"How?" asked Theodi skeptically.
"You've read their books," said Sandra Drake. "You know the principle
of the Plutonian Lens--and also that the alternating stations require
terrible electronic charges to maintain the lens that focuses Sol
on Pluto. They check that with the formation of xenon-bromide for
negative, and decomposition of tetrachloro dibromo-methane for the
positive charge. They can do it."
"Can't they do it on a planet?" asked Orfall sadly.
"Not unless they can raise the whole planet to a high negative charge,"
snapped Sandra. "What do you think?"
"I don't know--none of us do. Can they?"
"No."
"Then--?"
"We'll call them, tell McBride what's the matter and what we need.
He'll fix it."
"It sounds like a fool's gesture to me," said Theodi.
"Utterly impossible. How are we going to get in touch with them in the
first place?"
"Look," said Theodi. "We can call them. See what McBride says and put
the problem to them. If there's a way out, fine. If not, we've lost
nothing."
"But how are we going to call them over nine light-years of space?"
"Ah--yes," said Theodi. "We can't."
"Maybe I can," said Sandra. "That'll be my contribution. I think I can
call them."
"Nine light-years--" objected Theodi.
"Remember that the gravitic spectrum propagates at the speed of light
raised to the 2.71828 ... th power. That'll make talking to Terra like
calling across the room. May I try?"
"You think they'll be listening for you?"
"Can't miss," said Sandra with a positive gesture. "My ship, the
_Lady Luck_, is equipped with the standard communications set. It
puts out right in the middle of the main communications band of the
electrogravitic. If I can get enough power to beam towards Sol, it'll
hit them right in the middle."
"You intend to use the set in the _Lady Luck_?"
"Overloaded to the utmost. They tell me that they'll take one hundred
percent overloads for an hour. Make that one thousand percent, and
it may last ten minutes. Ten minutes is all I need to give them our
trouble--they have recorders if McBride isn't there to hear it in
person."
"Where are you going to get that power?" asked Theodi.
"From you."
"Impossible, Sandrake. You know that there is not sufficient power
available to make such a program possible."
"Ridiculous. The resources of a planet are unmeasurable."
"Perhaps so," said Theodi. "But remember that our power, like Terra's
power, is spread out all over the face. The transmission of power such
as you will require would be impossible because the line losses will
be greater than the power input. It might be possible to connect the
networks together and draw the entire power output of Telfu into one
district, but line losses would prohibit its operation."
"I only need ten minutes maximum," said Sandra.
"You're asking us to sacrifice--? You mean--overload every plant within
efficiency-distance of your ship until it breaks down?"
"What have you to lose?"
"Can we do it?" asked Orfall.
"Of course," said Sandra. "You run your machinery at low load until it
is running at ten times the velocity, and then I cram on the power.
Momentum will carry me through."
"And if one machine goes, under that load, the entire district will go
completely dead."
"Oh no," said Sandra. "The closer and most powerful one will not be
used. That one will be used to talk to the boys when they arrive.
They'll only have a distress signal, and the details must be held until
they come investigating. They can't land, and so we'll have to tell 'em
the story while they're in space. We'll need that power."
"Small consolation. Then Indilee will be an oasis of power in a radius
of powerless country."
Sandra looked Theodi in the eye and said in a cold voice:
"Then go on out and die with the rest of your kind. What good will
your machinery do you if you're all dead?"
"This is a democracy, Sandrake. We cannot just take the machinery and
the equipment of others--even to save ourselves."
"How's your red tape factory?" she asked with a smile.
"Meaning?"
"Either you get those power plants or die. I don't care if you steal
them, buy them, or borrow them. But get them--and quick."
"But there is a chance to save Telfu," suggested Orfall.
"Sensible fellow," smiled Sandra. In her mind she cursed the whole
planet. This was a place for Sandra to undulate a bit; to turn on those
two-million kilovolt-ampere eyes; to stretch one rounded arm out
straight, putting the other hand below the ear and raising the elbow to
a level just above those eyes and shielding the victim from the warmth
in them. This showed off Sandra's svelte figure to perfection, and
few men in Sol could have refused Sandra anything after that perfect
performance.
But they were very few.
The Telfan ideal of beauty did not include Sandra Drake's perfection.
She could have postured from now until galaxy's end, and they wouldn't
have known her intent. Against their women, Sandra was alien--not
sickeningly ugly or deformed, but alien and acceptable--and totally
undesirable.
Sandra sighed, told the subconscious mind not to bother with the
spotlights and provocative sultriness, and tried to think her way to
the mastery of these Telfans.
* * * * *
"Couldn't we divert the electrical supply plants across Telfu?"
objected Theodi. "Seems to me--"
"Not a chance," said Sandra. "You have no idea of the power required.
