I.

Galactic Co-ordinator Kimball Kinnison finished his second cup of

Tellurian coffee, got up from the breakfast table, and prowled about

in black abstraction. Twenty-odd years had changed him but little. He

weighed the same, or a few pounds less; although a little of his mass

had shifted downward from his mighty chest and shoulders. His hair was

still brown, his stern face was only faintly lined. He was mature, with

a conscious maturity which no young man can know.

"Since when, Kim, did you think that you could get away with blocking

_me_ out of your mind?" Clarrissa Kinnison directed the thought,

quietly. The years had dealt as lightly with the Red Lensman as with

the Gray. She had been gorgeous, she was now magnificent. "This room is

shielded, you know, against even the girls."

"Sorry, Chris--I didn't mean it that way."

"I know," she laughed. "Automatic. But you've had that block up for two

solid weeks, except when you force yourself to keep it down, and that

means that you're 'way, _'way_ off the beam."

"I've been thinking, incredible as it may seem."

"I know it. Let's have it--cold."

"QX--you asked for it. Queer things have been going on all over.

Inexplicable things ... no apparent reason."

"Such as?"

"Almost any kind of insidious deviltry you care to name. Disaffections,

psychoses, mass hysterias, hallucinations; pointing toward a

Civilization-wide epidemic of revolutions and uprisings for which there

seems to be no basis or justification whatever."

"Why, Kim! How could there be? I haven't heard of anything like that!"

"It hasn't got around. Each solar system thinks that it's a purely

local condition, but it isn't. As Galactic Co-ordinator, with a broad

view of the entire picture, my office would, of course, see such a

thing before anyone else could. We saw it, and set out to nip it in the

bud ... but--" He shrugged his shoulders and grinned wryly.

"But what?" Clarrissa persisted.

"It didn't nip. We sent Lensmen to investigate, but none of them got to

the first check-station. Then I asked our Second-Stage Lensmen--Worsel,

Nadreck, and Tregonsee--to drop whatever they were doing and solve

it for me. They struck it and bounced. They followed, and are still

following, leads and clues galore, but they haven't got a millo's worth

of results so far."

"What? You mean to say it's a problem _they_ can't solve?"

"That they haven't, to date," he corrected, absently. "And that 'gives

me furiously to think'."

"It would," she conceded, "and it also would make you itch to join

them. Think at me, and it'll help you correlate. You should have gone

over the data with me right at first."

"I had reasons not to, as you'll see. But I'm stumped now, so here

goes. We'll have to go away back, to before we were married. First:

Mentor told me, quote, only your descendants will be ready for that

which you now so dimly grope, unquote. Second: you were the only being

ever able to read my thoughts without the aid of the Lens. Third:

Mentor told us, when we asked him if it was QX for us to go ahead that

our marriage was _necessary_, a choice of phraseology which

bothered you somewhat at the time, but which I then explained as being

in accord with his visualization of the Cosmic All. Fourth: the Patrol

formula is to send the man best fitted for any job to do that job, and

if he can't swing it, to send the Number One graduate of the current

class of Lensmen. Fifth: a Lensman has got to use everything and

everybody available, no matter what or who it is. I used even you, you

remember, in that Lyrane affair and others. Sixth: Sir Austin Cardynge

believed to the day of his death that we were thrown out of that

hyperspatial tube, and out of space, deliberately."

"Well, go on. I don't see much, if any connection."

"You will, if you think of those six points in connection with our

present predicament. Kit graduates next month, and he'll rank Number

One of all Civilization, for all the tea in China."

"Of course. But after all, he's a Lensman. He will insist upon being

assigned to some problem; why not to that one?"

"You don't yet see what that problem is. I've been adding two and two

together for weeks, and can't get any other answer than four. And if

two and two are four, Kit has got to tackle Boskone--the _real_

Boskone; the one that I never did and very probably never can reach."

"No, Kim--no!" she almost shrieked. "Not Kit, Kim--he's just a boy!"

Kinnison waited, wordless.

She got up, crossed the room to him. He put his arm around her in the

old but ever new gesture.

"Lensman's load, Chris," he said, quietly.

"Of course," she replied then, as quietly. "It was a shock at first,

coming after all these years, but ... if it has to be, it must. But he

doesn't ... surely we can help him, Kim?"

"Surely." The man's arm tightened. "When he hits space I go back to

work. So do Nadreck and Worsel and Tregonsee. So do you, if your kind

of a job turns up. And with us Gray Lensmen to do the blocking, and

with Kit to carry the ball--" His thought died away.

