When Kandron called his minion in that small and nameless base to learn
whether or not he had succeeded in trapping the Palainian Lensman,
Nadreck's relay station functioned so perfectly, and Nadreck was so
completely in charge of his captive's mind, that the caller could feel
nothing out of the ordinary. Ultra-suspicious though Kandron was, there
was nothing whatever to indicate that anything had changed at, or
pertaining to, that base since he had last called its commander. That
individual's subconscious mind reacted properly to the key stimulus.
The conscious mind took over, remembered, and answered properly a
series of trick questions.
These things occurred because the Base Commander was still alive. His
ego, the pattern and matrix of his personality, was still in existence
and had not been changed. What Kandron did not and could not suspect
was that that ego was no longer in control of the commander's mind,
brain, or body; that it was utterly unable of its own volition, either
to think any iota of independent thought or to stimulate any single
physical cell. The Onlonian's ego was present--just barely present--but
that was all. It was Nadreck who, using that ego as a guide and, in a
sense, as a helplessly impotent transformer, received the call. Nadreck
made those exactly correct replies. Nadreck was now ready to render a
detailed and fully documented--and completely mendacious--report upon
his own destruction!
Nadreck's special tracers were already out, determining line and
intensity. Strippers and analyzers were busily at work on the fringes
of the beam, dissecting out, isolating, and identifying each of the
many scraps of extraneous thought accompanying the main beam. These
side-thoughts, in fact, were Nadreck's prime concern. The Second-Stage
Lensmen had learned that no being--except possibly an Arisian--could
narrow a beam of thought down to one single, pure sequence. Only
Nadreck, however, recognized in those side-bands a rich field; only he
had designed and developed mechanisms with which to work that field.
The stronger and clearer the mind, the fewer and less complete were
the extraneous fragments of thought; but Nadreck knew that even
Kandron's brain would carry quite a few such nongermane accompaniments,
and from each of those bits he could reconstruct an entire sequence as
accurately as a competent paleontologist reconstructs a prehistoric
animal from one fossilized piece of bone.
Thus Nadreck was completely ready when the harshly domineering Kandron
asked his first real question.
"I do not suppose that you have succeeded in killing the Lensman?"
"Yes, Your Supremacy, I have." Nadreck could feel Kandron's start of
surprise; could perceive without his instruments Kandron's fleeting
thoughts of the hundreds of unsuccessful previous attempts upon his
life. It was clear that the Onlonian was not at all credulous.
"Report in detail!" Kandron ordered.
* * * * *
Nadreck did so, adhering rigidly to the truth up to the moment in which
his probes of force had touched off the Boskonian alarms. Then:
"Spy-ray photographs taken at the instant of alarm show an indetectable
speedster, with one, and only one occupant, as Your Supremacy
anticipated. A careful study of all the pictures taken of that
occupant shows: first, that he was definitely alive at that time, and
was neither a projection nor an artificial mechanism; and second,
that his physical measurements agree in every particular with the
specifications furnished by Your Supremacy as being those of Nadreck of
Palain VII.
"Since Your Supremacy personally computed and supervised the placement
of those projectors," Nadreck went smoothly on, "you know that the
possibility is vanishingly small that any material thing, free or
inert, could have escaped destruction. As a check, I caused to be
taken seven hundred twenty-nine--three to the sixth power--samples
of the circumambient space, statistically at random, for analysis.
After appropriate allowances for the exactly-observed elapsed times of
sampling, diffusion of droplets and molecular and atomic aggregates,
temperatures, pressures, and all other factors known or assumed to be
operating, I determined that there had been present in the center of
action of our beams a mass of approximately four thousand six hundred
seventy-eight point one metric tons. This value, Your Supremacy
will note, is in close agreement with the most efficient mass of an
indetectable speedster designed for long-distance work."
That figure was in fact closer than close. It was an almost exact
statement of the actual mass of Nadreck's ship.
"Exact composition?" Kandron demanded.
Nadreck recited a rapid-fire string of elements and figures. They, too,
were correct within the experimental error of a very good analyst. The
Base Commander could not possibly have known them; but it was well
within the bounds of possibility that the insidious Kandron would. He
did. He was now practically certain that his ablest and bitterest enemy
had been destroyed at last, but there were still a few lingering shreds
of doubt.
"Let me look over your work," Kandron directed.
"Yes, Your Supremacy." Nadreck the Thorough was ready for even that
extreme test. Through the eyes of the ultimately enslaved Base
Commander Kandron checked and rechecked Nadreck's pictures, Nadreck's
charts and diagrams, Nadreck's more than four hundred pages of
mathematical, physical, and chemical notes and determinations; all
without finding a single flaw.