I must shoot the works all at once. The set, the generators, and the
supply lines will all go out at once. That'll give me ten minutes, I
hope."
"But the dissipation of such power--Where can we collect it?"
"There's only one place on Telfu. That's in the power room of the _Lady
Luck_. That is still intact?"
"Yes. Handled, inspected, photographed, and manipulated without
driving power, of course, but it is still intact."
"Should be," commented Sandra wryly. "After all, my trouble was not
being able to make the drive work. Couldn't get any push. Used up my
entire stock of cupralum. So, do we?"
"I hate to say 'yes,'" said Theodi.
"Look," said Sandra, realizing something for the first time. "We have
lots of gravitic machinery. Give me your useless power plants and I'll
see that you get gravitic machinery to replace them."
"Um-m-m."
"Look, Theodi, you're used to thinking in Telfan terms--which means
no gravitics. Think in Terran terms. You are no longer alone in the
universe. You are in contact with a race that has gravitic power."
"Well--"
Sandra smiled. "Take it or leave it--and die," she told him. "Think of
it. Andryorelitis comes like a thief in the night, giving no warning.
Like the black wings of a gigantic, clutching bat, silent and ominous
and unseen it comes and spreads its horde of hell on the city. Men go
on in their way, meeting other men and inoculating them, passing the
germ of death to whomever the black visitor may have missed on his
visit. Men take it to their families and spread it from hand to hand,
from lip to lip, from mother to babe to grandparent and beyond. The
unborn is as cursed as the almost-dead, for it is within their bodies.
The days pass in which every soul is given the opportunity of catching
and spreading the dread disease.
"Then in this peaceful, unawareness of the terror, nine days pass and
one sees a red spot on his arm. He shies away from his friends not
knowing that they, too, have red blotches. The city is made of slinking
men, ashamed women, and scared children. The newspaper headlines scream
of the plague, but none will buy, for they fear inoculation on the part
of the newsboy. They fight and fear one another, and the plague has its
way, spreading across the city like the falling of night and missing
none.
"The Grim Reaper swings his sharp scythe, and the populace falls like
shorn wheat.
"And the stricken city becomes a place of horror. The smell of rotting
bodies taints the air and makes life impossible for those unlucky few
who have not been given the peace of death. None are interested in the
cries of the dying, and no one sees the sunken cheeks, the withered
bodies, the redding flesh. Do you like that picture, Theodi?"
"You speak harshly, Sandrake."
"You paint a prettier one," said Sandra, scorning him. "Go home
and dream. Let your imagination roam--or haven't you Telfans got
imagination?"
"We have, but--"
"You utter fool! To stand there like a stick of wood between Telfu and
some lumps of worthless metal! Like the drowning man that clutched his
gold--which pulled him under. Fool's gold. Theodi."
"There is much in what she says, Theodi," added Orfall.
"It is hard to think, sometimes," said Theodi slowly.
"Men!" sneered Sandra. "The whole sex is the same, here or on any
inhabited planet. You know so much! Your vaunted power of reasoning
is so brilliant. You pride yourselves on your inflexible wills or
your willingness to accept new ideas, depending upon which your utter
self-esteem thinks is best to exhibit at the instant. Thuni, what do
you think?"
"The metal is of little importance to dead men," said Thuni promptly.
"And you claim that Terra and Pluto have machines in abundance. The
answer is obvious."
"You see?" said Sandra triumphantly.
"I've forgotten," admitted Theodi. "I'd been taught from childhood that
high power was hard to get. It is hard to think that another star has
it a-plenty and is willing, and able, to give us enough for our needs.
It is a revolutionary thought and seems unreal. A story, perhaps. Yes,
Sandrake, you shall have your power."
"Good," said Sandra, taking a deep breath. "And thanks. I'll also need
your best students for the job."
"Our best are poor enough. Gravitics were known in theory only. A
detectable phenomenon, utterly useless. We could not pass the initial
doorway--the power generating bands--because of our satellite's
absorption of the primary effects. To study the higher and more
complex effects was impossible save in theory. But you shall have them."
"I have some practical working knowledge of the stuff," said Sandra.
"One can't live and work with McBride and Hammond and the rest without
getting a bit of it. Oh, I was only with them for a few weeks at best,
but they are ardent teachers. I'll get along with the help of your
students."
"You're certain?"
"Not certain--but fairly sure. At best, you have nothing to lose and
everything to gain."
"I think we have misjudged you," said Theodi. "You're fundamentally
fine--"
"Thank you," said Sandra, simply. "Convincing you was the hardest job
I've ever done, believe me."
"Convincing the Terrans--?"
