Talents, Incorporated Part 26

The young man said, "Five, four, three, two, one--"

There was the familiar dizzying sensation of going into overdrive. The _Liberty_ wrapped stressed s.p.a.ce about itself and went hurtling into invisibility.

This was one voyage in overdrive which was not tedious. Bors had to organize the s.h.i.+p for combat. He had to train launching-crews to work like high-speed machinery. He had to teach the setting of missiles for ranges he had to show how to measure. Once he stopped the s.h.i.+p between stars and all the launching-crews took shots at an inflated metal-foil target. The Pretender of Tralee displayed an unexpected gift for organization. He divided all s.p.a.ce outside the s.h.i.+p into sectors, a.s.signing one launcher to each sector. If an order to fire came, the separate crews would cover targets in their own areas first. There would be no waste of missiles on one target.

The Pretender would have made an excellent officer. He was patient with those who did not understand immediately. He had dignity that was not arrogance. In five days the _Liberty_ was a fighting s.h.i.+p and a dedicated one. There were rough edges, of course. Man for man and weapon for weapon the s.h.i.+p would not compare with a longer-trained and more experienced fighting instrument. But the morale on board was superb and the weapons were--to put it mildly--inspiring of hope.

The _Liberty_ broke out of overdrive and the sun of Kandar shone fiery yellow in emptiness. The gas-giant planet had moved in its...o...b..t. It was more evenly in line than before with a direct arrival-path for a fleet from Mekin. Bors was worn out from his unremitting efforts to turn the s.h.i.+p into a smooth-running unit. He looked at a s.h.i.+p's clock.

"The Mekinese," he said over the all-speaker circuit, "will break out in two hours, forty minutes. And we're going to set up a dummy fleet for them to deal with."

His uncle said gently, "I suggest some rest, to be fresh for the handling of the s.h.i.+p. I'll set up the dummy fleet."

Bors resisted the idea, but it was not sensible to humor his own vanity by insisting on his indispensability. He flung himself down on a bunk.

He was much better satisfied with the s.h.i.+p and crew than he would have admitted. And he was dead-tired.

Around him, young men of Cela and Deccan prepared target-globes for launching. The Pretender gently pointed out that the formation was to remain perfectly still and in ranks. Therefore, each globe had to be launched with no velocity at all, so it would remain in fixed position with relation to the others, to convincingly appear to be a fleet of s.h.i.+ps.

Far away the _Sylva_ hurtled through s.p.a.ce with a much-agitated Morgan on board. Gwenlyn, too, was frightened. For the first time, both of them seemed doubtful of the value of Talents, Incorporated information.

Again, far away, the fleet of Kandar rushed through emptiness. On its various s.h.i.+ps, junior officers had come threateningly close to mutiny.

There was now a sullen, resigned submission to discipline and what orders might be given, but the fleet was fighting angry. The _Sylva_ had brought back news of a third defeat of Mekinese by Kandar s.h.i.+ps and hot blood longed to make a full-scale test of its own deadliness. There were few s.h.i.+ps of the fleet which did not have a low-power overdrive field unit ready to be spliced into circuit if the occasion arose. If the king could not make acceptable terms for surrender, the junior officers were prepared to make a victory by Mekin a very costly matter.

Stretched out on his bunk, Bors thought of all these things. Finally he slept--and--dreamed. It was odd that anyone so weary should dream. It was more strange that he did not dream of the matters in the forefront of his mind. He dreamed of Gwenlyn. She was crying, in the dream, and it was because she thought he was killed. And Bors was astonished at her grief, and then unbelievably elated. And he moved toward her and she raised her head at some sound he made. The expression of incredulous joy on her face made him put his arms around her with an enormous and unbelieving satisfaction. And he kissed her and the sensation was remarkable.

Half-awake, he blinked at the ceiling of the control room of the _Liberty_. His uncle was saying amiably to the young man at the control-board, "That's a very pretty fleet-formation, if we do say so ourselves!"

Bors stood up, one-half of his mind still startled by his dream, but the other half reverting instantly to business.

But all matters of business had been attended to. Out the viewports he could see the dummy fleet in an apparently defensive formation. Its s.h.i.+ps were only miles apart, and if they had been fighting s.h.i.+ps, every one could have launched missiles at any point of attack from the pattern they const.i.tuted. At a hundred miles they could be seen only as specks of reflected sunlight. At greater distances a radar would identify them only as dots which must be enemy s.h.i.+ps because the radar-blips they made lacked the nimbus of friendly craft.

