"They've what?"
"Surrendered. Quit. Given up. We've won!"
"You sure you're not in shock, skipper?"
"Just get your men together. We've got to make up a boarding party out of this mess somehow. We've got to collect the wounded and get them out of this wreck. Since the Eglan's still intact we'll take over his ship."
"But skipper, everybody knows that the Eglani don't—"
"Break it off Sandy, and do as you're told. That's an order."
Shaking his head the big man floated off as Fiske shrugged and turned upward toward the gun-decks, picking his way through torn and splintered metal, collecting survivors and issuing orders similar to those he had given Sandoval. In the next twenty minutes Fiske destroyed forever his carefully built reputation for compassion and humanity....
They assembled on the main deck—what was left of them. The whole and the wounded, barely thirty men of a crew that had numbered over a hundred. They gathered in a tight knot staring into the vision screen that gave a clear view of the alien drawn up alongside. The Eglan ship hung black and massive in space, her seamless sides blank save only for the circle of yellow light that marked an open airlock. No glitter of screens reflected the icy glint of the stars. There was a stillness about the ship that was almost frightening as she edged slowly closer to the battered sides of the "Dauntless."
"Boarders away!" Fiske ordered and the motley group of survivors towing the wounded who still lived, opened the airlock and pushed off across the intervening space that separated the two ships. Fiske waited until the last man disappeared into the circle of light in the Eglan's side before pushing off. He blinked once or twice to clear the traces of moisture from his eyes as he looked around the empty stillness that had been his ship. It wouldn't do at all for his men to suspect that besides being a softy, he was a cry baby to boot....