"Will be the second hardest job. Darn it, we can't use television."
* * * * *
McBride shook his head at Steve Hammond. "Don't believe it," he said.
"You don't."
"No, I don't. Drake has something up her sleeve."
"It's a pretty big sleeve, then," grinned Hammond. "Rigging anything to
call from Telfu to Sol is no small potatoes."
"She overloaded everything in sight. That'd about make it right,"
said McBride. "It went blooey right in the middle of the third
sentence--'McBride or Hammond: Telfu in grip of serious epidemic.
Need highly charged laboratory to prepare mis-valenced compound for
synthetic serum. Danger is imminent, so implore your help for the lives
of--' and that's all. Either she's as dramatic as Shakespeare, or this
is the real juice."
"And you think it is joy-juice."
"Her past record--and yet we can't afford to pass this up. She should
know, though, that if this is the malarkey, she'll be scorned out of
the system. Both systems."
"She wrecked the lens--and she's still here," reminded Hammond.
"'Here' is right," said the pilot cheerfully. "In case you birds are
wondering about our position, Telfu is right below us by ten million
miles."
"Suppose she's got anything left of that set?" asked McBride.
"Imagine so. The thing couldn't have gone to pieces like the Wonderful
One Horse Shay. Give a call and see. If Sandra's not kidding, she'll be
listening."
"Kidding or not," laughed McBride, "Sandra will be listening."
Hammond turned on the communications set and coughed into the
microphone, watching the meters swing. Then, satisfied, he said: "This
is the _Haywire Queen_ answering S. D. I. from Telfu. Calling Sandra
Drake. If you are listening, break in. This is Hammond of the _Haywire
Queen_ listening for a repeat of previous S. D. I." Hammond broke into
Telfan and repeated the message.
Then the answer-light winked on the panel and he heard:
"This is Sandra Drake. Is it really you?"
"No," said Hammond. "Just a reasonable facsimile. What's the matter?"
"Oh!" said Sandra. There was a world of feeling in the word. "This has
been the longest seven days in my life. It worked, then."
"What worked then?"
"The communications set."
"Obviously. What did you do to it?"
"Not much, personally. I sort of managered it, though. They lent me
their best gravitic students and we went to work on the thing. We
remade everything in the set--everything that could stand it, that
is--about four times their size. That's where I came in. Some things
couldn't be increased in size without ruining the tuning, and I knew
which ones. Is my output all right?"
"Shaky, but strong enough for service."
"I'm running without an output stage. We used the output stage to drive
a super-power stage made of the beefed-up parts and when the works went
blooey, it took the Telfan output and my output with it. I'm running
off to my own driver stage."
"You've been a busy little girl," said Hammond. "What did you use for
power?"
"I talked them into giving me every power plant in the district so that
I could call you. It all went in eight minutes flat. The _Lady Luck_ is
a mess--again."
"Are you brave or foolish?" asked Hammond.
"Both," answered Sandra. "After all, this is no tea party. There isn't
a good generator on the _Lady Luck_; I ruined them all trying to call
you. Can you understand how urgent this is?"
"I think so," said Hammond. "How did you wreck the whole
shooting-match?"
"I used the gravitic generators to generate local fields and used 'em
as communications-band reflectors. Part of it was theory on the part of
the Telfans and part of it was ideas given me by your experiments with
the super-drive. Anyhow, I'll bet that Soaky is fifty degrees hotter,
now, with all the soup we put into the transmitter. That'll make your
problem easier--hey?"
"Yup," smiled Hammond. "Just like the guy whose only reason for sending
telegrams was that he hated to see the mail-carrier work so hard."
"Well, fifty degrees is one percent of the way, anyway."
"That's right," grinned Hammond. "But look, we're killing valuable time
if this is as important as it sounds. What's needed?"'
Sandra explained.
* * * * *
"And you say the silicon won't combine? Shucks, we can do that all
right," said John McBride.
"Fine."
"Our problem is delivering the goods."
"Why?"
"Name me a container that will carry the electronic charge."
"Oh? I was thinking--"
"Don't bother," said McBride. "There isn't anything better than ten
million miles of pure and absolute space. She'll corona, and then
arc, and then she'll assume the normal charge and the stuff will come
unstuck again. And you couldn't possibly send every Telfan out into
space for a treatment. There aren't enough years in a century to do
that."
"First, we'll have to do away with Soaky," said Hammond.
"We can do that," said McBride. "The converted spacecraft are about
ready. We can get 'em off in twenty-four hours. But landing this
compound is the tricky job. How are we going to do it?"
"Let's assume that we can think of something and get the rest of this
yarn. How do you feel, Sandra?"
"Tired, sort of. I've been busy."
"I gather."
