Far out in the depths of the intergalactic void there sped along upon
its strange course the newly materialized planet of the intellectuals.
Desolate and barren it was, and apparently destitute of life; but
life was there--eternal, disembodied life, unaffected by any possible
extreme of heat or cold, requiring for its continuance neither water
nor air, nor, for that matter, any material substance whatsoever. And
from somewhere in the vacuum above that planet's forbidding surface
there emanated a thought--a thought coldly clear, abysmally hopeless.
"I have but one remaining aim in this life. While I have failed again,
as I have failed innumerable times in the past, I shall keep on trying
until I succeed in assembling in sufficient strength the exact forces
necessary to disrupt this sixth-order pattern which is I."
"You speak foolishly, Eight, as does each of us now and again," came
instant response. "There is much more to see, much more to do, much
more to learn. Why be discouraged or disheartened? An infinity of time
is necessary in which to explore infinite space and to acquire infinite
knowledge."
"Foolish I may be, but this is no simple recurrent outburst of
melancholia. I am definitely weary of this cycle of existence, and
I wish to pass on to the next, whatever of experience or of sheer
oblivion it may bring. In fact, I wish that you, One, had never worked
out the particular pattern of forces that liberated our eleven minds
from the so-called shackles of our material bodies. For we cannot die.
We are simply patterns of force eternal, marking the passage of time
only by the life cycles of the suns of the Galaxies.
"Why, I envy even the creatures inhabiting the planets throughout
the Galaxy we visited but a moment ago. Partially intelligent though
they are, struggling and groping, each individual dying after only a
fleeting instant of life; born, growing old, and passing on in a minute
fraction of a millionth of one cycle--yet I envy even them."
"That was the reason you did not dematerialize those you accompanied
briefly while they were flitting about in their crude space ship?"
"Yes. Being alive for such an infinitesimal period of time, they value
life highly. Why hurry them into the future that is so soon to be
theirs?"
"Do not dwell upon such thoughts, Eight," advised One. "They lead only
to greater and greater depths of despondency. Consider instead what we
have done and what we shall do."
"I have considered everything, at length," the entity known as Eight
thought back stubbornly. "What benefit or satisfaction do we get out
of this continuous sojourn in the cycle of existence from which we
should have departed æons ago? We have power, it is true, but what of
it? It is barren. We create for ourselves bodies and their material
surroundings, like this"--the great hall came into being, and so vast
was the mentality creating it that the flow of thought continued
without a break--"but what of it? We do not enjoy them as lesser beings
enjoy the bodies which to them are synonymous with life.
"We have traveled endlessly, we have seen much, we have studied much;
but what of it? Fundamentally we have accomplished nothing and we know
nothing. We know but little more than we knew countless thousands of
cycles ago, when our home planet was still substance. We know nothing
of time; we know nothing of space; we know nothing even of the fourth
dimension save that the three of us who rotated themselves into it have
never returned. And until one of us succeeds in building a neutralizing
pattern we can never die--we must face a drab and cheerless eternity of
existence as we now are."
"An eternity, yes, but an eternity neither drab nor cheerless. We know
but little, as you have said, but in that fact lies a stimulus; we can
and shall go on forever, learning more and ever more. Think of it! But
hold--what is that? I feel a foreign thought. It must emanate from a
mind powerful indeed to have come so far."
"I have felt them. There are four foreign minds, but they are
unimportant."
"Have you analyzed them?"
"Yes. They are the people of the space ship which we just mentioned;
projecting their mentalities to us here."
"Projecting mentalities? Such a low form of life? They must have
learned much from you, Eight."
"Perhaps I did give them one or two hints," Eight returned, utterly
indifferent, "but they are of no importance to us."
"I am not so sure of that," One mused. "We found no others in that
Galaxy capable of so projecting themselves, nor did we find any beings
possessing minds sufficiently strong to be capable of existence without
the support of a material body. It may be that they are sufficiently
advanced to join us. Even if they are not, if their minds should prove
too weak for our company, they are undoubtedly strong enough to be of
use in one of my researches."
