The Masters had ruled all space
with an unconquerable iron fist. But
the Masters were gone. And this new,
young race who came now to take their
place--could they hope to defeat the
ancient Enemy of All?
I
"But didn't you feel _anything_, Javo?" Strain was apparent in every
line of Tula's taut, bare body. "Nothing at all?"
"Nothing whatever." The one called Javo relaxed from his rigid
concentration. "Nothing has changed. Nor will it."
"That conclusion is indefensible!" Tula snapped. "With the promised
return of the Masters there must and will be changes. Didn't _any_ of
you feel anything?"
Her hot, demanding eyes swept the group; a group whose like, except for
physical perfection, could be found in any nudist colony.
No one except Tula had felt a thing.
"That fact is not too surprising," Javo said finally. "You have the most
sensitive receptors of us all. But are you sure?"
"I am sure. It was the thought-form of a living Master."
"Do you think that the Master perceived your web?"
"It is certain. Those who built us are stronger than we."
"That is true. As they promised, then, so long and long ago, our Masters
are returning home to us."
* * * * *
Jarvis Hilton of Terra, the youngest man yet to be assigned to direct
any such tremendous deep-space undertaking as Project Theta Orionis,
sat in conference with his two seconds-in-command. Assistant Director
Sandra Cummings, analyst-synthesist and semantician, was tall, blonde
and svelte. Planetographer William Karns--a black-haired, black-browed,
black-eyed man of thirty--was third in rank of the scientific group.
"I'm telling you, Jarve, you can't have it both ways," Karns declared.
"Captain Sawtelle is old-school Navy brass. He goes strictly by the
book. So you've got to draw a razor-sharp line; exactly where the
Advisory Board's directive puts it. And next time he sticks his ugly
puss across that line, kick his face in. You've been Caspar Milquetoast
Two ever since we left Base."
"That's the way it looks to you?" Hilton's right hand became a fist.
"The man has age, experience and ability. I've been trying to meet him
on a ground of courtesy and decency."
"Exactly. And he doesn't recognize the existence of either. And, since
the Board rammed you down his throat instead of giving him old Jeffers,
you needn't expect him to."
"You may be right, Bill. What do you think, Dr. Cummings?"
The girl said: "Bill's right. Also, your constant appeasement isn't
doing the morale of the whole scientific group a bit of good."
"Well, I haven't enjoyed it, either. So next time I'll pin his ears
back. Anything else?"
"Yes, Dr. Hilton, I have a squawk of my own. I know I was rammed down
your throat, but just when are you going to let me do some work?"
"None of us has much of anything to do yet, and won't have until we
light somewhere. You're off base a country mile."
"I'm not off base. You _did_ want Eggleston, not me."
"Sure I did. I've worked with him and know what he can do. But I'm not
holding a grudge about it."
"No? Why, then, are you on first-name terms with everyone in the
scientific group except me? Supposedly your first assistant?"
"That's easy!" Hilton snapped. "Because you've been carrying chips on
both shoulders ever since you came aboard ... or at least I thought you
were." Hilton grinned suddenly and held out his hand. "Sorry,
Sandy--I'll start all over again."
"I'm sorry too, Chief." They shook hands warmly. "I _was_ pretty stiff,
I guess, but I'll be good."
"You'll go to work right now, too. As semantician. Dig out that
directive and tear it down. Draw that line Bill talked about."
"Can do, boss." She swung to her feet and walked out of the room, her
every movement one of lithe and easy grace.
Karns followed her with his eyes. "Funny. A trained-dancer Ph.D. And a
Miss America type, like all the other women aboard this spacer. I wonder
if she'll make out."
"So do I. I still wish they'd given me Eggy. I've never seen an
executive-type female Ph.D. yet that was worth the cyanide it would take
to poison her."
"That's what Sawtelle thinks of you, too, you know."
"I know; and the Board _does_ know its stuff. So I'm really hoping,
Bill, that she surprises me as much as I intend to surprise the Navy."
* * * * *
Alarm bells clanged as the mighty _Perseus_ blinked out of overdrive.
Every crewman sprang to his post.
"Mister Snowden, why did we emerge without orders from me?" Captain
Sawtelle bellowed, storming into the control room three jumps behind
Hilton.
"The automatics took control, sir," he said, quietly.
"Automatics! I _give_ the orders!"
"In this case, Captain Sawtelle, you don't," Hilton said. Eyes locked
and held. To Sawtelle, this was a new and strange co-commander. "I would
suggest that we discuss this matter in private."
"Very well, sir," Sawtelle said; and in the captain's cabin Hilton
opened up.
"For your information, Captain Sawtelle, I set my inter-space coupling
detectors for any objective I choose. When any one of them reacts, it
trips the kickers and we emerge. During any emergency outside the Solar
System I am in command--with the provision that I must relinquish
command to you in case of armed attack on us."
"Where do you think you found any such stuff as that in the directive?
It isn't there and I know my rights."
"It is, and you don't. Here is a semantic chart of the whole directive.
As you will note, it overrides many Navy regulations. Disobedience of my
orders constitutes mutiny and I can--and will--have you put in irons and
sent back to Terra for court-martial. Now let's go back."
In the control room, Hilton said, "The target has a mass of
approximately five hundred metric tons. There is also a significant
amount of radiation characteristic of uranexite. You will please execute
search, Captain Sawtelle."
And Captain Sawtelle ordered the search.
"What did you do to the big jerk, boss?" Sandra whispered.
"What you and Bill suggested," Hilton whispered back. "Thanks to your
analysis of the directive--pure gobbledygook if there ever was any--I
could. Mighty good job, Sandy."
* * * * *
Ten or fifteen more minutes passed. Then:
"Here's the source of radiation, sir," a searchman reported. "It's a
point source, though, not an object at this range."
"And here's the artifact, sir," Pilot Snowden said. "We're coming up on
it fast. But ... but what's a _skyscraper_ skeleton doing out here in
interstellar space?"
As they closed up, everyone could see that the thing did indeed look
like the metallic skeleton of a great building. It was a huge cube,
measuring well over a hundred yards along each edge. And it was empty.
"_That's_ one for the book," Sawtelle said.
"And how!" Hilton agreed. "I'll take a boat ... no, suits would be
better. Karns, Yarborough, get Techs Leeds and Miller and suit up."
"You'll need a boat escort," Sawtelle said. "Mr. Ashley, execute escort
Landing Craft One, Two, and Three."
The three landing craft approached that enigmatic lattice-work of
structural steel and stopped. Five grotesquely armored figures wafted
themselves forward on pencils of force. Their leader, whose suit bore
the number "14", reached a mammoth girder and worked his way along it up
to a peculiar-looking bulge. The whole immense structure vanished,
leaving men and boats in empty space.