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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/26772-h.zip b/26772-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dfa7402 --- /dev/null +++ b/26772-h.zip diff --git a/26772-h/26772-h.htm b/26772-h/26772-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c41dcb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/26772-h/26772-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2281 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Question of Courage, by J. F. Bone + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h2 {text-align: left; margin-left: 20%; margin-bottom: 2em;} + h1 {padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -4em; text-align: center;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 1em auto; visibility: hidden;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .smcapl {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + .figcenter {margin: 1em auto; width: 600px;} + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin: 1em 0 1em 1em; padding: 0; width: 357px;} + img {border: none;} + .illo {position: absolute; right: 26%; text-align: right;} + .p1 {line-height: 2; font-style: italic; font-size: large;} + .tnd {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em;} + .figtran {float: left; text-align: justify; border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em;} + .figtran img {float: left; padding-right: 1em;} + .fx {clear: both;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Question of Courage, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Question of Courage + +Author: Jesse Franklin Bone + +Illustrator: Virgil Finlay + +Release Date: October 4, 2008 [EBook #26772] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A QUESTION OF COURAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1><big>A Question<br /> +Of Courage</big></h1> + +<p><span class="illo"><b><small>Illustrated by FINLAY</small></b></span></p> + +<h2>By J. F. BONE</h2> + +<p class="p1"><b><big>I smelled the trouble the moment I stepped on</big><br /> +the lift and took the long ride up the side of<br /> +the "Lachesis." There was something wrong. I<br /> +couldn't put my finger on it but</b></p> + +<p>five years in the Navy gives a +man a feeling for these things. +From the outside the ship was +beautiful, a gleaming shaft of +duralloy, polished until she +shone. Her paint and brightwork +glistened. The antiradiation +shields on the gun turrets and +launchers were folded back exactly +according to regulations. +The shore uniform of the liftman +was spotless and he stood at his +station precisely as he should. +As the lift moved slowly up past +no-man's country to the life section, +I noted a work party hanging +precariously from a scaffolding +smoothing out meteorite pits +in the gleaming hull, while on the +catwalk of the gantry standing +beside the main cargo hatch a +steady stream of supplies disappeared +into the ship's belly.</p> + +<p>I returned the crisp salutes of +the white-gloved sideboys, saluted +the colors, and shook hands +with an immaculate ensign with +an O.D. badge on his tunic.</p> + +<p>"Glad to have you aboard, +sir," the ensign said.</p> + +<p>"I'm Marsden," I said. "Lieutenant +Thomas Marsden. I have +orders posting me to this ship as +Executive."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. We have been expecting +you. I'm Ensign Halloran."</p> + +<p>"Glad to meet you, Halloran."</p> + +<p>"Skipper's orders, sir. You are +to report to him as soon as you +come aboard."</p> + +<p>Then I got it. Everything was +SOP. The ship wasn't taut, she +was tight! And she wasn't happy. +There was none of the devil-may-care +spirit that marks crews +in the Scouting Force and separates +them from the stodgy mass +of the Line. Every face I saw on +my trip to the skipper's cabin +was blank, hard-eyed, and unsmiling. +There was none of the +human noise that normally +echoes through a ship, no laughter, +no clatter of equipment, no +deviations from the order and +precision so dear to admirals' +hearts. This crew was G.I. right +down to the last seam tab on +their uniforms. Whoever the +skipper was, he was either bucking +for another cluster or a cold-feeling +automaton to whom the +Navy Code was father, mother, +and Bible.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/001.png" width="600" height="445" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The O.D. stopped before the +closed door, executed a mechanical +right face, knocked the prescribed +three times and opened +the door smartly on the heels of +the word "Come" that erupted +from the inside. I stepped in followed +by the O.D.</p> + +<p>"Commander Chase," the O.D. +said. "Lieutenant Marsden."</p> + +<p>Chase! Not Cautious Charley +Chase! I could hardly look at the +man behind the command desk. +But look I did—and my heart +did a ninety degree dive straight +to the thick soles of my space +boots. No wonder this ship was +sour. What else could happen +with Lieutenant Commander +Charles Augustus Chase in command! +He was three classes up +on me, but even though he was +a First Classman at the time I +crawled out of Beast Barracks, I +knew him well. Every Midshipman +in the Academy knew him—Rule-Book +Charley—By-The-Numbers +Chase—his nicknames +were legion and not one of them +was friendly. "Lieutenant Thomas +Marsden reporting for duty," +I said.</p> + +<p>He looked at the O.D. "That'll +be all, Mr. Halloran," he said.</p> + +<p>"Aye, sir," Halloran said +woodenly. He stepped backward, +saluted, executed a precise about +face and closed the hatch softly +behind him.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Sit down, Marsden," Chase +said. "Have a cigarette."</p> + +<p>He didn't say, "Glad to have +you aboard." But other than that +he was Navy right down to the +last parenthesis. His voice was +the same dry schoolmaster's +voice I remembered from the +Academy. And his face was the +same dry gray with the same +fishy blue eyes and rat trap jaw. +His hair was thinner, but other +than that he hadn't changed. +Neither the war nor the responsibilities +of command appeared to +have left their mark upon him. +He was still the same lean, undersized +square-shouldered blob +of nastiness.</p> + +<p>I took the cigarette, sat down, +puffed it into a glow, and looked +around the drab 6 x 8 foot cubicle +called the Captain's cabin by +ship designers who must have +laughed as they laid out the +plans. It had about the room of a +good-sized coffin. A copy of the +Navy Code was lying on the +desk. Chase had obviously been +reading his bible.</p> + +<p>"You are three minutes late, +Marsden," Chase said. "Your orders +direct you to report at +0900. Do you have any explanation?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," I said.</p> + +<p>"Don't let it happen again. +On this ship we are prompt."</p> + +<p>"Aye, sir," I muttered.</p> + +<p>He smiled, a thin quirk of +thin lips. "Now let me outline +your duties, Marsden. You are +posted to my ship as Executive +Officer. An Executive Officer is +the Captain's right hand."</p> + +<p>"So I have heard," I said drily.</p> + +<p>"Belay that, Mr. Marsden. I +do not appreciate humor during +duty hours."</p> + +<p>You wouldn't, I thought.</p> + +<p>"As I was saying, Marsden, +Executive Officer, you will be responsible +for—" He went on and +on, covering the Code—chapter, +book and verse on the duties of +an Executive Officer. It made no +difference that I had been Exec +under Andy Royce, the skipper +of the "Clotho," the ship with +the biggest confirmed kill in the +entire Fleet Scouting Force. I +was still a new Exec, and the +book said I must be briefed on +my duties. So "briefed" I was—for +a solid hour.</p> + +<p>Feeling angry and tired, I +finally managed to get away from +Rule Book Charley and find my +quarters which I shared with the +Engineer. I knew him casually, +a glum reservist named Allyn. I +had wondered why he always +seemed to have a chip on his +shoulder. Now I knew.</p> + +<p>He was lying in his shock-couch +as I came in. "Welcome, +sucker," he greeted me. "Glad to +have you aboard."</p> + +<p>"The feeling's not mutual," I +snapped.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? Has the +Lieutenant Commander been +rolling you out on the red carpet?"</p> + +<p>"You could call it that," I said. +"I've just been told the duties +of an Exec. Funny—no?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "Not funny. +I feel for you. He told me +how to be an engineer six months +ago." Allyn's thin face looked +glummer than usual.</p> + +<p>"Did I ever tell you about our +skip—captain?" Allyn went on. +"Or do I have to tell you? I see +you're wearing an Academy +ring."</p> + +<p>"You can't tell me much I +haven't already heard," I said +coldly. I don't like wardroom gossips +as a matter of policy. A few +disgruntled men on a ship can +shoot morale to hell, and on a +ship this size the Exec is the +morale officer. But I was torn between +two desires. I wanted Allyn +to go on, but I didn't want +to hear what Allyn had to say. I +was like the proverbial hungry +mule standing halfway between +two haystacks of equal size and +attractiveness. And like the mule +I would stand there turning my +head one way and the other until +I starved to death.</p> + +<p>But Allyn solved my problem +for me. "You haven't heard +<i>this</i>," he said bitterly. "The +whole crew applied for transfer +when we came back to base after +our last cruise. Of course, they +didn't get it, but you get the +idea. Us reservists and draftees +get about the same consideration +as the Admiral's dog—No! +dammit!—Less than the dog. +They wouldn't let a mangy cur +ship out with Gutless Gus."</p> + +<p>Gutless Gus! that was a new +one. I wondered how Chase had +managed to acquire that sobriquet.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"It was on our last patrol," +Allyn went on, answering my +question before I asked it. "We +were out at maximum radius +when the detectors showed a disturbance +in normal space. Chase +ordered us down from Cth for +a quick look—and so help me, +God, we broke out right in the +middle of a Rebel supply convoy—big, +fat, sitting ducks all +around us. We got off about +twenty Mark VII torpedoes before +Chase passed the word to +change over. We scooted back +into Cth so fast we hardly knew +we were gone. And then he raises +hell with Detector section for not +identifying every class of ship in +that convoy!</p> + +<p>"And when Bancroft, that's +the Exec whom you've relieved, +asked for a quick check to confirm +our kills, Chase sat on him +like a ton of brick. 'I'm not interested +in how many poor devils +we blew apart back there,' our +Captain says. 'Our mission is to +scout, to obtain information +about enemy movements and get +that information back to Base. +We cannot transmit information +from a vaporized ship, and that +convoy had a naval escort. Our +mission cannot be jeopardized +merely to satisfy morbid curiosity. +Request denied. And, Mr. +Bancroft, have Communications +contact Fleet. This information +should be in as soon as possible.' +And then he turned away leaving +Bancroft biting his fingernails. +He wouldn't even push out a +probe—scooted right back into +the blue where we'd be safe!</p> + +<p>"You know, we haven't had +one confirmed kill posted on the +list since we've been in space. +It's getting so we don't want to +come in any more. Like the time—the +'Atropos' came in just +after we touched down. She was +battered—looked like she'd been +through a meat grinder, but she +had ten confirmed and six probable, +and four of them were escorts! +Hell! Our boys couldn't +hold their heads up. The 'Lachesis' +didn't have a mark on her +and all we had was a few possible +hits. You know how it goes—someone +asks where you're +from. You say the 'Lachesis' +and they say 'Oh, yes, the cruise +ship.' And that's that. It's so +true you don't even feel like resenting +it."</p> + +<p>I didn't like the bitter note in +Allyn's voice. He was a reservist, +which made it all the worse. Reservists +have ten times the outside +contacts we regulars do. In +general when a regular and reservist +tangle, the Academy men +close ranks like musk-oxen and +meet the challenge with an unbroken +ring of horns. But somehow +I didn't feel like ringing up.</p> + +<p>I kept hoping there was another +side to the story. I'd check +around and find out as soon as I +got settled. And if there was another +side, I was going to take +Allyn apart as a malicious trouble-maker. +I felt sick to my stomach.