In sub-space, time crept along in low gear. Glayne was aware of the
fact that five hours in sub-space corresponded to about forty minutes
in flat, normal space due to the difference in time rates. But time was
time, whether fast or slow. General Hoteh Ganser also realized that
time was passing; in fact, he exerted every effort to increase the
length of time the _Algol_ would have to remain in sub-space.
Sullenly he stared at Brodis and Glayne as they stood over him. There
was a hint of amusement in the depths of his peculiar, crimson eyes.
"You deserve congratulations in the success of your attack, Captain
Glayne," he said mockingly. "A touch of bravado here, a bit too
audacious there ... but, all in all, quite well executed. His
Excellency will remember it for a long time. In fact, your success now
will add to his delight at witnessing your Vibra-Death later."
Glayne suppressed an involuntary shudder. What a fertile imagination
the Delban had!
"Shut up!" snapped Brodis with disgust in his voice. "You might as
well make it easier for yourself, Ganser. Relax your mind barriers or
we will smash them down and drag the information from you. Either way,
we'll get it in the end!"
Ganser sneered at the young Guardian.
"I can loosen him up with some physical persuasion, Captain," suggested
Brodis hopefully.
Ganser made an obscene remark which brought Brodis to his feet,
enraged. The young officer was on the verge of clobbering him with a
meaty fist, but Glayne stopped him.
"Such an old veteran as the General is certain to have taken the
precaution of having automatic anesthesia cultures introduced into his
blood stream," he said. "He would like nothing better than to have you
strike him because the sustained trauma of physical pain would trigger
the anesthesia and make him unconscious for as long as forty-eight
hours."
Ganser made a mocking bow to Glayne.
The Guardian Captain rubbed his cheek wearily. Nothing else but the
Ganser conditioner probe now, he realized. He caught Brodis' eye and
moved his head slightly in the direction of the gleaming mass of coils
and the huge helmet which was the Ganser conditioner.
Brodis nodded. With the aid of a couple of the technicians he set the
helmet down carefully over the General's bald pate.
"Have you ever tried these wonderful treatments of yours, General?"
Brodis inquired with clinical detachment. "They eliminate all your
worries in instants, I understand. They can even make a new man of you,
I'm told."
Ganser remained obstinately silent as the massive helmet was adjusted
about his head and clamped to the chair in which he was secured. In
spite of himself Glayne admired the Delban's strength of will. He, if
anyone, should know the mental anguish of the conditioner. But now it
was dog eat dog, kill or be killed, and the devil take the hindmost.
He nodded imperceptibly to Brodis who was waiting for the signal to
begin.
Hours passed and Glayne cursed each inexorable minute. He and Brodis
and the four grey-faced technicians were wet with perspiration. Ganser
drooped in the chair, but his crimson eyes still blazed with fanatical
hatred.
"Lord, what barriers!" whispered Brodis. He stared with fascination at
the indomitable Delban.
"What is the power source?" Glayne asked repeatedly, holding his face
impassive through sheer force of will. "You want to help us, Guardian.
Tell us about the broadcast power."
The conditioned self was slowly beginning to take shape in Ganser's
mind. It offered a new set of values, new goals and desires, uppermost
of which was to give all possible aid to the Stellar Guardians. Thus
the Ganser-personality they were so painstakingly superimposing upon
the Delban was almost that of a Stellar Guardian. Gradually they saw it
appear in the Delban's crimson eyes.
"The Tane Jewel," he whispered. "Found it in space ... no bigger than
a Terran grapefruit. Engineers ... found way to drain its power
potential ... almost infinite."
The Tane! The Flame-Jewel of the Elder Tane!
* * * * *
Glayne was stunned. He remembered the legends he had heard of the
incredible Tane--weird creatures who had ruled the Galaxy long before
the existence of protein life forms. He even recalled the tales of
their fabulous Second Universe in which they had sought refuge in order
to maintain an artificial stasis and escape extermination. Ever since
the discovery of the Tane legends, scientists had speculated about the
Second Universe and the titanic source of power it represented. And now
it had been found by the Delban Empire and was at the disposal of Gort
Bro-Doral.
