Hatch stood close to the Officer of the Watch, close enough
to kiss or kill. The man was sweating. The MegaCommand Cruiser was
cool, yet San Kaladan was perspiring like a sledgehammer laborer
at high noon on the thirstiest day of the year.
        "Field collapse imminent," said San Kaladan.
        "Count," said Hatch, speaking in the curt and brutal Code
Five, the military dialect of the Nexus Ninetongue.
        His clipped one-word order had a specific meaning. In the
course of his training, Hatch had memorized seven dozen such
orders. This one told San Kaladan to give him a countdown to the
point where the probability disruption field would collapse.
        At that point, battle would be joined.
        "Twenty," said his subordinate, watching the command console.
"And. Nineteen. And. Eighteen. And. Seventeen. And."
        "Instigate one," said Hatch. "Now."
        San Kaladan broke off the count and pressed a button to
instigate the first series of preprogrammed ship commands.
        There was no sense of acceleration, for the MegaCommand
Cruiser had state-of-the-art effect insulation technology. The
ship commanded by Asodo Hatch could have blasted through space
under an acceleration of a thousand gravities and he would never
have felt a thing. It was a world away from the rough and tumble
of a Scala Nine singlefighter.
        But the command console told the story.
        The ship bearing Asodo Hatch to his destiny was now
accelerating directly toward Lupus Lon Oliver's vessel - and
toward the disintegrating probability disruption field - at three
gravities.
        "Count," said Hatch.
        "Field collapse in twelve," said his subordinate, watching
the command console. "And. Eleven. And. Ten. And. Nine. And."
        And.
        And Asodo Hatch, watching the disruption field collapse,
thought briefly of Dalar ken Halvar and of the Arena which, in the
Season, became the burning focus of the life of the City of Sun.
        Hatch touched a hand to the hilt of his sword.
        - My father.
        His father had fought. His father had died. And now Hatch in
turn was facing his Season in this strange Arena where he must
meet Lupus Lon Oliver in a combat which would decide whether he
lived or whether he died.
        "And. Three. And. Two. And. One. And. None."
        An immaculate countdown.
        On the word "none", the probability disruption field
collapsed entirely. A few wisps of purple light smoked briefly in
the vacuum of interstellar space then vanished.
        "Instigate two," said Hatch. "Now."
        The Officer of the Watch, the impeccably correct San Kaladan,
pressed the instigation button a second time.
        And -
        And the world wavered.
        The image on the gigantic main battle display screen buckled,
collapsed to a point of light then died into absolute darkness.
Though Hatch had been prepared for this, he nevertheless
experienced a frisson of the purest horror. This was every
starwarrior's worst nightmare: a ship dying in the wastelands of
interstellar space.
        The main command console went dead.
        The consoles minor were dead already.
        A moment later, the lights went out.
        Darkness made its cave. Hatch closed his eyes, allowed them
time to adjust. When he opened them, weak emergency lights were
already on. In the main command console, a small panel had come to
life. It was a piece of electrical-based equipment. San Kaladan,
the Officer of the Watch, was struggling to preserve his
immaculate calm, to remain cool and collected in the face of an
entirely unorthodox tactical situation. He studied the readouts
and telltales of that small panel, studied it for longer than was
necessary while he perfected his control of his own emotions. Then
he addressed his commander:
        "Sir. All three asmas are down, sir. Destroyed, sir. They
self-destructed, sir. We have total failure of all ship systems
based on probability manipulation. Total loss of main and
auxiliary manoeuvering capacity. Total loss of all heavybattle
weapons systems. Total loss of all shield systems. Emergency
electricals are operative. Electrical-based emergency
computational and navigational equipment operative. Otherwise our
ship is null and dead. We are on a collision course for the enemy
Galactic Class MegaCommand Cruiser."
        That was Nexus style. Spell it out. Not "the cruiser", the
one and only cruiser sitting out there in the vacuum of
interstellar space. Not "the enemy cruiser". Not "the enemy
MegaCommand Cruiser". But the whole thing, "the enemy Galactic
Class MegaCommand Cruiser", spelt out in full. The maintenance of
working routines under extreme pressure: that was the military
ideal of the Nexus.