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>We spent the next three days +taking on stores and munitions, +and I was too busy supervising +the stowage and checking manifests +to bother about running +down Allyn's story. I met the +other officers—Lt. Pollard the +gunnery officer, Ensign Esterhazy +the astrogator, and Ensign +Blakiston. Nice enough guys, but +all wearing that cowed, frustrated +look that seemed to be a +"Lachesis" trademark. Chase, +meanwhile, was up in Flag Officer's +Country picking up the dope +on our next mission. I hoped that +Allyn was wrong but the evidence +all seemed to be in his favor. +Even more than the officers, +the crew was a mess underneath +their clean uniforms. From Communications +Chief CPO Haskins +to Spaceman Zelinski there was +about as much spirit in them as +you'd find in a punishment detail +polishing brightwork in +Base Headquarters. I'm a cheerful +soul, and usually I find no +trouble getting along with a new +command, but this one was different. +They were efficient +enough, but one could see that +their hearts weren't in their +work. Most crews preparing to +go out are nervous and high +tempered. There was none of +that here. The men went through +the motions with a mechanical +indifference that was frightening. +I had the feeling that they +didn't give a damn whether they +went or not—or came back or +not. The indifference was so +thick you could cut it with a +knife. Yet there was nothing you +could put your hand on. You +can't touch people who don't +care.</p> + +<p>Four hours after Chase came +back, we lifted gravs from Earth. +Chase was sitting in the control +chair, and to give him credit, we +lifted as smooth as a silk scarf +slipping through the fingers of a +pretty woman. We hypered at +eight miles and swept up +through the monochromes of Cth +until we hit middle blue, when +Chase slipped off the helmet, unfastened +his webbing, and stood +up.</p> + +<p>"Take over, Mr. Marsden," he +said. "Lay a course for Parth."</p> + +<p>"Aye, sir," I replied, slipping +into the chair and fastening the +web. I slipped the helmet on my +head and instantly I was a part +of the ship. It's a strange feeling, +this synthesis of man and metal +that makes a fighting ship the +metallic extension of the Commander's +will. I was conscious +of every man on duty. What they +saw I saw, what they heard I +heard, through the magic of modern +electronics. The only thing +missing was that I couldn't feel +what they felt, which perhaps +was a mercy considering the +condition of the crew. Using the +sensor circuits in the command +helmet, I let my perception roam +through the ship, checking the +engines, the gun crews, the navigation +board, the galley—all the +manifold stations of a fighting +ship. Everything was secure, the +ship was clean and trimmed, the +generators were producing their +megawatts of power without a +hitch, and the converters were +humming contentedly, keeping +us in the blue as our speed built +to fantastic levels.</p> + +<p>I checked the course, noted it +was true, set the controls on +standby and relaxed, half dozing +in the chair as Lume after +Lume dropped astern with monotonous +regularity.</p> + +<p>An hour passed and Halloran +came up to relieve me. With a +sigh of relief I surrendered the +chair and headset. The unconscious +strain of being in rapport +with ship and crew didn't hit +me until I was out of the chair. +But when it did, I felt like something +was crushing me flat. Not +that I didn't expect it, but the +"Lachesis" was worse than the +"Clotho" had ever been.</p> + +<p>I had barely hit my couch +when General Quarters sounded. +I smothered a curse as I pounded +up the companionway to my +station at the bridge. Chase was +there, stopwatch in hand, counting +the seconds.</p> + +<p>"Set!" Halloran barked.</p> + +<p>"Fourteen seconds," Chase +said. "Not bad. Tell the crew +well done." He put the watch in +his pocket and walked away.</p> + +<p>I picked up the annunciator +mike and pushed the button. +"Skipper says well done," I +said.</p> + +<p>"He got ten seconds out of us +once last trip," Halloran said. +"And he's been trying to repeat +that fluke ever since. Bet you a +munit to an 'F' ration that +he'll be down with the section +chief trying to shave off another +second or two. Hey!—what's +that—oh ..." He looked +at me. "Disturbance in Cth yellow, +straight down—shall we +go?"</p> + +<p>"Stop ship," I ordered. "Sound +general quarters." There was no +deceleration. We merely swapped +ends as the alarm sounded, applied +full power and stopped. +That was the advantage of Cth—no +inertia. We backtracked for +three seconds and held in middle +blue.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"What's going on?" Chase demanded +as he came up from below. +His eyes raked the instruments. +"Why are we stopped?"</p> + +<p>"Disturbance in Cth yellow, +sir," I said. "We're positioned +above it."</p> + +<p>"Very good, Mr. Marsden." +He took the spare helmet from +the Exec's chair, clapped it on, +fiddled with the controls for a +moment, nodded, and took the +helmet off. "Secure and resume +course," he said. "That's the +'Amphitrite'—fleet supply and +maintenance. One of our people."</p> + +<p>"You sure, sir?" I asked, and +then looked at the smug grin on +Halloran's face and wished I +hadn't asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course," Chase said. +"She's a three converter job running +at full output. Since the +Rebels have no three converter +ships, she has to be one of ours. +And since she's running at full +output and only in Cth yellow, +it means she's big, heavy, and +awkward—which means a maintenance +or an ammunition supply +ship. There's an off phase +beat in her number two converter +that gives a twenty cycle pulse to +her pattern. And the only heavy +ship in the fleet with this pattern +is 'Amphitrite.' You see?"</p> + +<p>I saw—with respect. "You +know all the heavies like that, +sir?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Not all of them—but I'd like +to. It's as much a part of a +scoutship commander's work to +know our own ships as those of +the enemy."</p> + +<p>"Could that trace be a Rebel +ruse?"</p> + +<p>"Not likely—travelling in the +yellow. A ship would be cold +meat this far inside our perimeter. +And besides, there's no +Rebel alive who can tune a converter +like a Navy mechanic."</p> + +<p>"You sure?" I persisted.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure. But take her down +if you wish."</p> + +<p>I did. And it was the "Amphitrite."</p> + +<p>"I served on her for six +months," Chase said drily as we +went back through the components. +I understood his certainty +now. A man has a feeling for +ships if he's a good officer. But +it was a trait I'd never expected +in Chase. I gave the orders and +we resumed our band and speed. +Chase looked at me.</p> + +<p>"You acted correctly, Mr. +Marsden," he said. "Something I +would hardly expect, but something +I was glad to see."</p> + +<p>"I served under Andy Royce," +I reminded him.</p> + +<p>"I know," Chase replied. +"That's why I'm surprised." He +turned away before I could think +of an answer that would combine +insolence and respect for his +rank. "Keep her on course, Mr. +Halloran," he tossed over his +shoulder as he went out.</p> + +<p>We kept on course—high and +hard despite a couple of disturbances +that lumbered by underneath +us. Once I made a motion +to stop ship and check, but Halloran +shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Don't do it, sir," he warned.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"You heard the Captain's orders. +He's a heller for having +them obeyed. Besides, they might +be Rebs—and we might get hurt +shooting at them. We'll just report +their position and approximate +course—and keep on travelling. +Haskins is on the Dirac +right now." Halloran's voice was +sarcastic.</p> + +<p>I didn't like the sound of it, +and said so.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir—we won't lose them +entirely," Halloran said comfortingly. +"Some cruiser will investigate +them. Chances are +they're ours anyway—and if +they aren't there's no sense in us +risking our nice shiny skin stopping +them—even though we +could take them like Lundy took +Koromaja. Since the book doesn't +say we have to investigate, +we won't." His voice was bitter +again.</p> + +<p>At 0840 hours on the fourth +day out, my annunciator buzzed. +"Sir," the talker's voice came +over the intercom, "Lieutenants +Marsden and Allyn are wanted +in the Captain's quarters."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Chase was there—toying with +the seals of a thin, brown envelope. +"I have to open this in the +presence of at least two officers," +he said nodding at Allyn who +came in behind me. "You two +are senior on the ship and have +the first right to know." He slid +a finger through the flap.</p> + +<p>"Effective 12, Eightmonth, +GY2964," he read, "USN 'Lachesis' +will proceed on offensive +mission against enemy vessels as +part of advance covering screen +Fleet Four for major effort +against enemy via sectors YD +274, YD 275, and YD 276. Entire +Scouting Force IV quadrant will +be grouped as Fleet Four Screen +Unit under command Rear Admiral +<span class="smcapl">SIMMS</span>. Initial station +'Lachesis' coordinates X 06042 +Y 1327 Betelgeuse-Rigel baseline. +ETA Rendezvous point +0830 plus or minus 30, 13/8/64.</p> + +<p>"A. Evars, Fleet Admiral USN +Commanding."</p> + +<p>There it was! I could see Allyn +stiffen as a peculiar sick +look crossed Chase's dry face. +And suddenly I heard all the +ugly little nicknames—Subspace +Chase, Gutless Gus, Cautious +Charley—and the dozen others. +For Chase was afraid. It was so +obvious that not even the gray +mask of his face could cover it.</p> + +<p>Yet his voice when he spoke +was the same dry, pedantic voice +of old. "You have the rendezvous +point, Mr. Marsden. Have Mr. +Esterhazy set the course and +speed to arrive on time." He dismissed +us with the traditional +"That's all, gentlemen," and we +went out separate ways. I didn't +want to look at the triumphant +smile on Allyn's face.</p> + +<p>We hit rendezvous at 0850, +picked up a message from the +Admiral at 0853, and at 0855 +were on our way. We were part +of a broad hemispherical screen +surrounding the Cruiser Force +which englobed the Line and +supply train—the heavies that +are the backbone of any fleet. +We were headed roughly in the +direction of the Rebel's fourth +sector, the one top-heavy with +metals industries. Our exact +course was known only to the +brass and the computers that +planned our interlock. But where +we were headed wasn't important. +The "Lachesis" was finally +going to war! I could feel the +change in the crew, the nervousness, +the anticipation, the adrenal +responses of fear and excitement. +After a year in the +doldrums, Fleet was going to try +to smash the Rebels again. We +hadn't done so well last time, +getting ambushed in the Fifty +Suns group and damn near losing +our shirts before we managed +to get out. The Rebs weren't +as good as we were, but they +were trickier, and they could +fight. After all, why shouldn't +they be able to? They were human, +just as we were, and any +one of a dozen extinct intelligent +races could testify to our fighting +ability, as could others not-quite-extinct. +Man ruled this +section of the galaxy, and someday +if he didn't kill himself off +in the process he'd rule all of it. +He wasn't the smartest race but +he was the hungriest, the fiercest, +the most adaptable, and the +most unrelenting. Qualities +which, by the way, were exactly +the ones needed to conquer a +hostile universe.</p> + +<p>But mankind was slow to +learn the greatest lesson, that +they <i>had</i> to cooperate if they +were to go further. We were already +living on borrowed time. +Before the War, ten of eleven +exploration ships sent into the +galactic center had disappeared +without a trace. Somewhere, buried +deep in the billions of stars +that formed the galactic hub, +was a race that was as tough and +tricky as we were—maybe even +tougher. This was common +knowledge, for the eleventh ship +had returned with the news of +the aliens, a story of hairbreadth +escape from destruction, and a +pattern of their culture which +was enough like ours to frighten +any thinking man. The worlds +near the center of humanity's +sphere realized the situation at +once and quickly traded their independence +for a Federal Union +to pool their strength against +the threat that might come any +day.