Any human or near-human Lensman would have been appalled by the sheer
loneliness of Nadreck's long vigil. Almost any one of them would have
cursed, fluently and bitterly, when the time came at which he was
forced to concede that the being for whom he lay in wait was not going
to visit that particular planet.
But utterly unhuman Nadreck was not lonely. In fact, there was no word
in the vocabulary of his race even remotely resembling the term in
definition, connotation, or implication. From his Galaxy-wide study
he had a dim, imperfect idea of what such an emotion or feeling might
be, but he could not begin to understand it. Nor was he in the least
disturbed by the fact that Kandron did not appear. Instead, he held his
orbit until the minute arrived at which the mathematical probability
became point nine nine eight that his proposed quarry was not going to
appear. Then, as matter-of-factly as though he had merely taken half
an hour out for lunch, he abandoned his position and set out upon the
course so carefully planned for exactly this event.
The search for further clues was long and uneventful; but monstrously,
unhumanly patient Nadreck stuck to it until he found one. True, it
was so slight as to be practically nonexistent--a mere fragment of a
whisper of zwilnik instruction--but it bore Kandron's unmistakable
imprint. The Palainian had expected no more. Kandron would not slip.
Momentary leakages from faulty machines would have to occur from time
to time, but Kandron's machines would not be at fault either often or
long at a time.
Nadreck, however, had been ready. Course after course of the most
delicate spotting screen ever devised had been out for weeks. So had
tracers, radiation absorbers, and every other insidious locating device
known to the science of the age. The standard detectors remained
blank, of course--no more so than his own conveyance would that of
the Onlonian be detectable by any ordinary instruments. And as the
Palainian speedster shot away along the most probable course, some
fifty delicate instruments in its bow began stabbing that entire region
of space with a pattern of needles of force through which a Terrestrial
barrel could not have floated untouched.
Thus the Boskonian craft--an inherently indetectable speedster--was
located; and in that instant was speared by three modified CRX tracers.
Nadreck then went inert and began to plot the other speedster's course.
He soon learned that that course was unpredictable; that the vessel was
being operated statistically, completely at random. This too, then, was
a trap.
This knowledge disturbed Nadreck no more than had any
more-or-less-similar event of the previous twenty-odd years. He had
realized fully that the leakage could as well have been deliberate as
accidental. He had at no time underestimated Kandron's ability; the
future alone would reveal whether or not Kandron would at any time
underestimate his. He would follow through--there might be a way in
which this particular trap could be used against its setter.
Leg after leg of meaningless course Nadreck followed, until there
came about that which the Palainian knew would happen in time--the
speedster held a straight course for more parsecs than six-sigma limits
of probability could ascribe to pure randomness. Nadreck knew what
that meant. The speedster was returning to its base for servicing,
which was precisely the event for which he had been waiting. It was
the base he wanted, not the speedster; and that base would never,
under any conceivable conditions, emit any detectable quantity of
traceable radiation. To its base, then, Nadreck followed the little
spaceship, and to say that he was on the alert as he approached that
base is a gross understatement indeed. He expected to set off at least
one, and probably many blasts of force. That would almost certainly
be necessary in order to secure sufficient information concerning the
enemy's defensive screens. It was unnecessary--but when those blasts
arrived Nadreck was elsewhere, calmly analyzing the data secured by his
instruments during the brief contact which had triggered the Boskonian
projectors into action.
* * * * *
So light, so fleeting, and so unorthodox had been Nadreck's touch that
the personnel of the now doomed base could not have known with any
certainty that any visitor had actually been there. If there had been,
the logical supposition would have been that he and his vessel had been
resolved into their component atoms. Nevertheless Nadreck waited--as
has been shown, he was good at waiting--until the burst of extra
vigilance set up by the occurrence would have subsided into ordinary
watchfulness. Then he began to act.
At first this action was in ultra-slow motion. One millimeter per hour
his drill advanced. Drill was synchronized precisely with screen, and
so guarded as to give an alarm at a level of interference far below
that necessary to energize any probable detector at the generators of
the screen being attacked.
