The Arisians and the Children of the Lens had known that Eddore must be
attacked as soon as possible after the fall of Ploor. They were fairly
certain that the interspatial use of planets as projectiles was new;
but they were completely certain that the Eddorians would be able to
deduce in a short time the principles and the concepts, the fundamental
equations, and the essential operators involved in the process. They
would find nth space or one like it in one day; certainly not more than
two. Their slaves would duplicate the weapon in approximately three
weeks. Shortly thereafter both Ultra Prime and Prime Base, both Klovia
and Tellus, would be blown out of the ether. So would Arisia--perhaps
Arisia would go first. The Eddorians would probably not be able to aim
such planets as accurately as the Arisians had, but they would keep on
trying and they would learn fast.
This weapon was the sheer ultimate in destructiveness. No defense
against it was possible. There was no theory which applied to it
or which could be stretched to cover it. Even the Arisian Masters
of Mathematics had not as yet been able to invent symbologies and
techniques to handle the quantities and magnitudes involved when those
interloping masses of foreign matter struck normal space.
Thus Kit did not have to follow up his announced intention of making
the Arisians hurry up. They did not hurry, of course, but they did not
lose or waste a minute. Each Arisian, from the youngest guardian up to
the oldest philosopher, tuned a part of his mind to Mentor, another
part to some one of the millions of Lensmen upon his list, and flashed
a message.
"Lensman, attend--keep your mind sensitized to this, the pattern of
Mentor of Arisia, who will speak to you as soon as all have been
alerted."
That message went throughout the First Galaxy, throughout intergalactic
space, and throughout what part of the Second Galaxy had felt the touch
of Civilization. It went to Alsakan and Vandemar and Klovia, to Thrale
and Tellus and Rigel IV, to Mars and Velantia and Palain VII, to Medon
and Venus and Centralia. It went to flitters, battleships, and loose
planets. It went to asteroids and moonlets, to planets large and small.
It went to newly graduated Lensmen and to Lensmen long since retired;
to Lensmen at work and at play. It went to every living wearer of the
First-Stage Lens of the Galactic Patrol.
Wherever the message went, turmoil followed. Lensmen everywhere flashed
questions at all the other Lensmen they knew or had ever met.
"What do you make of it, Fred?"
"Did you get the same thing I did?"
"_Mentor!_ Grinning Noshabkeming, what's up?"
"Must be big for Mentor to be handling it."
"_Big!_ It's immense! Whoever heard of Arisia stepping in before?"
"_Big!_ Colossal! Mentor never talked to anybody except Kinnison
before, did he?"
Millions of Lensed questions flooded every base and every office of
the Patrol. Nobody, not even the vice co-ordinator, knew a thing.
"You might as well stop sending in questions as to what this is all
about, because none of us knows any more about it than you do,"
Maitland finally sent out a general notice. "Apparently everybody with
a Lens is getting the same message, no more and no less. All I can say
is that it must be a Class A Prime emergency, and everyone who is not
actually tied up in a life-and-death matter will please drop everything
and stand by."
* * * * *
Mentor wanted, and had to have, high tension. He got it. Tension
mounted higher and higher as eventless hours passed and as, for the
first time in history, Patrol business slowed down almost to a stop.
And in a small cruiser, manned by four red-headed girls and one
red-headed youth, tension was also building up. The problem of
the mechanical screens had long since been solved. Atomic powered
counter-generators were in place, ready at the touch of a button to
neutralize the mechanically-generated screens of the enemy and thus
to make the engagement a mind-to-mind combat. They were as close to
Eddore's star-cluster as they could be without giving alarm. They had
had nothing to do for hours except wait. They were probably keyed up
higher than any other five Lensmen in all of space.
Kit, son of his father, was pacing the floor, chain-smoking. Constance
was alternately getting up and sitting down--up--down--up. She, too,
was smoking; or, rather, she was lighting cigarettes and throwing them
away. Kathryn was sitting, stiffly still, manufacturing Lenses which,
starting at her wrists, raced up both bare arms to her shoulders and
disappeared. Karen was meticulously sticking holes in a piece of blank
paper with a pin, making an intricate and meaningless design. Only
Camilla made any pretense of calmness, and the others knew that she was
bluffing. She was pretending to read a novel; but instead of absorbing
its full content at the rate of one glance per page, she had read half
of it word by word and still had no idea of what the story was about.