        Intergalactic space.
        A dead ship.
        A dead ship on a collision course with another dead ship.
        And, everywhere:
        A disciplined watchfulness. A disciplined readiness. And the
implacable maintenance of routines.
        "Estimated time to intersect point," said Asodo Hatch.
        "Sir," said San Kaladan. "Estimated time to collision with
enemy MegaCommand Cruiser is three arcs plus or minus one tenth of
an arc."
        "Good," said Hatch.
        He had done it.
        On his command, the ship's asmas, its intelligent probability
manipulators, had self-destructed, disrupting local probability
for five light years in every direction. Hatch's ship had died
instantly in the resulting turbulence. The enemy ship commanded by
Lupus Lon Oliver had died in the same instant.
        This tactic was not to be found anywhere in any Book of
Battle ever written by the Nexus, for the Nexus did not teach
suicide tactics. Suicide? Yes, it was surely suicide to kill one's
ship way out in the wastelands of intergalactic space, far from
any star or any planet. How long could life survive on the dead
hulk of a ship which had lost its asmas? Ten days? Twenty? It made
no difference. Everyone on board would die, and sooner rather than
later, dying when food ran out, or water, or air.
        "Suit up," said Asodo Hatch. "Everyone on the bridge is to
suit up and join the rest of the ship's complement. Suit up - and
prepare to board."
        Prepare to board.
        An electrifying command!
        Asodo Hatch was going to lead his men into battle and fight
Lupus Lon Oliver hand to hand, weapon to weapon, face to face.
Hatch was going to meet Lupus Lon Oliver in close quarters battle.
        Back in Forum Three, the assorted beggars, wives, relatives,
friends, Startroopers and Combat Cadets were absorbed by a
multiscreen view of the proceedings. Each and every one of them
could understand what was going on, for the entertainments of the
Eye of Delusions - garish and inaccurate though they were - had
long tutored Dalar ken Halvar in starwarrior dramas. So everyone
in Forum Three understood that Hatch and Lupus each commanded a
ship; that the ships were now dead, and sliding helplessly through
deep space on a collision course; and that Hatch was getting ready
to lead his men into battle.
        Beggar Grim and his friends passed their Eye between them,
seeing (or pretending to see) the drama which was unfolding before
them. Hatch was giving orders, marshaling troops, explaining
plans. Meanwhile, on the opposing ship -
        On the opposing ship, Lupus Lon Oliver was cursing at
bewildered technicians. Cursing and swearing with a rage which was
but a mask for a panic close to hysteria.
        Sitting in Forum Three, watching the splitscreen drama being
played out on that lecture theater's display screen, Manfred Gan
Oliver tried to defend his son.
        "He cheated!" said Gan Oliver, seeing that Lupus was coming
across badly. "Hatch cheated!"
        "All's fair in the Season," said Shona stoutly.
        "The Season!" jeered Beggar Grim. "You're a woman. What would
you know of the Season?"
        "Shut up," said Shona. "Shut up or I'll rape you."
        Which provoked Grim to venture a further unfortunate
witticism, which led to him shortly finding himself face down on
the deck while Shona tore the hair from his head in handfuls. The
room roared applause as Grim thrashed and screamed. The younger
Combat Cadets indulged themselves in hysterical ululations.
        "Silence!" shouted Gan Oliver in fury. "Silence! There are
real men at battle!"
        But the show being played for real in Forum Three was better
than that being widescreened from the illusion tanks, at least for
the moment. So Gan Oliver was ignored. Except by Scorpio Fax, who
had just then entered Forum Three, and who immediately began to
work his way through the crowd toward Gan Oliver. Fax, fresh-
released by the cure-all clinic, was shaky but still resolute. In
his pocket, Fax had a knife, a small knife made from cellophane
cooked up over burning painkiller tablets.
        A small knife - but a sharp knife.
        One could kill with such a weapon.
        And Scorpio Fax fully intended to kill Gan Oliver, and thus
to win himself the fair Penelope as his bride.