"But this slight relaxation is doing me a lot of good. Is the Lady
Thani with you? Her sister, Thuni, asked me to ask."
"She and her husband are on Terra. We didn't pass that way. But you
may tell Thuni that they are well, happy, and being treated with
Terra's best. Our main trouble is shooing away vaudeville agents, flesh
merchants, and screwball politicians who either want to tie their wagon
on behind or run their wagon up against."
"You'll never get rid of them," said Sandra. "Are they pointing with
pride or viewing with alarm?"
"The pointers-with-pride hold a very slight majority."
"That's a fair sign."
"You're right. It is. Luckily, most of the newspapers follow the
pointers-with-pride and the general feeling is that way. Most of the
malcontents fear that Telfu will have a finger in the division of the
universe and they are not going to get as much because of it. They
think we should step in and run Telfu, or Telfu may step in and run us."
"We're far enough apart to save 'em the trouble," said Sandra. "But
look, fellows, you're running back to Terra--or Sol, anyway. Can you
bring me something the next time you come? Please?"
"If possible," said Hammond.
"I need cigarettes, and clothing. I look seedy. I'm frantic for a
smoke; I know where you can buy a corpus delectable, dressed in old
clothing, for a pack of smokes."
"Willing to sell your body for a mess of potash?"
"Just about. But remember the old one--_Caveat Emptor!_"
"Knowing you--I'll remember," laughed Hammond. "How have you enjoyed
your visit?"
"So-so. It's been an experience. A lonely experience, believe me. I've
had my troubles, and I've had my triumph. Aside from the complete lack
of human companionship, it's been interesting enough."
"You mean male adoration?"
"Might as well admit it," said Sandra. "These birds look upon me
as they might view one of those platter-lipped Ubangis. I'm not
interesting nor disgustingly repulsive. Here I am, and I'd have been
washing floors for a living if it hadn't been for the fact that I do
have some experience and knowledge in gravitics. At least, I know where
to find the answer."
"Well, take it easy, Sandra, and we'll be back. Look, I'm dropping a
message-carrier with a radio spotter in it. It'll carry all of our
spare cigarettes. Can't do much about clothing. None of us wear lace
undies."
"I'll bear up," answered Sandra with a laugh. "Thanks."
"O.K., then, see you later."
"Right," said Sandra. "So long!" the set died, but before it went
completely off, they heard her say to someone in the background: "You
can turn the lights on again."
"What did she mean by that?" asked Hammond.
"I'll bet a cooky that they had the entire output of some city diverted
into her communications set. After all, what with Soaky's absorption
plus the normal power-gravitic communication, they'd do a lot of
running on a waterfall plant, or a coal burning plant to make up for
what we accomplish with a single machine in Sol. Our power took a
beating, as far as we are from it, and we know what kind of power it
takes to do anything with the gravitics on Telfu. Well, let's get
going. This seems to be the beginning of Our Busy Week."
At Hellsport, on Pluto, twenty-four huge ships were grouped. They
looked like the Devil's spawn; their upright ovoid shapes set in the
glimmering background of the light that danced from the open-hearth
furnaces of Mephisto. In the sky, the reflection glowed, and it was
known for hundreds of miles as The Eternal Fire.
But the men that were arriving were too busy to notice the picture it
presented. They were too close to that scene, although they had seen
the photographs in the _News From Hell_ and _Sharon's Post_, where
almost identical pictures filled a whole page in the roto-gravure
sections.
They kept arriving, these men who were going to Sirius to set up
another Lens. They came from resorts on the Sulphur Sea near Hell and
they all asked the reason. They came from Sharon, which lies across the
River Styx from Hell, and they asked the same question. The hurried
call sought men from their play-spots in the Devil's Mountains and from
the vacation wonderlands of the Nergal Canyon. The Great Cave of Loki
in the Æsir Plains lost a dozen or so, and Fafnir's Abyss no longer
rang to the click of camera shutters as the group left for Hellsport.
Vulcan, the frustrated volcano, felt the downward-moving footsteps of
the seven who were studying the embryonic crater that was beginning to
show signs of life under the heat of Pluto's synthetic sun; the men
left eagerly to be on their way to Sirius, but they all prayed that
the cold of Pluto's interior would remain cold until they returned.
The Hall of the Mountain King rang to their laughter as they returned
to their hotel accommodations near Hellsport, and then again was silent
as they went to Hellsport and made the last finishing touches on their
equipment.
Just before take-off time, the old familiar cry of "Where's Carlson?"
went the rounds until Carlson himself took up the general communicator
microphone and called "Here, dammit!" and was informed that it was good
because they couldn't start the lens without him. That cooled Carlson
off, because it was true and all of them knew it.
