le fighting men died--on both sides.

At last the remains of the battered Terran fleet turned and limped
toward Armun--defeated. Little of the once impressive armada remained.
A few blackened hulks, making their way uncertainly toward captivity.

Icarus had not functioned. Centaurus had not exploded. The attack was
a failure.

The war was over.

"We've lost the war," Margaret Duffe said in a small voice, wondering
and awed. "It's over. Finished."

The Council members sat in their places around the conference table,
gray-haired elderly men, none of them speaking or moving. All gazed up
mutely at the great stellar maps that covered two walls of the
chamber.

"I have already empowered negotiators to arrange a truce," Margaret
Duffe murmured. "Orders have been sent out to Vice-Commander Jessup to
give up the battle. There's no hope. Fleet Commander Carleton
destroyed himself and his flagship a few minutes ago. The Centauran
High Council has agreed to end the fighting. Their whole Empire is
rotten to the core. Ready to topple of its own weight."

Reinhart was slumped over at the table, his head in his hands. "I
don't understand.... _Why?_ Why didn't the bomb explode?" He mopped
his forehead shakily. All his poise was gone. He was trembling and
broken. "_What went wrong?_"

Gray-faced, Dixon mumbled an answer. "The variable man must have
sabotaged the turret. The SRB machines knew.... They analyzed the
data. _They knew!_ But it was too late."

Reinhart's eyes were bleak with despair as he raised his head a
little. "I knew he'd destroy us. We're finished. A century of work and
planning." His body knotted in a spasm of furious agony. "All because
of Sherikov!"

* * * * *

Margaret Duffe eyed Reinhart coldly. "Why because of Sherikov?"

"He kept Cole alive! I wanted him killed from the start." Suddenly
Reinhart jumped from his chair. His hand clutched convulsively at his
gun. "And he's _still_ alive! Even if we've lost I'm going to have the
pleasure of putting a blast beam through Cole's chest!"

"Sit down!" Margaret Duffe ordered.

Reinhart was half way to the door. "He's still at the Euthanasia
Ministry, waiting for the official--"

"No, he's not," Margaret Duffe said.

Reinhart froze. He turned slowly, as if unable to believe his senses.
"_What?_"

"Cole isn't at the Ministry. I ordered him transferred and your
instructions cancelled."

"Where--where is he?"

There was