"I'll say so," she breathed. Then: "But you won't call me, I know,

unless you absolutely _have_ to ... and to give up you and

Kit both ... why did we have to be Lensmen, Kim?" she protested,

rebelliously. "Why couldn't we have been ground-grippers? You used to

growl that thought at me before I knew what a Lens really meant--"

"Vell, some of us has got be der first violiners in der orchestra,"

Kinnison misquoted, in an attempt at lightness. "Ve can't all push vind

t'rough der trombone."

"I suppose that's true." The Red Lensman's somber air deepened. "Well,

we were going to start for Tellus today, anyway, to see Kit graduate.

This doesn't change that."

* * * * *

And in a distant room four tall, shapely, auburn-haired, startlingly

identical girls stared at each other briefly, then went _en

rapport_; for their mother had erred greatly in saying that the

breakfast room was screened against their minds. Nothing was or could

be screened against them: they could think above, below, or, by

sufficient effort, straight through any thought-screen that had ever

been designed. Nothing in which they were interested was safe from

them, and they were interested in practically everything.

"Kay, we've got ourselves a job!" Kathryn, older by minutes than Karen,

excluded pointedly the younger twins, Camilla and Constance--"Cam" and

"Con".

"At last!" Karen exclaimed. "I've been wondering what we were born for,

with nine-tenths of our minds so deep down that nobody except Kit even

knows they're there and so heavily blocked that we can't let even each

other in without a conscious effort. This is it. We'll go places now,

Kat, and really do things."

"What do you mean _you'll_ go places and do things?" Con demanded

indignantly. "Do you think for a second that you've got jets enough to

blast _us_ out of all the fun?"

"Certainly," Kat said, equably. "You're too young."

"We'll let you know what we're doing, though," Kay conceded,

magnanimously. "You might even conceivably contribute an idea that we

could use."

"Ideas--phooey!" Con jeered. "A real idea would crack both of your

skulls. You haven't any more plan than a--"

"Hush--shut up, everybody!" Kat commanded. "This is too new for any of

us to have any worth-while ideas on, yet. Tell you what let's do--we'll

all think this over until we're aboard the _Dauntless_, halfway to

Tellus; then we'll compare notes and work out parts for all of us."

They left Klovia that afternoon. Kinnison's personal superdreadnought,

the mighty _Dauntless_--the fourth to bear that name--bored

through intergalactic space. Time passed. The four young redheads

convened.

"I've got it all worked out!" Kat burst out enthusiastically,

forestalling the other three. "There will be four Second-Stage Lensmen

at work and there are four of us. We'll circulate--percolate, you might

say--around and throughout the Universe. We'll pick up ideas and facts

and feed 'em to our Gray Lensmen; surreptitiously, sort of, so they'll

think they got them themselves. I'll take Dad for my partner. Kay can

have--"

"You'll do no such thing!" A general clamor rose, Con's thought

being the most insistent. "If we aren't going to work with all,

indiscriminately, we'll draw lots or throw dice to see who gets him, so

there!"

"Seal it, snake-hips, please," Kat requested, sweetly. "It is trite but

true to say that infants should be seen, but not heard. This is serious

business--"

"Snake-hips! Infant!" Con interrupted, venomously. "Listen, my

steatopygous and senile friend!" Constance measured perhaps a quarter

of an inch less in gluteal circumference than did her oldest sister;

she tipped the beam at one scant pound below her weight. "You and Kay

are a year older than Cam and me, of course; a year ago your minds were

stronger than ours. That condition, however, no longer exists. We, too

are grown up. And to put that statement to test, what can you do that I

can't?"

"This." Kathryn extended a bare arm, narrowed her eyes in

concentration. A Lens materialized about her wrist; not attached to it

by a metallic bracelet, but a bracelet in itself, clinging sentiently

to the smooth, bronzed skin. "I felt that in this work there would be a

need. I learned to satisfy it. Can you match that?"

They could. In a matter of seconds the three others were similarly

enlensed. They had not previously perceived the need, but after Kat had

pointed it out to them by demonstrating the manner of its satisfaction,

their acquisition of full knowledge had been virtually instantaneous.

"Or this, then." Kat's Lens disappeared.

So did the other three. Each knew that no hint of this knowledge or of

this power should ever be revealed; each knew that in any moment of

stress the Lens of Civilization could be and would be hers.

"Logic, then, and by reason, not by chance." Kat changed her tactics.

"I still get Dad. Everybody knows who works best with whom. You, Con,

have tagged around after Worsel all your life. You used to ride him

instead of a horse--"

"She still does," Kay snickered. "He pretty nearly split her in two a

while ago in a seven-gravity pull-out, and she almost broke a toe when

she kicked him for it."

