Here, upon the background of a blackness so intense as to be obviously
barren of nebular material, there lay a multitude of blazingly
resplendent stars--and nothing except stars. A few hundred were of a
visual magnitude of about minus three. Approximately the same number
were of minus two or thereabouts, and so on down; but there did not
seem to be a star or other celestial object in that starkly incredible
sky of an apparent magnitude greater than about plus four.
"What do you make of this, Sir Austin?" Kinnison asked, quietly. "It's
got me stopped like a traffic light."
The mathematician ran toward him and the Lensman stared. He had never
known Cardynge to hurry--in fact, he was not really running now. He was
walking, even though his legs were fairly twinkling in their rapidity
of motion. As he approached Kinnison his mad pace gradually slowed to
normal.
"Oh--time must be cockeyed here, too," the Lensman observed. "Look over
there--see how fast those fellows are moving, and how slow those others
over that way are?"
"Ah, yes. Interesting--intensely interesting. Truly, a most remarkable
and intriguing phenomenon," the fascinated mathematician enthused.
"But that wasn't what I meant. Swing this plate--it's on visual--around
outside, so as to get the star aspect and distribution. What do you
think of it?"
"Peculiar--I might almost say unique," the scientist concluded, after
his survey. "Not at all like any normal configuration or arrangement
with which I am familiar. We could perhaps speculate, but would it not
be preferable to secure data first? Say by approaching a solar system
and conducting systematic investigations?"
"Uh-huh"--and again Kinnison stared at the wispy little physicist in
surprise. Here was a _man_! "You're certainly something to tie to,
ace, do you know it?" he asked, admiringly. Then, as Cardynge gazed at
him questioningly, incomprehendingly:
"Skip it. Can you hear me, Henderson?"
"Yes--just barely."
"Shoot us across to one of those nearer stars, stop, and go inert."
"QX, chief." The pilot obeyed.
And in the instant of inerting, the visiplate into which the two men
stared went blank. The thousands of stars studding the sky a moment
before had disappeared as though they had never been.
"Why.... What.... How in all the yellow hells of space can _that_
happen?" Kinnison blurted.
Without a word, Cardynge reached out and snapped the plate's receiver
over from "visual" to "ultra," whereupon the stars reappeared as
suddenly as they had vanished.
"Something's screwy somewhere!" the Lensman protested. "We _can't_
have an inert velocity greater than that of light--it's impossible!"
"Few things, if any, can be said definitely to be impossible; and
everything is relative, not absolute," the old scientist declared,
pompously. "This space, for instance. You have not yet perceived, I
see, even that you are not in the same three-dimensional space in which
we have heretofore existed."
Kinnison gulped. He was going to protest about that, too, but in the
face of Cardynge's unperturbed acceptance of the fact he did not quite
dare to say what he had in mind.
"That is better," the old man declaimed. "Do not get excited--to
do so dulls the mind. Take nothing for granted, do not jump at
conclusions--to commit either of those errors will operate powerfully
against success. Working hypotheses, young man, must be based upon
accurately determined facts; not upon mere guesses, superstitions, or
the figments of personal prejudices."
"Bub-bub-but ... QX--skip it!" Nine-tenths of the _Dauntless'_
crew would have gone out of control at the impact of the knowledge of
what had happened; even Kinnison's powerful mind was shaken. Cardynge,
however, was--not seemed to be, but actually was--as calm and as
self-contained as though he were in his own quiet study. "Explain it to
me, will you please, in words of as nearly one syllable as possible?"
"Our looser thinkers have for centuries speculated upon the possibility
of an entire series of different spaces existing simultaneously, side
by side in a hypothetical hypercontinuum. I have never indulged in
such time-wasting; but now that actual corroborative data have become
available, I regard it as a highly fruitful field of investigation.
Two extremely significant facts have already become apparent; the
variability of time and the non-applicability of our so-called 'laws'
of motion. Different spaces, different laws, it would seem."
