Smoothly the ship swapped ends, halted instantly, and dropped like a stone through the Cth components as Sandoval cut the converters. With scarcely a shudder the "Dauntless" slipped into normal space. "Full ahead," Fiske ordered and familiar acceleration clutched at the bodies of the crew. With every electronic and visual sense extended, screens glowing on standby, drives flaring a fierce blue against the dark of space the "Dauntless" swept forward toward the frontier far ahead. Her speed was less than a snail's crawl compared to the inconceivable velocities she had been travelling in Cth but in normal spacetime weapons functioned and subetheric communicators worked. Here, fighting was an art--refined by years of drill and practice. "Bearing zero two four--enemy cruiser. Range two thousand--closing," the talker said. "Bearing one nine zero--nega--cruiser. Range fifteen hundred--extending." "Not too smart," Fiske observed. "That rear ship'll have to hyper to get ahead of us, and by that time we should get a crack at our long eared friends up ahead." "Bearing zero one eight--range one thousand--closing. Bearing one nine zero--negative," the talker interrupted. "Our little follower's gone back into Cth," Pedersen said. "Gives us three minutes at least, before he can adjust on us." "Bearing zero one six--range five hundred--closing," the talker said. "Stand by all stations," Fiske said calmly--"Bearing zero one six steady--range four hundred,--three hundred,--two five zero,--two two zero,--two hundred,--one eight zero," the talker's metallic voice was flat in the tense silence of the ship. "At my command," Fiske said as he poised his finger over a large red button on the control console. * * * * * Over the complex network of spotting, ranging, and computing devices electronic orders flowed into the gun, and torpedo stations. Servos hummed as the weapons aligned on their target and gun crews alertly followed the movements of the automatics ready for emergencies or malfunctions. "Bearing zero one three, range fifty--closing," the talker's unemotional voice continued. Fiske's hand stabbed the button and an instant later the "Dauntless" yawed violently to the blast of fire that erupted from every weapon capable of bearing on the Eglan. "Enemy has fired," the talker said. The "Dauntless" slewed violently as the pilot took evasive action. For a long second the Eglan hung in space, her screens blazing. Then she began to turn,--but it was too late. The concentrated fury of the "Dauntless" broadside erupted against her screens in blazing pyrotechnics. The Eglan staggered and spun off at a tangent. A second later the "Dauntless" bucked and jumped as the Eglan's fire crashed home. The secondary screens flared and vanished. The primaries crackled into the violet under the enormous load of dissipating the megatons of energy that flared against them.