Eventually--how soon?--he would lash out at the aliens with all the ship's invincible firepower. And nothing else could be done to delay that treachery. For Mittich couldn't conceive of another last-_purai_ diversion, such as the suggestion that the aliens may have strung out a seine, to forestall the tragedy Vrausot was determined to perpetrate. Lumbering over to the ship's control panel, the Chancellor directed his pilot: "Advance five degrees westward along our orbital path then restabilize." * * * * * Kavula's hands darted here and there and the vessel resounded with the _thuds_ of great tails thumping down on the deck to maintain equilibrium as new velocity came in surges. "This will put us below the aliens' horizon," Kavula noted. "Of course it will," the Chancellor hissed back at the other's impertinence. "And we'll be in such a position that they won't be able to observe our artillery emissions." He turned to the intercom. "Gun Crew One, prepare for firing." "Action?" Mittich asked, fearing the worst. "Of a sort--preparatory." The Chancellor studied the teleview screen and once more directed the gunners: "I'm designating a target circle on one of those peaks down there. You may fire at will." He touched a button and a green halo flared on the screen. He adjusted it to encompass the surface prominence he had in mind. The ship shuddered as the gunner punched his firing stud. Mittich watched the surface erupt in a brilliant display of angry energy--a thousand kilometers off target. The Chancellor received the fire control officer's apology, together with a request for permission to try again. The latter he denied. "They evidently need the practice," Kavula advised. The Chancellor fumed at his pilot's insolence. "They'll do better at close range," he promised. "Meanwhile, I want this ship stripped for action. I've reached my decision. One close pass is all it should take. We strike after sunup." Desperately, Mittich hurried over and swung his small arms imploringly. "You can't do this thing!" "Oh, quit being such a floundering minnow! Nothing's going to happen. They're quite defenseless, I'm convinced." "If that's the case, then you are under injunction of the Curule Assembly to make peaceful contact!" "Drown peaceful contact!" the Chancellor swore. "I'm supposed to exercise my judgment out here!" "But--" "Flotsam! There will be no peace. If that's what the aliens wanted, they wouldn't have come out here in the first place. We are going to blast them. And from here we'll go on!" "Go on?" Mittich repeated cautiously. "Where?" Vrausot's eyes glazed over and his disarray of teeth were exposed to the gums as he paced the deck and beat his arms against his side in a fit of frantic expectation.