Next morning, early, Belle tapped lightly on Garlock's door.
"Come in."
She did so. "Have you had your coffee?"
"Yes."
"So have I."
Neither Belle nor Garlock had recovered; both faces showed strain and
drain.
"I think we'd better break this up," Belle said, quietly.
"Check. We'll have to, if we expect to get any work done."
Belle could not conceal her surprise.
"Oh, not for the reason you think," Garlock went on, quickly. "Your
record as a man-killer is still one hundred point zero zero zero
percent. I've been in love with you ever since we paired. Before that,
even."
"Flapdoodle!" she snorted, inelegantly. "Why, I...."
"Keep still a minute. And I'm not going to fight with you again. Ever.
I'm not going to touch you again until I can control myself a lot better
than I could last night."
"Oh? That was mostly my fault, of course. But in love? Uh-uh, I've seen
men in love. You aren't. I couldn't make you be, not with the best I
could do. Not even in bed. You aren't, Clee--if you are, I'm an
Australian bushman."
"Perhaps I'm an atypical case. I'm not raving about your perfect
body--you know what that is like already. Nor about your mind, which is
the only one I know of as good as my own. Maybe I'm in love with what I
think you ought to be ... or what I hope you will be. Anyway, I'm in
love with _something_ connected with you--and with no other woman alive.
Shall we go eat?"
"Uh-huh--let's."
They joined Lola and James at the table; and if Lola noticed anything
out of the ordinary, she made no sign.
And after breakfast, in the Main--
"About three weeks, Jim, you think?" Garlock asked.
"Give or take a couple of days, yes."
"And Belle and I would just be in the way--at least until time to show
Deggi about the activation ... and all those Primes to organize ... we'd
better leave you here, don't you think, and get going?"
"I'll buy that. We'll finish as soon as possible."
Lola and James moved a few personal belongings planetside; Garlock and
Belle shot the _Pleiades_ across a vast gulf of space to one of the
planets they had scanned so fleetingly on their preliminary survey. Its
name was, both remembered, Lizoria; its two Primes were named Rezdo
Semolo and Mirea Mitala--male and female, respectively.
After sending down a very brief and perfunctory request for
audience--which was in effect a declaration of intent and nothing
else--Garlock and Belle teleported themselves down into Semolo's office,
where both Lizorian Primes were.
Both got up out of peculiar-looking chairs to face their visitors. Both
were tall; both were peculiarly thin. Not the thinness of emaciation,
but that of bodily structure.
"On them it looks good," Belle tight-beamed a thought to Garlock.
Both moved fast and with exquisite control; both were extraordinarily
graceful. "Snaky" was Belle's thought of the woman; "sinuous" was
Garlock's of the man. Both were completely hairless, of body and of
head--not by nature, but via electric-shaver clipping. Both wore
sandals. The man wore shorts and a shirt-like garment of nylon or its
like; the woman wore just enough ribbons and bands to hold a hundred
thousand credits' worth of jewels in place. She appeared to be about
twenty years--Tellurian equivalent--old; he was probably twenty-three or
twenty-four.
"We did not invite you in and we do not want you here," Semolo said,
coldly. "So get out, both of you. If you don't, when I count three I'll
throw you out, and I won't be too careful about how many of your bones I
break. One.... Two...."
"Pipe down, Rezdo!" the girl exclaimed. "They have something we haven't,
or they wouldn't be here. Whatever it is, we want it."
"Oh, let him try, Miss Mitala," Garlock said, through her hard-held
block, in the depth of her mind. "He won't hurt us a bit and it may do
him some good. While he's wasting effort I'll compare notes with my
partner here, Galactic Vice-Admiral Belle Bellamy. I'm glad to see that
one of you has at least a part of a brain."
"... Three!" Semolo did his best, with everything he had, without even
attracting Garlock's attention. He then tried to leap at the intruder
physically, despite the latter's tremendous advantage in weight and
muscle, but found that he could not move.
Then, through Belle's solidly-set blocks, "How are you doing, ace?
Getting anywhere?"
"My God!" came Belle's mental shriek. "What--how can--but no, you
_didn't_ give _that_ to Fao, surely!"
"I'll say I didn't--nor to Delcamp. But you're going to need it, I'm
thinking."
"But _can_ you? Even if you _would_--and I'm just beginning to realize
how big a man you really are--can that kind of stuff be taught? I
probably haven't got the brain-cells it takes to handle it."
"I'm not sure, but I've reworked our Prime Fields into one and made a
couple of other changes. Theoretically, it ought to work. Shall I come
in and try it?"
