As the "Dauntless" bored through Cth space in the middle blue component, Fiske reviewed his last meeting with Admiral Koenig. It hadn't been too satisfactory. Central Research, it seemed, still wanted a live Eglan trooper. It didn't matter that the Navy hadn't captured one in five years of trying. The requirement still stood. It took no great intelligence to understand why Central wanted a prisoner. A great deal about the aliens could be understood if there was live meat available. The only trouble was that there never had been, and probably never would be a live Eglan prisoner of war. Fiske automatically excluded the Eglan civilians. They were essentially no different than a civilized human.
It puzzled Fiske. How a people who were gentle, civilized, and understanding could produce a warrior caste so fiercely dedicated and so utterly different was a mystery he couldn't solve. Sure—some of it probably was connected with the suicide devices surgically implanted in their skulls, but that wasn't all of it. Their fanatic will to fight, their utter disregard of death and their incredible discipline had no reflection in their civilian counterparts. The Eglan soldiery were a living denial of the human axiom that a society left its impression upon all of its components. Certainly there was no reflection of the Eglan civilian in the Eglan soldier,—or vice versa.
Fiske shrugged. After all, it wasn't his problem outside of the fact that he had to fight them. And it had been proven some time ago that ship for ship humanity was fully a match for the aliens. It was only when groups were involved that the Eglan superiority was apparent. And then it was overwhelming.
There was some trick of discipline or communication that welded a group of Eglan fighting ships into a single cohesive unit that was thus far unbeatable. Humanity had to learn—or it was lost—and would go the way of the other civilizations that had been in the path of alien conquest.
Fiske shrugged. Given time, men might learn the answer. But time was getting short. Koenig felt that if the answer wasn't found soon, humanity would pass the point of no return. Already the inner worlds were glutted with refugees. Industry was trying vainly to gain upon the tremendous attrition in ships and weapons and still supply the population. Financial structures were tottering on the brink of ruin. Taxation was oppressive, restrictions were galling and unpleasant, and everywhere disaffection with the progress of the war was rampant.
"If the armchair admirals had their way," Koenig had said bitterly, "we'd be through now. But we can't hold out much longer. This delaying policy is going to split wide open. We're going to be forced to mount a counter offensive against an enemy we know can outmaneuver and out-fight us in large formations,—an enemy who knows a great deal about us, but about whom we know nothing. We simply have to get a line on how they operate."
So here he was again, chasing the will-o-the-wisp of an Eglan prisoner. He sighed, shrugged and turned his attention to the banks of instruments that recorded every vital function of the ship.
This part of the voyage was easy. Not even the inhumanly efficient Eglani could guard all parts of the fluid hemisphere they had pushed into the territory of the Confederation, and ships travelled with relative ease across the ill defined border that separated the two warring races.
But life aboard ship was neither easy nor relaxed. Under Fiske's command, it was a constant striving for perfection. Five years of battle experience had taught him that neither officers nor crew could become too familiar with the offensive and defensive armaments of a ship. Constant practice was the only answer to Eglan coordination and every man aboard knew that the more proficient they became the better were their chances of coming home alive. So all hands spent every spare moment refining skills of war, solving simulated tactical problems, trying to increase response speed and improve combat efficiency.
Fiske checked the control console, his eyes sweeping across the lights and dials that indicated the "Dauntless" was manned and ready and that the crew were at their proper stations. Satisfied that everything was in order, he set up a tactical problem on the board and buzzed for the Executive officer.