"Worsel is nice," Con defended herself vigorously. "He's more human

than most people, and more fun, as well as having infinitely more

brains. And _you_ can't talk, Kay--what anyone can see in that

Nadreck, so cold-blooded that he freezes you even through armor at

twenty feet--you'll get as cold and hard as he is if you don't--"

"And every time Cam gets within five hundred parsecs of Tregonsee she

goes into silences with him, contemplating raptly the whichnesses of

the why," Kathryn interrupted, forestalling recriminations. "So you

see, by the process of elimination, Dad has got to be mine."

* * * * *

Since they could not all have him it was finally agreed that Kathryn's

claim would be allowed and, after a great deal of discussion and

argument, a tentative plan of action was developed. In due course, the

_Dauntless_ landed upon Tellus. The Kinnisons went to Wentworth

Hall, the towering, chromium-and-glass home of the Tellurian cadets

of the Galactic Patrol. They watched the impressive ceremonies of

graduation. Then, as the new Lensmen marched out to the magnificent

cadences of "Our Patrol," the Gray Lensman, leaving his wife and

daughters to their own devices, made his way to his Tellurian office

in Prime Base.

"Lensman Kinnison, sir, by appointment," his secretary announced, and

as Kit strode in Kinnison stood up and came to attention.

"Christopher Kinnison of Klovia, sir, reporting for duty." Kit saluted

crisply.

The Co-ordinator returned the salute punctiliously. Then: "At rest,

Kit. I'm proud of you, mighty proud. We all are. The women want to

heroize you, but I had to see you first, to clear up a few things. An

explanation, an apology, and, in a sense, commiseration."

"An apology, sir?" Kit was dumfounded. "Why, that's unthinkable--"

"For not graduating you in Gray. It has never been done, but that was

not the reason. Your commandant, the Board of Examiners, and Port

Admiral LaForge, all recommended it, agreeing that none of us is

qualified to give you either orders or directions. I blocked it."

"Of course. For the son of the Co-ordinator to be the first Lensman to

graduate Unattached would smell--especially since the fewer who know

of my peculiar characteristics the better. That can wait, sir."

"Not too long, sir." Kinnison's smile was a trifle forced. "Here's

your Release and your kit, and a request signed by the whole Galactic

Council that you go to work on whatever it is that is going on. We

rather think that it heads up somewhere in the Second Galaxy, but that

is little more than a guess."

"I can start out from Klovia, then? Good--I can go home with you."

"That's the idea, and on the way there you can study the situation.

For your information we have made up a series of tapes, carrying not

only all the available data, but also our attempts at analysis and

interpretation. Complete and up to date, except for one item which came

in this morning.... I can't figure out whether it means anything or

not, but it should be inserted--" Kinnison paced the room, scowling.

"Might as well tell me. I'll insert it when I scan the tape."

"QX. I don't suppose that you have heard much about the unusual

shipping trouble we have been having, particularly in the Second

Galaxy?"

"Rumor--gossip only. I'd rather have it straight."

"It's all on the tapes, so I'll give you the barest possible

background. Losses are twenty-five percent above normal. A few highly

peculiar derelicts have been found--peculiar in that they seem to

have been wrecked by madmen. Not only wrecked, but gutted, and with

every mark of identification obliterated. We can't determine even

origin or destination, since the normal disappearances outnumber the

abnormal ones by four to one. On the tapes this is lumped in with

the other psychoses you'll learn about. But this morning they found

another derelict, in which the chief pilot had scrawled 'WARE HELL

HOLE IN SP' across a plate. Connection with the other derelicts, if

any, is obscure. If the pilot was sane when he wrote that message, it

means something--but nobody knows what. If he wasn't, it doesn't, any

more than the dozens of obviously senseless--excuse me, I should say

apparently senseless--messages which we have already recorded."

"Hm-m-m. Interesting. I'll bear it in mind and tape it in its place.

But speaking of peculiar things, I've got one I wanted to discuss with

you--getting my Release was such a shock that I almost forgot it.

Reported it, but nobody thought it was anything important. Maybe ...

probably ... it isn't. Tune your mind up to the top of the range ...

there, did you ever hear of a race that thinks upon that band?"

"I never did--it's practically unreachable. Why--have you?"

"Yes and no. Only once, and that only a touch. Or, rather, a burst; as

though a hard-held mind-block had exploded, or the creature had just

died a violent, instantaneous death. Not enough of it to trace, and I

never found any more of it."

"Any characteristics? Bursts can be quite revealing at times."

