water.
Then returned to his vigil.

* * *

It was nearing 6:00 AM, United Commonwealth Earth time, 0600 by the
military clock. On the dark side of Goethe there was no time, only the
slow indifferent turning of the dark skied, sea-laden monster.

Hayes had decided to do the broadcast live. He sat before the tiny
camera fixtures cool and alert, with a partial script before him.
Added to the natural intensity of his features was the hard, predatory
gleam that always rimmed his eyes before a battle. No matter that the
rapid-black passage through the star gate, and the fighting sure to
follow, would not occur until the next morning. He would not eat or
sleep until then, concentrating all his energies and attention on the
slightest details of preparation. By seven o'clock the next morning he
would be transformed into the atavistic frame of mind where decisions
were not tainted by conscience or emotion but were ruthless, correct in
their unhesitating aggression, and sharp as razor steel. In battle as
in life, he told himself, there was no substitute for hardness and
sheer force of will. The subtle throb and hum of the giant ship felt
strong and reassuring around him, as it headed toward the limits of the
system.

The red light of the studio came on: twenty seconds. Ten. The man in
the booth signaled him, and he began to speak.

"My fellow soldiers of the dauntless Third Fleet. We stand on the eve
of a great battle. At stake is nothing less....."

Nine minutes later the first of the East German scat-ships came out of
warp. In the five seconds allotted him, SubCaptain Hessler located the
target, aimed and fired his missile, and broke off again into e-light.
The automated batteries aboard the Dreadnought picked up and analyzed
his presence, aimed a ruby laser and fired: too late. Also too late
were the bursts it fired at the lightning-fast projectile, sent in a
curved trajectory at its more vulnerable underside.

The neonuclear explosive hit home with a violence that even the
emptiness of Space could not diffuse, penetrating seven of the
Carrier's sixteen layered shields.

Within the ship there was a sudden, jarring concussion, and the
corridors of every vessel inside it resounded with the drone of a
battle-stations alert. For the briefest instant the lights of the
studio went out; and when they returned Hayes saw that his speech was
ruined. A pitche