"Fire!" said Makvern, and the ship shuddered twice. White stunning beams lanced out and struck a dark iron flank with green fire and sent it staggering away--Wyatt assumed that these beams were powerful enough to knock out not only men but delicate electrical equipment as well. "They are pulling out," said Brinna. "Breaking up. Look!" He could see that the orderly formations of Varsek's fleet had become suddenly ragged, some of the ships frankly deserting the ranks and others lagging as though they were hesitant. "It was the projectile," Brinna said. "Seeing one of their own ships full of men they knew destroyed that way--I think it must have shocked them all as it did me." The face of a man appeared on the screen, white and strained. "Makvern," he said. "You know me--Shannar, commanding the First Squadron. I'm pulling out--this is murder--" Varsek's face appeared, super-imposed over Shannar's in a ghastly double image. "Follow your orders! Destroy--" "The hell with you," said Shannar. "I'm a soldier, not an executioner." He faded, and a second face appeared through the image of Varsek. "Me, too. After what you've led us into, the Second Squadron is quitting." Now Varsek's face stood clear in the screen, and outside in space the dark ships wheeled away and joined the number that were gathering behind Makvern's force. Varsek, his face distorted with a violent fury, cried out, "I _order_ the commander of every ship to proceed with his assigned duties! If he refuses, I authorize every officer in the chain of command to take over until one loyal man is found. I order this! Prepare to land. I'll destroy Makvern myself if none of you have the guts to do it." And the great bulk of the flagship moved from where it had hung in space and gathered speed, and bore down upon Makvern's command ship like the ultimate hammer of doom. "He must have packed the flagship with his most trusted officers," Brinna said. Ignoring every other craft in space, the enormous ship rushed at them. Makvern spoke into the communic. "I don't think you quite understand, Varsek. The situation has changed. You are now fairly well isolated. There's been enough killing. Surrender and we'll see that you get a fair trial at Uryx." "You won't live to go anywhere," Varsek snarled. He began to talk to others who apparently were in the room with him, out of range of the pick-up. "Why the hell doesn't the fleet move? I ordered them. Order them again, and prepare a projectile, Type Two--What are you waiting for?" "Sir," said a voice, "have you noticed the disposition of the destroyer squadrons?" "What of them?" "They're between us and the target. All of them. The commanders request that you surrender. They say there will be no more Type Twos used on men of Uryx."