"But when we cut our generators in that other tube we emerged into our
own space," Kinnison argued. "How do you account for that?"
"I do not as yet try to account for it!" Cardynge snapped. "Two very
evident possibilities should already be apparent, even to your feeble
brain. One, that at the moment of release your vessel happened to be
situated within a fold of our own space. Two, that the collapse of the
ship's force fields always returns it to its original space, while
the collapse of those of the shore station always forces it into some
other space. In the latter case, it would be reasonable to suppose
that the persons or beings at the other end of the tube may have
suspected that we were following Kandron, and, as soon as he landed,
cut off their forces deliberately to throw us out of space. They may
even have learned that persons of lesser ability, so treated, never
return. Do not allow yourself to be at all impressed by any of these
possibilities, however, as the truth may very well lie in something
altogether different. Bear it in mind that we have as yet very little
data upon which to formulate any theories, and that the truth can be
revealed only by a very careful, accurate, and thorough investigation.
Please note also that I would surely have discovered and evaluated all
these unknowns during the course of my as yet incomplete study of our
own hyperspatial tubes; that I am merely continuing here a research in
which I have already made noteworthy progress."
Kinnison really gasped at that--the guy was certainly terrific! He
called the chief pilot. "Go free, Hen, and start flitting for a
planet--we've got to sit down somewhere before we can start back home.
When you find one, land free. Stay free, and watch your Bergs--I don't
have to tell you what will happen if they quit on us."
[Illustration: _"I will not have my mind invaded," Kim snapped. "That
is a violation of my personal privacy I will not yield!"_]
Then Thorndyke. "Verne? Break out some personal neutralizers. We've got
a job of building to do--inertialess"--and he explained to both men
in flashing thoughts what had happened and what they had to do.
"You grasp the basic idea, Kinnison," Cardynge approved, "that it
is necessary to construct a station apart from the vessel in which
we propose to return to our normal environment. You err grievously,
however, in your insistence upon the necessity of discovering a planet,
satellite, asteroid, or other similar celestial body upon which to
build it."
"Huh?" Kinnison demanded.
"It is eminently possible--yes, even practicable--for us to use the
_Dauntless_ as an anchorage for the tube and for us to return in
the lifeboats," Cardynge pointed out.
"What? Abandon this ship? Waste all that time rebuilding all the boats?"
"It is preferable, of course, and more expeditious, to find a planet,
if possible," the scientist conceded. "However, it is plain that it is
in no sense necessary. Your reasoning is fallacious, your phraseology
is deplorable. I am correcting you in the admittedly faint hope of
teaching you scientific accuracy of thought and of statement."
"Wow! Wottaman!" Kinnison breathed to himself, as, heroically, he
"skipped it."
* * * * *
Somewhat to Kinnison's surprise--he had more than half expected that
planets would be nonexistent in that space--the pilots did find a solid
world upon which to land. It was a peculiar planet indeed. It did
not move right, it did not look right, it did not feel right. It was
waterless, airless, desolate; a senseless jumble of jagged fragments,
mostly metallic. It was neither hot nor cold--indeed, it seemed to have
no temperature of its own at all. There was nothing whatever right
about it, Kinnison declared.
"Oh, yes, there is!" Thorndyke contradicted. "Time is constant here,
whatever its absolute rate may be, these metals are nice to work
with, and some of this other stuff will make insulation. Or hadn't
you thought of that? Which would be faster, cutting down an intrinsic
velocity of fifteen lights to zero or building the projector out of
native materials? And if you match intrinsics, what will happen when
you hit our normal space again?"
"Plenty, probably ... uh-huh, faster to use the stuff that belongs
here. Careful, though, fella!"
And care was indeed necessary; extreme care that not a particle of
matter from the ship was used in the construction and that not a
particle of the planet's substance by any mischance got aboard the
spaceship.