"Don't be an idiot, darling. _Of course!_"
* * *
As impersonally as a surgeon exploring an organ, Garlock went into
Belle's mind. "Tune to the field ... that's it--fine! Then--I'll do it
real slow, and watch me close--you do like so ... get it?"
"Uh-huh!" Belle breathed, excitedly. "Got it!"
"Then this ... and this ... and there you are. You can try it on me, if
you like."
"Uh-uh. No sale. I don't need practice and I'd like to preserve the
beautiful illusion that maybe I _could_ crack your shield if I wanted
to. I'll work on Miss Snake-Hips here, the serpentine charmer--but say,
I'll bet there's a bone in it. _You_ can block it, can't you?"
"Yes. It goes like this." He showed her. "It takes full mastery of the
Prime Field, but you've got that."
"Oh, wonderful! Thanks, Clee darling. But do you mean to actually say I
can now completely block you or any other Prime out?"
"You're going too far, ace. Me, yes--but don't forget that there very
well may be people--or things--as far ahead of us as we are ahead of
pointer pups."
"Huh! Balloon-juice and prop-wash! I just _know_, Clee, that you're the
absolute tops of the whole, entire, macrocosmic universe."
"Well, we can dream, of course." Garlock withdrew his mind from Belle's
and turned his attention to the now quiet Semolo. "Well, my
over-confident and contumacious young squirt; are you done horsing
around or do you want to keep it up until you addle completely what few
brains you have?"
The Lizorian made no reply; but merely glared.
"The trouble with you half-baked, juvenile--I almost added 'delinquent'
to that, and perhaps I should have--Primes is that you know too damned
much that isn't true. As an old Tellurian saying hath it, 'you're
altogether too big for your britches.'
"Thus, simply because you have lived a few years on one single planet
and haven't encountered anyone able to stand up to you, you've sold
yourself on the idea that there's nobody, anywhere, who can. You're
wrong--you couldn't be more so if you had an army to help you.
"What, actually, have you done? What, actually, have you got?
Practically nothing. You haven't even started a starship; you've
scarcely started making plans. You realize dimly that the theory is not
in any of the books, that you'll have to slug it out for yourself, but
that is _work_. So you're still just posing and throwing your weight
around.
"As a matter of fact, you're merely a drop in a lake. There are
thousands of millions of planets, and thousands of millions of Prime
Operators. Most of them are probably a lot stronger than you are; many
of them may be stronger than my partner and I are. I am not at all
certain that you will pass even the first screening; but since you are
without question a Prime Operator, I will deliver the message we came to
deliver. Miss Mitala, do you want to listen or shall we drive it into
you, too?"
"I want to listen to anyone or anything who has a working starship and
who can do what you have just done."
"Very well," and Garlock told the general-distribution version of the
story of the Galactic Service.
"Quite interesting," Semolo said loftily, at its end. "Whether or not I
would be interested depends, of course, on whether there's a position
high enough for...."
"I doubt very much if there's one low enough," Garlock cut in sharply.
"However, since it's part of my job, I'll get in touch with you later.
Okay, Belle."
And in the Main--"What a jerk!" Belle exclaimed. "What a half-cooked,
half-digested _pill_! I simply marvel at your forbearance, Clee. You
should have turned him inside out and hung him up to dry--especially
behind the ears!" Then, suddenly, she giggled. "But do you know what I
did?"
"I can guess. A couple of shots in the arm?"
"Uh-huh. Next time he pitches into her she'll slap his ears right off.
Oh, _brother_!"
"Check and double-check. But let's hop to Number Two.... Here it is."
* * *
"Oh, yes," came a smooth, clear, diamond-sharp thought in reply to
Garlock's introductory call. "This world, as you have perceived, is
Falne. I am indeed Baver 14WD27, my companion Prime is indeed Glarre
12WD91. You are, we perceive, Bearers of the Truth; of great skill and
of high advancement. Your visit here will, I am sure, be of immense
benefit to us and possibly, I hope, of some small benefit to you. We
will both be delighted to have you both 'port yourselves to us at once."
The Tellurians did so--and in the very instant of appearance Garlock was
met by a blast of force the like of which he had never even imagined.
The two Falnian Primes, capable operators both, had built up their
highest possible potentials and had launched both terrific bolts without
any hint of warning.
Belle's mind, however, was already fused with Garlock's. Their combined
blocks were instantaneous in action; their counter-thrust was nearly so.
Both Falnians staggered backward until they were stopped by the room's
wall.
"Ah, yes," Garlock said, then. "You are indeed, in a small and feeble
way, Seekers after the Truth; of which we are indeed Bearers. Lesser
Bearers, perhaps, but still Bearers. You will indeed profit greatly from
our visit. You err, however, in thinking that we may in any respect
profit from you. You have nothing whatever that we have not had for
long. Now let us, if you please, take a few seconds of time to get
acquainted, each with the other."