* * * * *
At this point Seaton cut off the projections and began to muster his
sixth-order defenses, therefore he did not "hear" Eight's outburst
against the proposal of his leader.
"I will not allow it, One!" the disembodied intelligence protested
intensely. "Rather than have you inflict upon them the eternity of
life that we have suffered I shall myself dematerialize them. Much as
they love life, it would be infinitely better for them to spare a few
minutes of it than to live forever."
But there was no reply. One had vanished; had darted at utmost speed
toward the _Skylark_. Eight followed him instantly. Light-centuries of
distance meant no more to them than to Seaton's own projector, and they
soon reached the hurtling space ship; a space ship moving with all its
unthinkable velocity, yet to them motionless--what is velocity when
there are no reference points by which to measure it?
"Back, Eight!" commanded One abruptly. "They are inclosed in a
nullifying wall of the sixth order. They are indeed advanced in
mentality."
"A complete stasis in the sub-ether?" Eight marveled, "That will do as
well as the pattern--"
"Greetings, strangers!" Seaton's thought interrupted. Thoughts as
clear as those require no interpretation of language. "My projection
is here, outside the wall, but I might caution you that one touch
of your patterns will cut it off and stiffen that wall to absolute
impenetrability. I assume that your visit is friendly?"
"Eminently so," replied One. "I offer you the opportunity of joining
us; or, at least, the opportunity of being of assistance to science in
the attempt at joining us."
"They want us to join them as pure intellectuals, folks." Seaton turned
from the projector, toward his friends. "How about it, Dottie? We've
got quite a few things to do yet in the flesh, haven't we?"
"I'll say we have, Dickie--don't be an idiot!" She chuckled.
"Sorry, One!" Seaton thought again into space. "Your invitation is
appreciated to the full, and we thank you for it, but we have too many
things to do in our own lives and upon our own world to accept it at
this time. Later on, perhaps, we could do so with profit."
"You will accept it _now_," One declared coldly. "Do you imagine that
your puny wills can withstand _mine_ for a single instant?"
"I don't know; but, aided by certain mechanical devices of ours, I do
know that they'll do a terrific job of trying!" Seaton blazed back.
"There is one thing that I believe you can do," Eight put in. "Your
barrier wall should be able to free me from this intolerable condition
of eternal life!" And he hurled himself forward with all his
prodigious force against that nullifying wall.
Instantly the screen flamed into incandescence; converters and
generators whined and shrieked as hundreds of pounds of power uranium
disappeared under that awful load. But the screens held, and in an
instant it was over. Eight was gone, disrupted into the future life for
which he had so longed, and the impregnable wall was once more merely
a tenuous veil of sixth-order vibrations. Through that veil Seaton's
projection crept warily; but the inhuman, monstrous mentality poised
just beyond it made no demonstration.
"Eight committed suicide, as he has so often tried to do," One
commented coldly, "but, after all, his loss will be felt with relief,
if at all. His dissatisfaction was an actual impediment to the
advancement of our entire group. And now, feeble intellect, I will let
you know what is in store for you, before I direct against you forces
which will render your screens inoperative and therefore make further
interchange of thought impossible. You shall be dematerialized; and,
whether your minds are strong enough to exist in the free state, your
entities shall be of some small assistance to me before you pass on to
the next cycle of existence. What substance do you disintegrate for
power?"
"That is none of your business, and since you cannot drive a ray
through this screen you will never find out!" Seaton snapped.
"It matters little," One rejoined, unmoved. "Were you employing pure
neutronium and were your vessel entirely filled with it, yet in a
short time it would be exhausted. For, know you, I have summoned the
other members of our group. We are able to direct cosmic forces which,
although not infinite in magnitude, are to all intents and purposes
inexhaustible. In a brief time your power will be gone, and I shall
then confer with you again."