"Are you ready, Children?" Mentor's thought came in at last.
"Ready!" Without knowing how they got there, the Five found themselves
standing in the middle of the room, packed tight.
"Oh Kit, I'm shaking like a fool!" Constance wailed. "I just
_know_ I'm going to louse up this whole war!"
"QX, baby, we're all in the same fix. Can't you hear my teeth chatter?
Doesn't mean a thing. Good teams--champions--all feel the same way
before a big game starts. And this is the capital IT.
"Steady down, kids. We'll be QX as soon as the whistle blows--I hope."
"_P-s-s-t!_" Kathryn hissed. "Listen!"
"Lensmen of the Galactic Patrol!" Mentor's resonant pseudovoice filled
all space. "I, Mentor of Arisia, am calling upon you because of a
crisis in which no lesser force can be of use. You have been informed
upon the matter of Ploor. It is true that Ploor has been destroyed;
that the Ploorans, physically, are no more. You of the Lens, however,
already know dimly that the physical is not the all. Know now that
there is a residuum of nonmaterial malignancy against which all the
physical weapons of all the Universe would be completely impotent. That
evil effluvium, intrinsically vicious, is implacably opposed to every
basic concept and idea of your Patrol. It has been on the move ever
since the destruction of the planet Ploor. Unaided, we of Arisia are
not strong enough to handle it, but the massed and directed force of
your collective mind will be able to destroy it completely. If you wish
me to do so, I will supervise the work of so directing your mental
force as to encompass the complete destruction of this menace, which I
tell you most solemnly is the last weapon of power with which Boskonia
will be able to threaten Civilization. Lensmen of the Galactic Patrol,
met as one for the first time in Civilization's long history, what is
your wish?"
A tremendous wave of thought, expressed in millions of variant
phraseologies, made the wish of the Lensmen very clear indeed. They did
not know how such a thing could be done, but they were supremely eager
to have Mentor of Arisia lead them against the Boskonians, whoever and
wherever they might be.
"Your verdict is unanimous, as I had hoped and believed that it would
be. It is well. The part of each of you will be simple, but not easy.
You will all of you, individually, think of two things, and of only
two. First, of your love for and your pride in and your loyalty to your
Patrol. Second, of the clear fact that Boskonia must not and shall not
triumph over Civilization. Think these thoughts, each of you with all
the strength that in him lies.
"You need not consciously direct those thoughts. Being attuned to my
pattern, the force will flow at my direction. As it passes from you,
you will replenish it, each according to his strength. You will find it
the hardest labor you have ever performed, but it will be of permanent
harm to none and it will not be of long duration. One hour will
suffice. Are you ready?"
"WE ARE READY!" The crescendo roar of thought must have bulged the
Galaxy to its poles.
"Children--strike!"
* * * * *
The Unit struck. The outermost Eddorian screen went down. It struck
again, almost instantly. Down went the second. The third. The fourth.
It was that flawless Unit, not Camilla, who detected and analyzed
and precisely located the Eddorian guardsman handling each of those
far-flung screens. It was the Unit, not Kathryn and Kit, who drilled
the pilot hole through each Eddorian's hard-held block and enlarged it
into a working orifice. It was the Unit, not Karen, whose impenetrable
shield held stubbornly every circular mil of advantage gained in making
such ingress. It was the Unit, not Constance, who assembled and drove
home the blasts of mental force in which the Eddorians died. No time
whatever was lost in consultation or decision. Action was not only
instantaneous, but simultaneous with perception. The Children of the
Lens were not now five, but one. The UNIT.
"Come in, Mentor!" Kit snapped then. "All you Arisians and all the
Lensmen. Nothing specialized--just a general slam at the whole screen.
This fifth screen is the works--they've got twenty men on it instead
of one, and they're top-notchers. Best strategy now is for us five to
lay off for a second or two and show 'em what we've got in the line of
defense, while the rest of you fellows give 'em hell!"