"That, indeed, is the logical and seemly thing to do." Both Falnians
straightened up and stepped forward; neither arrogantly nor
apologetically, but simply as though nothing at all out of the ordinary
had taken place.
Each pair studied the other. Physically, the two pairs were surprisingly
alike. Baver was almost as big as Garlock; almost as heavily muscled.
Glarre could have been cast in Belle's own mold.
* * *
With that, however, all resemblance ceased.
Both Falnians were naked. The man wore only a belt and pouch in lieu of
pockets; the woman only a leather carryall slung from one shoulder--big
enough, Garlock thought, to hold a week's supplies for an Explorer
Scout.
His hair was thick, bushy, unkempt; sun-bleached to a nondescript blend
of pale colors. Hers--long, heavy, meticulously middle-parted and
dressed--was a startling two-tone job. To the right of the part it was a
searingly brilliant red; to the left, an equally brilliant royal blue.
His skin was deeply tanned. The color of hers was completely masked by a
bizarrely spectacular overlay of designs done in semi-indelible,
multi-colored dyes.
"Ah, you are worthy indeed of receiving an increment of Truth. Hear,
then, the message we bring," and again Garlock told the story.
"We thank you, sir and madam, from our hearts. We will accept with joy
your help in finishing our ship; we will do all that in us lies to
further the cause of the Galactic Service. Until a day, then?"
"Until a day." Then, to Belle, "Okay, ace. Ready? Go!"
And up in the Main--"Sweet Sin!" Belle exclaimed. "What a pair _they_
turned out to be! Clee, that simply scared me witless."
"You can play that in spades." Garlock jammed his hands into his pockets
and prowled about the room, his face a black scowl of concentration.
Until, finally, he pulled himself out of the brown study and said: "I've
been trying to think if there's any other thing, however slight, that I
have and you haven't. There isn't. You've got it all. You're just as
fast as I am, just as sharp and as accurate--and, since we now draw on
the same field, just as strong."
"Why Clee! You're worrying about _me_? You've done altogether too much
for me, already."
"Anything I can do, I've got to do ... well, shall we go?"
"We shall."
* * *
They visited four more planets that day. And after supper that night,
standing in the corridor between their doors, Belle began to soften her
shield, as though to send a thought. Almost instantly, however, she
changed her mind and snapped it back to full on.
"Good night, Clee," she said.
"Good night, Belle," and each went into his own room.
The next day they worked nine planets, and the day after that they
worked ten. They ate supper in friendly fashion; then strolled together
across the Main, to a davenport.
"It's funny," Belle said thoughtfully, "having this tremendous ship all
to ourselves. To have a private conference right out here in the Main
... or is it?"
He triggered the shields, she watched him do it. "It is now," he assured
her.
"Prime-proof? Not ordinary Gunther blocks?"
"Uh-huh. Two hundred kilovolts and four hundred kilogunts. Backed by
all the force of the Prime and Op fields and the full power of the
engines. I told you I'd made some changes in the set-up."
"Private enough, I guess ... what a mess those Primes are! And we'll
have to make the rounds twice more--when we alert 'em and when we pick
'em up."
"Not necessarily. This new set-up ought to give us a galaxy-wide reach.
Let's try Semolo, on Lizoria, shall we?"
"Uh-huh--Let's."
"Tune in, then ace."
"_Ace_, darling?"
"Ace, _Darling_?"
"Darling. You said you weren't going to fight with me any more.
Okay--I'm not going to try any more to lick you until after I've licked
myself. I'm tuned--you may fire when ready, Gridley."
They fired--and hit the mark dead center. Top-lofty and arrogant and
belligerent as ever, the Lizorian Prime took the call. "I thought all
the time you wanted something. Well, I neither want nor need...."
"Cut it, you unlicked cub, until you can begin to use that half-liter of
golop you call a brain," Garlock said, harshly. "We're just trying out a
new ultra-communicator. Thanks for your help."
On the fourth day they worked eleven planets; the fifth day saw the
forty-sixth planet done and the immediate job finished. All during
supper, it was very evident that Belle had something on her mind.
After eating, she went out into the Main and slumped down on a
davenport. Garlock followed her. A cigarette leaped out of a closed box
and into place between her lips. It came alight. She smoked it slowly,
without relish; almost as though she did not know that she was smoking.
"Might as well get it out of your system, Belle," Garlock said aloud.
"What are you thinking about at the moment?"
