The fleet grew alive with a sudden awareness; it seemed to be a thing alive, straining at its bonds in response to the music played into its computers and controls. Suddenly, the fleet sprang forward. A destroyer shot out into the midst of the enemy fleet, launching all of its energy in one tremendous lurch—only to go down in a flaming wreck as the enemy ships swerved and concentrated on it. And a second ship, and then a third ship repeated the frightful maneuver, until the whole heavens were lighted with the flaming novae of berserk atomic drives.
"General, sir," said the Lieutenant, with sweat rolling from his brow as he saluted.
"Yes, Lieutenant," said the General looking away from the battle map of the solar system.
"We can't make any headway against the control room door. Must be solid steel. Whoever got in there must have fused it shut."
"Well, get a welding torch," said the General, his eyes going back to watch the devastation of the fleet. "We've got to get in—get that computer back on automatic. Get explosives, if necessary."
"We've sent for a welding torch already, sir. It'll be here in a few minutes."
"All right. Send someone for hand grenades too. We've got to stop this sabotage before the fleet is annihilated. They're losing ships every minute."
"Sir," interposed the Captain standing nearby, "maybe we can cut off the computer room someway. I know it's a direct conduit, right to the vaults from the control room, but maybe we can cut the conduits and let the ships fall back on their emergency circuits."
"Looks like a possible alternative, Captain, though we'd put the computer out of operation for several days," said the General. "But we're losing our fleet this way."
Seven, eight, nine great men of war went down before the blazing force fields of the enemy, who pounced on every sacrifice offered to it by the computer.