What had Ganser called it? A _Jewel_--and no larger than a grapefruit!
Incredulously Glayne snapped a glance at one of the technicians who
was watching the jerking movements of the lie detector stylus on its
graphed scroll. The man looked up and nodded, his mouth a tight line
across his face.
Glayne turned back to the Delban prisoner. "Where is the power
broadcast from, Guardian?" he asked urgently.
"Tjadlinn," muttered Ganser, under the control of a pseudo-Guardian
personality. "Jorger Sun ... deep helio orbit. The planetless Jorger
Sun--remember, _we_ were commissioned to clear it of meteor drift.
Later _they_ built the Tjadlinn discoid around the Jewel...."
Glayne smiled mirthlessly. So the Delbans had planted the Jewel right
under their noses. Yet what more logical place! He recalled the job
he had supervised there five years before. The Delbans were going to
build a power research station in an orbit about the planetless sun--a
practice common in many Sectors.
Glayne tensed as he leaned toward Ganser to ask a third question. It
was the crucial one and the others knew it. There was a hushed silence
as Glayne asked:
"What is the frequency of the Jewel power broadcast? What do you know
about the design of the mesh receiving antennae? Tell us, Guardian. We
need your help."
Silence followed Glayne's question. It lengthened and became unbearable.
At last: "The mesh antennae are manufactured at the secret Karkara
Fleet Station on Scone III. It is defended by Jewel-powered Kellander
batteries in addition to secondary auxiliary projectors. The approach
code is not available to me. Neither is there information available on
broadcast frequencies or antenna design."
Glayne smashed his fist against his leg in violent disappointment.
The facts were simply not available in Ganser's mind, so the
pseudo-Guardian personality naturally failed to produce them. Again
Glayne felt a twinge of respect for the Delban. If anyone knew the
technical secrets of the Jewel broadcast, it should have been Ganser.
But the Delban's wily cunning had thwarted them. He had carefully
avoided all technical knowledge of the Jewel, anticipating an attempt
to drain his mind.
There was only one course open to him now. Attack Tjadlinn! He looked
at his wrist-chrono. Twelve hours they had spent in this nether-space!
It was inconceivable. Glayne swore to himself and thought furiously.
According to Ganser, the mass of the Tjadlinn discoid was too slight
to maintain an interstellar telephone; only message craft connected it
with the rest of Bro-Doral's empire. That was a break, thought Glayne.
In spite of the time they had spent in sub-space, they might still
reach Jorger Sun before a warning came from Sterle II. With Ganser
under their control and posing as a guide, they could bluff through the
outer defenses of the Jewel station. Once inside, they would have to
take the breaks as they came.
His shoulders suddenly sagged at the appalling decision he would have
to make. Once within the discoid, he would be cut off from outside
communication and could not warn the fleet if anything went wrong.
On the other hand, the fleet had to be standing by or there was no
possible chance of success. Desperately he sought for alternatives to
his scheme but none presented themselves. The Terran Combine's last
chance rested within his own hands, he realized grimly. An immediate
decision had to be made. But if he failed....
With sudden resolve he crushed out his burning doubts and turned
to Brodis. "Take the fastest flier we have, dope yourself up with
verchromynal, and go to the Stellar Guardian Communication Station
at Zandrome. They generate enough power there to push a message over
the interstellar telephone to Dorleb in thirty-five minutes. Contact
Admiral Garstow. Give him all the information we have and tell him that
Scone III will be without Jewel power in forty-eight hours. Have him
advise Admiral Bardled of the Terran Fleet that his aid is essential.
Inform Garstow that every available fleet unit _must_ be at Scone III
in forty-eight hours. Hurry!"
