“Not at all, sir.” Bannerman went over and fitted himself into his own chair, followed by Lee. Donal turned his attention to the Eye.

The five ships were in line, in deep space, at thousand-kilometer intervals. He looked at their neat Indian file and stepped up the magnification slightly so that in spite of the distance that should have made even the nearest invisible, they appeared in detail, in-lighted by the Eye.

“Sir,” said Bannerman; and his quiet voice carried easily across the room. “I’ve arranged a key-in. When we make our phase shift, that library tape will replace the image in the Eye, so you can see what our approach will actually look like.”

“Thank you, captain.”

“Phase shift in ten seconds—”

The count-down ticked off like the voice of a clock. Then, there was the sensation of a phase shift; and abruptly Donal was sweeping closely over a planet, barely fifty thousand kilometers distance from its surface. “Fire—” and “Fire—” spoke the speaker in the control room ceiling. Again, the indescribable destruction and rebuilding of the body. The world was gone and they were again in deep space.

Donal looked at the four other ships in line. Abruptly the leading one disappeared. The rest continued, seemingly, to hang there, without motion. There was no sound in the control room about him. The seconds crept by, became minutes. The minutes crawled. Suddenly — a ship appeared in front of Ban-nerman’s craft.

Donal looked back at the three behind. Now, there were only two.

The run continued until all the ships had made their pass.

“Again,” ordered Donal.

They did it again; and it went off without a hitch.

“Rest,” said Donal, getting out of the chair. “Captain, pass the word for all ships to give their personnel a break of half an hour. Make sure everyone is fed, rested, and supplied with medication. Also supply every person with extra medication to be taken as needed. Then, I’d like to talk to you, personally.”

When Bannerman had accomplished these orders and approached Donal, Donal took him aside.

“How about the reactions of the men?” he asked.

“Fine, captain,” Bannerman said; and Donal was surprised to read a true enthusiasm in his voice, “We’ve got good crews, here. High level-ratings, and experience.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Donal, thankfully. “Now… about the time interval—”

“Five minutes exactly, sir.” Bannerman looked at him inquiringly. “We can shorten slightly, or lengthen as much as you want.”

“No,” said Donal. “I just wanted to know. Do you have battle dress for me and my orderly?”

“It’s coming up from stores.”

The half hour slid by quickly. As it approached its end and they prepared to tie into their chairs, Donal noticed the chronometer on the control room wall. It stood at 23:10 and the half hour would be up at 23:12.

“Make that start at 23:15,” he directed Bannerman. The word was passed to the other ships. Everyone was in battle dress in their chairs and at their posts, waiting. Donal felt a strange metallic taste in his mouth and the slow sweat began to work out on the surface of his skin.

“Give me an all-ship hookup,” he said. There was a few seconds pause, and then a Third Officer spoke from the control panel.

“You’re hooked in, sir.”

“Men,” said Donal. “This is Captain Graeme.” He paused. He had no idea what he had intended to say. He had asked for the hookup on impulse, and to break the strain of the last few moments which must be weighing on all the rest as much as him. “I’ll tell you one thing. This is something Newton’s never going to forget. Good luck to all of you. That’s all.”

He wigwagged to the Third Officer to cut him off; and looked up at the clock. A chime sounded softly through the ship.

It was 23:15.

Newton was not to forget.

To a world second only to Venus in its technical accomplishments — and some said not even second — to a world rich in material wealth, haughty with its knowledge, and complacent in the contemplation of its lavish fighting forces, came the shadow of the invader. One moment its natives were secure as they had always been behind the ringing strength of their ninety ships in orbit — and then enemy craft were upon them, making runs across the skies of their planet, bombing them with — what?

No, Newton was never to forget. But that came afterward.

To the men in the five ships, it was the here and now that counted. Their first run across the rich world below them seemed hardly more than another exercise. The ninety ships were there — as well as a host of other spacecraft. They — or as many of them as were not occluded by the body of the planet — registered on the instruments of the Freilander ships. But that was all. Even the second run was almost without incident. But by the time Donal’s leading ship came through for the start of the third run, Newton was beginning to buzz like a nest of hornets, aroused.

The sweat was running freely down Donal’s face as they broke into the space surrounding the planet; and it was not tension alone that was causing it. The psychic shocks of five phase shifts were taking their toll. Halfway in their run there was a sudden sharp tremor that shook their small white-walled world that was the control room, but the ship continued as if unhurt, released its second torpedo and plunged into the safety of its sixth phase shift.

“Damage?” called Donal — and was surprised to hear his voice issue on an odd croaking note. He swallowed and asked again, in a more normal, controlled tone. “Damage?”

“No damage—” called an officer sharply, from the control panel. “Close burst.”

Donal turned his eyes almost fiercely back onto the scene in the Eye. The second ship appeared. Then the third. The fourth. The fifth.

“Double up this time!” ordered Donal harshly. There was a short minute or two of rest and then the sickening wrench of the phase shift again.

In the Eye, its magnification jumping suddenly, Donal caught sight of two Newtonian ships, one planetward, the other in a plane and at approximately two o’clock to the line of the bombing run they had begun.

“Defensive—” began Donal; but the gun crews had waited for no order. Their tracking had been laid and the computers were warm. As he watched, the Newtonian ship which was ahead and in their plane opened out like a burst balloon in slow motion and seemed to fall away from them.

— Another phase shift.

The room swam for a second in Donal’s blurred eyes. He felt a momentary surge of nausea; and, on the heels of it, heard someone over at the panel, retching. He blazed up inside, forcing an anger to fight the threatening sickness.

It’s in your mind — it’s all in your mind — he slapped the thought at himself like a curse. The room steadied; the sickness retreated a little way.

“Time—” It was Bannerman, calling in a half-gasping voice from the panel. Donal blinked and tried to focus on the scene in the Eye. The rank odor of his own sweat was harsh in his nostrils — or was it simply that the room was permeated with the stink of all their sweating?

In the Eye he could make out that four ships had come through on this last run. As he watched, the fifth winked into existence.

“Once more!” he called, hoarsely. “In at a lower level, this time.” There was a choked, sobbing-like sound from the direction of the panel; but he deliberately did not turn his head to see who it was.

Again the phase shift.

Blur of planet below. A sharp shock. Another.

Again the phase shift.

The control room — full of mist? No — his own eyes. Blink them. Don’t be sick.

“Damage?”

No answer.

“Damage!”

“ — Light hit. Aft. Sealed—”

“Once more.”

“Captain—” Bannerman’s voice, “we can’t make it again. One of our ships—”