Arisia and the massed Lensmen struck, a tidal wave of such tremendous
weight and power that under its impact the fifth screen sagged flat
against the planet's surface. Any one Lensman's power was small, of
course, in comparison with that of any Eddorian, but every First-Stage
Lensman of the Galactic Patrol was giving, each according to his
strength, and the output of one Lensman, multiplied by the countless
millions which was the number of Lensmen then at work, made itself
tellingly felt.
Countless? Yes. No one not of Arisia ever knew how many minds
contributed to that stupendous flood of force. Bear in mind that in the
First Galaxy alone there are over two thousand million suns: that each
sun has, on the average, something over one and thirty-seven hundredths
planets inhabited by intelligent life; that about one-half of these
planets adhere to Civilization; and that Tellus, an average planet,
graduates approximately one hundred Lensmen every year.
"So far, Kit, so good," Constance panted. Although she was no longer
trembling, she was still highly excited. "But I don't know how many
more shots like that I've ... we've ... got left in the locker."
"You're doing fine, Connie," Camilla soothed.
"Sure you are, baby. You've got plenty of jets," Kit agreed. Except
in moments of supreme stress these personal, individual exchanges of
by-thoughts did not interfere with the smooth functioning of the Unit.
"Fine work, all of you, kids. I knew that we'd get over the shakes as
soon as--"
"Watch it!" Camilla snapped. "Here comes the shock wave. Brace
yourself, Kay. Hold us together, Kit!"
The wave came. Everything that the Eddorians could send. The Unit's
barrier did not waver. After a full second of it--a time comparable to
days of continuous atomic bombing in ordinary warfare--Karen, who had
been standing stiff and still, began to relax.
"This is too, _too_ easy," she declared. "Who is helping me? I
can't feel anything, but I simply know that I haven't got this much
stuff. You, Cam--or is it all of you?" Not one of the Five was as yet
thoroughly familiar with the operating characteristics of the Unit.
"All of us, more or less, but mostly Kit," Camilla decided after a
moment's thought. "He's got the weight of an inert planet."
"Not me," Kit denied, vigorously. "Must be you other kids. Feels to me
like Kat, mostly. All I'm doing is just sort of leaning up against you
a little--just in case. I haven't done a thing so far."
"Oh, no? Sure not!" Kathryn giggled, an infectious chuckle inherited or
copied directly from her mother. "We know it, and that you're going to
keep on loafing all the rest of the day. You wouldn't think of doing
anything, even if you could. Just the same, we're all mighty glad that
our big brother is here!"
"QX, kids, seal the chatter. We've had time to learn that they can't
crack us--so have they, by the way--so let's get to work."
Since the Unit was now under continuous attack, its technique would
have to be entirely different from that used previously. Its barrier
must vanish for an infinitesimal period of time, during which it must
simultaneously detect and blast. Or, rather, the blast would have to
be directed in mid-flight, while the Unit's own block was open. Nor
could that block be open for more than the barest possible instant
before or after the passage of the bolt. It is true that the attack of
the Eddorians compared with that of the Unit very much as the steady
pressure of burning propellant powder compares with the disruptive
force of detonating duodec; even so it would have wrought much damage
to the minds of the Five had any of it been allowed to reach them.
Also, like parachute-jumping, this technique could not be practiced.
Since the timing had to be so nearly absolute, the first two shots
missed their targets completely; but the Unit learned fast. Eddorian
after Eddorian died.
* * * * *
"Help, All-Highest, help!" a high Eddorian appealed, finally.
"What is it?" His Ultimate Supremacy, knowing that only utter
desperation could be back of such intrusion, wasted no time.
"It is this new Arisian entity--"
"It is not an entity, fool, but a fusion," came curt reprimand. "We
decided that point long ago."
"An entity, I say!" In his urgency the operator committed the
unpardonable by omitting the titles of address. "No possible fusion
can attain such perfection of timing, of synchronization. Our best
fusions have attempted to match it, and have failed. Its screens are
impenetrable. Its thrusts cannot be blocked. My message is this: Solve
for us, and quickly, the problem of this entity. If you do not or
cannot do so, we perish all of us, even to you of the Innermost Circle."