In the end Kandron was ready to believe that Nadreck had in fact
ceased to exist. However, he himself had not done the work. There
was no corpse. If he himself had killed the Palainian, if he himself
had actually felt the Lensman's life depart in the grasp of his own
tentacles, then, and only then, would he have _known_ that Nadreck
was dead. As it was, even though the work had been done in exact
accordance with his own instructions, there remained an infinitesimal
uncertainty. Wherefore:
"Shift your field of operations to cover X-174, Y-240, Z-16. Do not
relax your vigilance in the slightest because of what has happened." He
considered briefly the idea of allowing his minion to call him, in case
anything happened, but decided against it. "Are the men standing up?"
"Yes, Your Supremacy, they are in very good shape indeed."
And so on. "Yes, Your Supremacy, the psychologist is doing a very fine
job. Yes, Your Supremacy ... yes ... yes ... yes--"
* * * * *
Very shortly after the characteristically Kandronesque ending of that
interview, Nadreck had learned everything he needed to know. He knew
where Kandron was and what he was doing. He knew much of what Kandron
had done during the preceding twenty years; and, since he himself
figured prominently in many of those sequences, they constituted
invaluable checks upon the validity of his other reconstructions.
He knew the construction, the armament, and the various ingenious
mechanisms, including the locks, of Kandron's vessel; he knew more than
any other outsider had ever known of Kandron's private life. He knew
where Kandron was going next, and what he was going to do there. He
knew in broad what Kandron intended to do during the coming century.
Thus well informed, Nadreck set his speedster into a course toward
the planet of Civilization which was Kandron's next objective. He did
not hurry; it was no part of his plan to interfere in any way in the
horrible program of planet-wide madness and slaughter which Kandron
had in mind. It simply did not occur to him to try to save the planet
as well as to kill the Onlonian; Nadreck, being Nadreck, took without
doubt or question the safest and surest course.
Nadreck knew that Kandron would set his vessel into an orbit around the
planet, and that he would take a small boat--a flitter--for the one
personal visit necessary to establish his lines of communication and
control. Vessel and flitter would be alike indetectable, of course;
but Nadreck found the one easily enough and knew when the other left
its mother-ship. Then, using his lightest, stealthiest spy rays, the
Palainian set about the exceedingly delicate business of boarding the
Boskonian craft.
That undertaking could be made a story in its own right, for Kandron
did not leave his ship unguarded. However, merely by thinking about
his own safety, Kandron had all unwittingly given away the keys to
his supposedly impregnable fortress. While Kandron was wondering
whether or not the Lensman was really dead, and especially after he
had been convinced that he most probably was, the Onlonian's thoughts
had touched fleetingly upon a multitude of closely-related subjects.
Would it be safe to abandon some of the more onerous precautions
he had always taken, and which had served him so well for so many
years? And as he thought of them, each one of his safeguards flashed
at least partially into view; and for Nadreck, any significant part
was practically as good as the whole. Kandron's protective devices,
therefore, did not protect. Projectors, designed to flame out against
intruders, remained cold. Ports opened; and as Nadreck touched sundry
buttons, various invisible beams, whose breaking would have produced
unpleasant results, ceased to exist. In short, Nadreck knew all the
answers. If he had not been coldly certain that his information was
complete, he would not have acted at all.
After entry, his first care was to send out spotting devices
which would give ample warning in case the Onlonian should return
unexpectedly soon. Then, working in the service-spaces behind
instrument boards and panels, in junction boxes, and in various other
out-of-the-way places, he cut into lead after lead, ran wire after
wire, and installed item after item of apparatus and equipment upon
which he had been at work for weeks. He finished his work undisturbed.
He checked and rechecked the circuits, making absolutely certain that
every major one of the vessel's controlling leads ran to or through
at least one of the things he had just installed. With painstaking
nicety he obliterated every visible sign of his visit. He departed as
carefully as he had come; restoring to full efficiency as he went each
one of Kandron's burglar alarms.
* * * * *
Kandron returned, entered his ship as usual, stored his flitter, and
extended a tentacular member toward the row of switches on his panel.
"Don't touch anything, Kandron," he was advised by a thought as cold
and as deadly as any one of his own; and upon the Onlonian equivalent
of a visiplate there appeared the one likeness which he least expected
and least desired to perceive.
"Nadreck of Palain VII--Star A Star--THE Lensman!" The Onlonian was
physically and emotionally incapable of gasping, but the idea is
appropriate. "You have, then, wired and mined this ship."
There was a subdued clicking of relays. The Bergenholm came up to
speed, the speedster spun about and darted straight away from the
planet under a couple of kilodynes of drive.
"I am Nadreck of Palain VII, yes. One of the group of Lensmen whose
collective activities you have ascribed to Star A Star and _the_
Lensman. Your ship is, as you have deduced, mined. The only reason you
did not die as you entered it is that I wish to be absolutely certain;
and not merely statistically so, that it is actually Kandron of Onlo,
and not someone else, who dies."
"That unutterable fool!" Kandron quivered in helpless rage. "Oh, that I
had taken the time and killed you myself!"