Belle exhaled; the half-smoked butt vanished. "At the moment I was
thinking about Gunther blocks. Specifically, their total inability to
cope with that new Prime probe of yours." She stared at him,
narrow-eyed. "It goes through them just like nothing at all." She
paused; eyed him questioningly.
"No comment."
"And yet you gave it to me. Freely, of your own accord. Even before I
needed it. Why?"
"Still no comment."
"You'd better comment, Buster, before I blow my top."
"There is such a thing as urbanity."
"I've heard of it, yes; even though you never did believe I ever had
any. You _talk_ a good game of urbanity, but your brand of it would
never carry you _that_ far...."
She paused. He remained silent. She went on.
"Of course, it does put a lot of pressure on me to develop myself."
"I'm glad you used the word 'develop' instead of 'treat.'"
"Oh, sometimes--at rare intervals--I'm not exactly dumb. But you
knew--you _must_ have known--what a horrible risk you took in making me
as tremendously powerful as you are."
* * *
"Some, perhaps, but very definitely less risky than not doing it."
"Getting information out of you is harder than pulling teeth. Clee
Garlock, I want you to tell me _why!_"
"Very well." Garlock's jaw set. "You've had it in mind all along that
this is some kind of a lark; that you and I are Gunther Tops of the
universe. Or did that belief weaken a bit when we met Baver 14WD27?"
"Well, perhaps--a little. However, the probability is becoming greater
with every planet we visit. After all, _some_ race has to be tops. Why
_shouldn't_ it be us?"
"_What_ a logic--excuse me, skip it...."
"Oh, you really _meant_ it when you said you weren't going to fight with
me any more?"
"I'm going to try not to. Now, remembering that I don't consider your
premise valid, just suppose that when we visit some planet some day, you
get your mind burned out and I don't--solely because I had something I
could have given you and wouldn't. What then?"
"Oh. I thought that was what you ... but suppose I can't...."
"We won't suppose anything of the kind. But that wasn't all that was on
your mind. Nor most."
"How true. Those Primes. The women. Honestly, Clee, I never saw--never
imagined--such a bunch of exhibitionistic, obstreperous, obnoxious,
swell-headed, hussies in my whole life. And every day it was borne in on
me more and more that I was--am--exactly like the rest of them."
Garlock was wise enough to say nothing, and Belle went on: "I've been
talking a good game of licking myself, but this time I'm going to _do_
it."
She jumped up and doubled her fists. "If you can do it, I can," she
declared. "Like the ancient ballad--'Anything you can do I can do
better.'" She tried to be jaunty, but the jauntiness did not ring quite
true.
"That's an unfortunate quotation, I'm afraid. The trouble is, I
haven't."
"Huh? Don't be an idiot, Clee. You certainly have--what else do _you_
suppose put me so far down into the dumps?"
"In that case, you _certainly_ will. So come on up out of the dumps."
"Wilco--and I certainly will. But for a woman who has been talking so
big, I feel low in my mind. A good-night kiss, Clee, darling? Just
one--and just a little one, at that?"
"Sweetheart!"
There were more than one, and none of them was little. Eventually,
however, the two stood, arms still around each other, in the corridor
between their doors.
"But kissing's as far as it goes, isn't it," Belle said. The remark was
not a question; nor was it quite a statement.
"That's right."
"So good night, darling."
"Good night, ace."
* * *
And when they next saw each other, at the breakfast table, Belle was
apparently her usual dauntless self.
"Hi, darling--sit down," she said, gaily. "Your breakfast is on the
table. Bacon, eggs, toast, strawberry jam, and a liter of coffee."
"Nice! Thanks, ace."
They ate in silence for a few minutes; then her hand crept tentatively
across the table. He pressed it warmly. "You look a million, Belle. Out
of the dumps?"
"Pretty much--in most ways. One way, though, I'm in deeper than ever.
You see, I know exactly what you did to Fao Talaho; and why neither you
or anybody else could do it to me. Or if they could, what would happen
if they did."
"I was hoping you would. I couldn't very well tell you, before, but...."
"Of course not. I see that."
"... the fact is that Fao, and all the others we've met, are young
enough, unformed enough--plastic enough--yes, damn it, _weak_ enough--to
bend. But you are tremendously strong, and twelve Rockwell numbers
harder than a diamond. You wouldn't bend. If enough stress could be
applied--and that's decidedly questionable--you wouldn't bend. You'd
break, and I can't figure it. You're a little older, of course, but not
enough to...."
"How about the fact that I've been banging myself for eight years
against Cleander Garlock, the top Prime of the universe and the hardest?
That might have something to do with it, don't you think?"
Garlock said, "Indefensible conclusions drawn from insufficient data.