"Think you so?" The thought was a sneer. "If your fusions cannot match
those of the Arisians you should die, and the loss will be small."
* * * * *
The fifth screen went down. For the first time in untold ages the
planet of Eddore lay bare to the Arisian mind. There were inner
defenses, of course, but Kit knew every one; their strengths and their
weaknesses. He had long since spread in Mentor's mind an exact and
completely detailed chart; they had long since drawn up a completely
detailed plan of campaign. Nevertheless, Kit could not keep from
advising Mentor:
"Pick off any who may try to get away. Start on Area B and work up. Be
sure, though, to lay off of Area K or you'll get your beard singed off."
"The plan is being followed," Mentor assured him. "Children, you have
done very well indeed. Rest now, and recuperate your powers against
that which is yet to come."
"QX. Unlace yourselves, kids. Loosen up. Unlax. I'll break out a few
beakers of fayalin, and all of us--you especially, Con--had better eat
ten or fifteen of these candy bars."
"_Eat!_ Why, I _couldn't_--" Kit insisted, and Constance took
an experimental bite. "But say, I _am_ hungry, at that!"
"Of course you are. We've been putting out some stuff, and there's more
and worse coming. Now rest, all of you."
* * * * *
They rested. Somewhat to their surprise, they were now seasoned enough
campaigners so that they could rest; even Constance. But the respite
was short. Area K, the headquarters and the citadel of His Ultimate
Supremacy and the Innermost Circle of the Boskonian Empire, contained
all that remained of Eddorian life.
"No tight linkage yet, kids," Kit the Organizer went smoothly to work.
"Individual effort--a flash of fusion, perhaps, now and then, if any
of us call for it, but no Unit until I give the word. Then give it
everything you've got. Cam, analyze that screen and set us up a pattern
for it--you'll find that it'll take some doing. See whether it's
absolutely homogenous--hunt for weak spots, if any. Con, narrow down
to the sharpest needle you can possibly make and start pecking. Not
too hard--don't tire yourself--just to get acquainted with the texture
of the thing and keep them awake. Kay, take over our guard so that
Eukonidor can join the other Arisians. Kat, come along with me--you'll
have to help with the Arisians until I call you into the Unit.
"You Arisians, except Mentor, blanket this dome. Thinner than
that--solider, harder--there. A trifle off-balance yet--give me just a
little more, here on this side. QX--hold it right there! SQUEEZE! Kat,
watch 'em. Hold them right there and in balance until you're sure that
the Eddorians aren't going to be able to put any bulges up through the
blanket.
"Now, Mentor, you and the Lensmen. Tell them to give us, for the next
five seconds, absolutely everything that they can deliver. When they're
at absolute peak, hit us with it all. Hit us dead center, and don't
pull your punch. We'll be ready.
"Con, get ready to stick that needle there--they'll think it's just
another peck, I hope--and prepare to blast as you never blasted before.
Kay, get ready to drop that screen and stiffen the needle--when those
Lensmen hit us even you will know that you're not just being patted on
the back. The rest of us will brace you and keep the shock from killing
us all. Here it comes. Make Unit! GO!"
The Unit struck. The needle of pure force drove against the Eddorians'
supposedly absolutely impenetrable shield. The Unit's thrust was, of
itself, like nothing ever before known. The Lensmen's pile-driver
blow--the integrated sum total of the top effort of every First-Stage
Lensman of the entire Galactic Patrol--was of itself irresistible.
Something had to give way.
For an instant it seemed as though nothing were happening or ever
would happen. Strong young arms laced the straining Five into a group
as motionless and as sculpturesque as statuary, while between their
bodies and around them there came into being a gigantic Lens--a Lens
whose splendor filled the entire room with radiance.
Under that awful concentration of force something _had_ to give
way. The Unit held. The Arisians held. The Lensmen held. The needle
of force, superlatively braced, neither bent nor broke. Therefore the
Eddorians' screen was punctured; and in the instant of its puncturing
it disappeared as does a bubble when it breaks.
There was no mopping-up to do. Such was the torrent of force cascading
into that citadel that within a moment after its shield went down all
life within it was snuffed out.
The Boskonian War was over.