* * * * *
The other mentalities flashed up in response to the call of their
leader, and at his direction arranged themselves all about the
far-flung outer screen of the _Skylark_. Then from all space, directed
inward, there converged upon the space ship gigantic streamers of
force. Invisible streamers, and impalpable, but under their fierce
impacts the defensive screens of the Terrestrial vessel flared into
even more frenzied displays of pyrotechnic incandescence than they
had exhibited under the heaviest beams of the superdreadnought of the
Fenachrone. For thousands of miles space became filled with coruscantly
luminous discharges as the uranium-driven screens of the _Skylark_
dissipated the awful force of the attack.
"I don't see how they can keep that up for very long." Seaton frowned
as he read his meters and saw at what an appalling rate their store
of metal was decreasing. "But he talked as though he knew his stuff.
I wonder if--um--um--" He fell silent, thinking intensely, while the
others watched his face in strained attention; then went on: "Uh-huh, I
see--he _can_ do it--he wasn't kidding us."
"How?" asked Crane tensely.
"But how can he, possibly, Dick?" cried Dorothy. "Why, they aren't
_anything_, really!"
"They can't store up power in themselves, of course, but we know
that all space is pervaded by radiation--theoretically a source of
power that outclasses us as much as we outclass mule power. Nobody
that I know of ever tapped it before, and I can't tap it yet; but
they've tapped it and can direct it. The directing is easy enough to
understand--just like a kid shooting a high-power rifle. He doesn't
have to furnish energy for the bullet, you know--he merely touches off
the powder and tells the bullet where to go.
"But we're not quite sunk yet. I see one chance; and even though it's
pretty slim, I'd take it before I would knuckle down to his nibs out
there. Eight said something a while ago, remember, about 'rotating'
into the fourth dimension? I've been mulling the idea around in my
mind. I'd say that as a last resort we might give it a whirl and take a
chance on coming through. See anything else that looks at all feasible,
Mart?"
"Not at the present moment," Crane replied calmly. "How much time have
we?"
"About forty hours at the present rate of dissipation. It's constant,
so they've probably focused everything they can bring to bear on us."
"You cannot attack them in any way? Apparently the sixth-order zone of
force kills them?"
"Not a chance. If I open a slit one kilocycle wide anywhere in the band
they'll find it instantly and it'll be curtains for us. And even if I
could fight them off and work through that slit I couldn't drive a zone
into them--their velocity is the same as that of the zone, you know,
and they'd simply bounce back with it. If I could pen them up into a
spherical--um--um--no use, can't do it with this equipment. If we had
Rovol and Caslor and a few others of the Firsts of Norlamin here, and
had a month or so of time, maybe we could work out something, but I
couldn't even start it alone in the time we've got."
"But even if we decide to try the fourth dimension, how could you do
it? Surely that dimension is merely a mathematical concept, with no
actual existence in nature?"
"No; it's actual enough, I think--nature's a big field, you know, and
contains a lot of unexplored territory. Remember how casually that
Eight thing out there discussed it? It isn't how to get there that's
biting me; it's only that those intellectuals can stand a lot more
grief than we can, and conditions in the region of the fourth dimension
probably wouldn't suit us any too well.
"However, we wouldn't have to be there for more than a hundred
thousandth of a second to dodge this gang, and we could stand almost
anything that long, I imagine. As to how to do it--rotation. Three
pairs of rotating, high-amperage currents, at mutual right angles,
converging upon a point. Remembering that any rotating current exerts
its force at a right angle, what would happen?"
"It might, at that," Crane conceded, after minutes of narrow-eyed
concentration; then, Crane-wise, began to muster objections. "But it
would not so affect this vessel. She is altogether too large, is of the
wrong shape, and--"
"And you can't pull yourself up by your own boot straps," Seaton
interrupted. "Right--you've got to have something to work from,
something to anchor your forces to. We'd make the trip in little old
_Skylark Two_. She's small, she's spherical, and she has so little mass
compared to _Three_ that rotating her out of space would be a lead-pipe
cinch--it wouldn't even shift _Three's_ reference planes."
"It might prove successful," Crane admitted at last, "and, if so,
it could not help but be a very interesting and highly informative
experience. However, the chance of success seems to be none too great,
as you have said, and we must exhaust every other possibility before we
decide to attempt it."