Then the two dozen mighty ships lifted in the air above Pluto and
headed for Sirius. They joined the _Haywire Queen_ on her way from the
Plutonian Lens, and after a few minutes of discussion--all done while
accelerating at one hundred and fifty feet per second per second--they
fell silent and started on the run to Sirius, nine light-years away.
The trip was made without mishap.
"Now," said McBride, through the general communicator, "in order that
we understand, I'm going to repeat the general plan again.
"This is a problem different from the central heating system. We are
not going to make a planet livable--_we are going to destroy it_!
Honestly, it is but a satellite, but the problem is only made more
difficult since it is harder to hit with a stellar beam. But enough of
that, we've got the calculations necessary.
"We intend to burn Soaky. Our trick, then, is to set up the maximum
possible heat-energy field around or on Soaky. Therefore a lens-system
such as the Plutonian Lens is out of the question. Far better is a
duplex system. We shall, therefore, send twelve of our ships to a point
in space less than thirty million miles from Sirius. This will give
us a solid-angle of considerable magnitude--a power intake, if you
will--that will extract about all that we can handle.
"The front lens-element will cause the divergent rays from Sirius to
become parallel or nearly so. We can't help but lose some.
"Now these parallel rays will hit the second element, which will be
set up less than ten million miles from Telfu. That's about as close as
we can get without losing our control due to Soaky's field-absorption.
And it will focus the entire possible bundle of energy on Soaky. Unless
Soaky is utterly impossible, we'll cook his goose. Right?"
The answer came with a laugh. Then someone asked about Soaky.
"Soaky," continued McBride, "is a satellite of Telfu. It is
approximately one quarter million miles from the planet, and is
invisible from Telfu, being less than a hundred miles in diameter. The
Telfans, by means of crude gravitic detectors, have discovered Soaky
plotted his orbit pretty well, and so we really have little to do."
Steve Hammond went to the microphone and laughed. "McBride is a master
at the art of understatement," he said. "But my contribution to the
art of eliminating planets is an anachronism. We have, on the _Haywire
Queen_, one of the most useless things in the universe. I shudder to
mention it, fellows, but there must be some good place for everything,
no matter how useless it may seem. We--and hold your hats--have a
rocket ship."
A series of groans and catcalls returned over the communicator, and
there was the shrill whistle of someone outrageously murdering "_La
Miserere_."
"Yep," continued Hammond, "Skyways, who boast that they can furnish
transportation anywhere within reason or realm of operating practice,
have furnished the _Pyromaniac_, which, named, appropriately, may
operate on or near Soaky. It is a useless bit of machinery for anything
else, and once the _Pyromaniac_ has landed on Soaky and planted spotter
generators for us to get a precise 'fix' on, the _Pyromaniac_ will be
relegated to some museum--if she doesn't get scuttled on the way in."
At this point McBride returned and finished by saying: "We shall set up
our lens, and exceeding Archimedes, 'Having a place to stand, we shall
burn up a satellite.' So now go on and make the thing cook, fellows.
You all have your orders. The _Haywire Queen_ will be a roving factor,
feel free to call us for any trouble. We've got our own job cut out for
us."
* * * * *
The twenty-four great ships of space, already spread out across the
space between Sirius I and Telfu, began to jockey for their selected
positions in space. McBride listened to the quick-running patter of
the lens-technicians and the astrogators as they juggled their ships
into the first semblance of order. Then he turned and nodded to Larry
Timkins. Larry shook his head and left, going aloft to the rocket ship.
The loft opened and the _Pyromaniac_ diverged from the opening.
Hannigan, the _Haywire Queen's_ regular pilot, snapped the switches
briefly and the _Queen_ darted away from the free-running _Pyromaniac_
for several miles. Then the first burst of flame came searing out
in a mushroom, which lengthened to a long rapier of white fire. The
_Pyromaniac_ moved off ponderously, and the sky was cut into two parts
by the river of flame that burned in the rocket's jets. The rapier of
flame curved slightly and pointed toward Telfu.
"No worrying about him," said McBride. "We'll know where he is."
"So will the rest of the system. O.K., Jawn, you've got
the boys running--now for our problem. How do we make
Silicon-acetyldiethyl-sulfanomid?"
"Yeah. How?"
"Well, according to La Drake, their trouble is the lack of stability.
We can probably make it under high electronic charge--in fact, that's
what she was suggesting."
"What'll it do when we remove the intrinsic charge? Remember the
xenon-bromide. It falls apart when we leave the high negative."
"It's more than likely that the stuff will collapse when we neutralize."
"Do you suppose we could get it there before it falls apart?"
"You mean like the guy who used to put the light switch off and get
into bed before it got dark?" laughed McBride. "What would happen to
our xenon-bromide if we were to get it to zero charge all at once?"