That's just what I've been talking about. No matter how we got the way
we are, though, the fact is that you and I have got to fight our own
battles and bury our own dead."
"Check. Like having a baby, but worse. There's nothing anybody else can
do--even you--except maybe hold my hand, like now."
"That's about it. But speaking of holding hands, would it help if we
paired again?"
Belle studied the question for two full minutes; her fine eyes clouded.
"No," she said, finally. "I would enjoy it too much, and you'd ... well,
you wouldn't...."
"Huh?" he demanded.
"Oh, physically, of course; but that isn't enough, or good enough, now.
You see, I know what your personal code is. It's unbelievable, almost--I
never heard of one like it, except maybe a priest or two--but I admire
you tremendously for it. You would never, willingly, pair with a woman
you really loved. That was why you were so glad to break ours off. You
can't deny it."
"I won't try to deny it. But you can't bluff me, Belle, so please quit
trying. Basically, your code is the same as mine. Why else did you
initiate our break?"
Belle's block went solid, and Garlock said hastily, aloud, "Excuse it,
please. Cancel. I've just said, and know as an empirical fact, that
you've got to do the job alone--but I can't seem to help putting my big,
flat foot in it by blundering in anyway. Let's get to work, shall we?"
"What at? Interview the Primes, I'd say--tell them to hold themselves in
readiness to attend...."
"On very short notice...."
"Yes. To attend the big meeting on Tellus. We'll have to make a
schedule. It shouldn't be held until after Fao and Deggi get their ship
built--it _can't_ be held, of course, until after you and Jim are out of
SSE. Have you got _that_ figured out yet?"
"Pretty much." He told her his plan.
Belle giggled, then burst into laughter. "So _I'm_ in it, too?
_Wonderful!_"
"You have to be. If we make him mad enough, he'll fire you, too."
"Without hiring me first? He couldn't."
"He could, very easily. He doesn't know one-tenth of one percent of his
people. If we work it right he'll assume that you're one of us
wage-slaves, too. Lola, too, for that matter."
"Careful, Clee. You and I think this is funny, but Lola wouldn't. She'd
be shocked to her sweet little core, and she'd louse up the whole deal.
So be very sure she doesn't get in on it."
"I guess you're right ... well, shall we go out and insult our touchy
young friend Semolo? Ready.... Go!"
* * *
"Oh, it's _you_ again. I tell you...." the Lizorian began.
"You will tell me nothing. You will listen. Link your mind to Mitala's,"
and the linked Tellurian minds enforced the order. "In about two weeks
the Primes of many worlds will meet in person on Tellus. Arrange your
affairs so that on ten minutes' notice you both can leave Lizoria for
Tellus aboard our starship, the _Pleiades_. That is all."
"He'll come, too," Belle chortled. "He'll writhe and scream, but he'll
come."
"You couldn't keep him away," Garlock agreed.
On the next planet, Falne, the procedure was a little different. The
information was the same, but--"One word of warning," Garlock added. "It
is to be a meeting of minds; not a contest to set up a pecking-order. If
you try any such business you will be disciplined; sharply and in
public."
"Suppose that, under such conditions, we refuse to attend the meeting?"
"That is your right. There is no coercion whatever. Whether or not you
come will depend upon whether or not you two are in reality Seekers
after Truth. Until a day."
And so it went. Planet after planet. On not one of those worlds had any
Prime changed his thinking. Not one was really interested in the
Galactic Service as an instrument for the good of all mankind. There
were almost as many attitudes as there were Primes; but all were
essentially self-centered and selfish.
"That tears it, Belle--busts it wide open. I can--I mean we together can
do either job. That is, either be top boss and run the thing or put in
full time beating some sense into those hard skulls. We can't do both."
"On paper, we should," Belle said, thoughtfully. "You're Galactic
Admiral; I'm your Vice. One job apiece. But we're _not_ going to be
separated. Besides...."
"Two (minds) (brains) are much better than one," both said, except for
one word, in unison.
Belle laughed. "That settles that. The Garlock-Bellamy fusion is
Galactic Admiral--so we need a good Vice. Who? Deggi and Fao? They're
cooperative and idealistic enough, but.... Oh, I don't know exactly what
it is they lack. Do you?"
"No; I can't put it into words or thoughts. Probably the concept is too
new for pigeon-holing. It isn't exactly strength or hardness or
toughness or resilience or brisance--maybe a combination of all five.
What we need is a pair like us but better."
"There _aren't_ any."
"Don't be too sure." Belle glanced at him in surprise and he went on:
"Not that we've seen, no. But each of those worlds centers a volume of
space containing thousands of planets. Including the Tellurian and the
Margonian, we now have forty-eight regions defined. Let's run a very
fast search-pattern of Region Forty-nine and see what we come up with."
