Grasping the viewing switch, he threw it on. Pinpoints of light flared deep within his brain and seemed to blot his vision. Closing his eyes, his brain fought for perspective. Gradually, it focused and perceived the solar system, resplendent with sun, planets, moons, and men of war. Enveloping each ship were lines of force, scintillating sharp and hard; forming cosmic vortexes as the lesser computers on board followed the master's directives and distorted the ether around the ships, seeking to build a pattern to penetrate the opposing fields and engulf the enemy men of war. A moment, and the game was on. Ruy grasped the "Manual" switch before him, pulled hard, and dropped his hands to the keyboard before him. * * * * * The General, who was known in military circles as a good Joe, but a stickler for the theory of war, relaxed languidly at his desk in the small office off the Battle Room. The other officers on duty milled around the plotting board within his eyesight awaiting the end of the evening shift. It was strange and new to relax on the job after so many years of fleet duty. But staff duty to the master computer was good, politically. He was getting along in years, and a few more contacts here might mean a separate fleet command of his own, perhaps in pursuit of the invader, if the computers could ever break the deadlock. Suddenly, the sweet reverie of the General was snapped like a tight tension cable. A gong on the wall clanged rapidly three times and a red flashing light next to the gong told him what his ears refused to believe. The computer had been switched to manual. He had received no such instructions. In fact, the computer hadn't been on manual since the war started. "Captain, who ordered manual control?" he barked as he sprang to the doorway of the Battle Room. "I don't know, Sir," stammered the Captain. His manner and bearing were those of a man who had just been faced with a problem of cataclysmic proportions. "Well check with the control room--on the double--before our fleet gets out of defensive position." His parade ground roar snapped the Captain out of the catelepsy which had enveloped him and sent him scurrying into the corridor. An almost hysterical shout whirled the General back to the plotting board. "Sir, our fleet is attacking--_attacking!_" "What? Where?" asked the General, his eyes darting over the board in a frantic effort to orient himself. "Here, Sir, see. The positions are changing gradually in an unusual pattern. A patrol ship, a destroyer, and a cruiser have all gone right into the enemy vortex field," analyzed the Major. "Yes, I see--But with the enemy concentrating his ships orthogonally--he'll build a vortex that will disintegrate each and every ship of ours near the vortex," said the General, his mind coming up to full battle speed as it grasped the situation. "My God! Can't they see that they're going to certain death?"