</p> + +<p>But as the Union Space Navy +began to take shape on the dockyards +of Earth and a hundred +other worlds, the independent +worlds of the periphery began to +eye the Union with suspicion. +They had never believed the exploration +report and didn't want +to unite with the worlds of the +center. They thought that the +Union was a trick to deprive +them of their fiercely cherished +independence, and when the +Union sent embassies to invite +them into the common effort, +they rejected them. And when +we suggested that in the interests +of racial safety they abandon +their haphazard colonization +efforts that resulted in an uncontrolled +series of jumps into +the dark, punctuated by minor +wars and clashes when colonists +from separate origins landed, +more or less simultaneously, on +a promising planet, they were +certain we were up to no good.</p> + +<p>Although we explained and +showed them copies of the exploration +ship's report, they +were not convinced. Demagogues +among them screamed about +manifest destiny, independence, +interference in internal affairs, +and a thousand other things +that made the diplomatic climate +between Center and Periphery +unbearably hot. And +their colonists kept moving outward.</p> + +<p>Of course the Union was not +about to cooperate in this potential +race suicide. We simply +couldn't allow them to give that +other race knowledge of our +whereabouts until we were ready +for them. So we informed each +of the outer worlds that we +would consider any further efforts +at colonizing an unfriendly +act, and would take steps to discourage +it.</p> + +<p>That did it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>We halted a few colonizing +ships and sent them home under +guard. We uprooted a few advance +groups and returned them +to their homeworlds. We established +a series of observation +posts to check further expansion—and +six months later we were +at war.</p> + +<p>The outer worlds formed what +they called a defensive league +and with characteristic human +rationality promptly attacked +us. Naturally, they didn't get +far. We had a bigger and better +fleet and we were organized +while they were not. And so they +were utterly defeated at the Battle +of Ophiuchus.</p> + +<p>It was then that we had two +choices. We could either move in +and take over their defenseless +worlds, or we could let them rebuild +and get strong, and with +their strength acquire a knowledge +of cooperation—and take +the chance that they would ultimately +beat us. Knowing this, +we wisely chose the second +course and set about teaching +our fellow men a lesson that was +now fifteen years along and not +ended yet.</p> + +<p>By applying pressure at the +right places we turned their attention +inward to us rather than +to the outside, and by making +carefully timed sorties here and +there about the periphery we +forced them through sheer military +necessity to gradually +tighten their loosely organized +League into tightly centralized +authority, with the power to demand +and obtain—to meet our +force with counterforce. By desperate +measures and straining +of all their youthful resources +they managed to hold us off. +And with every strain they were +welded more tightly together. +And slowly they were learning +through war what we could not +teach through peace.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, they wouldn't +believe our aims even when +captured crews told them. They +thought it was some sort of +tricky mental conditioning designed +to frustrate their lie detectors. +Even while they tightened +their organization and built +new fleets, they would not believe +that we were forcing them +into the paths they must travel +to avoid future annihilation.</p> + +<p>It was one of the ironies of +this war that it was fought and +would be fought with the best of +intentions. For it was obvious +now that we could never win—nor +could they. The Rebels, as we +called them, were every whit as +strong as we, and while we enjoyed +the advantages of superior +position and technology they +had the advantage of superior +numbers. It was stalemate,—the +longest, fiercest stalemate in +man's bloody history. But it was +stalemate with a purpose. It was +a crazy war—a period of constant +hostilities mingled with +sporadic offensive actions like +the one we were now engaged in—but +to us, at least, it was war +with a purpose—the best and +noblest of human purposes—the +preservation of the race.</p> + +<p>The day was coming, not too +many years away, when the first +of the aliens would strike the +Outer worlds. Then we would +unite—on the League's terms if +need be—to crush the invaders +and establish mankind as the +supreme race in the galaxy.</p> + +<p>But this wasn't important +right now. Right now I was the +Executive Officer of a scout ship +commanded by a man I didn't +trust. He smelled too much like a +stinking coward. I shook my +head. Having Chase running the +ship was like putting a moron +in a jet car on one of the superhighways—and +then sabotaging +the automatics. Just one fearful +mistake and a whole squadron +could be loused up. But Chase +was the commander—the ultimate +authority on this ship. All +I could do was pray that things +were going to come out all right.</p> + +<p>We moved out in the lower +red. Battles weren't fought in +Cth. There was no way to locate +a unit at firing range in that +monochromatic madness. Normal +physical laws simply didn't +apply. A ship had to come out +into threespace to do any damage. +All Cth was was a convenient +road to the battlefront.</p> + +<p>With one exception.</p> + +<p>By hanging in the infra band, +on the ragged edge of threespace, +a scout ship could remain +concealed until a critical moment, +breakout into threespace—discharge +her weapons—and +flick back into Cth before an +enemy could get a fix on her. +Scouts, with their high capacity +converters, could perform this +maneuver, but the ponderous +battlewagons and cruisers with +their tremendous weight of armor, +screens, and munitions +couldn't maneuver like this. +They simply didn't have the agility. +Yet only they had the ability +to penetrate defensive screens +and kill the Rebel heavies. So +space battle was conducted on +the classic pattern—the Lines +slugging it out at medium range +while the screen of scouts buzzed +around and through the battle +trying to add their weight of +metal against some overstrained +enemy and ensure his destruction. +A major battle could go on +for days—and it often did. In +the Fifty Suns action the battle +had lasted nearly two weeks subjective +before we withdrew to +lick our wounds.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>For nearly a day we ran into +nothing, and such are the distances +that separate units of a +fleet, we had the impression that +we were alone. We moved quietly, +detectors out, scanning the +area for a light-day around as +we moved forward at less than +one Lume through Cth. More +would have been fatal for had +we been forced to resort to a +quick breakout to avoid enemy +action, and if we were travelling +above one Lume when we hit +threespace, we'd simply disappear, +leaving a small spatial vortex +in our wake.</p> + +<p>On the "morning" of the third +day the ships at the apex of +Quadrant One ran into a flight +of Rebel scouts. There was a +brief flurry of action, the Rebels +were englobed, a couple of cruisers +drove in, latched onto the +helplessly straining Rebel scouts +and dragged them into threespace. +The Rebs kept broadcasting +right up to the end—after +which they surrendered before +the cruisers could annihilate +them. Smart boys.</p> + +<p>But the Rebels were warned. +We couldn't catch all their +scouts and the disturbance our +Line was making in Cth would +register on any detector within +twenty parsecs. So they would +be waiting to meet us. But that +was to be expected. There is no +such thing as surprise in a major +action.</p> + +<p>We went on until we began to +run into major opposition. Half +a dozen scouts were caught in +englobements at half a dozen +different places along the periphery +as they came in contact +with the Rebels' covering forces. +And that was that. The advance +halted waiting for the Line to +come up, and a host of small actions +took place as the forward +screening forces collided. Chase +was in the control chair, hanging +in the blackness of the infra +band on the edge of normal +space. But we weren't flicking in +and out of threespace like some +of the others. We had a probe +out and the main buffeting was +taken by the duralloy tube with +its tiny converter at its bulbous +tip. With consummate pilotage +Chase was holding us in infra. +It was a queasy sensation, hanging +halfway between normalcy +and chaos, and I had to admire +his skill. The infra band was +black as ink and hot as the hinges +of hell—and since the edges +of threespace and Cth are not +as knife sharp as they are further +up in the Cth components, +we bucked and shuddered on the +border, but avoided the bone-crushing +slams and gut-wrenching +twists that less skillful skippers +were giving their ships as +they flicked back and forth between +threespace and Cth. Our +scouting line must have been a +peculiar sight to a threespace +observer with the thousand or so +scouts flickering in and out of +sight across a huge hemisphere +of space.</p> + +<p>And then we saw them. Our +probe picked up the flicker of +enemy scouts.</p> + +<p>"Action imminent," Chase +said drily. "Stand by."</p> + +<p>I clapped the other control +helmet over my head and +dropped into the Exec's chair. A +quick check showed the crew at +their stations, the torpedo +hatches clear, the antiradiation +shields up and the ship in fighting +trim. I stole a quick glance +at Chase. Sweat stood out on his +gray forehead. His lips were +drawn back into a thin line, +showing his teeth. His face was +tense, but whether with fear or +excitement I didn't know.</p> + +<p>"Stand by," he said, and then +we hit threespace, just as the +enormous cone of the Rebel Line +flicked into sight. The enemy +line had taken the field, and under +the comparatively slow +speeds of threespace was rushing +forward to meet our Line +which had emerged a few minutes +ago. Our launchers flamed +as we sent a salvo of torpedoes +whistling toward the Rebel fleet +marking perhaps the opening +shots of the main battle. We +twisted back into Cth as one of +the scanner men doubled over +with agony, heaving his guts out +into a disposal cone. I felt sorry +for him. The tension, the racking +agony of our motion, and +the fact that he was probably in +his first major battle had all +combined to take him for the +count. He grinned greenly at me +and turned back to his dials and +instruments. Good man!</p> + +<p>"Target—range one eight zero +four, azimuth two four oh, elevation +one oh seven," the rangefinder +reported. "Mass four." +Mass four:—a cruiser.</p> + +<p>"Stand by," Chase said. "All +turrets prepare to fire." And he +took us down. We slammed into +threespace and our turrets +flamed. To our left rear and +above hung the mass of an enemy +cruiser, her screens glowing +on standby as she drove forward +to her place in the line. We had +caught her by surprise, a thousand +to one shot, and our torpedoes +were on their way before +her detectors spotted us. We +didn't stay to see what happened, +but the probe showed an +enormous fireball which blazed +briefly in the blackness, shooting +out globs of scintillating molten +metal that cooled and disappeared +as we watched.</p> + +<p>"Scratch one cruiser," someone +in fire control yelped.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The effect on morale was electric. +In that instant all doubts of +Chase's ability disappeared. All +except mine. One lucky shot isn't +a battle, and I guess Chase figured +the same way because his +hands were shaking as he jockeyed +us along on the edge of Cth. +He looked like he wanted to +vomit.</p> + +<p>"Take it easy, skipper," I said.</p> + +<p>"Mind your own business, +Marsden—and I'll mind mine," +Chase snapped. "Stand by," he +ordered, and we dove into threespace +again—loosed another +salvo at another Reb, and flicked +out of sight. And that was the +way it went for hour after hour +until we pulled out, our last torpedo +fired and the crew on the +ragged edge of exhaustion. +Somehow, by some miracle compounded +of luck and good pilotage, +we were unmarked. And +Chase, despite his twitching +face and shaking hands, was one +hell of a combat skipper! I +didn't wonder about him any +more. He had the guts all right. +But it was a different sort of +courage from the icy contempt +for danger that marked Andy +Royce. Even so, I couldn't help +thinking that I was glad to be +riding with Chase. We drove to +the rear, heading for the supply +train, our ammunition expended, +while behind us the battlewagons +and cruisers were hammering +each other to metal pulp.</p> + +<p>In the quiet of the rear area it +was hardly believable that a major +battle was going on ahead +of us. We raised the "Amphitrite," +identified ourselves, and +put in a request for supply.</p> + +<p>"Lay aboard," "Amphitrite" signalled +back. "How's the war going?