Through defense after defense Nadreck made his cautious, indetectable
way into the dome. It was a small base, as such things go; manned,
as expected, by escapees from Onlo. Scum, too, for the most part;
creatures of even baser and more violent passions than those upon
whom he had worked in Kandron's Onlonian stronghold. To keep those
intractable entities in line during their brutally long tours of duty,
a psychological therapist had been given authority second only to that
of the Base Commander. That knowledge, and the fact that there was only
one populated dome, made the Palainian come as close to grinning as one
of his unsmiling race can.
The psychologist wore a multiplex thought-screen, of course, as did
everyone else; but that did not bother Nadreck. Kinnison had opened
such screens many times; not only by means of his own hands, but also
at various times by the use of a dog's jaws, a spider's legs and
mandibles, and even a worm's sinuous body. Wherefore, through the
agency of a quasi-fourth-dimensional life-form literally indescribable
to three-dimensional man, Nadreck's ego was soon comfortably ensconced
in the mind of the Onlonian.
That entity knew in detail every weakness of each of his personnel. It
was his duty to watch those weaknesses, to keep them down, to condition
each of his wards in such fashion that friction and strife would be
minimized. Now, however, he proceeded to do exactly the opposite. One
hated another. That hate became a searing obsession, requiring the
concentration of every effort upon ways and means of destroying its
object. One feared another. That fear ate in, searing as it went,
destroying every normality of outlook and of reason. Many were jealous
of their superiors. This emotion, requiring as it does nothing except
its own substance upon which to feed, became a fantastically-spreading,
caustically corrosive blight.
To name each ugly, noisome passion or trait resident in that dome is
to call the complete roster of the vile; and calmly, mercilessly,
unmovedly, ultra-efficiently, Nadreck worked upon them all. As though
he were playing a Satanic organ he touched a nerve here, a synapse
there, a channel somewhere else, bringing the whole group, with the
lone exception of the commander, simultaneously to the point of
explosion. Nor was any sign of this perfect work evident externally;
for everyone there, having lived so long under the iron code of
Boskonia, knew exactly the consequences of any infraction of that code.
The moment came when passion overmastered sense. One of the monsters
stumbled, jostling another. That nudge became, in its recipient's
seething mind, a lethal attack by his bitterest enemy. A forbidden
projector flamed viciously--the offended one was sating his lust so
insensately that he scarcely noticed the bolt that in turn rived away
his own life. Detonated by this incident, the personnel of the Base
exploded as one. Blasters raved briefly; knives and swords bit and
slashed; improvised bludgeons crashed against pre-selected targets;
hard-taloned appendages gouged and tore. And Nadreck, who had long
since withdrawn from the mind of the psychologist, timed with a stop
watch the duration of the whole grizzly affair, from the instant of the
first stumble to the death of the last Onlonian outside the Commander's
locked and armored sanctum. Ninety-eight and three tenths seconds.
Good--a nice job.
* * * * *
The Base Commander, as soon as it was safe to do so, rushed out of
his guarded room to investigate. Amazed, disgruntled, dismayed by
the to him completely inexplicable phenomenon he had just witnessed,
he fell an easy prey to the Palainian Lensman. Nadreck invaded his
mind and explored it, channel by channel; finding--not entirely
unexpectedly--that this Number One knew nothing whatever of interest.
Nadreck did not destroy the base. Instead, after setting up a small
instrument in the Commander's office, he took that unfortunate wight
aboard his speedster and drove off into space. He immobilized his
captive, not by loading him with manacles, but by deftly severing a
few essential nerve trunks. Then he really studied the Onlonian's
mind--line by line, this time; almost cell by cell. A master--almost
certainly Kandron himself--had operated here. There was not the
slightest trace of tampering; no leads to or indications of what the
activating stimulus would have to be; all that the fellow now knew was
that it was his job to hold his Base inviolate against any and every
form of intrusion and to keep that speedster flitting around all over
space on a director-by-chance as much as possible of the time, leaking
slightly a certain signal now and then.