"I don't know, but file that one away for future reference," said
Hammond, thoughtfully. "Make up a batch of xenon krypto-neide, or
any of that ilk which might be crystalline, and then heave it in an
electrostatically charged shell at the enemy. Upon neutralization, what
with the hellish electronic charge plus the reversion to gas--probably
white-hot from electrical discharges--we'd have an explosive that would
really be good."
"Good!" exploded McBride. "Look, my little munitions expert, the
neutralizing charge--happening instantaneously--would paralyze
everything electronic in nature for seventy miles even in space, and
the electronic charge, reaching zero in nothing flat, would cause
instantaneous decomposition of the compound. Since it is held together
electrically, the decomposition, or _burning_ rate, would propagate at
the speed of light, or approaching that velocity. _Whoooo._ Blooey for
everything in sight!"
"Funny how the human animal can always dream up a scheme for something
lethal out of every invention."
"Yeah--even while they're trying to figure out something to save a
planetful of people, they'll invent something deadly. That's one of the
things that makes us _us_. But what do we do with the Telfans?"
"Theodi says it is stable once made--do you suppose it would be stable
even if made in the forced process?"
"Let's try. Got the stuff?"
"Barrels of it," said McBride. He went to the shelves of bottles
and removed the ingredients for Telfu's antibody. He weighed the
chemicals, and placed them in a combustion boat. This he placed under
a cover-glass and then called for Hannigan to run the intrinsic-charge
generator.
* * * * *
As the collectors began to load the ship with electrons, and the
various chemical indicators began to change color at various levels of
charge, McBride and Hammond set up long-focus microscopes to watch the
compound.
The final tube on the indicator panel changed from the mixture of xenon
and bromine to a gray-green gas, and then McBride called: "Enough,
Hannigan."
"Right, boss," said Hannigan.
"Any action?"
"Not yet. First the atmosphere of pure nothing so the stuff won't try
to combine with the aforementioned atmosphere. Then twelve hundred
degrees Kelvin, and finally the slow-cooling to form large crystals."
McBride opened a valve and the trapped air under the sealed glass
whipped out into space. "This stuff is stubborn," he added, turning on
the heater. The mixture grayed a bit, and then started to turn cherry
red all over at once. Hammond manipulated the color-temperature meter
and when the color was right, he motioned and McBride cut the heater,
riding the control all the way to room temperature.
"Anything?"
"Won't form."
"Huh?" asked Hammond. "I thought we could form anything."
"We can. But we might not live to tell about it. Some items of
unstable planetary systems are easily converted from their normal
valence-ratings to others of wide and ridiculous values. We picked
xenon for our final indicator because it fits in nice with the negative
value we need. But this stuff has valence-inertia beyond that value.
According to this stuff here, I'd say that its instability was less
than that of the carbon-chains that go into the human body."
Hammond whistled.
"And that means, little brother, that by the time we hit the right
negative charge to make this stuff combine, we'll end up with being
completely and irreplaceably dead."
"Ugh!" grunted Hammond. "Did we get anything?"
"Can't tell," said McBride. "Darned stuff sets like cement when it
cools. Warm up the tensile strength machine and we'll crush it and paw
through the wreckage."
He inspected the crushed mass a few minutes later and managed to
separate two minute crystalline specks under the microscope. "I don't
know whether these are the stuff, Steve," he said, "or whether it is
just wishful thinking. Is it better than that four ten-thousands of one
percent yield?"
"Not if you can weigh it. We started off with a hundred grams. One
percent is one gram; four ten-thousandths of one gram is four hundred
micrograms. The balance will swing over on less than ten micrograms.
This isn't even that much. No good, Mac."
"Call Theodi and ask about that catalyst-conversion stunt."
"Huh?"
"He intimated that if they could combine the silicon with the catalyst,
they'd be able to cause metathesis at better than sixty-one percent
efficient. Trick is getting silicon to combine with an already-filled
compound."
"They are better at chemistry than we," admitted Hammond. "I'll call."
Apparently the receiver in the _Lady Luck_ was attended constantly, for
the sleepy voice of a Telfan answered. He answered that he would get
Theodi, and as he was about to shut off the transmitter, another voice
came over. It was Thuni.
"Hello, Thuni," said Hammond cheerfully. "How goes it?"
"Bad," said the woman. "But I must go."
"I wouldn't," advised Steve. "Your sister Thani and her husband would
like to talk to you."
"Oh," said Thuni in a strained voice. "I'd like to speak, too. But this
expenditure of power ... I fear--"
"Nonsense. Thani has been nine light-years away for almost a year.
