The ship, for reasons thathad to do with the politics ofappropriations, was named SenatorJoseph L. Holloway, but thepress and the public called herBig Joe. Her captain, six-starAdmiral Heselton, thought ofher as Great Big Joe, and neverfully got over being awestruckat the size of his command.
"She's a mighty big ship, Rogers,"he said proudly to thenavigator, ignoring the latter'srather vacant stare and fixedsmile. "More than a mile long,and wider than hell." He wavedhis hands expansively. "She'snever touched down on Earth,you know. Never will. Too bigfor that. They built her on themoon. The cost? Well ..."
Swiveling his chair around,Heselton slowly surveyed theship's control room with a small,satisfied smile. The two pilotssitting far forward, almost hiddenby their banks of instruments,the radar operators idlywatching their scopes, the threeflight engineers sitting intentlyat their enormous control consoles,and, just behind, the radioshack—its closed door undoubtedlyhiding a game of cards. Forweeks now, as Big Joe movedacross the galaxy's unchartedfringe, the radio bands had beencompletely dead, except, ofcourse, for the usual star statichissing and burbling in thebackground.
Turning back again to hisnavigator, Heselton smiled modestlyand noted that Big Joe wasundisputedly the largest, mostpowerful, most feared, and mosteffective spaceship in the knownuniverse.
As always, Rogers noddedagreement. The fact that he'dheard it a hundred times didn'tmake it any less true. Big Joe,armed with every weapon knownto Terran technology, was literallythe battleship to end allbattleships. Ending battleships—andbattles—was, in fact, herjob. And she did it well. For thefirst time, the galaxy was atpeace.
With a relaxed sigh, Heseltonleaned back to gaze at the starsand contemplate the vastness ofthe universe, compared to whicheven Big Joe was an insignificantdot.
"Well," said Rogers, "time foranother course check. I'll ..."He jumped back, barely avoidingthe worried lieutenant whoexploded upon them from theradio shack.
"A signal, sir! Damn close, onthe VHF band, their transmissionis completely overriding thebackground noise." He wavedexcitedly to someone in the radioshack and an overhead speakercame to life emitting a distinctclacking-grunting sound. "It'saudio of some sort, sir, butthere's lots more to the signalthan that."
In one motion Heselton's chairsnapped forward, his right fisthit the red emergency alert buttonon his desk, and his leftsnapped on the ship's intercom.Lights dimmed momentarily aspowerful emergency drive unitssnapped into action, and the shipechoed with the sound of twothousand men running to battlestations.
"Bridge to radar! Report."
"Radar to bridge. All clear."
Heselton stared incredulouslyat the intercom. "What?"
"Radar to bridge, repeating.All clear. Admiral, we've got twomen on every scope, there'snothing anywhere."
A new voice cut in on thespeaker. "Radio track to bridge."
Frowning, Heselton answered."Bridge. Come in radio track.We're listening."
"Sir," the crisp voice of theradio track section's commanderhad an excited tinge. "Sir, Dopplercalculations show that thesource of those signals is slowingdown somewhere to ourright. It's acting like a spaceship,sir, that's coming to ahalt."
The admiral locked eyes withRogers for a second, then shrugged."Slow th