Even under this microscopic re-examination, he knew nothing whatever
of Kandron; nothing of Onlo or of Thrale; nothing of any Boskonian
organization, activity, or thing; and Nadreck, although baffled still,
remained undisturbed. This trap, he thought, could almost certainly be
used against the trapper. Until a certain call came through his relay
in the Base, he would investigate the planets of this system.
* * * * *
During the investigation a thought impinged upon his Lens from Karen
Kinnison, one of the very few warm-blooded beings for whom he had any
real liking or respect.
"Busy, Nadreck?" she asked, as casually as though she had seen him
hours, instead of weeks before.
"In large, yes--in detail and at the moment, no. Is there any small
problem in which I can be of assistance?"
"Not small--big. I just got the funniest distress call I ever heard or
heard of. On a high band--'way, 'way up--there. Do you know of any race
that thinks on that band?"
"I do not believe so." He thought for a moment. "Definitely, no."
"Neither do I. It wasn't broadcast, either, but was directed at any
member of a special race or tribe--very special. Classification,
straight Z's to ten or twelve places, she ... or it ... seemed to be
trying to specify."
"A frigid race of extreme type, adapted to an environment having a
temperature of only a few degrees absolute."
"Yes. Like you, only more so." Kay paused, trying to put into
intelligible thought a picture inherently incapable of reception or
recognition by her as yet strictly three-dimensional intelligence.
"Something like the Eich, too, but not much. Their visible aspect was
obscure, fluid ... amorphous ... indefinite? ... skip it--I couldn't
really perceive it, let alone describe it. I wish you had caught that
thought."
"I wish so, too--it is extremely interesting. But tell me--if the
thought was directed, not broadcast, how could you have received it?"
"That's the funniest part of the whole thing." Nadreck could feel
the girl frown in concentration. "It came at me from all sides at
once--never felt anything like it. Naturally I started feeling around
for the source--particularly since it was a distress signal--but before
I could get even a general direction of the origin it ... it ... well,
it didn't really disappear or really weaken, but something happened to
it. I couldn't read it any more--and _that_ really did throw me
for a loss." She paused, then went on. "It didn't so much go away as go
_down_, some way or other. Then it vanished completely, without
really going anywhere. I know that I'm not making myself clear--I
simply can't--but have I given you enough leads so that you can make
any sense at all out of any part of it?"
"I'm very sorry to say that I can not."
* * * * *
Nor could he, ever, for excellent reasons. That girl had a mind whose
power, scope, depth, and range she herself did not, could not even
dimly understand; a mind to be fully comprehended only by an adult of
her own third level. That mind had in fact received in toto a purely
fourth-dimensional thought. If Nadreck had received it, he would
have understood it and recognized it for what it was only because
of his advanced Arisian training--no other Palainian could have
done so--and it would have been sheerly unthinkable to him that any
warm-blooded and, therefore, strictly three-dimensional entity could
by any possibility receive such a thought; or, having received it,
could understand any figment of it. Nevertheless, if he had really
concentrated the full powers of his mind upon the girl's attempted
description, he might very well have recognized in it the clearest
possible three-dimensional delineation of such a thought; and from that
point he could have gone on to a full understanding of the Children of
the Lens.
However, he did not so concentrate. It was constitutionally impossible
for him to devote real mental effort to any matter not immediately
pertaining to the particular task in hand. Therefore neither he nor
Karen Kinnison were to know until much later that she had been _en
rapport_ with one of Civilization's bitterest, most implacable
foes; that she had seen with clairvoyant and telepathic accuracy the
intrinsically three-dimensionally-indescribable form assumed in their
winter by the horrid, the monstrous inhabitants of that viciously
hostile world, the unspeakable planet Ploor!
"I was afraid you couldn't." Kay's thought came clear. "That makes it
all the more important--important enough for you to drop whatever it is
that you're doing now and join me in getting to the bottom of it, if
you could be made to see it, which, of course, you can't."
"I am about to take Kandron, and nothing in the Universe can be as
important as that," Nadreck stated quietly, as a simple matter of fact.
