"Well--that's that," Fiske said with grudging admiration as the ship went dark, and began to buck and shudder in the stress area at the border of Cth and normal space. "He's just about kicked us out of commission." A violent shock lifted the cruiser and shook her. Metal screamed and ripped as the ship, struck by a mine at the very edge of Cth, was driven downward through the border into breakout. Flashes and pinwheels of light flamed across Fiske's eyes as the ship spun madly into normal space. The talker wakened him. "Enemy cruiser, range three fifty--steady." Fiske cursed weakly at the unemotional robot voice. Somewhere amidships a dull explosion shook the ship, and then the whole mass of the cruiser moved sideways as a broadside let loose. Fiske came to awareness with a jerk. Beside him was Pedersen, his face a bloody mask, calmly operating the control board. A piece of scalp had been stripped neatly from his head and hung down the back of his neck together with the smashed wreckage of his helmet. "Break off, Pete--I'm back. Get a patch on that scalp and a new helmet. You'll look silly breathing space if they hull us up here." "I thought you had it, skipper," Pedersen grinned through the blood. "That last jump was pretty rough." "What's up?" "I don't know. Our Eglan friend is shooting at us from long range. He doesn't seem very eager to close. Came in to three fifty and has been matching us ever since. Looks like he's waiting for help." "We can't let this go on.--What's our situation?" "Damage control reports we're about eighty percent effective. They're working on the number three converter but it'll be at least an hour before she's ready. We've lost two secondary batteries, but the mains are all right and our screens are keeping out the stuff our playmate's sending over." "Our drives?" "Okay--except for the converters like I said." Fiske looked into the plotting tank. "Full right turn," he ordered. "If he won't close--we will." "Skipper!" the intercom chattered. "We've got that tape in. We're ready to roll down here." "Well--get going," Fiske snarled. "Do I have to tell you everything?" "No sir--but we thought--" "Stop thinking and turn that broadcast on!" "Yes sir!" "Eighty five degrees right turn--down five," Fiske said. "Full drive--execute!" He bent over the tank and watched the Eglan. The enemy response was slow. "It's working," Fiske murmured happily. The blindest observer could see that something was wrong with the alien. His maneuvering was sloppy, his fire confused, sporadic, and inaccurate,--and as the "Dauntless" shells crashed into his secondary screens there were no evasive maneuvers or blazing pyrotechnics of point reinforcement. Fiske grinned ferociously. A few more salvos and that would be the end of him. A violent blow wrenched the "Dauntless" sideways, and another hurled her forward with a tremendous burst of acceleration. And the drives stopped dead. Under momentum alone the cruiser shot onward.