Tjadlinn was gigantic. It rotated on its central axis once every
forty hours and completed a revolution about Jorger Sun once every
eighty-five years. The orbit was like that of a comet; at perihelion
its velocity approached seventy miles per second. Now it had begun its
journey away from the sun, swinging out into the infinite blackness of
the lonely void.
Grimly the Guardian Captain looked at his crewmen, sturdy big-planet
men like himself. There were six of them. Glayne wondered how many
would be left when they returned--if they ever did return. He looked
at the girl and wondered if she would return. She smiled at him as the
artificial planetoid loomed hugely over their tiny landing launch. He
felt no regret that she was along--his mind ignored all such feelings
of that nature now. Instead it was concentrated to the highest degree
of receptivity, sorting and classifying the sense impressions that came
to it.
The massive beralloy portals of the outer air-lock gaped open at them
and the launch jetted inside. Then they closed with a thunderous
_clang_ and the inner doors slid open in an oddly obsequious fashion.
They were much less ponderous than the outer doors, Glayne noted.
A moment later the launch came to rest and General Hoteh Ganser,
Chief of Delban Intelligence, stalked out of the cabin followed by
representatives of the Stellar Guardians, now allied with the Delban
Empire.
There was a group of high-ranking Delban Army and Fleet officers
awaiting them as they stepped from the launch. They bowed ceremoniously
to Ganser, then to Glayne and his party as they were introduced. The
Guardian smiled, he bowed, he clicked his heels solemnly--but all the
time his hand was casually resting inside of the fold of his jumper on
the Cardy gun there.
The only name Glayne remembered was that of the commander of Tjadlinn
discoid: Admiral Selzi-Narfid, Right Royal Protector of the Emperor's
Hunting Preserves. But he was not notable because of his absurd title;
rather, it was the hint of amusement that Glayne fancied he saw
flickering in the depths of his jet black eyes.
It was Selzi-Narfid who turned to Ganser and said: "I'm sure you must
be weary after your arduous journey, Your Excellency. Won't you and
Captain Glayne and his party partake of some refreshment?"
Glayne frowned. That was not so good. They could not afford to waste
time eating and drinking because the message craft might bring the
warning from Sterle II at any minute. Yet how could they refuse?
Evidently this same train of thought flashed through the conditioned
intellect of General Ganser. For just an instant he paused before
saying yes, they would be delighted.
Again Selzi-Narfid bowed and this time Glayne was positive he saw
mockery in the Tjadlinn commander's eyes. Following him, they entered a
large mono-car poised on its single, gleaming span by gyros. It started
with a jolt, picked up speed, and was presently bulleting down the
tunnel, the walls a blur on either side. To Glayne it almost seemed as
if they were moving down hill.
"You will notice the gravity attraction increasing as we progress,"
began Selzi-Narfid. "That is because we are approaching the Jewel. It
is considerably more comfortable in my quarters close to the center. On
the periphery of the discoid one has almost no weight because of the
distance from the Jewel.
"No one knows the exact mass of the Tane Jewel. Probably around two
hundred million tons, it is thought. Naturally it is not safe to
approach too closely--the inverse square law, you know. Within a few
meters the attraction is so tremendous that we have great difficulty in
anchoring the power drain machinery. But you will see for yourself in
the Jewel Chamber."
The mono-car sighed to a halt and Selzi-Narfid ushered them graciously
into a tapestried corridor. Glayne noticed that the gravity was just
about Terran Standard. He also noticed that Selzi-Narfid, in spite
of his flow of suave conversation, was worried. Suddenly a peculiar
sensation of _wrongness_ flared up in Glayne's mind and he knew that
his battle-trained, preternatural intuition was at work. His hand
tightened on the Cardy and his eyes flickered everywhere but could
discover nothing.
At the wide entrance stage the Admiral held back, gesturing for Ganser,
Glayne, and the others to precede him. The small hairs on the back of
Glayne's neck arose as they entered the luxurious suite of the Tjadlinn
commander. Something was definitely very wrong.
* * * * *
Then sick dismay scalded up in the pit of his stomach. He saw what was
wrong. It was Gort Bro-Doral who faced them, a Cardy gun in his hand.
Calmly the Delban Overlord fired at Ganser. The energy beam lashed into
the pseudo-Guardian, making a big, ragged hole where his belly had been.
Glayne could do nothing more than stare helplessly. He did not even
think to resist when the room filled with armed Delbans who went about
the job of disarming them in a very silent and efficient fashion.
"Such a pity," remarked Gort Bro-Doral, glancing down at Ganser's
charred and crumpled body. "Hoteh was my right hand, but the poor
wretch was just too thorough. His own mind-conditioning device caught
him in the end." He produced his sickly, explosive laugh and inclined
his head to one of the armed Delbans. "Take it away," he murmured.