"You have observed this that lies here?"
"Yes." Karen, _en rapport_ with Nadreck, was, of course, cognizant
of the captive, but it had not occurred to her to mention the monster.
When dealing with Nadreck she, against all the tenets of her sex,
exhibited as little curiosity as did the coldly emotionless Lensman
himself. "Since you bid so obviously for the question, why are you
keeping it alive--or rather, not dead?"
"Because he is my sure link to Kandron." If Nadreck of Palain ever
was known to gloat, it was then. "He is Kandron's creature, placed by
Kandron personally as an agency of my destruction. Kandron's brain
alone holds the key compulsion which will restore his memories. At
some future time--perhaps a second from now, perhaps a cycle of
years--Kandron will use that key to learn how his minion fares.
Kandron's thought will energize my re-transmitter in the dome; the
compulsion will be forwarded to this still-living brain. The brain,
however, will be in my speedster, not in that undamaged fortress. You
now understand why I cannot stray far from this being's base; you
should see that you should join me instead of me joining you."
"No; not definite enough," Karen countered, decisively. "I can't see
myself passing up a thing like this for the opportunity of spending
the next ten years floating around in an orbit, doing nothing. However,
I check you to a certain extent--when and if anything really happens,
shoot me a thought and I'll rally 'round."
* * * * *
The linkage broke without formal adieus. Nadreck went his way, Karen
went hers. She did not, however, go far along the way she had had in
mind. She was still precisely nowhere in her quest when she felt a
thought, of a type that only her brother or an Arisian could send. It
was Kit.
"Hi, Kay!" A warm, brotherly contact. "How'r'ya doing, Sis? Are you
growing up?"
"I'm grown up! What a question!"
"Don't get stiff, Kay, there's method in this. Got to be sure." All
trace of levity gone, he probed her unmercifully. "Not too bad, at
that, for a kid. As Dad would express it, if he could feel you this
way, you're twenty-nine numbers Brinnell harder than a diamond drill.
Plenty of jets for this job, and by the time the real one comes,
you'll probably be ready."
"Cut the rigmarole, Kit!" she snapped, and hurled a vicious bolt of her
own. If Kit did not counter it as easily as he had handled her earlier
efforts, he did not reveal the fact. "What job? What d'you think you're
talking about? I'm on a job now that I wouldn't drop for Nadreck, and I
don't think that I'll drop it for you."
"You'll have to." Kit's thought was grim. "Mother is going to have to
go to work on Lyrane II. The probability is pretty certain that there
is or will be something there that she can't handle. Remote control
is out, or I'd do it myself, but I can't work on Lyrane II in person.
Here's the whole picture--look it over. You can see, Sis, that you're
elected, so hop to it."
"I won't!" she stormed. "I can't--I'm too busy. How about asking Con,
or Kat, or Cam?"
"They don't fit the picture," he explained patiently--for him. "In this
case hardness is indicated, as you can see for yourself."
"Hardness, phooey!" she jeered. "To handle Ladora of Lyrane? She thinks
she's a hard-boiled egg, I know, but--"
"Listen, you bird-brained knot-head!" Kit cut in, venomously. "You're
fogging the issue deliberately--stop it! I spread you the whole
picture--you know as well as I do that while there's nothing definite
as yet, the thing needs covering and you're the one to cover it. But
no--just because I'm the one to suggest or ask anything of you, you've
always got to go into that mulish act of yours."
"Be silent, children, and attend!" Both flushed violently as Mentor
came between them. "Some of the weaker thinkers here are beginning
to despair of you, but my visualization of your development is still
clear. To mold such characters as yours sufficiently, and yet not too
much, is a delicate task indeed; but one which must and shall be done.
Christopher, come to me at once, in person. Karen, I would suggest that
you go to Lyrane and do there whatever you find necessary to do."
"I won't--I've _still_ got this job here to do!" Karen defied even
the ancient Arisian sage.
"That, Daughter, can and should wait. I tell you solemnly, as a fact,
that if you do not go to Lyrane you will never get the faintest clue to
that which you now seek."