Filip Sanat turned away in pain, but Ion Smitt’s voice hammered on, hard, unmerciful.
“And then Trantor realizes that she hates and fears Santanni more than ever she did the Lhasinu and any day now she will withdraw her fleet to refrain from crippling them while her enemy’s ships remain quietly and safely in port. The Human nations are falling apart,” the soldier’s fist came down upon the table, “like rotten cloth. It was a fool’s dream to think that the selfish idiots could ever unite for any worthy purpose long.”
Sanat’s eyes were suddenly calculating slits, “Wait a while! Things will yet work out all right, if we can only manage to seize control of Earth. Earth is the key to the whole situation.” His fingers drummed upon the table edge. “Its capture would provide the vital spark. It would drum up Human enthusiasm, now lagging, to the boiling point, and the Governments,-well, they would either have to ride the wave, or be dashed to pieces.”
“I know that. If we fought today, you have a soldier’s word we’d be on Earth tomorrow. They realize it, too, but they won’t fight”
“Then-then they must be made to fight. The only way they can be made to fight is to leave no alternative. They won’t fight now, because they can retreat whenever they wish, but if-”
He suddenly looked up, face aglow, “You know, I haven’t been out of the Loarist tunic in years. Do you suppose your clothes will fit me?”
Ion Smitt looked down upon his ample girth and grinned, “Well, they might not fit you, but they’ll cover you all right.
What are you thinking of doing?”
“I’ll tell you. It’s a terrible chance, but- Relay the following orders immediately to the Lunar Base garrison-”
The admiral of the Lhasinuic Solar squadron was a warscarred veteran who hated two things above all else: Humans and civilians. The combination, in the person of the tall, slender Human in ill-fitted clothing, put a scowl of dislike upon his face.
Sanat wriggled in the grasp of the two Lhasinuic soldiers. “Tell them to let go,” he cried in the Vegan tongue. “I am unarmed.”
“Speak,” ordered the admiral in English. “They do not understand your language.” Then, in Lhasinuic to the soldiers, “Shoot when I give the word.”
Sanat subsided, “I came to discuss terms.”
“I judged as much when you hoisted the white flag. Yet you come in a one-man cruiser from the night side of your own fleet, like a fugitive. Surely, you cannot speak for your fleet.”
“I speak for myself.”
“Then I give you one minute. If I am not interested by the end of that time, you will be shot.” His expression was stony.
Sanat tried once more to free himself, with little success. His captors tightened their grips.
“Your situation,” said the Earthman, “is this. You can’t attack the Human squadron as long as they control Lunar Base, without serious damage to your own fleet, and you can’t risk that with a hostile Earth behind you. At the same time, I happen to know that the order from Vega is to drive the Humans from the Solar System at all costs, and that the Emperor dislikes failures.”
“You have ten seconds left,” said the admiral, but tell-tale red spots appeared above his eyes.
“All right, then,” came the hurried response, “how’s this? What if I offer you the entire Human Fleet caught in a trap?”
There was silence. Sanat went on, “What if I show you how you can take over Lunar Base, and surround the Humans?”
“Go on!” It was the first sign of interest the admiral had permitted himself.
“I am in command of one of the squadrons and I have certain powers. If you’ll agree to our terms, we can have the Base deserted within twelve hours. Two ships,” the Human raised two fingers impressively, “will take it”
“Interesting,” said the Lhasinu, slowly, “but your motive? What is your reason for doing this?”
Sanat thrust out a surly under-lip, “That would not interest you. I have been ill-treated and deprived of my rights. Besides,” his eyes glittered, “Humanity’s is a lost cause, anyway. For this I shall expect payment-ample payment. Swear to that, and the fleet is yours.”
The admiral glared his contempt “There is a Lhasinuic proverb: The Human is steadfast in nothing but his treachery. Arrange your treason, and I shall repay. I swear by the word of a Lhasinuic soldier. You may return to your ships.”
With a motion, he dismissed the soldiers and then stopped them at the doorway, “But remember, I risk two ships. They mean little as far as my fleet’s strength is concerned, but, nevertheless, if harm comes to a Lhasinuic head through Human treachery-” The scales on his head were stiffly erect and Sanat’s eyes dropped beneath the other’s cold stare.