Brodis reached the door in one jump and was half-way down the corridor
in another. Glayne watched him go, bleakly phrasing the rest of
the message under his breath. _Garstow_, he thought, _you will be
slaughtered if there's one tiny slip on my part. It's good you don't
know about it._
Then Glayne shrugged and went up to the navigation bridge.
* * * * *
Jorger Sun was barely visible through the glassene observation ports.
But it blew up hugely in Glayne's auxiliary battle screen--a white
dwarf of brilliant intensity and a temperature equal to that of the
greatest white super-giants in the main galaxy. It was incredibly
_alone_ out on the furthest reaches of the vast, trailing arms of the
galaxy.
The _Algol_ was decelerating as it flashed toward Jorger Sun. Somewhere
behind it was the Tjadlinn discoid built around the fabulous Tane
Jewel. It would look strange, Glayne knew, if they were detected in
a maximum ten G deceleration thrust while on an official inspection
tour--especially with their low-gravity guide, General Ganser, aboard.
Commander Graysen approached, shifting his weight from one gnarled
leg to the other in the space-man's shuffling gait. His leathery face
widened in a rare grin as he reached Glayne. "I should have retired
after that last cruise," he wheezed. "Here is Harbin for last minute
instructions, Captain."
Glayne nodded to the younger officer. "Harbin, you will take over when
Commander Graysen and I leave with the landing party. If you are fired
upon while we are inside the discoid, clear out fast. Take the _Algol_
to Scone III as quickly as possible. Warn Admiral Garstow that my plan
has failed and that it would be best to disperse all fleet units. Under
no conditions are you to attempt battle. Do you understand?"
"Aye, sir!" snapped the youngster. His face worked for an instant, but
he suppressed his protest and brought himself under control.
"Destination in sight, Captain Glayne," called the pilot over the
communicator.
"Cut deceleration to four G's." To Graysen: "How is Ganser?"
"In excellent shape--even his face. According to Psych he is completely
under control."
Glayne turned back to his screen and stared at the expanding Tjadlinn
discoid. Instinctively he looked for the slim and deadly Jewel-powered
cruisers that would be waiting for them if a warning had reached
Tjadlinn. But of course he saw nothing. If they were there, they would
be masked by inert detector screens, waiting for him to approach so
closely that no amount of frantic acceleration could tear him from
their grasp.
The discoid was a huge thing of beralloy, all of ten kilometers in
diameter. About half-way from the center he could make out the landing
dock as Ganser had indicated. He could also make out the evil snouts
of Kellander projectors sprouting in clusters on Tjadlinn's metallic
surface. Even as he watched, they wheeled about ominously, coming to
bear on the decelerating _Algol_. Were they simply taking precautions,
Glayne wondered, or were they cagily waiting for him to climb right
down the barrels of their projectors?
As he stood alone before the battle screen he suddenly felt a small
hand touch his. He looked around. It was Niala Chodred, subdued and
somewhat apprehensive. She looked up at him intently, forcing him to
meet her eyes.
"I believe you are planning to leave me behind in the ship when you
land at Tjadlinn, aren't you?"
Glayne winced at the slight accusation in her eyes. A sudden wave of
nervous irritation welled up in him and he was on the verge of hurling
a curse at her and driving her back to her quarters. But the tenderness
in her eyes made him feel guilty because of his hasty mood and he
relented.
"Yes," he said. "I'm very sorry. The ship is unsafe enough as it is,
but down there--" he gestured at the image of Tjadlinn in the screen,
"--down there will be fighting and certainly many casualties."
"But if I am present," she pointed out logically, "they will be much
less likely to suspect you of hostile intentions."
"How do you think I would feel if you were killed down there?" Glayne
asked, avoiding her eyes.
"How do you think I would feel if you were?" she countered.
Glayne turned to her, about to point out another difficulty, then said
nothing. Suddenly she was in his arms and he felt his senses swim at
her touch. For a timeless instant he forgot everything but the warm,
laughing, green-eyed Niala whom he held in his arms.