"All right ... but suppose we do find somebody who out-Gunthers us?"
"I'd a lot rather have it that way than the way it is now. I'll do the
hopping, you the checking. Here's the first one--what do you read?"
"N. G."
"And this one?"
"The same."
"And this?"
"Ditto."
Until, finally: "Clee, just how long are you going to keep this up?"
"Until we find something or run out of time for the meeting. Belle, I
really _want_ to find somebody who amounts to something."
"So do I, really, so go ahead."
* * *
But they did not run out of time. At planet number four-hundred-something,
Belle suddenly emitted a shriek--vocally as well as mentally. "Clee!
Hold it! Here's something, I think!"
"I'm sure there is, and I'm gladder to see you two people than can
possibly be expressed."
Belle whirled; so did Garlock. A man stood in the middle of the Main; a
man shaped very much like Garlock, but with long, badly-tousled hair and
a bushy wilderness of fiery-red whiskers.
"Please excuse this intrusion, Admiral--or should it be plural? Improper
address, I'm sure, but your joint tenure is a concept so new and so vast
that I am not yet able to grasp it fully--but you are working at such
high speed that I had to do something drastic. You will, I trust, remain
here long enough to discuss certain matters with my wife and me?"
"We'll be very glad to."
"Thank you. I will return, then, more decorously, and bring her. One
moment." He disappeared.
"_Wife!_" Belle exclaimed, more than half in dismay. "They must be,
then...."
"Yeah." The thought of a wife did not bother Garlock at all. "Talk about
_power!_ And _speed!_ To get all that stuff and 'port up here in the
millisecond or so we had the screens open? Baby Doll, there's a guy who
is what a Prime Operator _ought_ to be!"
In less than a minute the man reappeared, accompanied by a woman who was
very obviously pregnant--eight months or so. Like the man, she was
dressed in tight-fitting coveralls. Her hair, however--it was a natural
red, too--was cut to a uniform length of eight inches, and each hair
individually stood out, perfectly straight and perfectly perpendicular
to the element of the scalp from which it sprang.
"Friends Belle and Clee of Tellus, I present Therea, my wife; and
Alsyne, myself; of this planet Thaker. We have numbers, too, but they
are never used among friends."
Acknowledgments were made and a few minutes of conversation ensued,
during which the two couples studied each other.
"This looks mighty good to me," Garlock said then. "Shall we go screens
half-down, Alsyne, and cry in each other's beer?"
* * *
In thirty seconds of flashing communication each became thoroughly
informed. Those minds could send, and could receive, an incredibly vast
amount of information in an incredibly brief space of time.
"Your ship should work and doesn't," Garlock said. "Show me; in detail."
Alsyne showed him.
"Oh, I see. You didn't work out quite all the theory. It has to be
activated. Like this...." Garlock showed Alsyne.
"I see. Thanks." Alsyne disappeared and was gone for some ten minutes.
He reappeared, grinning hugely behind his flaming wilderness of beard.
"It works perfectly; for which our heartfelt thanks. And now that my
mind is at complete peace with the universe, we will consider the
utterly fascinating subject of your proposed Galactic Service. You two
Tellurians, immature although you are, have made two tremendous
contributions to the advancement of the Scheme of Things--three, if you
count the starship, which is comparatively unimportant--each of such
import that no human mind can foresee any fraction of its consequences.
First, your Prime Field, the probe and its screen...."
"Clee!" Belle drove the thought. "You _didn't_ give him _that_, surely!"
"Tut-tut, my child," Therea soothed her. "You are alarming yourself
about nothing."
"The only trouble with you two youngsters is that you aren't quite--very
nearly, of course, but very definitely not quite--grown up." Alsyne
smiled again; not only with mouth and eyes, but with his whole hairy
face. "To the mature mind there is no such thing as status. Each knows
what he can do best and does it as a matter of course. Rank is not
necessary.
"Second, the unimaginably important contribution of the ability to
combine two dissimilar but intimately compatible minds into one
tremendously effective fusion. While Therea and I have had only a few
moments to play with it, we realize some of its possibilities. Thus,
since she is a Doctor of Humanities...."
"Oh," Belle interrupted. "_That's_ why you knew what I was thinking
about, even though I tight-beamed the thought and my screens were
tight?"
"Exactly so. But to continue. With her sympathy and empathy, and my
driving force and so on, the job of licking these young Primes into
shape is, as your idiom has it, 'strictly our dish.' It is a truly
delicious thought.
"You two, on the other hand, have much that we lack. Breadth and depth
and scope of imagination and of vision; yet almost incredible will-power
and stamina and resolve...."