The actual work was simple enough. Cardynge knew exactly what had to be
done. Thorndyke knew exactly how to do it, as he had built precisely
similar generators for the experimental tubes upon Tellus. He had a
staff of experts; the _Dauntless_ carried a machine shop and
equipment second to none. Raw material was abundant, and it was an easy
matter to block out an inertialess room within which the projectors and
motors were built. And, after they were built, they worked.
It was not the work, then, but the strain which wore Kinnison down. The
constant, wearing strain of incessant vigilance to be sure that the
Bergenholms and the small units of the personal neutralizers did not
falter for a single instant. He did not lose a man, but again and again
there flashed into his mind the ghastly picture of one of his boys
colliding with the solid metal of the planet at a relative velocity
fifteen times that of light! The strain of the endless checking and
rechecking to make certain that there was no exchange of material,
however slight, between the ship and the planet.
Above all, the strain of knowing a thing which, apparently, no one else
suspected: that Cardynge, with all his mathematical knowledge, was not
going to be able to find his way back! He had never spoken of this to
the scientist. He did not have to. He knew that without a knowledge of
the fundamental distinguishing characteristics of our normal space--a
knowledge even less to be expected than that a fish should know the
fundamental equations and structure of water--they never could, save
by sheerest accident, return to their own space. And as Cardynge grew
more and more tensely, unsocially immersed in his utterly insoluble
problem, the more and more uneasy the Gray Lensman became. But this
last difficulty was resolved first, and in a totally unexpected fashion.
* * * * *
"Ah, Kinnison of Tellus, here you are--I have been considering your
case for some twenty-nine of your seconds," a deep, well-remembered
voice resounded within his brain.
"Mentor!" he exclaimed, and at the sheer shock of his relief he came
very near indeed to fainting. "Thank Klono and Noshabkeming you found
us! How did you do it? How do we get ourselves out of here?"
"Finding you was elementary," the Arisian replied, calmly. "Since you
were not in your own environment you must be elsewhere. If my mind had
been really competent, I would have foreseen this event in detail. Even
though I did not so foresee it, however, it required but little thought
to perceive that it was a logical, in fact, an inevitable, development.
Such being the case, it needed very little additional effort to
determine what had happened, and how, and why; likewise precisely
where you must now be. As for departure therefrom, your mechanical
preparations are both correct and adequate. I could give you the
necessary knowledge, but it is rather technically specialized and not
negligible in amount; and since your brain is of very limited capacity,
it is better not to fill any part of it with mathematics for which you
will have no subsequent use. Put yourself _en rapport_, therefore,
with Sir Austin Cardynge. I will follow."
He did so, and as mind met mind there ensued a conversation whose
barest essentials Kinnison could not even dimly grasp. For Cardynge, as
has been said, could think in the universal language of mathematics;
in the esoteric symbology which very few minds have ever been able
even partially to master. The Lensman did not get it, nor any part of
it; he knew only that in that to him completely meaningless gibberish
the Arisian was describing to the physicist, exactly and fully, the
distinguishing characteristics of a vast number of parallel and
simultaneously coexistent spaces.
If that was "rather" technical stuff, the awed Lensman wondered, what
would really deep stuff be like? Not that he wanted to find out! No
wonder these mathematical wizards were nuts--went off the beam--he'd be
pure squirrel food if he had half that stuff in _his_ skull!
But Sir Austin took to it like a cat lapping up cream or doing away
with the canary. He brightened visibly; he swelled; and, when the
Arisian had withdrawn from his mind, he preened himself and swaggered
as he made meticulous adjustments of the delicate meters and controls
which the technicians had already built.
Preparations complete, Cardynge threw in the switches and everything
belonging to the _Dauntless_ was rushed aboard. The neutralizers,
worn so long and cherished so assiduously, were taken off with profound
sighs of relief. The vessel was briefly, tentatively inerted. QX--no
faster-than-light meteorites tore volatilizingly through her mass. So
far, so good.
