"It was all sort of whirligig, like," explained Patricia. "We didn't
get home until along toward the not-so-wee large hours of the morning."
"I know," responded her father dryly. "The whole gang of you were
raiding the icebox at five."
"The rest of them left shortly afterward."
"All of them?"
"No, Stellor outsat them and lingered to say goodnight."
"What do you think of Stellor?"
"I've always thought highly of Stellor. He's got everything. He knows
what he wants and he knows how to get it."
"And Cliff Lane?"
"Cliff is strictly on the impulse."
"I wouldn't say that," objected her father. "After all, both of them
got where they are because of their ability."
"Well, Cliff gives the impression that he just thought of it."
"Of what?"
"Of whatever he was going to do next."
"A good thing nobody ever asked you to decide between them."
"It would be difficult."
"Well, it won't be necessary. They're leaving after the next change of
watch."
"So soon?"
"The Little Man gave the impression that all of us were fighting for
time."
"I see. You do believe that this is important?"
"I can see no other reason for it."
"Um-m-m. Well, I'll be down to see them off."
"All of us will."
"I was worried, last night. I could see a beautiful shindy in the
offing."
"And it didn't get bad at all?"
"No," answered Patricia in surprise. "I think Cliff saved the day
by showing up with a couple of women. I wouldn't have wanted to sit
between the two of them all by myself. That would have been strictly
murder. And I wouldn't have wanted to see Stellor off without saying
farewell to Cliff. Stellor got here first with the plans--I was
strictly a fence. I didn't know what to do. So I did it. And everything
turned out fine."
"You can hope that it will always turn out fine. What'll you do if one
of them turns to some other woman?"
Patricia laughed wryly. "I'd lose both of them, Dad. Believe me, I
would. The other would barge in and set sail for the woman just as sure
as I'm a foot high."
"But ... but ... but--"
"I don't really know--nor do I care too much."
"Anticipating me? You mean you don't know which one really wants you
and which other is just here for sheer rivalry?"
Patricia nodded. "They don't, either," she said sagely. "It is a good
thing that we have time. Time will out, as you've always said. Time
will get us the answer. Right now I'm neither worried about time, or
even not having my mind made up on a future. I've got a number of years
of fun ahead before then."
"Bright girl," laughed Kennebec. "Now let's get going. We want to see
them off, don't we?"
* * * * *
Two hours later, seventy-five of the Solar Guard's finest ships arrowed
into the sky above Mojave. In the lead, determined by a toss of the
coin, was Stellor Downing's command. Thompson's outfit, running to his
own taste, encircled the Downing cone at the base in a short cylinder,
while bringing up the rear was Cliff Lane's long spiral. An hour out of
Mojave, the flight went into superdrive and left the Solar Combine far
behind in a matter of minutes.
* * * * *
By the clock, it was weeks later that the Solar Guard's flight dropped
down out of superdrive and took a look around. The Little Man, in
Thompson's ship, used his own instruments and indicated that the yellow
star--it was more than a star at their distance--dead ahead was the one
they sought.
"Downing," called Lane. "How's your power reserve?"
"Like yours, probably."
"We'd better find a close-in, hotter-than-the-hinges planet where they
won't be populating and charge up, what say?"
"Good idea. Better than the original plan of charging in flight. If
it's close in, it'll have ceased revolution, probably. We can hit the
twilight zone and rest our feet a bit."
"O.K. I'll put the searchers on it."
"We'd better take it by relays, though. A fleet that's planeted for
charging isn't in the most admirable position for attack."
"Reasonable. You charge, Thompson'll guard, and I'll scout around."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," growled Downing. "You and Thompson
will both guard."
"Afraid?"
"No, you idiot. I'm jealous as hell. I don't want you to take all the
glory."
"And that's probably the truth," laughed Lane.
"Take it or leave it."
Thompson interrupted. "This sounds like the leading edge of a fight.
Stop it. We'll play it safe--Downing's way."
"O.K.," assented Lane cheerfully enough.
"Thing that bothers me," muttered Downing, "is the fact that if this
bunch have any stuff, we're being recorded on the tapes right now."
"So?"
"And if they're as nasty as the Little Man claims, they'll be here with
all of their nastiness."
"All right," snapped Lane. "We've got detectors and analyzers, haven't
we?"
"Uh-huh. But we're a long way from home base. What we've got we've got
to keep--and use. They can toss the book at us and go home for another
library. Follow?"
