er it.

Yet his voice when he spoke was the same dry, pedantic voice of old.
"You have the rendezvous point, Mr. Marsden. Have Mr. Esterhazy set the
course and speed to arrive on time." He dismissed us with the
traditional "That's all, gentlemen," and we went out separate ways. I
didn't want to look at the triumphant smile on Allyn's face.

We hit rendezvous at 0850, picked up a message from the Admiral at 0853,
and at 0855 were on our way. We were part of a broad hemispherical
screen surrounding the Cruiser Force which englobed the Line and supply
train--the heavies that are the backbone of any fleet. We were headed
roughly in the direction of the Rebel's fourth sector, the one top-heavy
with metals industries. Our exact course was known only to the brass and
the computers that planned our interlock. But where we were headed
wasn't important. The "Lachesis" was finally going to war! I could feel
the change in the crew, the nervousness, the anticipation, the adrenal
responses of fear and excitement. After a year in the doldrums, Fleet
was going to try to smash the Rebels again. We hadn't done so well last
time, getting ambushed in the Fifty Suns group and damn near losing our
shirts before we managed to get out. The Rebs weren't as good as we
were, but they were trickier, and they could fight. After all, why
shouldn't they be able to? They were human, just as we were, and any one
of a dozen extinct intelligent races could testify to our fighting
ability, as could others not-quite-extinct. Man ruled this section of
the galaxy, and someday if he didn't kill himself off in the process
he'd rule all of it. He wasn't the smartest race but he was the
hungriest, the fiercest, the most adaptable, and the most unrelenting.
Qualities which, by the way, were exactly the ones needed to conquer a
hostile universe.

But mankind was slow to learn the greatest lesson, that they _had_ to
cooperate if they were to go further. We were already living on borrowed
time. Before the War, ten of eleven exploration ships sent into the
galactic center had disappeared without a trace. Somewhere, buried deep
in the billions of stars that formed the galactic hub, was a race that
was as tough and tricky as we were--maybe even tougher. This was common
knowledge, for the eleventh ship had returned with the news of the
aliens, a story of hairbreadth escape from destruction, and a pattern of
their culture which was enough like ours to frighten any thin