“Good,” said Donal. “Come here with me, Bannerman.”

He led the way over to the larger and rather more elaborate Control Eye that occupied the center of this control room; and pressed keys. A scene from the library file of the ship filled the globe. It showed a green-white planet with two moons floating in space and lit by the illumination from a G2 type sun.

“The orange and the two pips,” said Bannerman, revealing a moonless Freilander’s dislikes for natural planetary satellites.

“Yes,” said Donal. “Newton.” He looked at Bannerman. “How close can we hit it?”

“Sir?” said Bannerman, looking around at him. Donal waited, holding his eyes steady on the older man. Bannerman’s gaze shifted and dropped back to the scene in the Eye.

“We can come out as close as you want, sir,” he answered. “See, in deep space jumps, we have to stop to make observations and establish our location precisely. But the precise location of any civilized planet’s already established. To come out at a safe distance from their defenses, I’d say, sir—”

“I didn’t ask you for a safe distance from their defenses,” said Donal, quietly. “I said — how close?”

Bannerman looked up again. His face had not paled; but there was now a set quality about it. He looked at Donal for several seconds.

“How close?” he echoed. “Two planetary diameters.”

“Thank you, captain,” said Donal.

“Shift in ten seconds,” announced the First Officer’s voice; and began to count down. “Nine seconds — eight — seven — six — five — four — three — two — shift!” They shifted.

“Yes,” said Donal, as if the shift itself had never interrupted what he was about to say, “out here where it’s nice and empty, we’re going to set up a maneuver, and I want all the ships to practice it. If you’ll call a captain’s conference, captain.”

Bannerman walked over to the control board and put in the call. Fifteen minutes later, with all junior officers dismissed, they gathered in the privacy of the control room of Bannerman’s ship and Donal explained what he had in mind.

“In theory,” he said, “our Patrol is just engaged in reconnaissance. In actuality, we’re going to try to simulate an attacking force making an assault on the planet Newton.”

He waited a minute to allow the weight of his words to register on their minds; and then went on to explain his intentions.

They were to set up a simulated planet on their ship’s instruments. They would approach this planet, which was to represent Newton, according to a random pattern and from different directions, first a single ship, then two together, then a series of single ships — and so on. They would, theoretically, appear into phase just before the planet, fire one or more torpedoes, complete their run past the planet and immediately go out of phase again. The intention would be to simulate the laying of a pattern of explosions covering the general surface of the planet.

There was, however, to be one main difference. Their torpedoes were to be exploded well without the outer ring of Newton’s orbits of defense, as if the torpedoes were merely intended as a means to release some radiation or material which was planned to fall in toward the planet, spreading as it went.

And, one other thing, the runs were to be so timed that the five-ship force, by rotation, could appear to be a large fleet engaged in continuous bombardment.

“…Any suggestions or comments?” asked Donal, winding it up. Beyond the group facing him, he could see Lee, lounging against the control room wall and watching the captains with a colorless gaze.

There was no immediate response; and then Bannerman spoke up slowly, as if he felt it had devolved upon him, the unwelcome duty of being spokesman for the group.

“Sir,” he said, “what about the chances of collision?”

“They’ll be high, I know,” said Donal. “Especially with the defending ships. But we’ll just have to take our chances.”

“May I ask how many runs we’ll be making?”

“As many,” said Donal, “as we can.” He looked deliberately around the group. “I want you gentlemen to understand. We’re going to make every possible attempt to avoid open battle or accidental casualties. But these things may not be avoidable considering the necessarily high number of runs.”

“How many runs did you have in mind, captain?” asked Sukaya-Mendez.

“I don’t see,” replied Donal, “how we can effectively present the illusion of a large fleet engaged in saturation bombardment of a world in under a full two hours of continuous runs.”

‘Two hours!” said Bannerman. There was an instinctive murmur from the group. “Sir,” continued Bannerman. “Even at five minutes a run, that amounts with five ships to better than two runs an hour. If we double up, or if there’s casualties it could run as high as four. That’s eight phase shifts to an hour — sixteen in a two-hour period. Sir, even doped to the ears, the men on our ships can’t take that.”

“Do you know of anyone who ever tried, captain?” inquired Donal.

“No, sir—” began Bannerman.

“Then how do we know it can’t be done?” Donal did not wait for an answer. “The point is, it must be done. You’re being required only to navigate your ships and fire possibly two torpedoes. That doesn’t require the manpower it would to fight your ships under ordinary conditions. If some of your men become unfit for duty, make shift with the ones you have left.”

“Shai Dorsai!” murmured the scarred El Man; and Donal glanced toward him, as grateful for the support as for the compliment.

“Anyone want out?” Donal asked crisply.

There was a slow, but emphatic, mutter of negation from all of them.

“Right.” Donal took a step back from them. “Then let’s get about our practice runs. Dismissed, gentlemen.”

He watched the four from other ships leave the control room.

“Better feed and rest the crews,” Donal said, turning to Bannerman. “And get some rest yourself. I intend to. Have a couple of meals sent to my quarters.”

“Sir,” acknowledged Bannerman. Donal turned and left the control room, followed by Lee as by a shadow. The Cobyman was silent until they were in the stateroom; then he growled: “What did that scarface mean by calling you shy?”

“Shy?” Donal turned about in surprise.

“Shaey, shy — something like that.”

“Oh,” Donal smiled at the expression on the other’s face. “That wasn’t an insult, Lee. It was a pat on the back. Shai was what he said. It means something like — true, pure, the actual.”

Lee grunted. Then he nodded.

“I guess you can figure on him,” he said.

The food came, a tray for each of them. Donal ate lightly and stretched himself out on the couch. It seemed he dropped instantly into sleep; and when he awoke at the touch of Lee’s hand on his shoulder he knew he had been dreaming — but of what, he could not remember. He remembered only a movement of shapes in obscurity, as of some complex physics problem resolving itself in terms of direction and mass, somehow given substance.

“Practice about to start,” said Lee.

“Thank you, orderly,” he said automatically. He got to his feet and headed toward the control room, shedding the druggedness of his sleep as he went. Lee had followed him, but he was not aware of this until the Cobyman pushed a couple of small white tablets into his hand.

“Medication,” said Lee. Donal swallowed them automatically. Bannerman, over by the control board, had seen him come in, and now turned and came across the floor.

“Ready for the first practice run, sir,” he said. “Where would you like to observe — controls, or Eye?”

Donal looked and saw they had a chair set up for him in both locations.

“Eye,” he said. “Lee, you can take the other chair, as long as there does not seem to be one for you.”

“Captain, you—”

“I know, Bannerman,” said Donal, “I should have mentioned the fact I meant to have my orderly up here. I’m sorry.”