"How did you get here so quickly?" Glayne said, asking the question
uppermost in his mind. He was bewildered to think of the incredible
acceleration the low-gravity Delban must have undergone to have beaten
the Guardian ship.
"Another of the wonders of the glorious Tane Jewel," replied Bro-Doral
with amused condescension. "Theoretically it was always possible to
project material bodies into sub-space directly from planetary mass in
the same way that the immaterial waves of an interstellar telephone
message are cast directly into sub-space. Heretofore, however, there
has never been sufficient power to form a shield around the material
object strong enough to prevent its being completely crushed by the
brutal space warp in the presence of mass. That difficulty vanishes
when one has the unlimited power of the Tane Jewel at his disposal."
Glayne understood. Ganser, who had meticulously avoided all technical
knowledge, did not know this. Consequently they had walked straight
into a trap. Glayne's shoulders sagged as he looked around, savouring
the taste of defeat. Tough old Graysen stood at his side, impotently
balling his fists. His carefully picked crewmen were behind him, arms
above their heads. They looked grim and ready for anything. But Niala...
Glayne fought down the painful lump in his throat. It made no
difference. They had the _Algol_, too. So it mattered not at all
whether she came along or stayed behind, he told himself. They had
only one thing to look forward to--and that would be unpleasant.
Surreptitiously he touched the massive ring on his hand. It contained a
single blaster charge. Shakily he resolved to use it on Niala when it
came to that.
Bro-Doral whinnied. "I have your day planned for you, Captain," he
said. "I have often been accused of lacking a sense of justice, but
you will see for yourself that such a charge wrongs me. Your men will
be executed as humanly as possible. You and the esteemed Graysen will
be given a chance to witness the destruction of your ship. And then--"
the Delban snickered, "--the Vibra-Death! The girl ... I'm not sure.
Yes, it will take some thought. But you may be sure that it will be
interesting."
Bro-Doral's sadism was too much for Glayne. With a snarl of animal
hatred he leaped at the Delban Overlord, brushing aside his Cardy gun
and reaching for his throat. The force of his lunge carried them back
a few steps and the Bro tripped. Glayne, blazing with blind rage,
lifted his foot to crush the Bro like a worm. At that instant a cold
beam lanced into his back. Its icy fingers played along his spine and
paralyzed him with numbness. Helplessly his arms fell to his sides and
two of the armed Delbans came up behind him, supporting him to prevent
his falling.
Gort Bro-Doral clambered up from the floor. His heavily-veined eyes
were red with insane ferocity. He thrust his contorted face close to
Glayne's own and said: "Guardian, you will now be extended another
privilege. You will be permitted to see the girl writhing in the
agonies of the Vibra-Death!"
Bro-Doral turned to one of his men. "Take those crewmen away--execute
them," he said. "Keep the girl here under guard while I show the two
officers around."
Glayne was horrified at the fruits of his unthinking attack on the
Bro. It was almost as if he himself had pulled the switch which would
subject Niala to the most infamous nerve torture ever devised. Dully he
realized that he could not even lift his hand to administer a merciful
death with the clean, fast energy beam of his ring.
"The paralysis will wear off in a minute or two, Captain," observed
Bro-Doral. He had completely regained his self-control. "Since you
have exerted so much useless effort to destroy our Tane Jewel, I think
you ought at least be permitted to see it. But after that--" he sighed
expressively, "--after that, we will procrastinate no longer."
Even before the effects of the cold-beam had worn off completely,
Bro-Doral nodded to his men and they took him by the arms and escorted
him from the room. In despair, Glayne tried to jerk his head around to
see the girl. For the briefest of instants he saw her smiling bravely
at him. Then his view was cut off by the door as the guards maneuvered
his still half-paralyzed frame around it.
In a couple of moments Glayne was able to move under his own power.
He turned to find Graysen staring anxiously at him, alert for the
slightest command. Glayne nodded imperceptibly and examined the guards.
There were six of them. He noticed wryly that they held cold-beam
weapons in their long-fingered fists while the ones that really
produced the fatal damage--the Cardys--hung in holsters at their sides.
Trust them not to risk killing their prisoners when so many more
delightful methods presented themselves, he thought bitterly.
* * * * *
As he and Graysen were led side-by-side down a maze of corridors, their
weight gradually increased. Along with it was the sensation of going
down hill. Glayne's mind operated rapidly and with cold precision but
the Delbans showed not the slightest weakness. Not even the increase in
gravity seemed to annoy them. Nevertheless, Glayne resolved, he would
risk everything on a sudden attack when they got as close to the Jewel
as possible. There the conditions would be ideal for him. With eyes
narrowed, he tried desperately to remember the turns they had taken
through the winding corridors of the beralloy discoid.
