Karin nodded. "Each star is either alive, or has living things on it. They're fighting a war." She repeated the word. "A war. It seems incredible—terrifying."
"I'm afraid you've forgotten our own past. Haven't you studied your history? We had wars once too."
"But so long ago, Jan! It seems impossible to believe that half the human race ever tried to destroy the other half."
"Well, they didn't succeed. There's no use moralizing. Now, at least, we have something pretty definite to go on. When the creatures of one star launched a force field, those of the other star defended themselves with a force field of their own. Directly between the stars, the fields balance pretty well, permitting us to move. But toward the rim of the region where they collide, the forces work in the same direction, and keep us from breaking free."
"Now that we know that—what can we do?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid," admitted Jan. "Neither star will relax its field for fear of falling victim to the other. That leaves us in the middle, exactly as before."
He said thoughtfully, "Karin, did I ever tell you of that ancient history book I once saw? It actually depicted our barbaric ancestors on a battlefield? There were long rows of trenches on either side, apparently as a protection from the primitive missiles they were capable of launching. And sitting on the blackened limb of a tree that had been shot almost to bits, in what was called 'No Man's Land', sat a bird.
"Well, we're that bird, Karin—on a battlefield we never made. We're right in the middle, in no star's land. And sooner or later, some of the weapons being used are going to finish us off, precisely as one of those ancient shells was sure eventually to destroy the bird."
"I didn't realize I had married a philosopher," said Karin sharply. "If the bird had any brains, it would have flown away. And if we have any brains, we'd find a way to move the ship."
"We seem to lack the necessary mental equipment," said Jan tartly. "What would you suggest?"