At number six gun-bank, Harrigan and O'Brien entered section C hatch. O'Brien's mouth fell open. Along the catwalk behind the gun emplacements proper, men lounged and leaned. One slept. Several were smoking and most of them had thrown back their helmets. Of the forty-eight, three had their eyes on the finder screens. "Attention," Harrigan roared, and fifty men jerked erect like puppets on a string. "Get your helmets up and your eyes on those screens. And keep them there until you're ordered off. This isn't a shake-down any longer; this is war!" He turned to O'Brien. "Who's in charge here?" "Lieutenant Sanderson." "Leave the Ensign in charge and have Sanderson report to the bridge at once." Harrigan stooped through the hatch. "And Mike, see that the word is passed along to the remaining gun-crews. Damned if I'll see a repeat of this!" "Yes, sir," Mike answered, and turned toward the nervous lieutenant. "Report to the bridge, Mister, and prepare to be chewed." Sanderson managed a weak "Yes, sir." * * * * * Harrigan was pacing the bridge when McDaniels and Rose came in, stood at attention and saluted crisply. The admiral returned the salute. "Relax, gentlemen. I called you here to commend you both personally for your fast, clear thinking under the stress of emergency. Cool-headedness under strain is taken as a matter of course in the Space Forces, but in this case your actions served as an example to an inexperienced crew and are therefore doubly appreciated by the officers of this ship. Sit down." The two men took seats and Harrigan relaxed behind his own massive desk. "I was with your father at Cadet school, McDaniels, and later at the Battle of Canopus. Where is the Commander now?" McDaniels, short and pudgy, answered proudly. "He took command of Polaris Base I just before we left on the cruise, sir." "Oh?" The kid doesn't know yet, Harrigan thought. If the Force can't stem the League attack damned quick, old McDaniels and his men will be the expendables in this scrap. But the kid sitting before him was so eager and obviously proud of his father that the admiral hadn't the heart to tell him the true score. "Sir," Rose piped up, "are you the same officer Harrigan that Dad mentioned during the First Campaign? He was Master Navigator on the old 'Cometeer.'" "I certainly am." Harrigan smiled broadly. "'Red' Rose was the best navigator I ever had. He could plot you half way around the Galaxy and land you in your barracks just in time for supper. How long has it been now, six years, seven?" Rose looked at the floor. "Seven, sir. He was hunting Kalabs on Callisto when the landslide caught him." "I'm sorry, deeply sorry." * * * * * Footsteps sounded in the passageway and the lieutenant, Sanderson, came in, followed closely by O'Brien. The lieutenant tucked his cap under his elbow, smoothed back his thick hair and saluted. Harrigan gazed at the man for a long moment.