As they progressed Glayne saw the tough, all-metal walls were more
heavily buttressed with the massive beralloy supports. Selzi-Narfid saw
the direction of his glance and said, "Those were necessary when we
maneuvered the Jewel into the center of the discoid. You have no idea
of what such a tremendous mass in a body the size of the Jewel can do
when it is not balanced."
Glayne listened to the Admiral with just a part of his mind. His main
attention was devoted to photographing mentally the warren of passages.
Here and there he saw groups of Delban technicians, none of them armed.
Good, thought Glayne.
They reached the entrance stage of the Jewel Chamber. The beralloy
walls here were nearly a meter thick. In single file the party crawled
through the narrow opening that dilated ponderously in the entrance
stage. Two very weary-looking guards snapped to attention as they
passed, but almost immediately slumped back into their somnolent
positions, exhausted by their abnormally increased weight.
Better yet, thought Glayne.
"This is the Jewel Chamber, Captain. It is the very heart of Tjadlinn,"
puffed Selzi-Narfid after he had crawled through the dilated entrance
stage.
Glayne stared about the vaulted room curiously. It was shaped like the
inside of an oval, thick at the center but tapering off to nothing at
the sides. They were standing on a balcony which was heavily buttressed
and ran all the way around the Chamber past several other massive
portals. In the exact center of the Chamber a kind of a nest was formed
by the tremendously thick beralloy girders. Something burned there with
a cold, golden brilliance that filtered through the interstices of the
girders and etched them sharply in banded shadows about the heavy walls.
An uncanny sensation possessed Glayne as he gazed at the Jewel. A vague
dread passed over him and he found himself wondering if the Elder Tane
Gods would emerge from their crypt and wreak hideous vengeance on mere
mortals for disturbing their sleep. Uneasily he crushed the fantasy
that was rioting up in his mind and determined to look for something
more practical.
He concentrated on the power drain machinery which hung in clusters
from the massive girders. Obviously those mechanisms were far more
delicate than their supports and could be sabotaged with comparatively
little work. As he calculated he gradually became aware of Bro-Doral
who was speaking:
"--were remarkable creatures. As you know, Tane legends exist in every
part of the known galaxy. They even possessed immortality--but they
lost it for all practical purposes when they failed to adjust their
bodies to the expanding universe.
"While the universe expands, quanta emission frequencies remain
constant. You are familiar, of course, with the shift in the wave
length of the cadmium spectrum, taken over the centuries. Ages ago,
emission frequencies were so long, relatively speaking, that energy
liberation from protein organisms was impossible. That definitely rules
out protein construction for the Tane--but just what they were composed
of is unknown. At any rate, their bodies couldn't stand the shortened
emission frequencies which overloaded their muscles. They exploded.
Like a plague. Billions and billions of them must have died before they
discovered the answer to the strange death that was striking among
them. And billions more must have died before their marvelous science
was able to build the Second Universe, as the legends call it."
Gort Bro-Doral gestured at the Jewel which shed its cold, brilliant
light about the Chamber.
"They enclosed themselves in that tiny ovoid crypt you see there," he
went on. "That was countless ages ago. Somehow they had managed to
construct shields capable of withstanding the spatial expansion of the
universe. Who knows--they may still live in their static crypt?
"As millions and millions of years passed, the Tane Jewel--the Second
Universe, as the legends call it--slowly dwindled in size when
considered in relation to our own universe. As it dwindled, its energy
potential grew. Now its accumulated charge is so titanic that it defies
conception.
"Some day those beautiful engines of the Tane Gods would have run down
and the shield would have collapsed. Then our own universe would have
been destroyed. The sudden release of such a vast energy potential
would have caused a concussion which would literally warp our flat
space into the fourth-dimensional sub-space.
"Now that can't happen. We are draining off that infinite potential
and broadcasting it--flooding it--through sub-space to be received
everywhere there is a Delban receiving antenna. The power is limitless.
We Delbans will be the rulers of the universe just as the Tane Gods
were of old. There is no limit to our power!"
Bro-Doral's eyes blazed with a pure lust for power as he stared
exultantly at the green brilliance of the Tane Jewel. His mouth
was slack and he breathed heavily from the effort of his speech.
Selzi-Narfid, too, was tired. Wearily he rested against the support
rail of the balcony. The guards blinked their large pop-eyes from
fatigue, shuffling from one foot to another to promote circulation.
Most of them had placed their weapons in holsters as Bro-Doral talked.
That is, all except one. He still held his weapon loosely in his
fingers at his side. Slowly and gently Glayne poised, gathering his
strength.
"Isn't it beautiful, Glayne?" mused the Delban Overlord, staring into
the tiny radiant sun. "An artifact of the mightiest culture that ever
existed. Now we will carry on in their footsteps. We will be the
mightiest--"