* * * * *
For hours then the two scientists went over every detail of their
situation, but could evolve no other plan which held out even the
slightest gleam of hope for a successful outcome; and Seaton seated
himself before the banked and tiered keyboards of his projector.
There he worked for perhaps half an hour, then called to Crane: "I've
got everything set to spin _Two_ out to where we're going, Mart. Now if
you and Shiro"--for Crane's former "man" and the _Skylark's_ factotum
was now quite as thoroughly familiar with Norlaminian forces as he had
formerly been with Terrestrial tools--"will put some forces onto the
job of getting her ready for anything you think we may meet up with,
I'll put in the rest of the time trying to figure out a way of taking a
good stiff poke at those jaspers out there."
He knew that the zones of force surrounding his vessel were absolutely
impenetrable to any wave propagated through the ether, and to any
possible form of material substance. He knew also that the sub-ether
was blocked, through the fifth and sixth orders. He knew that it was
hopeless to attempt to solve the problem of the seventh order in the
time at his disposal.
If he were to open any of his zones, even for an instant, in order to
launch a direct attack, he knew that the immense mentalities to which
he was opposed would perceive the opening and through it would wreak
the Terrestrials' dematerialization before he could send out a single
beam.
Last and worst, he knew that not even his vast console afforded any
combination of forces which could possibly destroy the besieging
intellectuals. What _could_ he do?
For hours he labored with all the power of his wonderful brain, now
stored with all the accumulated knowledge of thousands upon thousands
of years of Norlaminian research. He stopped occasionally to eat, and
once, at his wife's insistence, he snatched a little troubled and
uneasy sleep; but his mind drove him back to his board and at that
board he worked. Worked--while the hands of the chronometer approached
more and ever more nearly the zero hour. Worked--while the _Skylark's_
immense stores of uranium dwindled visibly away in the giving up
of their inconceivable amounts of intra-atomic energy to brace the
screens which were dissipating the inexhaustible flood of cosmic force
being directed against them. Worked--in vain. At last he glanced at
the chronometer and stood up. "Twenty minutes now--time to go," he
announced. "Dot, come here a minute!"
"Sweetheart!" Tall though Dorothy was, the top of her auburn head
came scarcely higher than Seaton's chin. Tightly but tenderly held in
his mighty arms she tipped her head back, and her violet eyes held no
trace of fear as they met his. "It's all right, lover. I don't know
whether it's because I think we're going to get away, or because we're
together; but I'm not the least bit afraid of whatever it is that's
going to happen to us."
"Neither am I, dear. Some way, I simply can't believe that we're
passing out; I've got a hunch that we're going to come through. We've
got a lot to live for yet, you and I, together. But I want to tell you
what you already know--that, whatever happens, I love you."
"Hurry it up, Seatons!"
Margaret's voice recalled them to reality, and all five were wafted
upon beams of force into the spherical launching space of the craft in
which they were to venture into the unknown.
That vessel was _Skylark Two_, the forty-foot globe of arenak which
from Earth to Norlamin had served them so well and which had been
carried, life-boatlike, well inside the two-mile-long torpedo which was
_Skylark Three_. The massive doors were clamped and sealed, and the
five human beings strapped themselves into their seats against they
knew not what emergency.
"All ready, folks?" Seaton grasped the ebonite handle of his master
switch. "I'm not going to tell you Cranes good-by, Mart--you know my
hunch. You got one, too?"
"I cannot say that I have. However, I have always had a great deal of
confidence in your ability. Then, too, I have always been something of
a fatalist; and, most important of all, like you and Dorothy, Margaret
and I are together. You may start any time now, Dick."
"All right--hang on. On your marks! Get set! _Go!_"
As the master switch was thrown a set of gigantic plungers drove
home, actuating the tremendous generators in the holds of the massive
cruiser of space above and around them; generators which, bursting into
instantaneous and furious activity, directed upon the spherical hull
of their vessel three opposed pairs of currents of electricity; madly
spinning currents, of a potential and of a density never before brought
into being by human devices.