Then the ship's generators were energized and smoothly, effortlessly
the big battle wagon took the interdimensional plunge. There came
the expected, but nevertheless almost unendurable acceleration; the
imperceptible, unloggable flight through the drably featureless
grayness; the horrible deceleration. Stars flashed beautifully upon the
plates.
"We made it!" Kinnison shouted in relief when he had assured himself
that they had emerged into "real" space inside the Second Galaxy, only
a few parsecs away from their point of departure. "By Klono's golden
grin, Sir Austin, you figured it to a red whisker! And when the Society
meets, Tuesday week, won't you just blast that ape Weingarde to a
cinder? Hot dog!"
"Having the basic data, the solution and the application followed of
necessity--automatically--uniquely," the scientist said, austerely. He
was highly pleased with himself, he was tremendously flattered by the
Lensman's ebullient praise; but not for anything conceivable would he
have so admitted.
"Well, the first thing we had better do is to find out what time of
what day it is," Kinnison went on, as he directed a beam to the Patrol
headquarters upon Klovia.
"Better ask 'em the year, too," Henderson put in, pessimistically--he
had missed Illona poignantly--but it was not that bad.
In fact, it was not bad at all; they had been gone only a little over
a week of Thralian time. This finding pleased Kinnison immensely, as
he had been more than half afraid that it had been a month. He could
explain a week easily enough, but anything over two weeks would have
been tough to handle.
The supplies of the Thralian speedster were adjusted to fit the actual
elapsed time, and Worsel and Kinnison engraved upon the minds of the
five unconscious Guardsmen completely detailed--even though equally
completely fictitious--memories of what they and Major Gannel had
done since leaving Thrale. Their memories were not exactly alike, of
course--each man had had different duties and experiences, and no two
observers see precisely the same things even while watching the same
event--but they were very convincing. Also, and fortunately, not even
the slightest scars were left by the operations, for in these cases no
memory chain had to be broken at any point.
* * * * *
The _Dauntless_ blasted off for Klovia; the speedster started for
Thrale. Kinnison's crew woke up--without having any inkling that they
had ever been unconscious or that their knowledge of recent events did
not jibe exactly with the actual occurrences--and resumed work.
Immediately upon landing, Kinnison turned in a full official report
of the mission, giving himself neither too much nor too little credit
for what had been accomplished. They had found a Patrol sneak-boat
near Line 11. They had chased it so many parsecs, upon such-and-such a
course, before forcing it to engage. They had crippled it and boarded,
bringing away material, described as follows, which had been turned
over to Space Intelligence. And so on. It would hold, Kinnison knew;
and it would be corroborated fully by the ultraprivate reports which
his men would make to their real bosses.
The colonel made good; hence with due pomp and ceremony Major Traska
Gannel was inducted into the Household. He was given one of the
spy-ray-screened cigarette boxes in which Alcon's most trusted officers
were allowed to carry their private, secret insignia. Kinnison was
glad to get that--he could carry his Lens with him now, if the thing
was really ray proof, instead of leaving it buried in a can outside the
city limits.
The Lensman went to his first meeting of the Advisory Cabinet with his
mind set on a hair trigger. He hadn't been around Alcon very much, but
he knew that the Tyrant had a stronger mind shield than any untreated
human being had any right to have. He'd have to play this mighty close
to his chest--he didn't want any zwilnik reading his mind, yet he
didn't want to create suspicion by revealing the fact that he, too, had
an impenetrable block.
As he approached the cabinet chamber he walked into a zone of hypnosis,
and practically bounced. He threw up his head: it was all he could
do to keep his barriers down. It was general, he knew, not aimed
specifically at him--to fight the hypnotist would be to call attention
to himself as the only man able either to detect his work or to resist
him; would give the whole show away. Therefore he let the thing take
hold--with reservations--of his mind. He studied it. He analyzed it.
Sight only, eh? QX--he'd let Alcon have superficial control, and he
wouldn't put too much faith in anything he saw.