"Yup. Located a planet yet?"
"Haven't you been paying attention?"
"No. You're in the lead. I'm merely following as best I can."
"Then sharp up. We're heading for the innermost planet now."
"Go ahead--we'll go in to see. Then Lane and I will scout the sky above
to keep off the incoming bunch, if any," said Thompson.
It was an armed watch. Downing's flight landed and set up the solar
collectors. From the ships there came a group of planet-mounted modines
which had little to offer over the turrets in the ships save adding to
their numbers.
The other two flights dropped off their planet-mounts, too, since they
were of no use a-flight and might even become a detriment if trouble
demanded swift maneuver.
Then a regular patrol schedule was set up and alternately Lane and
Thompson took to the sky to cover the area. The detectors were
overhauled and stepped up to the theoretical limit of their efficiency,
and couplers and fire-control systems were hooked in and calibrated.
It took nine days by the clock to get the camp set up, and Downing's
flight was almost recharged by the end of that time.
As Thompson's flight went in for re-charge, Downing and Lane discussed
the camp.
"I say leave it here," said Lane. "Might be handy."
"When?"
"I don't have any real idea. But we've got one hundred and fifty extra
dymodines planet-mounted down there. I say leave it there until we get
this problem off our chest."
"Expect trouble?" scoffed Downing.
Lane nodded. "I expect this to end in a running fight with one of the
two of us making a blind but accurate stab in the dark and getting
that machine the Little Man talks about. If the going gets tough, we
can hole out here for some time with the solar collectors running the
planet mounts."
"Wonder why the cat race hasn't come up," mused Downing. "It isn't
sensible to permit any alien to establish a planethead in your system."
"They might not even know."
"Unlikely."
"Look, though," offered Lane, "we came in sunward, almost scorching
our tails. The solar centroid of interference might make any flight
detection undistinguishable from background noise."
"Yeah? Remember that we came in over the edge of the sun from
_somewhere_. We were out in space mostly."
"Then you answer it--you asked it!"
* * * * *
The catmen came as Thompson's flight left the camp and Lane's ships
dropped into the charging positions. They came in a horde, they came
and they swarmed over the two flights that were patrolling.
In a wide circle, the Solarians raced just outside of the camp. The
planet mounts covered the sky above, and a veritable arched roof of
death-dealing energy covered the twenty-five ships of Lane's flight.
The space between the Solar circle and the catman circle was ablaze
with energy, and the ether was filled with interference. Even the
subether carried its share of crackle, and the orders went on the
tone-modulated code instead of voice.
Solid ordnance dropped, and exploded through the crisscrossing of the
planet mounts, and the planeted ships ran their charges down instead of
up by adding to the fury over their heads. They were sitting ducks and
they knew it.
But unlike the sitting duck, these could shoot back. And they took
their toll.
Then without apparent reason, the flight of catmen left their whirling
circle on a tangent and streaked for space.
Behind them lay nine smoking ships--prey to the Solar Guard.
But they had not gone in vain. There were seven of the Solar Guard
that would fly no more--seven ships and a total of one hundred and
seventy-five men.
"_Whew._ They haven't any sense at all," snarled Downing.
"Either that or they value their lives rather poorly."
"Must be. I wouldn't know. But usually a vicious mind doesn't value
life too highly."
"I wouldn't be too certain of that."
"All right. I won't belabor the point. I don't know. It just seems--"
The next ten days was under rigid rule. Lane's ships charged, and the
last day was spent in replenishing the charges lost in the short but
torrid fight.
"Now," said Lane, "what's with this hell-machine that the Little Man
mentions?"
"The detectors do not detect," objected Downing.
* * * * *
They confronted the Little Man with the nonoperating detector. He shook
his tiny head and worried visibly. He puzzled over it, juggled the
circuit controls, and then threw up his hands in bafflement. He spoke
to Hotang Lu:
"The field must be so great that the detector is paralyzed."
"It is more than likely. Remember, it was working on Tlembo. It was
working on ... on ... I have not the word for their star. Many many
light-years away it is good. Close by--it must be paralyzed."
"Then we must make it less sensitive."
"Do you know how?"
"I did once, long ago. But I have forgotten my techniques and my
ability lags because of lack of practice."
"And I devoted myself to the arts instead of technology. A revered
master at the problem of mental culture; I cannot invade this gadget
with tools."