"Yes, sir. Reading test signals: Fire eight ... fire six ... fire nine ... fire one ... fire main." The voice paused. "Is that all, sir?" "The ten seconds are up," reproached Karsine. Henceforth, his every command would have to be acted upon instantly. "Divert seventy per cent of main power supply into armament system." "Yes, sir." "Check spinal extension." "Extended and locked. All force heads burning, Commander." Another voice had answered this time. "Good." Karsine's brief acknowledgment for an efficient crew. "Activate the combat calculator." "In action, sir." There, Narant realized, was another de-humanizing achievement of Central Scientific. Years ago in the war with the repulsive exoskeletal inhabitants of Sirius 13, earth's military commanders had gone into battle with terrible ardor. To destroy the Sirians they had taken frequent, unnecessary risks, and in so doing had sacrificed dozens of brand new combat ships. So a special calculator had been designed for all craft except humble merchantmen. It kept a running check on the enemy's tactics, his power output, his course, speed and relative aggressiveness; it measured the power consumption of its own ship in counteracting enemy weapons, and a score of other factors. Once activated, the "brain" computed the mathematical probabilities of ultimate success at each instant of the battle. If the scale ever tipped in favor of the enemy craft, the calculator instantly selected the best evasion course, fired auxiliary rockets and broke off the engagement. * * * * * Narant unconsciously shook his head in disapproval. He wondered if he was getting old? Such efficiency disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Only in the histories, it seemed, could you find those thrilling battles where human ingenuity played the decisive role. Where a handful of courageous men could face outrageous odds and win through to victory by wit and resourcefulness. Yes, only in the histories. Nowadays warfare, like love, revolved about mathematics and probability curves and trillions of electrons chasing themselves through a maze of wires and throwing switches and making decisions that once had been the prerogative of man alone. Narant yearned for man's lost freedom to make an honest error. Suddenly Karsine's harsh voice came blasting over the loudspeaker. "Prepare to grapple!" Narant glanced quickly out through the port into the black sky. The alien ship, its bright metal reflecting the light of the distant sun, floated a mile away. Motionless. Or so it seemed against the unchanging stellar background.