or a report.
Abruptly he reached out and jerked open the knife-switch in the
computer's antenna circuit. Immediately the machine began clicking and
clattering and chomping. A bit of paper tape suddenly licked out of its
answer-slot. He tore it off and read the neatly printed words:
MALFUNCTION, OPEN CIRCUIT, COMMUNICATIONS OUTPUT; INSERT DATA.

Mitch "inserted data" by punching a button labelled NO REPAIR and
another labelled RADIO OUT. One bank of tubes immediately lost its
filament-glow, and the computer shot out another bit of tape inscribed
DATA ROGERED. He patted it affectionately and grinned. The computer was
just a machine, but he found it easy to personalize the thing....

The command-set was crackling again. "Sugar William Niner Zero, this is
Commsubron Killer. Two messages. Mother wants you. Daddy has a razor
strap. Get on the ball out there, boy! Acknowledge. Over."

Mitch whitened and picked up the microphone. He keyed the transmitter's
carrier and spoke in a quiet hiss. "Commsubron Killer from Sugar William
Niner Zero. Message for Daddy. Sonnyboy just resigned from the Navy. Go
to hell, all of you! Over and out!"

He shut off the receiver just as it started to stutter a shocked reply.
He dropped the mike and let it dangle. He stood touching his fingertips
to his temples and breathing in shallow gasps. Had he gone completely
insane?

He sat down on the floor of the tiny compartment and tried to think. But
he could only feel a bitter resentment welling up out of nowhere. Why?
He had always gotten along in the Navy. He was the undersea equivalent
of a fighter pilot, and he had always liked his job. They had even said
that "he had the killer instinct"--or whatever it was that made him grin
maliciously when he spotted an enemy sub and streaked in for the kill.

* * * * *

Now suddenly he didn't want to go back. He wanted to quit the whole damn
war and run away. Because of Garson maybe? But no, hadn't he anticipated
that before it happened? Why should he kick now, when he hadn't kicked
before? And who was _he_ to decide whether Garson was right or wrong?

_Go back_, he thought. _There's the microphone. Pick it up and tell
Commsubron that you went stir-crazy for a little while. Tell him wilco
on his message. They won't do anything to you except send you to a nut
doctor. Maybe you need one. Go on back like a sane man._

But he drew his hand back from the microphone. He wiped