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. We've been too +busy," our signalman replied.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet—you're 'Lachesis,' +aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Affirmative."</p> + +<p>"How'd you lose your ammo? +Jettison it?"</p> + +<p>"Stow that, you unprintable +obscenity," Haskins replied. +"We're a fighting ship."</p> + +<p>"Amphitrite" chuckled nastily. +"That I'll believe when I see it!"</p> + +<p>"Communications," Chase +snapped. "This isn't a social +call. Get our heading and approach +instructions." He sounded +as schoolmasterish as ever, +but there was a sickly smile on +his face, and the gray-green look +was gone.</p> + +<p>"Morale seems a little better, +doesn't it, Marsden?" he said to +me as the "Amphitrite" flicked +out into threespace and we followed.</p> + +<p>I nodded. "Yes, sir," I agreed. +"Quite a little."</p> + +<p>Our cargo hatches snapped +open and we cuddled up against +"Amphitrite's" bulging belly +while our crew and the supply +echelon worked like demons to +transfer ammunition. We had +fifty torpedoes aboard when the +I.F.F. detector shrilled alarm.</p> + +<p>Three hundred feet above us +the "Amphitrite's" main battery +let loose a salvo at three Rebel +scouts that had flickered into +being less than fifty miles away. +Their launchers flared with a +glow that lighted the blackness +of space.</p> + +<p>"Stand by!" Chase yelled as +he threw the converter on.</p> + +<p>"Hatches!" I screamed as we +shimmered and vanished.</p> + +<p>Somehow we got most of them +closed, losing only the crew on +number two port turret which +was still buttoning up as we +slipped over into the infra band. +I ordered the turret sealed. Cth +had already ruined the unshielded +sighting mechanisms and I +had already seen what happened +to men caught in Cth unprotected. +I had no desire to see it +again—or let our crew see it if +it could be avoided. A human +body turned inside out isn't the +most wholesome of sights.</p> + +<p>"How did <i>they</i> get through?" +Chase muttered as we put out +our probe.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—maybe someone +wasn't looking."</p> + +<p>"What's it like down there?" +Chase asked. "See anything?"</p> + +<p>"'Amphitrite's' still there," I +said.</p> + +<p>"She's <i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Still there," I repeated. "And +she's in trouble."</p> + +<p>"She's big. She can take it—but—"</p> + +<p>"Here, you look," I said, flipping +the probe switch.</p> + +<p>"My God!" Chase muttered—as +he took one look at the supply +ship lying dead in space, her +protective batteries flaming. She +had gotten one of the Rebel +scouts but the other two had her +bracketed and were pouring fire +against her dim screens.</p> + +<p>"She can't keep this up," I +said. "She's been hulled—and it +looks like her power's taken it."</p> + +<p>"Action imminent," Chase ordered, +and the rangefinder took +up his chant.</p> + +<p>We came storming out of Cth +right on top of one of the Rebel +scouts. A violent shock raced +through the ship, slamming me +against my web. The rebound +sent us a good two miles away +before our starboard battery +flamed. The enemy scout, disabled +by the shock, stunned and +unable to maneuver took the entire +salvo amidships and disappeared +in a puff of flame.</p> + +<p>The second Rebel disappeared +and we did too. She was back in +Cth looking for a better chance +at the "Amphitrite." The big +ship was wallowing like a +wounded whale, half of one section +torn away, her armor dented, +and her tubes firing erratically.</p> + +<p>We took one long look and +jumped back into Cth. But not +before Haskins beamed a message +to the supply ship. "Now +you've seen it, you damned +storekeeper," he gloated. "What +do you think?" "Amphitrite" +didn't answer.</p> + +<p>"Probe out," Chase ordered, +neglecting, I noticed, to comment +on the signalman's act.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>I pushed the proper buttons +but nothing happened. I pushed +again and then turned on the +scanners. The one aft of the +probe was half covered with a +twisted mass of metal tubing +that had once been our probe. +We must have smashed it when +we rammed. Quickly I shifted to +the auxiliary probe, but the +crumpled mass had jammed the +hatch. It wouldn't open.</p> + +<p>"No probes, sir," I announced.</p> + +<p>"Damn," Chase said. "Well, +we'll have to do without them. +Hold tight, we're going down."</p> + +<p>We flicked into threespace +just in time to see a volcano of +fire erupt from "Amphitrite's" +side and the metallic flick of the +Rebel scout slipping back into +Cth.</p> + +<p>"What's your situation, 'Amphitrite'?" +our signal asked.</p> + +<p>"Not good," the faint answer +came back. "They've got us in +the power room and our accumulators +aren't going to stand this +load very long. That last salvo +went through our screens, but +our armor stopped it. But if the +screens go down—"</p> + +<p>Our batteries flared at the +Rebel as he again came into +sight. He didn't wait, but flicked +right back into Cth without firing +a shot. Pollard was on the +ball.</p> + +<p>"Brave lad, that Reb," Chase +said. There was a sneer in his +voice.</p> + +<p>For the moment it was stalemate. +The Reb wasn't going to +come into close range with a +warship of equal power to his +own adding her metal to the +"Amphitrite's," but he could +play cat and mouse with us, +drawing our fire until we had +used up our torpedoes, and then +come in to finish the supply ship. +Or he could harass us with long +range fire. Or he could go away.</p> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="images/002.png" width="357" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>It was certain he wouldn't do +the last, and he'd be a fool if he +did the second. "Amphitrite" +could set up a mine screen that +would take care of any long +range stuff,—and we could +dodge it. His probe was still +working and he had undoubtedly +seen ours crushed against our +hull. If he hadn't he was blind—and +that wasn't a Rebel characteristic. +We could hyper, of +course, but we were blind up +there in Cth. His best was to +keep needling us, and take the +chance that we'd run out of +torps.</p> + +<p>"What's our munition?" +Chase asked almost as an echo +to my thought. I switched over +to Pollard.</p> + +<p>"Thirty mark sevens," Pollard +said, "and a little small arms."</p> + +<p>"One good salvo," Chase said, +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>The Rebel flashed in and out +again, and we let go a burst.</p> + +<p>"Twenty, now," I said.</p> + +<p>Chase didn't hear me. He was +busy talking to Allyn on damage +control. "You can't cut it, +hey?—All right—disengage the +converter on the auxiliary probe +and break out that roll of duralloy +cable in the stores—Pollard! +don't fire over one torp at +a time when that lad shows up. +Load the other launchers with +blanks. Make him think we're +shooting. We have to keep him +hopping. Now listen to me—Yes, +Allyn, I mean you. Fasten that +converter onto the cable and +stand by. We're going to make a +probe." Chase turned to me.</p> + +<p>"You were Exec with Royce," +he said. "You should know how +to fight a ship."</p> + +<p>"What are you planning to +do?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"We can't hold that Rebel off. +Maybe with ammunition we +could, but there's less than a +salvo aboard and he has the advantage +of position. We can't be +sure he won't try to take us in +spite of 'Amphitrite's' support +and if he does finish us, 'Amphitrite's' +a dead duck." The "Lachesis" +quivered as the port turrets +belched flame. "That leaves nineteen +torpedoes," he said. "In Cth +we're safe enough but we're helpless +without a probe. Yet we can +only get into attack position +from Cth. That leaves us only +one thing to do—improvise a +probe."</p> + +<p>"And how do you do that?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"Put a man out on a line—with +the converter from the auxiliary. +Give him a command helmet +and have him talk the ship +in."</p> + +<p>"But that's suicide!"</p> + +<p>"No, Marsden, not suicide—just +something necessary. A +necessary sacrifice, like this +whole damned war! I don't believe +in killing men. It makes me +sick. But I kill if I have to, and +sacrifice if I must." His face +twisted and the gray-green look +came back. "There are over a +thousand men on the 'Amphitrite,' +and a vital cargo of munitions. +One life, I think, is fair +trade for a thousand, just as a +few hundred thousand is fair +trade for a race." The words +were schoolmasterish and would +have been dead wrong coming +from anyone except Chase. But +he gave them an air of reasonable +inevitability. And for a moment +I forgot that he was cold-bloodedly +planning someone's +death. For a moment I felt the +spirit of sacrifice that made heroes +out of ordinary people.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Look, skipper," I said. "How +about letting me do it?" I could +have kicked myself a moment +later, but the words were out +before I could stop them. He +had me acting noble, and that +trait isn't one of my strong +suits.</p> + +<p>He smiled. "You know, Marsden," +he said, "I was expecting +that." His voice was oddly soft. +"Thanks." Then it became dry +and impersonal. "Request denied," +he said. "This is my +party."</p> + +<p>I shivered inside. While I'm no +coward, I didn't relish the +thought of slamming around at +the end of a duralloy cable +stretching into a nowhere where +there was no inertia. A hair too +heavy a hand on the throttle in +Cth would crush the man on the +end to a pulp. But he shouldn't +go either. It was his responsibility +to command the ship.</p> + +<p>"Who else is qualified?" Chase +said answering the look on my +face. "I know more about maneuver +than any man aboard, +and I'll be controlling the ship +until the last moment. Once I +order the attack I'll cut free, and +you can pick me up later."</p> + +<p>"You won't have time," I protested.</p> + +<p>"Just in case I don't make it," +Chase continued, making the +understatement of the war with a +perfectly straight face, "take +care of the crew. They're a good +bunch—just a bit too eager for +the <i>real</i> Navy—but good. I've +tried to make them into spacemen +and they've resented me for +it. I've tried to protect them and +they've hated me—"</p> + +<p>"They won't now—" I interrupted.</p> + +<p>"I've tried to make them a +unit." He went on as though I +hadn't said a thing. "Maybe I've +tried too hard, but I'm responsible +for every life aboard this +ship." He picked up his helmet. +"Take command of the ship, Mr. +Marsden," he said, and strode +out of the room. The "Lachesis" +shuddered to the recoil from the +port turrets. Eighteen torpedoes +left, I thought.</p> + +<p>We lowered Chase a full hundred +feet on the thin strand of +duralloy. He dangled under the +ship, using his converter to keep +the line taut.</p> + +<p>"You hear me, skipper?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"Clearly—and you?"</p> + +<p>"Four-four. Hang on now—we're +going up." I eased the +"Lachesis" into Cth and hung +like glue to the border. "How's +it going, skipper?"</p> + +<p>"A bit rough but otherwise all +right. Now steer right—easy +now—aagh!"</p> + +<p>"Skipper!"</p> + +<p>"Okay, Marsden. You nearly +pulled me in half—that's all. +You did fine. We're in good position +in relation to 'Amphitrite.' +Now let's get our signals +straight. Front is the way we're +going now—base all my directions +on that—got it?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good, Marsden, throttle back +and hang on your converters."</p> + +<p>I did as I was told.</p> + +<p>"Ah—there she is—bear left a +little. Hmm—she's looking for +us—looks suspicious. Now she's +turning toward 'Amphitrite.' +Guess she figures we are gone. +She's in position preparing to +fire. <i>Now!</i> Drop out and fire—elevation +zero, azimuth three +sixty—<i>Move!</i>"</p> + +<p>I moved. The "Lachesis" +dropped like a stone. Chase was +dead now. Nothing made of flesh +could survive that punishment +but we—we came out right on +top of them, just like Chase had +done to the other—except that +we fired before we collided. And +as with the other Rebel we +gained complete surprise. Our +eighteen torpedoes crashed +home, her magazines exploded, +and into that hell of molten and +vaporized metal that had once +been a Rebel scout we crashed a +split second later. Two thousand +miles per second relative is too +fast for even an explosion to +hurt much if there isn't any +solid material in the way, and +we passed through only the +outer edges of the blast, but even +so, the vaporized metal scoured +our starboard plating down to +the insulation. It was like a +giant emery wheel had passed +across our flank. The shock +slammed us out of control and +we went tumbling in crazy gyrations +across space for several +minutes before I could flip the +"Lachesis" into Cth, check the +speed and motion, and get back +into threespace.