also modify
the overdrive to make this ship able to do everything my other ships
did--and more. You will work much harder on the way to Kandar than you
ever worked before, but we have to accomplish more than usual. That's
all."

He stood by while the ship was aimed for Kandar. The young astrogator
said enthusiastically, "Prepare for overdrive. Five, four, three--"

A voice out of a speaker:

"_Calling_ Liberty! _Calling_ Liberty! _Morgan calling_ Liberty!"

"Hold it," said Bors.

He answered the call. Morgan's voice, in a high state of agitation,
"_Bors! The_ Sylva's _just back! Just broke out! The grand fleet will
get to Kandar in five days, four hours, twenty minutes! My Talent on
the_ Sylva _is sure of it. It's Talents, Incorporated information!_"

"We haven't any time to spare, then," said Bors.

"_Bors!_" panted Morgan's voice. "_There were three ships of our fleet
hanging about, on watch for Mekinese. They expected one. Twelve came.
The observation-ships attacked. They got eleven of the twelve. The last
one went into overdrive and got away! Bors! Do you see what that
means?_"

"It means," said Bors coldly, "that Mekin won't be accepting surrenders
this week. Destroying the first division was bad enough. I got one off
Meriden. Now that a third squadron's wiped out, Mekin will insist on
somebody getting punished--and plenty! All right! We're leaving for
Kandar now."

He nodded to the young man at the control board. He noted with approval
that he'd kept the _Liberty's_ aim exact while Bors talked to Morgan.

"Proceed," Bors ordered.

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

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

This was one voyage in overdrive which was not tedious. Bors had to
organize the ship 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 ship 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 space outside the ship into sectors,
assigning 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 Prete