"_That's the word I was trying to think of--will-power_," Belle flashed
a thought at Garlock.
"... qualities virtually always mutually exclusive; but the combination
of which makes your fusion uniquely qualified to lead and direct this
new and magnificent movement. But Therea and I have been idle and
frustrated far too long. We can be of most use, at the moment, on
Margonia; working with the Fao-Deggi unit. Therefore, with renewed deep
thanks, we go."
* * *
Man and wife disappeared; and, ten seconds later, the Thakern starship
vanished from its world.
"Well, _what_ do you think of _that_?" Belle gasped. "I was actually
afraid to think, even behind a Prime screen. I don't know _yet_ whether
I want to kiss 'em or kill 'em."
"I do. That guy is really a Prime, Belle. He's older, bigger, and a lot
better than I am."
"Uh-uh," she demurred, positively. "Older, yes. More mature--you _baby_,
you!" She snickered gleefully. "If he hadn't included you in that crack
I'd've stabbed him, so help me, even though it wasn't true. He said
himself it's _you_ who has got what it takes to lead and direct, not
him."
"Us. We, I mean," he corrected, absently.
"Uh-huh; us-we. One, now and forever. Hot Dog! Anyway, he wants us to
and we want to so everything's lovely and so let's get to work on Fatso
and his Foster. I think we ought to have some fun for a change and
that'll be a lot. When do we want to hit him?"
"Any day Monday through Friday. Nine-fifteen A.M. Eastern Daylight time.
Plus or minus one minute."
"Nice! Catch him _in flagrante delicto_. Lovely--shovel on the coal, my
intrepid engineer!"
On a Wednesday morning, then, at twelve minutes past nine EDT, the
_Pleiades_ hung poised, high over the Chancellery of Solar System
Enterprises, Incorporated.
"Remember, Belle!" Garlock was pacing the Main. "To keep 'em staggering
we'll have to land slugging and beat 'em to every punch. You did a
wonderful job on her last time, and it's been eating on her ever since.
She's probably been rehearsing in front of a mirror just how she's going
to tear you apart next time and just how she's going to spit out the
pieces. Last time, you were cold, stiff, rigidly formal, and polite. So
this time it'll be me, and I'll be hot and bothered, dirty, low, coarse,
lewd, and very, very rough."
Belle threw back her head and laughed. "Rough? Yes. Vicious,
contemptuous, or ugly; yes. A master of fluent, biting, and pyrotechnic
profanity; yes. But low or dirty or coarse or lewd, Clee? Or any one of
the four, to say nothing of them all? Uh-uh. Ferber's a filthy beast, of
course; but even he knows you're one of the cleanest men that ever
lived. They'd _know_ it was an act."
"Not unless I give 'em time to think--or unless you do, before he fires
Jim--in which case we'll lose the game anyway. But how about you? If I
can knock 'em too groggy to think, will you carry on and keep 'em that
way?"
"Watch my blasts!" Belle giggled gleefully. "I never tried anything like
that--any more than you have--but I'll guarantee to be just as low,
dirty, coarse, lewd, and crude as you are. Probably more so, because in
this particular case it'll be fun. You see, you're a man--you can't
possibly despise and detest that slimy stinker either in the same way or
as much as I do."
"This ought to be good. Cut the rope, Jim."
Even before the starship came to rest, Garlock drove a probe into the
_sanctum sanctorum_ of the Chancellery--an utterly unheard-of act of
insolence.
"Foster! This is the _Pleiades_ coming in. Garlock calling. Hot up the
tri-di and the recorder, Toots. Put Fatso on, and snap into it.... I
said shake a leg!"
"Why, I.... You...."
"Stop stuttering and come to life, you half-witted bag! Gimme Ferber and
hurry it up--this ship's tricky."
"Why, you ... I never...." Ferber's outraged First Secretary could
scarcely talk. "He ... he is...."
"I know, Babe, I know--I could set that to music and sing it, with
gestures. 'Chancellor Ferber is in conference and cannot be disturbed,'"
he mimicked, savagely. "Put him on now--but _quick_!"
* * *
The tri-di tank brightened up; Chancellor Ferber's image appeared. He
was disheveled, surprised and angry, but Garlock gave him no chance to
speak.
"Well, Fatso--at last! Where the _hell_ have you been all morning? I
want some stuff, just as fast as God will let you get it together," and
he began to read off, as fast as he could talk, a long list of highly
technical items.
Ferber tried for many seconds to break in, and Garlock finally allowed
him to do so.
"Are you crazy, Garlock?" he shouted. "What in hell's name are you
bothering _me_ with _that_ stuff for? You know better than that--make
out your requisitions and send them through channels!"