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Chase was gone—and "Lachesis" +was done. A week in drydock +and she'd be as good as +new, but she was no longer a +fighting ship. She was a wreck. +For us the battle was over—but +somehow it didn't make me +happy. The "Amphitrite" hung +off our port bow, a tiny silver dot +in the distance, and as I watched +two more silver dots winked into +being beside her. Haskins reported +the I.F.F. readings.</p> + +<p>"They're ours," he said. "A +couple of cruisers."</p> + +<p>"They should have been here +ten minutes ago," I replied bitterly. +I couldn't see very well. +You can't when emotion clogs +your tubes. Chase—coward?—not +him. He was man clear +through—a better one than I'd +ever be even if I lived out my +two hundred years. I wondered +if the crew knew what sort of +man their skipper was. I turned +up the command helmet. "Men—" +I began, but I didn't finish.</p> + +<p>"We know," the blended +thoughts and voices came back +at me. Sure they knew! Chase +had been on command circuit +too. It was enough to make you +cry—the mixture of pride, sadness +and shame that rang +through the helmet. It seemed to +echo and reecho for a long time +before I shut it off.</p> + +<p>I sat there, thinking. I wasn't +mad at the Rebels. I wasn't anything. +All I could think was that +we were paying a pretty grim +price for survival. Those aliens +had better show up pretty soon—and +they'd better be as nasty +as their reputation. There was a +score—a big score—and I wanted +to be there when it was added +up and settled.</p> + +<p class="tnd"><b>THE END</b></p> + +<div class="figtran"> +<a href="images/003-2.jpg"><img src="images/003-1.jpg" width="144" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a> +<b><big>Transcriber's Note:</big></b><br /><br /> +This etext was produced from <i>Amazing Stories</i> December 1960. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + +<hr class="fx" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Question of Courage, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A QUESTION OF COURAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 26772-h.htm or 26772-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/7/7/26772/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Question of Courage, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Question of Courage + +Author: Jesse Franklin Bone + +Illustrator: Virgil Finlay + +Release Date: October 4, 2008 [EBook #26772] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A QUESTION OF COURAGE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + A Question + Of Courage + + By J. F. BONE + + Illustrated by FINLAY + + + _I smelled the trouble the moment I stepped on + the lift and took the long ride up the side of + the "Lachesis." There was something wrong. I + couldn't put my finger on it but_ + +five years in the Navy gives a man a feeling for these things. From the +outside the ship was beautiful, a gleaming shaft of duralloy, polished +until she shone. Her paint and brightwork glistened. The antiradiation +shields on the gun turrets and launchers were folded back exactly +according to regulations. The shore uniform of the liftman was spotless +and he stood at his station precisely as he should. As the lift moved +slowly up past no-man's country to the life section, I noted a work +party hanging precariously from a scaffolding smoothing out meteorite +pits in the gleaming hull, while on the catwalk of the gantry standing +beside the main cargo hatch a steady stream of supplies disappeared into +the ship's belly. + +I returned the crisp salutes of the white-gloved sideboys, saluted the +colors, and shook hands with an immaculate ensign with an O.D. badge on +his tunic. + +"Glad to have you aboard, sir," the ensign said. + +"I'm Marsden," I said. "Lieutenant Thomas Marsden. I have orders posting +me to this ship as Executive." + +"Yes, sir. We have been expecting you. I'm Ensign Halloran." + +"Glad to meet you, Halloran." + +"Skipper's orders, sir. You are to report to him as soon as you come +aboard." + +Then I got it. Everything was SOP. The ship wasn't taut, she was tight! +And she wasn't happy. There was none of the devil-may-care spirit that +marks crews in the Scouting Force and separates them from the stodgy +mass of the Line. Every face I saw on my trip to the skipper's cabin was +blank, hard-eyed, and unsmiling. There was none of the human noise that +normally echoes through a ship, no laughter, no clatter of equipment, no +deviations from the order and precision so dear to admirals' hearts. +This crew was G.I. right down to the last seam tab on their uniforms. +Whoever the skipper was, he was either bucking for another cluster or a +cold-feeling automaton to whom the Navy Code was father, mother, and +Bible. + +[Illustration] + +The O.D. stopped before the closed door, executed a mechanical right +face, knocked the prescribed three times and opened the door smartly on +the heels of the word "Come" that erupted from the inside. I stepped in +followed by the O.D. + +"Commander Chase," the O.D. said. "Lieutenant Marsden." + +Chase! Not Cautious Charley Chase! I could hardly look at the man behind +the command desk. But look I did--and my heart did a ninety degree dive +straight to the thick soles of my space boots. No wonder this ship was +sour. What else could happen with Lieutenant Commander Charles Augustus +Chase in command! He was three classes up on me, but even though he was +a First Classman at the time I crawled out of Beast Barracks, I knew +him well. Every Midshipman in the Academy knew him--Rule-Book +Charley--By-The-Numbers Chase--his nicknames were legion and not one of +them was friendly. "Lieutenant Thomas Marsden reporting for duty," I +said. + +He looked at the O.D. "That'll be all, Mr. Halloran," he said. + +"Aye, sir," Halloran said woodenly. He stepped backward, saluted, +executed a precise about face and closed the hatch softly behind him. + + * * * * * + +"Sit down, Marsden," Chase said. "Have a cigarette." + +He didn't say, "Glad to have you aboard." But other than that he was +Navy right down to the last parenthesis. His voice was the same dry +schoolmaster's voice I remembered from the Academy. And his face was the +same dry gray with the same fishy blue eyes and rat trap jaw. His hair +was thinner, but other than that he hadn't changed. Neither the war nor +the responsibilities of command appeared to have left their mark upon +him. He was still the same lean, undersized square-shouldered blob of +nastiness. + +I took the cigarette, sat down, puffed it into a glow, and looked around +the drab 6 x 8 foot cubicle called the Captain's cabin by ship designers +who must have laughed as they laid out the plans. It had about the room +of a good-sized coffin. A copy of the Navy Code was lying on the desk. +Chase had obviously been reading his bible. + +"You are three minutes late, Marsden," Chase said. "Your orders direct +you to report at 0900. Do you have any explanation?" + +"No, sir," I said. + +"Don't let it happen again. On this ship we are prompt." + +"Aye, sir," I muttered. + +He smiled, a thin quirk of thin lips. "Now let me outline your duties, +Marsden. You are posted to my ship as Executive Officer. An Executive +Officer is the Captain's right hand." + +"So I have heard," I said drily. + +"Belay that, Mr. Marsden. I do not appreciate humor during duty hours." + +You wouldn't, I thought. + +"As I was saying, Marsden, Executive Officer, you will be responsible +for--" He went on and on, covering the Code--chapter, book and verse on +the duties of an Executive Officer. It made no difference that I had +been Exec under Andy Royce, the skipper of the "Clotho," the ship with +the biggest confirmed kill in the entire Fleet Scouting Force. I was +still a new Exec, and the book said I must be briefed on my duties. So +"briefed" I was--for a solid hour. + +Feeling angry and tired, I finally managed to get away from Rule Book +Charley and find my quarters which I shared with the Engineer. I knew +him casually, a glum reservist named Allyn. I had wondered why he always +seemed to have a chip on his shoulder. Now I knew. + +He was lying in his shock-couch as I came in. "Welcome, sucker," he +greeted me. "Glad to have you aboard." + +"The feeling's not mutual," I snapped. + +"What's the matter? Has the Lieutenant Commander been rolling you out on +the red carpet?" + +"You could call it that," I said. "I've just been told the duties of an +Exec. Funny--no?" + +He shook his head. "Not funny. I feel for you. He told me how to be an +engineer six months ago." Allyn's thin face looked glummer than usual. + +"Did I ever tell you about our skip--captain?" Allyn went on. "Or do I +have to tell you? I see you're wearing an Academy ring." + +"You can't tell me much I haven't already heard," I said coldly. I don't +like wardroom gossips as a matter of policy. A few disgruntled men on a +ship can shoot morale to hell, and on a ship this size the Exec is the +morale officer. But I was torn between two desires. I wanted Allyn to go +on, but I didn't want to hear what Allyn had to say. I was like the +proverbial hungry mule standing halfway between two haystacks of equal +size and attractiveness. And like the mule I would stand there turning +my head one way and the other until I starved to death. + +But Allyn solved my problem for me. "You haven't heard _this_," he said +bitterly. "The whole crew applied for transfer when we came back to base +after our last cruise. Of course, they didn't get it, but you get the +idea. Us reservists and draftees get about the same consideration as the +Admiral's dog--No! dammit!--Less than the dog. They wouldn't let a mangy +cur ship out with Gutless Gus." + +Gutless Gus! that was a new one. I wondered how Chase had managed to +acquire that sobriquet. + + * * * * * + +"It was on our last patrol," Allyn went on, answering my question before +I asked it. "We were out at maximum radius when the detectors showed a +disturbance in normal space. Chase ordered us down from Cth for a quick +look--and so help me, God, we broke out right in the middle of a Rebel +supply convoy--big, fat, sitting ducks all around us. We got off about +twenty Mark VII torpedoes before Chase passed the word to change over. +We scooted back into Cth so fast we hardly knew we were gone. And then +he raises hell with Detector section for not identifying every class of +ship in that convoy! + +"And when Bancroft, that's the Exec whom you've relieved, asked for a +quick check to confirm our kills, Chase sat on him like a ton of brick. +'I'm not interested in how many poor devils we blew apart back there,' +our Captain says. 