Think, Thuni, the light that started from our star is only one ninth of
the distance on the way, and Thani has been there and back."
"I know, but this power--"
"What's power?" laughed Hammond. "We've plenty of power."
"But we have not. Realize that the entire city of Indilee is in
darkness because of my desire to speak."
"So what?" asked Hammond. "You have the chance, have you not?"
"But I am not Sandrake, who would think nothing of expending the entire
power-availability of a whole city just to talk."
"Sandra is pretty much a human being in spite of her faults," said
Hammond. "I'm certain that any of us would have done it, just in the
same manner. In fact, I'm not too certain that Drake is inclined to be
a little inefficient, not knowing too much about the finer points of
operation. _I'd_ probably divert the power output of the whole planet
just to be sure I was heard."
"Does nothing stop Terrans?"
"Not for long," laughed Hammond. "And here's Thani. And the operator
won't be asking for another thirty thousand dollars after the first
three minutes, because there's no operator."
"I fear," started Thuni, and then ceased her worry. She finished: "I'll
hold this open until Theodi comes, at least."
"Good. That's learning to use the gifts of the universe to your own
comfort and pleasure. See you later, Thuni." To Thani, standing at his
side, he said: "Here's your sister. She needs cheering up."
Thani flashed him a smile that might have been enticing in a Terran
woman, and then turned to talk to her sister.
* * * * *
"Meanwhile," said McBride, "I've a thought. Not a good one, but a
couple of dark ones. We know that silicon is a tough character. It
doesn't take to planetary changes with the ease of xenon, for instance.
It is way high up on the electronic-stability table."
"That's correct," said Hammond. "But we've been thinking in terms of
not trying to add the silicon, but to combine the sulphur to the rest
of the compound containing the silicon already."
"Frankly, not too much is known about the electro-combining processes
with the more complex organic compounds. But what I'm thinking is
this: A chain is as strong as its weakest link, and the attempt to
add silicon to the compound only fails. When the more active sulphur
is added, it automatically forces the silicon out of the compound,
and will continue to do so until the right electro-negative charge
is reached. Electro-combining silicon at a level less than its
electro-stability level is impossible."
"That means trouble, Mac," said Hammond slowly. "Want to try the
decomposition of silicon-fluoride?"
"Might, to kill some time." McBride reacted fluorine with silicon in a
combustion chamber and then called for Hannigan to run the charge down
again. They watched, and as they expected, nothing happened.
"That's it," said McBride. "We're stumped."
"I wonder--" mused Hammond.
"Have you any doubt? Are you thinking of automatically
operated space-chambers set up for the formation of
Silicon-acetyldiethyl-sulfanomid?"
"That might work if we had time to build 'em. But look, Mac. Suppose we
generate a terrific electrogravitic field, monopolar as according to
the first orders of gravitic fields. Generate this field in a volume
of less than a foot in diameter, and accordingly intense. Then we'll
negatize the ship, and at the same time bombard the electrogravitic
sphere with electrons from a standard electron-gun. It'll take gobs of
power, John, to drive 'em in, but the field will help, and also keep
'em there. What do you think?"
"Sort of localizing our collection of electrons, hey? Hm-m-m. We'll
have to do that in vacuo--but that'll keep the atmosphere from
combining, too, and is better as she goes. We have plenty of electrons
when the ship runs negative, and that'll tend to collect them in the
place where they're needed the most. Might work, Steve. Break out the
E-grav and we'll try."
Hammond called Pete Thurman and James Wilson and told them what he
wanted. They all set to work, but an interruption came for Hammond and
Hannigan as the _Pyromaniac_ returned in a blaze of fire.
The rocket went off, and the _Haywire Queen's_ pilot did some fancy
work until the inert rocket ship entered the space lock above. Larry
Timkins emerged, holding his head between his hands. "It's murder," he
said. "Downright murder!"
"What's murder?"
"Manipulating that fire-breathing gargoyle. Y'know how the regular
drive takes hold all at once? Well, this thing sort of hangs fire.
There's a bit of a lag--ever so little--since the jets are sheer
mechanical and the time-function requires that the mechanical linkages
from lever-turn to fuel-release, ignition, and ultimate movement--well,
they act in considerably less time than the electrogravitic drive."
"Do you have to use it again?"
"Nope. I planted the spotter-generators and--picked up a souvenir of
Soaky. Look," and he pulled a piece of crystal from his spacesuit pouch
and dropped it on the table.
"Dirty looking hunk of glass," said Hammond. "Going to use it for a
paperweight?"
"It'd go better on the gal friend's finger, but I'm going to sell it
and lay away the profits for my edification and amusement. It'll assay
four karats if it's worth a dime, and that ain't quartz."