He entered the room; and, during the preliminaries, he reached out
delicately, to touch imperceptibly mind after mind. All the ordinary
officers were on the level; now he'd see about the prime minister. He'd
heard a lot about this Fossten, but had never met him before--he'd see
what the guy really had on the ball.
He did not find out, however. He did not even touch his mind, for that
worthy also had an automatic block; a block as effective as Alcon's or
as Kinnison's own.
Sight was unreliable; how about the sense of perception? He tried it,
very daintily and gingerly, upon Alcon's feet, legs, arms, and torso.
Alcon was real, and present in the flesh. Then the premier--and he
yanked his sense back, canceled it, appalled. Perception was blocked,
at exactly what his eyes told him was the fellow's skin!
That tore it--that busted it wide open. What in all the nine iridescent
hells did that mean? He didn't know of anything except a thought-screen
that could stop a sense of perception. He thought intensely. Alcon's
mind was bad enough. It had been treated, certainly; mind shields like
that didn't grow naturally on human or near-human beings. Maybe the
Eich, or the race of super-Eich to which Kandron belonged, could give
mental treatments of that kind. Fossten, though, was worse.
Alcon's boss! Probably not a man at all. It was he, it was clear,
and not Alcon, who was putting out the zone of compulsion. An Eich,
maybe? No, he was a warm-blooded oxygen breather; a frigid-blooded
super-big-shot would make Alcon come to him. A monster, almost
certainly, though; possibly of a type Kinnison had never seen before.
Working by remote control? Possibly; but probably he was smaller than
a man and was actually inside the dummy that everybody thought was the
prime minister--that was it, for all the tea in China--
* * * * *
"And what do you think, Major Gannel?" the prime minister asked,
smoothly, insinuating his mind into Kinnison's as he spoke.
Kinnison, who knew that they had been discussing an invasion of the
First Galaxy, hesitated as though in thought. He was thinking, too, and
ultracarefully. If that ape was out to do a job of digging he'd never
dig again--QX, he was just checking Gannel's real thoughts against what
he was going to say.
"Since I am such a newcomer to this Council I do not feel as though
my opinions should be given too much weight," Kinnison said--and
thought--slowly, with the exactly correct amount of obsequiousness.
"However, I have a very decided opinion upon the matter. I believe very
firmly that it would be better tactics to consolidate our position here
in our own galaxy first."
"You advise, then, against any immediate action against Tellus?" the
prime minister asked. "Why?"
"I do, definitely. It seems to me that shortsighted, half-prepared
measures, based upon careless haste, were the underlying causes of our
recent reverses. Time is not an important factor--the Great Plan was
worked out, not in terms of days or of years, but of centuries and
millennia--and it seems self-evident that we should make ourselves
impregnably secure, then expand slowly; seeing to it that we can hold,
against everything that the Patrol can bring to bear, every planet that
we take."
"Do you realize that you are criticizing the chiefs of staff who are in
complete charge of military operations?" Alcon asked, venomously.
"Fully," the Lensman replied coldly. "I ventured this opinion because
I was asked specifically for it. The chiefs of staff failed, did
they not? If they had succeeded, criticism would have been neither
appropriate nor forthcoming. As it is, I do not believe that mere
criticism of their conduct, abilities, and tactics is sufficient. They
should be disciplined and demoted. New chiefs should be chosen; persons
abler and more efficient than the present incumbents."
This was a bomb shell. Dissentions waxed rife and raucous, but amidst
the turmoil the Lensman received from the prime minister a flash of
coldly congratulatory approval.
And as Major Traska Gannel made his way back to his quarters two
things were starkly plain:
First, he would have to cut Alcon down and himself become the Tyrant of
Thrale. It was unthinkable to attack or to destroy this planet. It had
too many too promising leads--there were too many things that didn't
make sense--above all, there were the stupendous files of information
which no one mind could scan in a lifetime.
Second, if he wanted to keep on living he would have to keep his
detector shoved out to maximum--this prime minister was just about as
touchy and just about as safe to play with as a hundred kilograms of
dry nitrogen iodide!