenly, Donal caught sight of two Newtonian ships, one planetward, the other in a plane and at approximately two o’clock to the line of the bombing run they had begun.
“Defensive—” began Donal; but the gun crews had waited for no order. Their tracking had been laid and the computers were warm. As he watched, the Newtonian ship which was ahead and in their plane opened out like a burst balloon in slow motion and seemed to fall away from them.
—Another phase shift.
The room swam for a second in Donal’s blurred eyes. He felt a momentary surge of nausea; and, on the heels of it, heard someone over at the panel, retching. He blazed up inside, forcing an anger to fight the threatening sickness.
It’s in your mind—it’s all in your mind—he slapped the thought at himself like a curse. The room steadied; the sickness retreated a little way.
“Time—” It was Bannerman, calling in a half-gasping voice from the panel. Donal blinked and tried to focus on the scene in the Eye. The rank odor of his own sweat was harsh in his nostrils—or was it simply that the room was permeated with the stink of all their sweating?
In the Eye he could make out that four ships had come through on this last run. As he watched, the fifth winked into existence.
“Once more!” he called, hoarsely. “In at a lower level, this time.” There was a choked, sobbing-like sound from the direction of the panel; but he deliberately did not turn his head to see who it was.
Again the phase shift.
Blur of planet below. A sharp shock. Another.
Again the phase shift.
The control room—full of mist? No—his own eyes. Blink them. Don’t be sick.
“Damage?”
No answer.
“Damage!”
“—Light hit. Aft. Sealed—”
“Once more.”
“Captain—” Bannerman’s voice, “we can’t make it again. One of our ships—”
Check in the Eye. Images dancing and wavering— yes, only four ships.
“Which one?”
“I think—” Bannerman, gasping, “Mendez.”
“Once more.”
“Captain, you can’t ask—”
“Give me a hookup then.” Pause. “You hear me? Give me a hookup.”
“Hookup—” some officer’s voice. “You’re hooked up, captain.”
“All right, this is Captain Graeme.” Croak and squeak. Was that his voice speaking? “I’m calling for volunteers—one more run. Volunteers only. Speak up, anyone who’ll go.”
Long pause.
“Shai Dorsai!”
“Shai El Man!—any others?”
“Sir—” Bannerman—”The other two ships aren’t receiving.”
Blink at Eye. Focus. True. Two of three ships there yawning out of line.
“Just the two of us then. Bannerman?”
“At”—croaking—”your orders, sir.”
“Make the run.”
Pause …
Phase shift!
Planet, whirling—shock—dark space. Can’t black out now—
“Pull her out of it!” Pause. “Bannerman!”
Weakly responding: “Yes sir—”
PHASE SHIFT
—Darkness …
“—Up!”
It was a snarling, harsh, bitter whisper in Donal’s ear. He wondered, eyes-closed, where it was coming from. He heard it again, and once again. Slowly it dawned on him that he was saying it to himself.
He fought his eyes open.
The control room was still as death. In the depths of the eye before him three small tiny shapes of ships could be seen, at full magnification, far-flung from each other. He fumbled with dead fingers at the ties on his suit, then bound them to his chair. One by one they came free. He pushed himself out of the chair and fell to his knees on the floor.
Swaying, staggering, he got to his feet. He turned himself toward the five chairs at the control panel, and staggered to them.
In four of the chairs, Bannerman and his three officers sagged unconscious. The Third Officer seemed more than unconscious. His face was milkish white and he did not seem to be breathing. All four men had been sick.
In the fifth chair, Lee hung twisted in his ties. He was not unconscious. His eyes were wide on Donal as he approached, and a streak of blood had run down from one corner of the orderly’s mouth. He had apparently tried to break his ties by main strength, like a mindless animal, and go directly to Donal. And yet his eyes were not insane, merely steady with an unnatural fixity of purpose. As Donal reached him Lee tried to speak; but all he was able to manage for a second was a throttled sound, and a Httle more blood came out of the corner of his mouth.
“Y’arright?” he mumbled, finally.
“Yes,” husked Donal. “Get you loose in a minute. What happened to your mouth?”
“Bit tongue—” mumbled Lee thickly. “M’arright.”
Donal unfastened the last of the ties and, reaching up, opened Lee’s mouth with his hands. He had to use real strength to do so. A little more blood came out, but he was able to see in. One edge of Lee’s tongue, halfway back from the tip, had been bitten entirely through.
“Don’t talk,” directed Donal. “Don’t use that tongue at all until you can get it fixed.”
Lee nodded, with no mark of emotion, and began painfully to work out of the chair.
By the time he was out, Donal had managed to get the ties loose on the still form of the Third Officer. He pulled the man out of the chair and laid him on the floor. There was no perceptible heartbeat. Donal stretched him out and attempted to begin artificial respiration; but at the first effort his head swam dizzily and he was forced to stop. Slowly he pulled himself erect and began to break loose the ties on Bannerman.
“Get the Second, if you feel up to it,” he told Lee. The Cobyman staggered stiffly around to the Second Officer and began work on his ties.
Between the two of them, they got the three Freilanders stretched, out on the floor and their helmets off. Bannerman and the Second Officer began to show signs of regaining consciousness and Donal left them to make another attempt at respiration with the Third Officer. But he found the body, when he touched it. was already beginning to cool.