"Diamond?" asked Hammond in surprise.
"It has an index of refraction higher than 2.4, and is harder than
Sandra Drake's heart."
"Sounds like. How did it get there?"
"Ask the bird that dropped it. I only picked it up. If I'd found it in
a blue-clay flue, I'd have mined Soaky for fair, but a loose diamond
lying on the surface is strictly a changeling. Soaky must have known
high-falutin' friends in his younger and more promising days. Call it
one of those inexplicable mysteries and forget it. I give up."
"Hm-m-m. Might be more there, hey?"
"Yeah, but the life of Telfu depends upon our getting rid of Soaky."
Thani, who heard the latter part of the discussion, came over and
looked at the uncut stone in wonder. "You will want to inspect our
satellite?" she asked Hammond.
"I'd like to," he said. "But we have no time. While we've never
synthesized anything larger than fractional-karat diamonds, and this
four to five karats worth of crystallized carbon will be worth a small
fortune to Timkins, here, the idea of forestalling help to Telfu whilst
we chase a will-of-the-wisp is strictly a phony. Besides, it looks to
us as though this one was a sport--an impossible find. Chances are that
Larry was extremely lucky."
Thani shook her head. The chances of a huge fortune in precious stones
going up the chimney because of danger to an alien race gave her food
for thought.
* * * * *
McBride's shout cut all future conversation along this line. Hammond
called for Larry to follow, and they went to the room in which the
electrogravitic generator was being worked on.
McBride met them. "We're about ready," he said. "There's peepholes for
all."
"Peepholes?"
"Unless you want to be in an airless room along with umpty-gewhillion
electron volts. Better take a peephole."
McBride's hole was equipped with telescope and controls for the
equipment. They set their eyes to the windows and watched. McBride
explained: "First off, I open the space cock and let the vacuum of
space in. Said vacuum drives the air out, leaving the place filled
with hard nothing. That eliminates the possibility of corona with the
voltages we are going to use."
Then he depressed the generator-on control button, and the pilot lights
winked. He read the meters through the telescope, and adjusted the
variable controls until a faintly outlined sphere formed between the
radiator gravitodes of the generator. This sphere was invisible in that
it reflected no light and was transparent, but the light from the wall
beyond was refracted slightly, and the sphere was constantly changing
in index of refraction, so that the sphere shimmered like heat waves
over a meadow.
"We set the spherical warp, so. Now on the boom we insert the
combustion tube containing the mix. The insertion of the boom is easy
due to the heavy gravitic field, which attracts proportional to the
square of the distance. I think it increases the inertia-constant--"
"_Woah_, Mac. Inertia is a _property_ of matter, not a phenomenon."
"You can stir up a good argument later, here or at the annual meeting
of the Gravitic Society. Right now I'm about to turn on the heat."
McBride withdrew the boom, leaving the combustion tube in the warp,
where it was fixed against the infinitesimal point of zero-attraction,
with all sides of the boat in contracting-urge. He snapped the button
and watched through the color-temperature meter. Then, as the color was
reached, he threw over a series of controls, and the spherical field
became a riot of color.
It fluoresced, as the bombardment of electrons hit it, coming from all
sides. The sphere grew, and McBride tightened the warp by applying more
power. Still it grew as the repulsion of the electrons tried to nullify
the gravitic attraction, and McBride continued to step up the power of
the electrogravitic generator to keep the sphere from expanding.
"Hannigan," he called. "Give me just a bit more?"
"We can stand about six more electrons," laughed Hannigan. "No more."
"Give 'em to me," returned McBride cheerfully.
And then the sphere refused to be confined. It grew, and McBride made
comic motions with the hand that held the control, as if to turn the
knob from its shaft in a supreme effort to increase the power by a
single alphon.
The sphere grew to huge proportions, and McBride cranked the control
to zero just as the surface of the sphere grew instable and threatened
to expand without limit.
His other hand turned the heat control slowly down, and the color of
the combustion tube died. A hiss of air entered, and they ran inside to
see the result.
The combustion boat was ablaze with scintillating crystals. Beautiful
blue-green crystals that were half-hidden in the gray-yellow powder of
the catalyst. Their surfaces caught the lights, and sent little darting
spots of blue fire dancing over the approaching people.
McBride lifted the combustion tube with a pair of tongs. "This is the
pure stuff," he said quietly. "Looks like a good crop this year, too.
What's it insoluble in, Steve?"
"Sulphur dioxide, according to Theodi."
"Good. We'll remove the catalyst with that and weigh the residue which
will be the entire output of our hundred grams of stuff. The percentage
will be higher than .004%, I'd say. Come on--"
The communicator barked: "McBride! McBride! This is Peters on Number
One, Telfan element."