He passed shambles. Bodies were everywhere. The sick bay had been destroyed by a direct hit. Guns and torpedo mounts were twisted wreckage garnished with dead. The communications center was miraculously untouched, still operating on emergency power, still broadcasting over the all wave transmitter as the endless tape ran and reran through its guides. A hulking figure was bent over the transmitter, working with torch and welding rod resetting tie-downs broken by concussion. With dull surprise, Fiske recognized Sandoval.
The big man saw him and grinned feebly. It was a miracle that he hadn't been opened up, but his battered armor was intact except for several minor rips covered with patches and sealant. His helmet was dented and the short range communicator at its back was shot away. Fiske shook his head as he approached and laid his helmet against the engineer's.
Sandoval's voice came through "I've got what's left of my boys working on the drive. Give us an hour and we'll be moving again."
"Call them off, Sandy. There's no need. The Eglan has surrendered."
"They've what?"
"Surrendered. Quit. Given up. We've won!"
"You sure you're not in shock, skipper?"
"Just get your men together. We've got to make up a boarding party out of this mess somehow. We've got to collect the wounded and get them out of this wreck. Since the Eglan's still intact we'll take over his ship."
"But skipper, everybody knows that the Eglani don't—"
"Break it off Sandy, and do as you're told. That's an order."
Shaking his head the big man floated off as Fiske shrugged and turned upward toward the gun-decks, picking his way through torn and splintered metal, collecting survivors and issuing orders similar to those he had given Sandoval. In the next twenty minutes Fiske destroyed forever his carefully built reputation for compassion and humanity....
They assembled on the main deck—what was left of them. The whole and the wounded, barely thirty men of a crew that had numbered over a hundred. They gathered in a tight knot staring into the vision screen that gave a clear view of the alien drawn up alongside. The Eglan ship hung black and massive in space, her seamless sides blank save only for the circle of yellow light that marked an open airlock. No glitter of screens reflected the icy glint of the stars. There was a stillness about the ship that was almost frightening as she edged slowly closer to the battered sides of the "Dauntless."
"Boarders away!" Fiske ordered and the motley group of survivors towing the wounded who still lived, opened the airlock and pushed off across the intervening space that separated the two ships. Fiske waited until the last man disappeared into the circle of light in the Eglan's side before pushing off. He blinked once or twice to clear the traces of moisture from his eyes as he looked around the empty stillness that had been his ship. It wouldn't do at all for his men to suspect that besides being a softy, he was a cry baby to boot....
The Eglan had a double airlock, and as he emerged through the second airtight valve, he was met by Olaf Pedersen. Pedersen's helmet was off and there was a peculiar expression on his face.
"Well? What did you find?" Fiske asked, anxiety in his voice.
"She's all ours. There's no fight left in them," Pedersen said. His voice was oddly strained. "We just moved in and took over. The men are collecting the prisoners now—what's left of them." He pointed down the low wide manway that led into the interior of the ship. "Control room's down there," he said.
"I know." Fiske looked around curiously. The ship was like the other captured jobs he'd seen. Even the two decapitated Eglani on the deck were familiar—and the other enemy dead he passed on the way to the control room were not abnormal. One expected to see them in a captured Eglan ship. It was the living who were strange, tight faced, thick bodied, stiffly erect aliens and their human guards who stood in the cross passageways watching him as he passed. Fiske shivered. He had never in his life seen eyes so hell-haunted as those the Eglani turned on him. The aliens looked like they would shatter at a touch, brittle shells held intact by a force greater than their wills.
"Gives you the creeps, doesn't it?" Pedersen asked in a low voice.
"It's worse than anything I've ever seen," Fiske replied. "These people are on the edge of collapse. This is chaos!"
The feeling of brittle tension increased as they entered the control room in the center of the ship. A short wide Eglan stood beside the master console. He raised his arm in what was obviously a salute, which Fiske punctiliously returned. A muscle in the Eglan's cheek twitched spasmodically. His fingers were clenched, the knuckles white against his greenish skin.
"I am Sar Lauton, of the Eglan Directorate, commander of this ship," the alien said in fluent Terran.
"And I am Commander Alton Fiske of the Confederation Navy," Fiske replied. "I have transferred my men to this ship since you didn't leave much of mine."
"For that I am sorry," the Eglan said. "You fought well and deserved a better end. However, you still have won. It is finished." The Eglan smiled bitterly. "You see, Commander, we never knew that war could be suchhorror. To many of my crew it was too horrible. You undoubtedly saw some of them on your way here."