"Hm," said Bors. He looked at the clock. "The Mekinese should have broken out five minutes ago."

"They did," said his uncle. "They're yonder. They're heading straight for this fleet."

He pointed, not out a port but at a screen where a boiling ma.s.s of bright specks showed the Mekinese fleet just out of overdrive and speeding toward the dummy formation, sorting itself into attack formation as it moved.

"The king's not here on time," observed Bors grimly. "We have to play his hand for him, Uncle. We haven't the right to commit Kandar by beginning to fight ourselves. Offer surrender, as he'd wish it to be done. If they accept, he can carry out his part when he arrives. He'll be here!"

The former monarch spoke gently into a beam transmitter.

"Calling Mekinese fleet," he said. "Defending fleet calling Mekinese fleet!"

In seconds a reply came back.

"_Mekinese Grand Admiral calling Kandar_," the voice answered arrogantly. "_What do you want?_"

"We will discuss capitulation on behalf of Kandar," said the old man.

"Will you give us terms?"

He grimaced, and said, aside, to Bors, "I'm speaking for Humphrey as I know he'd speak. But I am ashamed!"

There was a pause. It took time for the Pretender's voice to reach the enemy and as long for the reply to come back. The reply was ironic and arrogant and amused.

"_What terms can you hope for?_" it demanded. "_You attacked our s.h.i.+ps.

You indulged in destruction! How can you hope for terms?_"

The Pretender scratched his ear thoughtfully. He regarded the radar screen with regret.

"We ask life for the people of our planet," he said steadily. He was annoyed that he had to speak for the tardy King of Kandar. "We ask that they not be punished for our resistance."

The young men in the control room looked astonished. Then they saw Bors's expression, and grinned.

A long pause. The boiling, s.h.i.+fting specks on the radar-screen began to have a definite order. The Mekinese voice, when it came, was triumphant and overbearing.

"_We will spare your planet_," it said contemptuously, "_but not you.

You have dared to fight us. Stand and be destroyed, and there will be no punishment for your world. There are no other terms._"

The Pretender looked at Bors. He shrugged.

"_Now_ what would the king do?" He looked puzzled.

"What can our dummy fleet do?" asked Bors.

The Pretender nodded. "We will offer no resistance," he said into the transmitter.

There was a long silence. Bors looked at the radar-screen. The ma.s.s of bright specks at the edge of the screen seemed to have sent a s.h.i.+ning wave before it. It was actually a swarm of missiles. They were so far away that they could not be picked up as individuals on the screen. They were a glow, a s.h.i.+ne, a wave of pale luminosity.

"We s.h.i.+ft to low-power overdrive readiness," said Bors. "That is an order."

A s.h.i.+p-voice murmured, "_Low-power overdrive in circuit, sir._"

He watched the screen. The Mekinese missiles accelerated at a terrific rate. They left their parent s.h.i.+ps far behind. They were a third of the way to the drone-fleet and the _Liberty_ before Bors spoke again.

"Launch and inflate another target-globe," he ordered drily. "We could speak for the king since he was late. But we won't stay here to be killed as his proxy! Not without fighting first!"

A voice, crisp: "_Target globe launched, sir._"

"Low-power overdrive toward the gas-giant planet. One-twentieth second.

Five, four, three, two, one!"

There was the unbearable double sensation of going into, and breakout from, overdrive simultaneously. The _Liberty_ vanished from its place in the formation of the dummy fleet, but left a metal-foil dummy where it had been. It reappeared a full five thousand miles away.

The rus.h.i.+ng missiles now were brighter. They were individual, microscopic specks like stars. They began visibly to converge upon the s.p.a.ce occupied by the dummy fleet.

"They'll be counting the s.h.i.+ps," said the Pretender mildly, "to make sure that all stay for their execution. This would be a tragic sight if it were Humphrey's real fleet. He is just obstinate enough to let himself be killed, on the word of a treacherous Mekinese!"

The cloud of radar-blips grew bright and came near. The dummy fleet also appeared on the screens in the _Liberty's_ control room. Bors and the others could see the rus.h.i.+ng, s.h.i.+ning flood of missiles as it poured through s.p.a.ce upon the motionless targets.