"If you had done your own work, the techniques I used here could not
have been employed, and you might have been in no danger at the present
moment," Nadreck admitted, equably enough. "My powers are small, my
intellect feeble, and what might have been has no present bearing. I am
inclined, however, to question the validity of your conclusions, due
to the known fact that you have been directing a campaign against me
for over twenty years without success; whereas I have succeeded against
you in less than half a year. My analysis is now complete. You may now
touch any control you please. By the way, you do not deny that you are
Kandron of Onlo, do you?"
Neither of those monstrous beings asked, suggested, or even thought of
mercy. In neither of their languages was there any word for or concept
of such a thing.
"That would be idle. You have a record of my life pattern, of course,
just as I have one of yours. But I cannot understand how you got
through that--"
"It is not necessary that you should. Do you wish to close one of those
switches or shall I?"
Kandron had been thinking for minutes, studying every aspect of his
predicament. Knowing Nadreck, he knew just how desperate the situation
was. However, there was one very small chance--just one. The way he
had come was clear. He knew that that was the _only_ clear way.
Wherefore, to gain an extra instant of time, he reached out toward
a switch; but even while he was reaching he put every ounce of his
tremendous strength into a leap which hurled him across the room toward
his flitter.
No luck. One of Nadreck's minor tentacles was already curled around
a switch, tensed and ready. Kandron had not moved a foot when a
relay snapped shut and four canisters of duodec detonated as one.
Duodecaplylatomate, that frightful detonant whose violence is exceeded
only by that of nuclear disintegration itself!
There was an appalling flash of viciously white light, which expanded
in microseconds into an enormous globe of incandescent gas. Cooling and
darkening as it expanded rapidly into the near-vacuum of interplanetary
space, the gases and vapors soon became invisible. Through and
throughout the entire volume of volatilization Nadreck drove analyzers
and detectors, until it was a mathematical certainty that no particle
of material substance larger in diameter than five microns remained of
either Kandron or his spaceship. He then called the Gray Lensman.
* * * * *
"Kinnison. Nadreck of Palain VII calling, to report that my assignment
has been completed. I have destroyed Kandron of Onlo."
"Good! Fine business, ace! What kind of a picture did you get? He must
have known something about the higher echelons--or did he? Was he just
another dead end?"
"I did not go into that."
"Huh? Why not?" Kinnison demanded, exasperation in every line of his
thought.
"Because it was not included in the project," Nadreck explained,
patiently. "You already know that one must concentrate in order to
work efficiently. To secure the requisite minimum of information it
was necessary to steer his thoughts into one, and only one, set of
channels. There were some foreign side-bands, of course, and it may be
that some of them touched upon this new subject which you have now, too
late, introduced ... no, there were no such."
"Damnation!" Kinnison exploded; then by main strength shut himself
up. "QX, ace; skip it. But listen, my spiny and murderous friend. Get
this--engrave it in big type right on the top-side inside of your thick
skull--what we want is INFORMATION, not mere liquidation. Next time
you get hold of such a big shot as Kandron must have been, don't kill
him until either: first, you get some leads as to who or what the real
head of the outfit is; or, second, you make sure that he doesn't know.
Then kill him all you want to, but FIND OUT WHAT HE KNOWS FIRST. Have I
made myself clear this time?"
"You have, and as Co-ordinator your instructions should and will
govern. I point out, however, that the introduction of a multiplicity
of objectives into a problem not only destroys its unity, but also
increases markedly both the time necessary for, and the actual personal
danger involved in, its solution."
"So what?" Kinnison countered, as evenly as he could. "That way, we may
be able to get the answer some day. Your way, we never will. But the
thing's done--there's no use yapping and yowling about it now. Have you
any ideas as to what you should do next?"
"No. Whatever you wish, that I shall try to do."
"I'll check with the others." He did so, receiving no helpful ideas
until he consulted his wife.
"Hi, Kim, my dear!" came Clarrissa's buoyant thought; and, after a
brief but intense greeting: "Glad you called. Nothing definite enough
yet to report to you officially, but there are indications that Lyrane
IX may be an important--"
"Nine?" Kinnison interrupted. "Not Eight again?"
"Nine," she confirmed. "A new item. So I may be doing a flit over
there one of these days."
"Uh-uh," he denied. "Lyrane IX would be none of your business. Stay
away from it."
"Says who?" she demanded. "We went into this once before, Kim, about
you telling me what I could and couldn't do."
"Yeah, and I came out second best." Kinnison grinned. "But now, as the
Co-ordinator, I make suggestions to even Second-Stage Lensmen, and
they follow them--or else. I, therefore, suggest officially that you
stay away from Lyrane IX on the grounds that since it is colder than a
Palainian's heart, it is definitely not your problem, but Nadreck's.
And personally, I am adding that if you don't behave yourself I'll come
over there and administer appropriate physical persuasion."
"Come on over--that would be fun!" Clarrissa giggled, then sobered
quickly. "But seriously, you win, I guess--this time. You'll keep me
informed?"
"I'll do that. Clear ether, Chris!" and he turned back to the Palainian.
"... so you see this is your problem. Go to it, little chum."
"I go, Kinnison."