'Our mission is to scout, to obtain information about +enemy movements and get that information back to Base. We cannot +transmit information from a vaporized ship, and that convoy had a naval +escort. Our mission cannot be jeopardized merely to satisfy morbid +curiosity. Request denied. And, Mr. Bancroft, have Communications +contact Fleet. This information should be in as soon as possible.' And +then he turned away leaving Bancroft biting his fingernails. He wouldn't +even push out a probe--scooted right back into the blue where we'd be +safe! + +"You know, we haven't had one confirmed kill posted on the list since +we've been in space. It's getting so we don't want to come in any more. +Like the time--the 'Atropos' came in just after we touched down. She was +battered--looked like she'd been through a meat grinder, but she had ten +confirmed and six probable, and four of them were escorts! Hell! Our +boys couldn't hold their heads up. The 'Lachesis' didn't have a mark on +her and all we had was a few possible hits. You know how it +goes--someone asks where you're from. You say the 'Lachesis' and they +say 'Oh, yes, the cruise ship.' And that's that. It's so true you don't +even feel like resenting it." + +I didn't like the bitter note in Allyn's voice. He was a reservist, +which made it all the worse. Reservists have ten times the outside +contacts we regulars do. In general when a regular and reservist tangle, +the Academy men close ranks like musk-oxen and meet the challenge with +an unbroken ring of horns. But somehow I didn't feel like ringing up. + +I kept hoping there was another side to the story. I'd check around and +find out as soon as I got settled. And if there was another side, I was +going to take Allyn apart as a malicious trouble-maker. I felt sick to +my stomach. + + * * * * * + +We spent the next three days taking on stores and munitions, and I was +too busy supervising the stowage and checking manifests to bother about +running down Allyn's story. I met the other officers--Lt. Pollard the +gunnery officer, Ensign Esterhazy the astrogator, and Ensign Blakiston. +Nice enough guys, but all wearing that cowed, frustrated look that +seemed to be a "Lachesis" trademark. Chase, meanwhile, was up in Flag +Officer's Country picking up the dope on our next mission. I hoped that +Allyn was wrong but the evidence all seemed to be in his favor. Even +more than the officers, the crew was a mess underneath their clean +uniforms. From Communications Chief CPO Haskins to Spaceman Zelinski +there was about as much spirit in them as you'd find in a punishment +detail polishing brightwork in Base Headquarters. I'm a cheerful soul, +and usually I find no trouble getting along with a new command, but this +one was different. They were efficient enough, but one could see that +their hearts weren't in their work. Most crews preparing to go out are +nervous and high tempered. There was none of that here. The men went +through the motions with a mechanical indifference that was frightening. +I had the feeling that they didn't give a damn whether they went or +not--or came back or not. The indifference was so thick you could cut it +with a knife. Yet there was nothing you could put your hand on. You +can't touch people who don't care. + +Four hours after Chase came back, we lifted gravs from Earth. Chase was +sitting in the control chair, and to give him credit, we lifted as +smooth as a silk scarf slipping through the fingers of a pretty woman. +We hypered at eight miles and swept up through the monochromes of Cth +until we hit middle blue, when Chase slipped off the helmet, unfastened +his webbing, and stood up. + +"Take over, Mr. Marsden," he said. "Lay a course for Parth." + +"Aye, sir," I replied, slipping into the chair and fastening the web. I +slipped the helmet on my head and instantly I was a part of the ship. +It's a strange feeling, this synthesis of man and metal that makes a +fighting ship the metallic extension of the Commander's will. I was +conscious of every man on duty. What they saw I saw, what they heard I +heard, through the magic of modern electronics. The only thing missing +was that I couldn't feel what they felt, which perhaps was a mercy +considering the condition of the crew. Using the sensor circuits in the +command helmet, I let my perception roam through the ship, checking the +engines, the gun crews, the navigation board, the galley--all the +manifold stations of a fighting ship. Everything was secure, the ship +was clean and trimmed, the generators were producing their megawatts of +power without a hitch, and the converters were humming contentedly, +keeping us in the blue as our speed built to fantastic levels. + +I checked the course, noted it was true, set the controls on standby and +relaxed, half dozing in the chair as Lume after Lume dropped astern with +monotonous regularity. + +An hour passed and Halloran came up to relieve me. With a sigh of relief +I surrendered the chair and headset. The unconscious strain of being in +rapport with ship and crew didn't hit me until I was out of the chair. +But when it did, I felt like something was crushing me flat. Not that I +didn't expect it, but the "Lachesis" was worse than the "Clotho" had +ever been. + +I had barely hit my couch when General Quarters sounded. I smothered a +curse as I pounded up the companionway to my station at the bridge. +Chase was there, stopwatch in hand, counting the seconds. + +"Set!" Halloran barked. + +"Fourteen seconds," Chase said. "Not bad. Tell the crew well done." He +put the watch in his pocket and walked away. + +I picked up the annunciator mike and pushed the button. "Skipper says +well done," I said. + +"He got ten seconds out of us once last trip," Halloran said. "And he's +been trying to repeat that fluke ever since. Bet you a munit to an 'F' +ration that he'll be down with the section chief trying to shave off +another second or two. Hey!--what's that--oh ..." He looked at me. +"Disturbance in Cth yellow, straight down--shall we go?" + +"Stop ship," I ordered. "Sound general quarters." There was no +deceleration. We merely swapped ends as the alarm sounded, applied full +power and stopped. That was the advantage of Cth--no inertia. We +backtracked for three seconds and held in middle blue. + + * * * * * + +"What's going on?" Chase demanded as he came up from below. His eyes +raked the instruments. "Why are we stopped?" + +"Disturbance in Cth yellow, sir," I said. "We're positioned above it." + +"Very good, Mr. Marsden." He took the spare helmet from the Exec's +chair, clapped it on, fiddled with the controls for a moment, nodded, +and took the helmet off. "Secure and resume course," he said. "That's +the 'Amphitrite'--fleet supply and maintenance. One of our people." + +"You sure, sir?" I asked, and then looked at the smug grin on Halloran's +face and wished I hadn't asked. + +"Of course," Chase said. "She's a three converter job running at full +output. Since the Rebels have no three converter ships, she has to be +one of ours. And since she's running at full output and only in Cth +yellow, it means she's big, heavy, and awkward--which means a +maintenance or an ammunition supply ship. There's an off phase beat in +her number two converter that gives a twenty cycle pulse to her pattern. +And the only heavy ship in the fleet with this pattern is 'Amphitrite.' +You see?" + +I saw--with respect. "You know all the heavies like that, sir?" I asked. + +"Not all of them--but I'd like to. It's as much a part of a scoutship +commander's work to know our own ships as those of the enemy." + +"Could that trace be a Rebel ruse?" + +"Not likely--travelling in the yellow. A ship would be cold meat this +far inside our perimeter. And besides, there's no Rebel alive who can +tune a converter like a Navy mechanic." + +"You sure?" I persisted. + +"I'm sure. But take her down if you wish." + +I did. And it was the "Amphitrite." + +"I served on her for six months," Chase said drily as we went back +through the components. I understood his certainty now. A man has a +feeling for ships if he's a good officer. But it was a trait I'd never +expected in Chase. I gave the orders and we resumed our band and speed. +Chase looked at me. + +"You acted correctly, Mr. Marsden," he said. "Something I would hardly +expect, but something I was glad to see." + +"I served under Andy Royce," I reminded him. + +"I know," Chase replied. "That's why I'm surprised." He turned away +before I could think of an answer that would combine insolence and +respect for his rank. "Keep her on course, Mr. Halloran," he tossed over +his shoulder as he went out. + +We kept on course--high and hard despite a couple of disturbances that +lumbered by underneath us. Once I made a motion to stop ship and check, +but Halloran shook his head. + +"Don't do it, sir," he warned. + +"Why not?" + +"You heard the Captain's orders. He's a heller for having them obeyed. +Besides, they might be Rebs--and we might get hurt shooting at them. +We'll just report their position and approximate course--and keep on +travelling. Haskins is on the Dirac right now." Halloran's voice was +sarcastic. + +I didn't like the sound of it, and said so. + +"Well, sir--we won't lose them entirely," Halloran said comfortingly. +"Some cruiser will investigate them. Chances are they're ours +anyway--and if they aren't there's no sense in us risking our nice shiny +skin stopping them--even though we could take them like Lundy took +Koromaja. Since the book doesn't say we have to investigate, we won't." +His voice was bitter again. + +At 0840 hours on the fourth day out, my annunciator buzzed. "Sir," the +talker's voice came over the intercom, "Lieutenants Marsden and Allyn +are wanted in the Captain's quarters." + + * * * * * + +Chase was there--toying with the seals of a thin, brown envelope. "I +have to open this in the presence of at least two officers," he said +nodding at Allyn who came in behind me. "You two are senior on the ship +and have the first right to know." He slid a finger through the flap. + +"Effective 12, Eightmonth, GY2964," he read, "USN 'Lachesis' will +proceed on offensive mission against enemy vessels as part of advance +covering screen Fleet Four for major effort against enemy via sectors YD +274, YD 275, and YD 276. Entire Scouting Force IV quadrant will be +grouped as Fleet Four Screen Unit under command Rear Admiral SIMMS. +Initial station 'Lachesis' coordinates X 06042 Y 1327 Betelgeuse-Rigel +baseline. ETA Rendezvous point 0830 plus or minus 30, 13/8/64. + +"A. Evars, Fleet Admiral USN Commanding." + +There it was! I could see Allyn stiffen as a peculiar sick look crossed +Chase's dry face. And suddenly I heard all the ugly little +nicknames--Subspace Chase, Gutless Gus, Cautious Charley--and the dozen +others. For Chase was afraid. It was so obvious that not even the gray +mask of his face could cover it. + +Yet his voice when he spoke was the same dry, pedantic voice of old. +"You have the rendezvous point, Mr. Marsden. Have Mr. Esterhazy set the +course and speed to arrive on time." He dismissed us with the +traditional "That's all, gentlemen," and we went out separate ways. I +didn't want to look at the triumphant smile on Allyn's face. + +We hit rendezvous at 0850, picked up a message from the Admiral at 0853, +and at 0855 were on our way. We were part of a broad hemispherical +screen surrounding the Cruiser Force which englobed the Line and supply +train--the heavies that are the backbone of any fleet. We were headed +roughly in the direction of the Rebel's fourth sector, the one top-heavy +with metals industries. Our exact course was known only to the brass and +the computers that planned our interlock. But where we were headed +wasn't important. The "Lachesis" was finally going to war! I could feel +the change in the crew, the nervousness, the anticipation, the adrenal +responses of fear and excitement. After a year in the doldrums, Fleet +was going to try to smash the Rebels again. We hadn't done so well last +time, getting ambushed in the Fifty Suns group and damn near losing our +shirts before we managed to get out. The Rebs weren't as good as we +were, but they were trickier, and they could fight. After all, why +shouldn't they be able to? They were human, just as we were, and any one +of a dozen extinct intelligent races could testify to our fighting +ability, as could others not-quite-extinct. Man ruled this section of +the galaxy, and someday if he didn't kill himself off in the process +he'd rule all of it. He wasn't the smartest race but he was the +hungriest, the fiercest, the most adaptable, and the most unrelenting. +Qualities which, by the way, were exactly the ones needed to conquer a +hostile universe. + +But mankind was slow to learn the greatest lesson, that they _had_ to +cooperate if they were to go further. We were already living on borrowed +time. Before the War, ten of eleven exploration ships sent into the +galactic center had disappeared without a trace. Somewhere, buried deep +in the billions of stars that formed the galactic hub, was a race that +was as tough and tricky as we were--maybe even tougher. This was common +knowledge, for the eleventh ship had returned with the news of the +aliens, a story of hairbreadth escape from destruction, and a pattern of +their culture which was enough like ours to frighten any thinking man. +The worlds near the center of humanity's sphere realized the situation +at once and quickly traded their independence for a Federal Union to +pool their strength against the threat that might come any day. + +But as the Union Space Navy began to take shape on the dockyards of +Earth and a hundred other worlds, the independent worlds of the +periphery began to eye the Union with suspicion. They had never believed +the exploration report and didn't want to unite with the worlds of the +center. They thought that the Union was a trick to deprive them of their +fiercely cherished independence, and when the Union sent embassies to +invite them into the common effort, they rejected them. And when we +suggested that in the interests of racial safety they abandon their +haphazard colonization efforts that resulted in an uncontrolled series +of jumps into the dark, punctuated by minor wars and clashes when +colonists from separate origins landed, more or less simultaneously, on +a promising planet, they were certain we were up to no good. + +Although we explained and showed them copies of the exploration ship's +report, they were not convinced. Demagogues among them