--two! Doyle--one! Drummond--stand by with three!" he snapped,
at the first word.

In the instant of hearing his name each Techno stabbed down a series of
studs and there flowed into his ears a rapid stream of figures--the
up-to-the-second data from every point of observation as to every
element of motion of his target. He punched the figures into his
calculator, which would correct automatically for the motion of his own
vessel--glanced once at the printed solution of the problem--tramped
down upon a pedal once, twice, or three times, depending upon the
number of projectiles he had been directed to handle.

Kinnison had ordered Lawrence, a better shot than Doyle, to launch two
torpedoes; neither of which, at such long range, was expected to strike
its mark. His second, however, should come close; so close that the
instantaneous data sent back to both screens--and to Kinnison's--by the
torpedo itself would make the target a sitting duck for Doyle, the less
proficient follower.

Drummond, Kinnison's Number Three, would not launch his missiles unless
Doyle missed. Nor could both Drummond and Harper, Kinnison's Number Two,
be "out" at once. One of the two had to be "in" at all times, to take
Kinnison's place in charge of the Sector if the Chief were ordered out.
For while Kinnison could order either Harper or Drummond on target, he
could not send himself. He could go out only when ordered to do so by
Fire Control: Sector Chiefs were reserved for emergency use only.

"Target Two--Zone Nine," Fire Control said.

"Carney, two. French, one. Day, stand by with three!" Kinnison ordered.

"Damn it--missed!" This from Doyle. "Buck fever--no end."

"O.K., boy--that's why we're starting so soon. I'm shaking like a
vibrator myself. We'll get over it...."

The point of light which represented Target One bulged slightly and went
out. Drummond had connected and was back "in".

"Target Three--Zone Eight. Four--eight," Fire Control remarked.

"Target Three--Higgins and Green; Harper stand by. Four--Case and
Santos: Lawrence."

After a minute or two of actual combat the Technos of Sector A began to
steady down. Stand-by men were no longer required and were no longer
assigned.

"Target Forty-one--six," said Fire Control; and:

"Lawrence, two. Doyle, two," ordered Kinnison. This was routine enough,
but in a moment:

"Ted!" Lawrence snapped. "Missed--wide--both barrels. Forty-one's
dodging--manned or directed--coming like hel