For a long while, the admiral sat alone and motionless. Then he spat ‘This Human filth! It is a disgrace even to fight them!”
The Flagship of the Human fleet lazed one hundred miles above Luna, and within it the captains of the Squadrons sat about the table and listened to Ion Smitt’s shouted indictment.
“-I tell you your actions amount to treason. The battle off Vega is progressing, and if the Lhasinu win, their Solar squadron will be strengthened to the point where we must retreat. And if the Humans win, our treachery here exposes their flank and renders the victory worthless. We can win, I tell you. With these new needle-ships-”
The sleepy-eyed Trantorian leader spoke up. “The needleships have never been tried before. We cannot risk a major battle on an experiment, when the odds are against us.”
“That wasn’t your original view, Porcut. You-yes, and the rest of you as well-are a cowardly traitor. Cowards! Cravens!”
A chair crashed backwards as one arose in anger and others followed. Loara Filip Sanat, from his vantage-point at the central port, from where he watched the bleak landscape of Luna below with devouring concentration, turned in alarm. But Jem Porcut raised a gnarled hand for order.
“Let’s stop fencing,” he said. “I represent Trantor, and I take orders only from her. We have eleven ships here, and Space knows how many at Vega. How many has Santanni got? None! Why is she keeping them at home? Perhaps to take advantage of Trantor’s preoccupation. Is there anyone who hasn’t heard of her designs against us? We’re not going to destroy our ships here for her benefit. Trantor will not fight! My division leaves tomorrow! Under the circumstances, the Lhasinu will be glad to let us go in peace.”
Another spoke up, “And Poritta, too. The treaty of Draconis has hung like neutronium around our neck these twenty years. The imperialist planets refuse revision, and we will not fight a war which is to their interest only.”
One after another, surly exclamations dinned the perpetual refrain, “Our interests are against it! We will not fight!”
And suddenly, Loara Filip Sanat smiled. He had turned away from Luna and laughed at the snarling arguers.
“Sirs,” he said, “no one is leaving.”
Ion Smitt sighed with relief and sank back in his chair.
“Who will stop us?” asked Porcut with disdain.
“The Lhasinu! They have just taken Lunar Base and we are surrounded.”
The room was a babble of dismay. Shouting confusion held sway and then one roared above the rest, “What of the garrison?”
“The garrison had destroyed the fortifications and evacuated hours before the Lhasinu took over. The enemy met with no resistance.”
The silence that followed was much more terrifying than the cries that had preceded. “Treason,” whispered someone.
“Who is at the bottom of this?” One by one they approached Sanat. Fists clenched. Faces flushed. “Who did this?”
“I did,” said Sanat, calmly.
A moment of stunned disbelief. “Dog!” “Pig of a Loarist!” “Tear his guts out!”
And then they shrank back at the pair of Tonite guns that appeared in Ion Smitt’s fists. The burly Lactonian stepped before the younger man.
“I was in on this, too,” he snarled. “You’ll have to fight now. It is necessary to fight fire with fire sometimes, and Sanat fought treason with treason.”
Jem Porcut regarded his knuckles carefully and suddenly chuckled, “Well, we can’t wriggle out now, so we might as well fight. Except for orders, I wouldn’t mind taking a crack at the damn lizards.”
The reluctant pause was followed by shamefaced shouts- proof-positive of the willingness of the rest.
In two hours, the Lhasinuic demand for surrender had been scornfully rejected and the hundred ships of the Human squadron spread outwards on the expanding surface of an imaginary sphere-the standard defense formation of a surrounded fleet-and the Battle for Earth was on.
A space-battle between approximately equal forces resembles in almost every detail a gigantic fencing match in which controlled shafts of deadly radiation are the rapiers and impermeable walls of etheric inertia are the shields.
The two forces advance to battle and maneuver for position. Then the pale purple of a Tonite beam lashes out in a blaze of fury against the screen of an enemy ship, and in so doing, its own screen is forced to blink out. For that one instant it is vulnerable and is a perfect target for an enemy ray, which, when loosed, renders its ship open to attack for the moment. In widening circles, it spreads. Each unit of the fleet, combining speed of mechanism with speed of human reaction, attempts to slip through at the crucial moment and yet maintain its own safety.