screamed about +manifest destiny, independence, interference in internal affairs, and a +thousand other things that made the diplomatic climate between Center +and Periphery unbearably hot. And their colonists kept moving outward. + +Of course the Union was not about to cooperate in this potential race +suicide. We simply couldn't allow them to give that other race knowledge +of our whereabouts until we were ready for them. So we informed each of +the outer worlds that we would consider any further efforts at +colonizing an unfriendly act, and would take steps to discourage it. + +That did it. + + * * * * * + +We halted a few colonizing ships and sent them home under guard. We +uprooted a few advance groups and returned them to their homeworlds. We +established a series of observation posts to check further +expansion--and six months later we were at war. + +The outer worlds formed what they called a defensive league and with +characteristic human rationality promptly attacked us. Naturally, they +didn't get far. We had a bigger and better fleet and we were organized +while they were not. And so they were utterly defeated at the Battle of +Ophiuchus. + +It was then that we had two choices. We could either move in and take +over their defenseless worlds, or we could let them rebuild and get +strong, and with their strength acquire a knowledge of cooperation--and +take the chance that they would ultimately beat us. Knowing this, we +wisely chose the second course and set about teaching our fellow men a +lesson that was now fifteen years along and not ended yet. + +By applying pressure at the right places we turned their attention +inward to us rather than to the outside, and by making carefully timed +sorties here and there about the periphery we forced them through sheer +military necessity to gradually tighten their loosely organized League +into tightly centralized authority, with the power to demand and +obtain--to meet our force with counterforce. By desperate measures and +straining of all their youthful resources they managed to hold us off. +And with every strain they were welded more tightly together. And +slowly they were learning through war what we could not teach through +peace. + +Curiously enough, they wouldn't believe our aims even when captured +crews told them. They thought it was some sort of tricky mental +conditioning designed to frustrate their lie detectors. Even while they +tightened their organization and built new fleets, they would not +believe that we were forcing them into the paths they must travel to +avoid future annihilation. + +It was one of the ironies of this war that it was fought and would be +fought with the best of intentions. For it was obvious now that we could +never win--nor could they. The Rebels, as we called them, were every +whit as strong as we, and while we enjoyed the advantages of superior +position and technology they had the advantage of superior numbers. It +was stalemate,--the longest, fiercest stalemate in man's bloody history. +But it was stalemate with a purpose. It was a crazy war--a period of +constant hostilities mingled with sporadic offensive actions like the +one we were now engaged in--but to us, at least, it was war with a +purpose--the best and noblest of human purposes--the preservation of the +race. + +The day was coming, not too many years away, when the first of the +aliens would strike the Outer worlds. Then we would unite--on the +League's terms if need be--to crush the invaders and establish mankind +as the supreme race in the galaxy. + +But this wasn't important right now. Right now I was the Executive +Officer of a scout ship commanded by a man I didn't trust. He smelled +too much like a stinking coward. I shook my head. Having Chase running +the ship was like putting a moron in a jet car on one of the +superhighways--and then sabotaging the automatics. Just one fearful +mistake and a whole squadron could be loused up. But Chase was the +commander--the ultimate authority on this ship. All I could do was pray +that things were going to come out all right. + +We moved out in the lower red. Battles weren't fought in Cth. There was +no way to locate a unit at firing range in that monochromatic madness. +Normal physical laws simply didn't apply. A ship had to come out into +threespace to do any damage. All Cth was was a convenient road to the +battlefront. + +With one exception. + +By hanging in the infra band, on the ragged edge of threespace, a scout +ship could remain concealed until a critical moment, breakout into +threespace--discharge her weapons--and flick back into Cth before an +enemy could get a fix on her. Scouts, with their high capacity +converters, could perform this maneuver, but the ponderous battlewagons +and cruisers with their tremendous weight of armor, screens, and +munitions couldn't maneuver like this. They simply didn't have the +agility. Yet only they had the ability to penetrate defensive screens +and kill the Rebel heavies. So space battle was conducted on the classic +pattern--the Lines slugging it out at medium range while the screen of +scouts buzzed around and through the battle trying to add their weight +of metal against some overstrained enemy and ensure his destruction. A +major battle could go on for days--and it often did. In the Fifty Suns +action the battle had lasted nearly two weeks subjective before we +withdrew to lick our wounds. + + * * * * * + +For nearly a day we ran into nothing, and such are the distances that +separate units of a fleet, we had the impression that we were alone. We +moved quietly, detectors out, scanning the area for a light-day around +as we moved forward at less than one Lume through Cth. More would have +been fatal for had we been forced to resort to a quick breakout to avoid +enemy action, and if we were travelling above one Lume when we hit +threespace, we'd simply disappear, leaving a small spatial vortex in our +wake. + +On the "morning" of the third day the ships at the apex of Quadrant One +ran into a flight of Rebel scouts. There was a brief flurry of action, +the Rebels were englobed, a couple of cruisers drove in, latched onto +the helplessly straining Rebel scouts and dragged them into threespace. +The Rebs kept broadcasting right up to the end--after which they +surrendered before the cruisers could annihilate them. Smart boys. + +But the Rebels were warned. We couldn't catch all their scouts and the +disturbance our Line was making in Cth would register on any detector +within twenty parsecs. So they would be waiting to meet us. But that was +to be expected. There is no such thing as surprise in a major action. + +We went on until we began to run into major opposition. Half a dozen +scouts were caught in englobements at half a dozen different places +along the periphery as they came in contact with the Rebels' covering +forces. And that was that. The advance halted waiting for the Line to +come up, and a host of small actions took place as the forward screening +forces collided. Chase was in the control chair, hanging in the +blackness of the infra band on the edge of normal space. But we weren't +flicking in and out of threespace like some of the others. We had a +probe out and the main buffeting was taken by the duralloy tube with its +tiny converter at its bulbous tip. With consummate pilotage Chase was +holding us in infra. It was a queasy sensation, hanging halfway between +normalcy and chaos, and I had to admire his skill. The infra band was +black as ink and hot as the hinges of hell--and since the edges of +threespace and Cth are not as knife sharp as they are further up in the +Cth components, we bucked and shuddered on the border, but avoided the +bone-crushing slams and gut-wrenching twists that less skillful skippers +were giving their ships as they flicked back and forth between +threespace and Cth. Our scouting line must have been a peculiar sight to +a threespace observer with the thousand or so scouts flickering in and +out of sight across a huge hemisphere of space. + +And then we saw them. Our probe picked up the flicker of enemy scouts. + +"Action imminent," Chase said drily. "Stand by." + +I clapped the other control helmet over my head and dropped into the +Exec's chair. A quick check showed the crew at their stations, the +torpedo hatches clear, the antiradiation shields up and the ship in +fighting trim. I stole a quick glance at Chase. Sweat stood out on his +gray forehead. His lips were drawn back into a thin line, showing his +teeth. His face was tense, but whether with fear or excitement I didn't +know. + +"Stand by," he said, and then we hit threespace, just as the enormous +cone of the Rebel Line flicked into sight. The enemy line had taken the +field, and under the comparatively slow speeds of threespace was rushing +forward to meet our Line which had emerged a few minutes ago. Our +launchers flamed as we sent a salvo of torpedoes whistling toward the +Rebel fleet marking perhaps the opening shots of the main battle. We +twisted back into Cth as one of the scanner men doubled over with agony, +heaving his guts out into a disposal cone. I felt sorry for him. The +tension, the racking agony of our motion, and the fact that he was +probably in his first major battle had all combined to take him for the +count. He grinned greenly at me and turned back to his dials and +instruments. Good man! + +"Target--range one eight zero four, azimuth two four oh, elevation one +oh seven," the rangefinder reported. "Mass four." Mass four:--a cruiser. + +"Stand by," Chase said. "All turrets prepare to fire." And he took us +down. We slammed into threespace and our turrets flamed. To our left +rear and above hung the mass of an enemy cruiser, her screens glowing on +standby as she drove forward to her place in the line. We had caught her +by surprise, a thousand to one shot, and our torpedoes were on their way +before her detectors spotted us. We didn't stay to see what happened, +but the probe showed an enormous fireball which blazed briefly in the +blackness, shooting out globs of scintillating molten metal that cooled +and disappeared as we watched. + +"Scratch one cruiser," someone in fire control yelped. + + * * * * * + +The effect on morale was electric. In that instant all doubts of Chase's +ability disappeared. All except mine. One lucky shot isn't a battle, and +I guess Chase figured the same way because his hands were shaking as he +jockeyed us along on the edge of Cth. He looked like he wanted to vomit. + +"Take it easy, skipper," I said. + +"Mind your own business, Marsden--and I'll mind mine," Chase snapped. +"Stand by," he ordered, and we dove into threespace again--loosed +another salvo at another Reb, and flicked out of sight. And that was the +way it went for hour after hour until we pulled out, our last torpedo +fired and the crew on the ragged edge of exhaustion. Somehow, by some +miracle compounded of luck and good pilotage, we were unmarked. And +Chase, despite his twitching face and shaking hands, was one hell of a +combat skipper! I didn't wonder about him any more. He had the guts all +right. But it was a different sort of courage from the icy contempt for +danger that marked Andy Royce. Even so, I couldn't help thinking that I +was glad to be riding with Chase. We drove to the rear, heading for the +supply train, our ammunition expended, while behind us the battlewagons +and cruisers were hammering each other to metal pulp. + +In the quiet of the rear area it was hardly believable that a major +battle was going on ahead of us. We raised the "Amphitrite," identified +ourselves, and put in a request for supply. + +"Lay aboard," "Amphitrite" signalled back. "How's the war going?" + +"Don't know. We've been too busy," our signalman replied. + +"I'll bet--you're 'Lachesis,' aren't you?" + +"Affirmative." + +"How'd you lose your ammo? Jettison it?" + +"Stow that, you unprintable obscenity," Haskins replied. "We're a +fighting ship." + +"Amphitrite" chuckled nastily. "That I'll believe when I see it!" + +"Communications," Chase snapped. "This isn't a social call. Get our +heading and approach instructions." He sounded as schoolmasterish as +ever, but there was a sickly smile on his face, and the gray-green look +was gone. + +"Morale seems a little better, doesn't it, Marsden?" he said to me as +the "Amphitrite" flicked out into threespace and we followed. + +I nodded. "Yes, sir," I agreed. "Quite a little." + +Our cargo hatches snapped open and we cuddled up against "Amphitrite's" +bulging belly while our crew and the supply echelon worked like demons +to transfer ammunition. We had fifty torpedoes aboard when the I.F.F. +detector shrilled alarm. + +Three hundred feet above us the "Amphitrite's" main battery let loose a +salvo at