Fiske nodded. "Now about the surrender terms—" he began.
"There are no terms," the alien said woodenly. "You have won." His face twitched. "Can't you appreciate what your weapon has done? I am an Eglan. An Eglan never surrenders. Yet I and half my crew have surrendered. Don't you appreciate the implications of that? Can't you realize that the Directorate is doomed—that you have won a victory here that is more complete than any we have won in a thousand years of war?"
"But—"
"From birth," the Eglan went on, ignoring the abortive interruption, "we of the warrior caste have been trained to believe that there is no glory other than in battle—that the honor of the Directorate and its supremacy is paramount—that the Directorate must expand to bring the blessings of order to the less favored—that the orders of a superior are to be obeyed unquestioningly—that it is only right that we subordinate ourselves to the greater glory of the Eglan race—that our minds and lives are dedicated to this service—that there is no higher honor, no greater glory than to die for the Eglani." He sounded as though he was reciting a litany that had suddenly become no longer believable.
"But this, I find, is wrong. Such a belief is not life. It is death—extinction first of the soul, then of the mind, and finally of the body. Your weapon struck us here at the core of our belief and through our weakest link—a link we had to keep because, paradoxically, it was also the source of our strength and unity. Through our neurocommunicators your feelings, emotions, and beliefs waged battle with our own. And yours won because their truth was more basic and more just than our own. And so we were disarmed. We were confused. We could not hold control. And finally we could not kill—not even ourselves!" The muscle in his cheek twitched again.
Fiske drew a deep breath. With sudden understanding he recalled his own feelings when he had heard Ellen on that tape. But there must have been more than Ellen—much more. All those others—and somehow the Eglani had sensed the true meaning behind that nauseous gabble! And the meaning had destroyed them!
Of course, this single action wasn't the end of the war, but it was the beginning of the end. The war would go on, but now it wouldn't be humanity with its back against the wall. The Eglani, too, would know the meaning of defeat. Fiske sighed. Somehow he couldn't help feeling sorry for them. They weretoounderstanding!
"Thank you," Sar Lauton said unexpectedly. "Your sympathy is appreciated."
Fiske looked at him uncomfortably. "Take him away, Oley," he said, "and put him with the others. I'm getting this crate out of here." Fiske sank into the control chair and scanned the board. There was no problem here. He knew Eglan centralized controls almost as well as his own. One man could operate this ship if necessary although it took many others to fight and service it.
He energized the drives and the ship moved ahead. The view-screens glowed framing star studded space and the battered shape of the "Dauntless" falling slowly astern. The old girl lay quietly, coasting through space, gleaming faintly in the cold light of the distant stars. Slowly she shrank to a toy as the Eglan ship moved away.
It was time, Fiske thought, as he adjusted a vernier dial and pushed a small lever. The faint ion trail of the torpedo shone like a pale swordblade in the darkness vanishing toward the derelict astern. Seconds passed and then a gigantic fireball blotted out the stars, and with its dying the "Dauntless" was gone save for a fiercely radiating haze of molecules that spread rapidly outward through circumambient space....
Pedersen came in quietly and took a seat opposite Fiske. "The prisoners are secure, sir, and our men are ready for Cth jump," he said.
"Good. We'll start familiarization after we reach cruising component."
"Aye sir."
"The "Dauntless" is gone," Fiske said absently as he energized the converters and the ship shivered at the border of hyperspace.
"I know. I saw her die."
"She was a good ship."
"The best. She won our war."
"I hated to kill her, Oley."
"I know that too. But you had to do it."
Fiske sighed as he took the ship up through the Cth components. It handled smoothly enough, but not as smoothly as the "Dauntless." The two men sat silently with the control board between them.
Fiske spoke finally. "You know, Oley," he said. "I thought it was a calamity when Bordoni broke his recordings."
Pedersen looked at him soberly. "You might still be right," he said. "We're going to win this war now. We're going to win it completely. They can't stop us now we know their weakness."
"And that's a calamity?"
"Possibly. After all—what are we going to do when we win? What sort of conquerors willwebe? How will we treat them and the races they have conquered? We have no precedents. We've bypassed other intelligent races in our sphere. We've left them alone because we didn't know how to handle them, and we knew we didn't know. But we can't leave the Eglani alone. They're going to be our responsibility—and we've never learned to rule."
Fiske stared, shrugged, and grinned. "Could be that the Eglani will win after all—even though we defeat them in battle. They have the administrative experience."
Pedersen chuckled without humor. "You see what I mean? It still may be a calamity."...
THE END