But life aboard ship was neither easy nor relaxed. Under Fiske's command, it was a constant striving for perfection. Five years of battle experience had taught him that neither officers nor crew could become too familiar with the offensive and defensive armaments of a ship. Constant practice was the only answer to Eglan coordination and every man aboard knew that the more proficient they became the better were their chances of coming home alive. So all hands spent every spare moment refining skills of war, solving simulated tactical problems, trying to increase response speed and improve combat efficiency. Fiske checked the control console, his eyes sweeping across the lights and dials that indicated the "Dauntless" was manned and ready and that the crew were at their proper stations. Satisfied that everything was in order, he set up a tactical problem on the board and buzzed for the Executive officer. "Take over, Oley," he said, as the Exec slid into the chair beside him. "Hmm, a stinker you leave me," Olaf Pedersen remarked as his eyes scanned the board. "I'll be in quarters if you need help," Fiske said. He pushed off in a flat dive toward the hatch that led to his quarters as Pedersen took up the problem and the drill went on. As ship commander he enjoyed the priceless luxury of privacy, and for the little time that remained before breakout, he would luxuriate in solitude and listen to what Ellen taped for him. It was a pleasure he had carefully saved for this moment before they went into action. He hoped that it was something gay and inspiring, perhaps with a little of the affection they had for each other--but whatever it was it would be Ellen's voice and for awhile it would give him the illusion that she was near. He webbed into his shock-couch, threaded the spool of tape into the playback and flipped the switch. For a few seconds the tape hummed quietly through the guides. Then a blast of noise erupted from the speaker. Anne Albertson's piercing giggle. Laughter. Voices--piercing female voices pitched at their most irritating level--a cacophonous clatter through which snatches of treble phrases sliced with nerve jangling shrillness! Fiske's howl could be heard through the entire forward part of the ship! He reached out angrily to turn off the playback, but even as he did, he hesitated. Ellen must have given him this tape for a reason,--and it was obvious that he was missing it. She wasn't the sort to play practical jokes. Gritting his teeth he forced himself to listen to the gabble that rasped his ears and frayed his temper. It was the quintessence of irritation, a garbled, calm-destroying jangle that had all the comfort of a dental drill grinding out an infected molar. And then he heard it. The background noise died a little, and across the disconnected chatter came Ellen's voice--clear crisp and light--mouthing the same banalities as the others! It was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. And then he understood.