three Rebel scouts that had flickered into being less than +fifty miles away. Their launchers flared with a glow that lighted the +blackness of space. + +"Stand by!" Chase yelled as he threw the converter on. + +"Hatches!" I screamed as we shimmered and vanished. + +Somehow we got most of them closed, losing only the crew on number two +port turret which was still buttoning up as we slipped over into the +infra band. I ordered the turret sealed. Cth had already ruined the +unshielded sighting mechanisms and I had already seen what happened to +men caught in Cth unprotected. I had no desire to see it again--or let +our crew see it if it could be avoided. A human body turned inside out +isn't the most wholesome of sights. + +"How did _they_ get through?" Chase muttered as we put out our probe. + +"I don't know--maybe someone wasn't looking." + +"What's it like down there?" Chase asked. "See anything?" + +"'Amphitrite's' still there," I said. + +"She's _what_?" + +"Still there," I repeated. "And she's in trouble." + +"She's big. She can take it--but--" + +"Here, you look," I said, flipping the probe switch. + +"My God!" Chase muttered--as he took one look at the supply ship lying +dead in space, her protective batteries flaming. She had gotten one of +the Rebel scouts but the other two had her bracketed and were pouring +fire against her dim screens. + +"She can't keep this up," I said. "She's been hulled--and it looks like +her power's taken it." + +"Action imminent," Chase ordered, and the rangefinder took up his +chant. + +We came storming out of Cth right on top of one of the Rebel scouts. A +violent shock raced through the ship, slamming me against my web. The +rebound sent us a good two miles away before our starboard battery +flamed. The enemy scout, disabled by the shock, stunned and unable to +maneuver took the entire salvo amidships and disappeared in a puff of +flame. + +The second Rebel disappeared and we did too. She was back in Cth looking +for a better chance at the "Amphitrite." The big ship was wallowing like +a wounded whale, half of one section torn away, her armor dented, and +her tubes firing erratically. + +We took one long look and jumped back into Cth. But not before Haskins +beamed a message to the supply ship. "Now you've seen it, you damned +storekeeper," he gloated. "What do you think?" "Amphitrite" didn't +answer. + +"Probe out," Chase ordered, neglecting, I noticed, to comment on the +signalman's act. + + * * * * * + +I pushed the proper buttons but nothing happened. I pushed again and +then turned on the scanners. The one aft of the probe was half covered +with a twisted mass of metal tubing that had once been our probe. We +must have smashed it when we rammed. Quickly I shifted to the auxiliary +probe, but the crumpled mass had jammed the hatch. It wouldn't open. + +"No probes, sir," I announced. + +"Damn," Chase said. "Well, we'll have to do without them. Hold tight, +we're going down." + +We flicked into threespace just in time to see a volcano of fire erupt +from "Amphitrite's" side and the metallic flick of the Rebel scout +slipping back into Cth. + +"What's your situation, 'Amphitrite'?" our signal asked. + +"Not good," the faint answer came back. "They've got us in the power +room and our accumulators aren't going to stand this load very long. +That last salvo went through our screens, but our armor stopped it. But +if the screens go down--" + +Our batteries flared at the Rebel as he again came into sight. He didn't +wait, but flicked right back into Cth without firing a shot. Pollard was +on the ball. + +"Brave lad, that Reb," Chase said. There was a sneer in his voice. + +For the moment it was stalemate. The Reb wasn't going to come into close +range with a warship of equal power to his own adding her metal to the +"Amphitrite's," but he could play cat and mouse with us, drawing our +fire until we had used up our torpedoes, and then come in to finish +the supply ship. Or he could harass us with long range fire. Or he could +go away. + +[Illustration] + +It was certain he wouldn't do the last, and he'd be a fool if he did the +second. "Amphitrite" could set up a mine screen that would take care of +any long range stuff,--and we could dodge it. His probe was still +working and he had undoubtedly seen ours crushed against our hull. If he +hadn't he was blind--and that wasn't a Rebel characteristic. We could +hyper, of course, but we were blind up there in Cth. His best was to +keep needling us, and take the chance that we'd run out of torps. + +"What's our munition?" Chase asked almost as an echo to my thought. I +switched over to Pollard. + +"Thirty mark sevens," Pollard said, "and a little small arms." + +"One good salvo," Chase said, thoughtfully. + +The Rebel flashed in and out again, and we let go a burst. + +"Twenty, now," I said. + +Chase didn't hear me. He was busy talking to Allyn on damage control. +"You can't cut it, hey?--All right--disengage the converter on the +auxiliary probe and break out that roll of duralloy cable in the +stores--Pollard! don't fire over one torp at a time when that lad shows +up. Load the other launchers with blanks. Make him think we're shooting. +We have to keep him hopping. Now listen to me--Yes, Allyn, I mean you. +Fasten that converter onto the cable and stand by. We're going to make a +probe." Chase turned to me. + +"You were Exec with Royce," he said. "You should know how to fight a +ship." + +"What are you planning to do?" I asked. + +"We can't hold that Rebel off. Maybe with ammunition we could, but +there's less than a salvo aboard and he has the advantage of position. +We can't be sure he won't try to take us in spite of 'Amphitrite's' +support and if he does finish us, 'Amphitrite's' a dead duck." The +"Lachesis" quivered as the port turrets belched flame. "That leaves +nineteen torpedoes," he said. "In Cth we're safe enough but we're +helpless without a probe. Yet we can only get into attack position from +Cth. That leaves us only one thing to do--improvise a probe." + +"And how do you do that?" I asked. + +"Put a man out on a line--with the converter from the auxiliary. Give +him a command helmet and have him talk the ship in." + +"But that's suicide!" + +"No, Marsden, not suicide--just something necessary. A necessary +sacrifice, like this whole damned war! I don't believe in killing men. +It makes me sick. But I kill if I have to, and sacrifice if I must." His +face twisted and the gray-green look came back. "There are over a +thousand men on the 'Amphitrite,' and a vital cargo of munitions. One +life, I think, is fair trade for a thousand, just as a few hundred +thousand is fair trade for a race." The words were schoolmasterish and +would have been dead wrong coming from anyone except Chase. But he gave +them an air of reasonable inevitability. And for a moment I forgot that +he was cold-bloodedly planning someone's death. For a moment I felt the +spirit of sacrifice that made heroes out of ordinary people. + + * * * * * + +"Look, skipper," I said. "How about letting me do it?" I could have +kicked myself a moment later, but the words were out before I could stop +them. He had me acting noble, and that trait isn't one of my strong +suits. + +He smiled. "You know, Marsden," he said, "I was expecting that." His +voice was oddly soft. "Thanks." Then it became dry and impersonal. +"Request denied," he said. "This is my party." + +I shivered inside. While I'm no coward, I didn't relish the thought of +slamming around at the end of a duralloy cable stretching into a nowhere +where there was no inertia. A hair too heavy a hand on the throttle in +Cth would crush the man on the end to a pulp. But he shouldn't go +either. It was his responsibility to command the ship. + +"Who else is qualified?" Chase said answering the look on my face. "I +know more about maneuver than any man aboard, and I'll be controlling +the ship until the last moment. Once I order the attack I'll cut free, +and you can pick me up later." + +"You won't have time," I protested. + +"Just in case I don't make it," Chase continued, making the +understatement of the war with a perfectly straight face, "take care of +the crew. They're a good bunch--just a bit too eager for the _real_ +Navy--but good. I've tried to make them into spacemen and they've +resented me for it. I've tried to protect them and they've hated me--" + +"They won't now--" I interrupted. + +"I've tried to make them a unit." He went on as though I hadn't said a +thing. "Maybe I've tried too hard, but I'm responsible for every life +aboard this ship." He picked up his helmet. "Take command of the ship, +Mr. Marsden," he said, and strode out of the room. The "Lachesis" +shuddered to the recoil from the port turrets. Eighteen torpedoes left, +I thought. + +We lowered Chase a full hundred feet on the thin strand of duralloy. He +dangled under the ship, using his converter to keep the line taut. + +"You hear me, skipper?" I asked. + +"Clearly--and you?" + +"Four-four. Hang on now--we're going up." I eased the "Lachesis" into +Cth and hung like glue to the border. "How's it going, skipper?" + +"A bit rough but otherwise all right. Now steer right--easy now--aagh!" + +"Skipper!" + +"Okay, Marsden. You nearly pulled me in half--that's all. You did fine. +We're in good position in relation to 'Amphitrite.' Now let's get our +signals straight. Front is the way we're going now--base all my +directions on that--got it?" + +"Aye, sir." + +"Good, Marsden, throttle back and hang on your converters." + +I did as I was told. + +"Ah--there she is--bear left a little. Hmm--she's looking for us--looks +suspicious. Now she's turning toward 'Amphitrite.' Guess she figures we +are gone. She's in position preparing to fire. _Now!_ Drop out and +fire--elevation zero, azimuth three sixty--_Move!_" + +I moved. The "Lachesis" dropped like a stone. Chase was dead now. +Nothing made of flesh could survive that punishment but we--we came out +right on top of them, just like Chase had done to the other--except that +we fired before we collided. And as with the other Rebel we gained +complete surprise. Our eighteen torpedoes crashed home, her magazines +exploded, and into that hell of molten and vaporized metal that had once +been a Rebel scout we crashed a split second later. Two thousand miles +per second relative is too fast for even an explosion to hurt much if +there isn't any solid material in the way, and we passed through only +the outer edges of the blast, but even so, the vaporized metal scoured +our starboard plating down to the insulation. It was like a giant emery +wheel had passed across our flank. The shock slammed us out of control +and we went tumbling in crazy gyrations across space for several minutes +before I could flip the "Lachesis" into Cth, check the speed and motion, +and get back into threespace. + + * * * * * + +Chase was gone--and "Lachesis" was done. A week in drydock and she'd be +as good as new, but she was no longer a fighting ship. She was a wreck. +For us the battle was over--but somehow it didn't make me happy. The +"Amphitrite" hung off our port bow, a tiny silver dot in the distance, +and as I watched two more silver dots winked into being beside her. +Haskins reported the I.F.F. readings. + +"They're ours," he said. "A couple of cruisers." + +"They should have been here ten minutes ago," I replied bitterly. I +couldn't see very well. You can't when emotion clogs your tubes. +Chase--coward?--not him. He was man clear through--a better one than I'd +ever be even if I lived out my two hundred years. I wondered if the crew +knew what sort of man their skipper was. I turned up the command helmet. +"Men--" I began, but I didn't finish. + +"We know," the blended thoughts and voices came back at me. Sure they +knew! Chase had been on command circuit too. It was enough to make you +cry--the mixture of pride, sadness and shame that rang through the +helmet. It seemed to echo and reecho for a long time before I shut it +off. + +I sat there, thinking. I wasn't mad at the Rebels. I wasn't anything. +All I could think was that we were paying a pretty grim price for +survival. Those aliens had better show up pretty soon--and they'd better +be as nasty as their reputation. There was a score--a big score--and I +wanted to be there when it was added up and settled. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ December 1960. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Question of Courage, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A QUESTION OF COURAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 26772.txt or 26772.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/7/7/26772/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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