"Channels, hell!" Garlock shouted back. "Hasn't it got through your
four-inch-thick skull into your idiot's brain yet that I'm in a hurry? I
don't want this stuff today; I want it day before yesterday--this damned
junk-heap is apt to fall apart any minute. So quit goggling and
slobbering at me, you wall-eyed, slimy, fat toad. Get that three hundred
weight of suet into action. _Hump_ yourself!"
"You ... you ... Why, I was never so insulted...."
"Insulted? You?" Garlock out-roared him. "Listen, Fatso. If I ever set
out to really insult you, you'll know it--it'll blister all the paint
off the walls. All I'm trying to do now is get you off that fat butt of
yours and get some action."
Ferber became purple and pounded his desk in consuming anger.
Garlock yelled louder and pounded harder. "Start rounding up this
stuff--but _fast_--or I'll come down there and take your job away from
you and do it myself--and for your own greasy hide's sake you'd better
believe I'm not just chomping my choppers, either."
"You'll _What?_" Ferber screamed. "_You're fired!_"
"_You_ fire _me_?" Garlock mimicked the scream. "And make it stick?
You'd better write that one up for the funnies. Why, you lard-brain, you
couldn't fire a cap-pistol."
"Foster!" Ferber yelled. "Terminate Garlock as of now. Insubordination,
and misconduct, abuse of position, incompetence, malfeasance--everything
else you can think of. Blacklist him all over the System!"
At the word "fired" Belle, had leaped to her feet and had stopped
laughing.
"Miss Bellamy!" Ferber snapped.
"Yes, sir?" she answered, sweetly.
"You are hereby promoted to be Head of the...."
"Oh, yeah?" Belle sneered, her voice cutting like a knife. "You
unprincipled, lascivious, lecherous _Hitler!_ Have you got the
unmitigated gall to take _me_ for a floozie? To think you can add _me_
to your collection of bootlicking, round-heeled tramps?"
"You're fired and blacklisted too!"
"How nice! You know, I don't know of _anything_ I'd rather have happen
to me?"
* * *
"Get James on there--you, James...."
"You don't need to fire me, you fat-headed old goat," James said,
contemptuously. "I've already quit--the exact second you fired Clee."
"No you didn't!" Ferber screamed. "Resignation not accepted. You're
_Fired_! Dishonorably discharged--blacklisted everywhere--you'll _never_
get another job--_anywhere_! And here's your slip, too!" Miss Foster was
very fast on the machines.
James 'ported his slip up into the _Pleiades_, just as Garlock and Belle
had done with theirs, and disappeared with it as they had; reappearing
almost instantly.
"Montandon!"
"Chancellor Ferber, are you completely out of your mind? You can't
discharge either Miss Bellamy or me."
"I can't?" he gloated. "Why not?"
"Because neither of us is employed. By anybody."
"That's right, Fatso," Belle said. "We just came along. Just to keep the
boys company. It's lonesome, you know, 'way out in deep space."
Miss Foster ripped a half-filled-out termination form out of her machine
and hurled it into a waste-basket. Ferber's jaw dropped and his eyes
stared glassily, but he rallied quickly.
"I can blacklist her, though, and maybe you think I won't. Belle Bellamy
will never get another job in this whole solar system as long as she
lives, except through me! Maybe I'll hire her some day, for something,
and maybe I won't. Are you listening, Bellamy?"
"Not only listening, I'm reveling in every word." Belle laughed
derisively. "I hate to shatter such wonderful dreams--or do I? You see,
the _Pleiades_ really works, and the Galaxians own her; lock, stock, and
barrel. You wouldn't have any part of her, remember? Insisted on payment
for every nut, wire, and service? Now, they want to hire us four for a
big operation with this starship. Since you only loaned Garlock and
James to them, you might have made some legal trouble on that score, but
now that you've fired them both--and in such _conclusive_
language!--we're all set. So when you blacklist us with the Society,
_please_ let me know--I want to take a tri-di in technicolor of you
doing it. How do you like _them_ parsnips, Your Royal Fatness?"
"I'll see about that!" Ferber stormed. "We'll have an injunction out in
an hour!"
"Go ahead," Garlock said, with a wide grin. "Have fun--the Galaxians
have legal eagles too, you know. One thing Belle forgot. Just in case
you recover consciousness some time and want to steal our termination
papers back--especially Belle's; what a howler _that_ was!--don't try
it. They're in a Gunther-blocked safe."
Then, as comprehension began to dawn on Ferber's face:
"S-u-c-k-e-r," Garlock drawled.
The _Pleiades_ disappeared.