"A few. It was on my last break-in trip in the Second Galaxy, out

beyond Thrale--about here." Kit marked the spot upon a mental chart.

"Mentality very high--precisionist grade--possibly beyond social

needs, as the planet was a bare desert. No thought of cities. Nor of

water, although both may have existed without appearing in that burst

of thought. The thing's bodily structure was RTSL, to four places. No

gross digestive tract--atmosphere-nourished or an energy-converter,

perhaps. The sun was a blue giant. No spectral data, of course, but at

a rough guess I'd say somewhere around class B5 or A0. Although the

temperature was normal for him, it was quite evident that the planet

would be unbearably hot for us. That's all I could get."

"That's a lot to get from one burst. It doesn't mean a thing to me

right now--but I'll watch for a chance to fit it in somewhere."

* * * * *

How casually they dismissed as unimportant that cryptic burst

of thought! But if they both, right then, together, had been

authoritatively informed that the description fitted exactly

the physical form forced upon its denizens in its summer by the

accurately-described, simply hellish climatic conditions obtaining

during that season on noxious planet Ploor, the information would still

not have seemed important to either of them--then.

"Anything else we ought to discuss before night?" The older Lensman

went on without a break.

"Not that I know of."

"You said your Release was a shock. Ready for another one?"

"I can't think of a harder one. I'm braced--blast!"

"I have turned the office over to Vice Co-ordinator Maitland for the

duration. I am authorized to tell you that Worsel, Nadreck, Tregonsee,

and I have resumed our Unattached status and, while conducting our own

various investigations, will be holding ourselves ready at all times

for your call."

"That _is_ a shock, sir. Thanks. I hadn't expected ... it's really

overwhelming. And you said something about _commiserating_ me?"

Kit lifted his red-thatched head--all of Clarrissa's children had

inherited her startling hair--and gray eyes stared level into eyes of

gray.

"In a sense, yes. You'll understand later. Well, you'd better go hunt

up Chris and the kids. After the festivities are over--"

"I'd better cut them, hadn't I?" Kit asked, eagerly. "Don't you think

it'd be better for me to get started right away?"

"Not on your life!" Kinnison demurred, positively. "Do you think that I

want that mob of strawberry blondes to snatch me bald-headed? You're in

for a large day and evening of lionization, so take it like a man. As I

was about to say, as soon as the brawl is over tonight we'll all board

the _Dauntless_ and do a flit for Klovia, where I'll fit you out

with everything you want. Until then, son--" Two big hands gripped.

"But I'll be seeing you around the Hall!" Kit exclaimed. "You can't--"

"No, I can't dodge the lionizing, either," Kinnison grinned, "but we

won't be in a sealed and shielded room. So, son ... I'm proud of you."

"Right back at you, big fellow--and thanks a million." Kit strode out

and, a few minutes later, the Co-ordinator did likewise.

* * * * *

The "brawl," which was the gala event of the Tellurian social year,

was duly enjoyed by all the Kinnisons. The _Dauntless_ made an

uneventful flight to Klovia. Arrangements were made. Plans, necessarily

sketchy and elastic, were laid.

Two big, gray-clad Lensmen stood upon the deserted spacefield, between

two blackly indetectable speedsters. Kinnison was massive, sure, calm

with the poised calmness of maturity, experience, and power. Kit, with

the broad shoulders and narrow waist of his years and training, was

taut and tense, fiery, eager to come to grips with Civilization's foes.

"Remember, son," Kinnison said as the two gripped hands. "There are

four of us old-timers, who have been through the mill, on call every

second. If you can use any one of us or all of us, don't wait to be too

sure--snap out a call."

"I know, Dad ... thanks. The four best, ablest Lensmen that ever

lived. One of you may make a strike before I do. In fact, with the

thousands of leads we have, and with no way of telling how many of them

are false--deliberately or otherwise--and with your vastly greater

experience and knowledge, you probably will. So remember that it cuts

both ways. If any of you can use me at any time, I'll come at max."

"QX. We'll get in touch from time to time, anyway. Clear ether, Kit!"

"Clear ether, Dad!" What a wealth of meaning there was in that

low-voiced, simple exchange of the standard bon voyage!

For minutes, as his speedster flashed through space, Kinnison thought

only of the boy. He knew exactly how he felt; he relived in memory

the supremely ecstatic moments of his own first launching into space

as a Gray Lensman. But Kit had the stuff--stuff which he, Kinnison,

knew that he could know nothing about--and he had his own job to do.

Therefore, methodically, like the old campaigner he was, he set about

it.