Toralen Ki nodded in agreement. "Tell them to destroy it and then to
return, for I must speak with them through this, now that the machine
is stopped and I may. But destroy it, for the Loard-vogh may have
remote control and if they have, it may be started again at any moment."
"Before I blast any alien machine," said Thompson, "I must know what it
is. You insist that it be destroyed. How do I know that the machine is
not benign?"
* * * * *
"The machine," explained Toralen Ki, "is a device which suppresses
the mental activity of all races within its field of radiation. It
was built by a ruthless and predatory race to hold down the overall
galactic mentality. It must be destroyed, for even though it is not
running, full and complete regaining of the mental strength will not
be possible until the machine is destroyed because a certain amount of
residual power exists in the radiating crystal."
Thompson smiled, nodded, and went to the communicator. "O.K., fellows,
have your fun. Blast it!"
Two ships circled Thompson's craft--two tiny ships, both as fleet as a
beam of light and as maneuverable as thought. They circled one another,
winding away from Thompson's ship in a tight twin-corkscrew spiral.
"Twenty thousand years ago--of your years--this race planned to conquer
the Galaxy. They were an old race then, a mad race, with dreams of
grandeur. Their numbers were countless, for they were spreading through
their own section of the Galaxy like a mobile gas.
"They struck trouble, twenty thousand years ago. They hit a race that
fought them--that almost succeeded in holding them to their line.
Unfortunately, they were too numerous. They won. And then they decided
that it would take many thousands of years of work to conquer the
Galaxy. And in those years, younger, lustier races might evolve. Races
that by sheer youth and strength might outstrip them. And so they made
and sent forth horde upon horde of these suppressors.
"Your race," continued Toralen Ki, "has never been able to use its full
mental power. That is because of the suppressor. True, you are a long
way from the suppressor, but its power is fearsome and its effect is
lasting. It passed through your system thousands of years ago and it
held sway over your mental ability to now.
"Your race," said Toralen Ki, "is best equipped to fight the
Loard-vogh."
"I don't feel any more intelligent than I did before," objected
Thompson.
"No, because you have been under the influence of the suppressor for
countless generations. It has become an inherited trait. It will remain
an inherited trait until the mentality of the human race is energized,
or triggered by a rather powerful wave of mental energy.
"The Loard-vogh will enslave the Galaxy if they are not stopped. Our
original home was overrun three thousand years ago, and fourteen times
they have caught up with us. Again, Tlembo is being attacked, or
perhaps it has not started yet. Fourteen planets named Tlembo lie in
our history, and fourteen times have we combed the Galaxy waiting and
seeking a race with the proper mental power and technical ability. It
would have been useless to energize your minds a thousand years ago,
Solarian, for you had not the technical skill to accept it. The shock
would have made you all mad. You believe me of superior intellect
and knowledge because I have been able to make this machine. I am
acknowledged the highest intellect among the Tlembans. I intend to
sacrifice my intellect for humanity. The energizing will destroy me."
* * * * *
The meter in Lane's ship read forty. Forty miles per second. Dead ahead
was the lacery of the star field, clustered around the tininess of
black that was the meteor of the machine. Somewhere in the invisibility
of space was Stellor Downing, coming this way.
He knew, because his detector said so.
This was not only a test of operator's skill, but of technical
superiority, too. Detectors were not calibrated to the last foot of
distance, and he who had the best capability in the art of tuning a
detector knew better where the other man was at any time.
But it was also necessary to judge your opponent's error. For a single
error would destroy both.
Downing's ship came. It was there and it was gone. Missed by a matter
of feet.
And yet not a bead of sweat came. Neither had given ground. Lane
grinned inwardly as his ship slowed for the turn. Dead ahead was the
sealed door to the machine. He touched the button on his drive-rod, and
the dymodine flared forth, boring down the shaft and driving great
scintillating clouds of super-heated gases up from the bowels of the
meteor. The machine was blasted.
"You stinking opportunist," snarled Downing.
"Mad?"
"That was--"
"One step ahead of you."
"You haven't won--"
"Only succeeded. Now we can fight this out for good. Really want to
play, Stellor?"
"I'll run you right into that hole in the meteor," snarled Downing.
The two tiny ships approached on a converging course. Collision course,
it was, and somewhere far ahead there was the meteor again. Downing was
on the spaceward side, and edging sidewise into Lane's course. Lane
was pinched between meteor and Downing; edging outward into Stellor's
course and calculated to miss the meteor by several yards--if he did
not give.
At fifty miles per second they rocketed forward, approaching one
another, and telling each other what was going to happen next.
* * * * *
The communicator in Thompson's ship told the story. Thompson heard it,
and Toralen Ki understood it from Thompson's mind.
"They--Stop them!"
"I cannot," replied Thompson, with a smile.
"You must. They are necessary to our plan."
"Plan?"
"I am going to give up my intellect. Lane and Downing are emotional
and psychological opposites. In one great burst of mental energy, my
intellect will be expended. The shock wave from my mind will energize
their minds. Their intellects will merge, making them emotional twins
and psychological equals, each with the double power gained by joining
with the other. They must willingly submit to this mental combining,
for then the wave of energy from their minds in twin transfer will
awaken every human in the Solar sector of the Galaxy."
"You're asking them to give up their identities."
"I am. And they must."
"They will never do it."
"You are stalling for time. Order them to cease. If either of them
is killed, our plan may fail completely. Both of them are of the
highest order of intellect--and of opposite psychology. That is
necessary--order them to stop--_immediately_!"
Thompson laughed.
"I am willing to die for civilization. They should--" Toralen Ki looked
at Thompson, and his eyes widened in wonder, fear, and finally horror.
"You are under control--the Loard-vogh!"
Thompson smiled affably. "The Terran known as Billy Thompson left this
body when the machine was blasted," he said. "Previously I could but
urge and draw him into agreement with me. And you, Toralen Ki, are also
necessary to the plan."
Thompson's one hundred and eighty pounds of fine body came forward.
Thirty-seven pounds of Little Man shrank back in fear. Not fear of
life--but fear for civilization.
And as Thompson's body reached for Toralen Ki, the radiation alarm
blared. It registered; dymodines had been fired and simultaneous hits
had been made.
Toralen Ki's free hand snapped the power of the telementor over full.
Physical weakling though he was, he was aided mentally by the power in
the mental transfer machine. He invaded Thompson's mind and fought the
Loard-vogh intelligence that he found there.
Waves of mental energy spewed forth, and Hotang Lu came running to aid
his friend. Stricken rigid, Thompson almost ceased to breathe; his
heart faltered. For Toralen Ki and the alien Loard-vogh were using all
of Billy Thompson's mind against each other, trying to drive the other
out, calling upon more and more, even to the point of short-circuiting
some of the voluntary sectors. It was battle, silent and fierce.
And the waves of mental energy spread in a vast radiation pattern
as Toralen Ki and the Loard-vogh fought for the possession of Billy
Thompson's mind and body.