"Then this isn't Sanderson at all?" McDaniels asked, his dark eyes wide with wonder.
"Our records indicate that a Lieutenant Vern Sanderson left Aldebaran II about three months ago to assist on the Albion shake-down cruise. My guess is that the real Sanderson met with foul play somewhere along the way and this ... thing ... was substituted. The League knew that war was coming. They also knew that the Federation has lately installed the new Dyer gun and is in the process of installing the Bergesson Hyper-drive in its capital ships. This critter was probably one of many sent to get those secrets. With them, victory for the League would be assured."
"But why kill him? Why didn't you take him prisoner and find out what he knew?"
"For just one damned good reason," Harrigan answered. "These boys are telepathic over short distances—the antennae have something to do with that. If I hadn't taken him by complete surprise, he would have notified his pals, if any, on this ship. And, if there should happen to be a dozen or a hundred of these babies on board, we really would be in for it. O'Brien, arrange a watch on the mess hall. Have all hands who do not take water with their meals reported. You and chief Scott will have to call them in one at a time and give them the acid test."
O'Brien went off to arrange the mess hall watch and Harrigan sat down, heaving a great sigh, behind his desk. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "you have seen the enemy. Or at least half the enemy."
"Yes, sir," Rose responded, "but what about the Xantus, sir? I—we've never seen one of them."
The admiral shuddered inwardly. "I hope you never do," he confessed. All the wretched memories of two galactic campaigns swept over him again. "A Xantu looks like nothing more nor less than a beer barrel on skids, with a cauliflower for a head. Eight independently focussing eyes, one for each of the tentacles that sprout from the middle of the chest. Get one of those monkeys behind a gun bank and you'll swear you have a platoon facing you." Harrigan lit a cigarette, forked smoke from his nostrils.
"The Xantus don't do too much of the actual fighting, though. Back in the early days of space conquest, they teamed up with the Ziths ... I imagine because the Xantus have a terrific technical culture but are few in number, relatively speaking, and the Ziths aren't great on technology but have the manpower. And too, their home systems are only a few light-years apart. So far, the partnership has worked out very well for the Dark Nebula League; the Xantus providing the brains, and the Ziths the muscle. They are both ancient races, and very probably their plans for the conquest of this end of the Universe would have gone nicely if they hadn't run up against the Solar Federation, led by Terra. We stand smack across their path. It has come to the point now where it's us or them, absolutely...."
After the Sanderson episode was settled, Harrigan suddenly felt drained and exhausted, and retired to his quarters. While he slept, O'Brien, Chief Scott and his men rounded up four more Zith spies who were immediately executed and unceremoniously dumped into the rocket chambers. On the double-check, a fifth was discovered cowering in the captain's life boat and he soon followed his brothers. The great ship plowed through the ink of space, and the only sounds were the muffled throbbing from the rocket banks, the steady hum of the chronometer and the clicking of the audio relay.