ght miles and swept up through the monochromes of Cth
until we hit middle blue, when Chase slipped off the helmet, unfastened
his webbing, and stood up.

"Take over, Mr. Marsden," he said. "Lay a course for Parth."

"Aye, sir," I replied, slipping into the chair and fastening the web. I
slipped the helmet on my head and instantly I was a part of the ship.
It's a strange feeling, this synthesis of man and metal that makes a
fighting ship the metallic extension of the Commander's will. I was
conscious of every man on duty. What they saw I saw, what they heard I
heard, through the magic of modern electronics. The only thing missing
was that I couldn't feel what they felt, which perhaps was a mercy
considering the condition of the crew. Using the sensor circuits in the
command helmet, I let my perception roam through the ship, checking the
engines, the gun crews, the navigation board, the galley--all the
manifold stations of a fighting ship. Everything was secure, the ship
was clean and trimmed, the generators were producing their megawatts of
power without a hitch, and the converters were humming contentedly,
keeping us in the blue as our speed built to fantastic levels.

I checked the course, noted it was true, set the controls on standby and
relaxed, half dozing in the chair as Lume after Lume dropped astern with
monotonous regularity.

An hour passed and Halloran came up to relieve me. With a sigh of relief
I surrendered the chair and headset. The unconscious strain of being in
rapport with ship and crew didn't hit me until I was out of the chair.
But when it did, I felt like something was crushing me flat. Not that I
didn't expect it, but the "Lachesis" was worse than the "Clotho" had
ever been.

I had barely hit my couch when General Quarters sounded. I smothered a
curse as I pounded up the companionway to my station at the bridge.
Chase was there, stopwatch in hand, counting the seconds.

"Set!" Halloran barked.

"Fourteen seconds," Chase said. "Not bad. Tell the crew well done." He
put the watch in his pocket and walked away.

I picked up the annunciator mike and pushed the button. "Skipper says
well done," I said.

"He got ten seconds out of us once last trip," Halloran said. "And he's
been trying to repeat that fluke ever since. Bet you a munit to an 'F'
ration that he'll be down with the section chief trying to shave off
another second or two. Hey!--what's that--oh ..." He looked at me.
"Disturbance in