With Worsel in the lead, the three interlopers hastened along a
corridor, past branching and intersecting hallways, to a distant wing
of the structure. There, it was evident, manufacturing of weapons
was carried on; but a quick study of the queer-looking devices and
mechanisms upon the benches and inside the storage racks lining its
walls convinced Kinnison that the room could yield them nothing of
permanent benefit. There were high-powered beam projectors, it was
true; but they were so heavy that they were not even semiportable.
There were also hand weapons of various peculiar patterns, but without
exception they were ridiculously inferior to the DeLameters of the
patrol in every respect of power, range, controllability, and storage
capacity. Nevertheless, after testing them out sufficiently to make
certain of the above findings, Kinnison selected an armful of the most
powerful models and turned to his companions.
"Let's go back to the power room," he urged. "I'm nervous as a cat. I
feel stark naked without my batteries; and if any one should happen to
drop in there and do away with them, we'd be sunk without a trace."
Loaded down with Delgonian weapons, they hurried back the way they had
come. Much to Kinnison's relief he found that his forebodings had been
groundless; the batteries were still there, still absorbing myriawatt
hour after myriawatt hour from the Delgonian generators. Staring
fixedly at the innocuous-looking containers, he frowned in thought.
"Better we insulate those leads a little heavier and put the cans back
in our armor," he suggested finally. "They'll charge just as well in
place, and it doesn't stand to reason that this drain of power can go
on for the rest of the night without _somebody_ noticing it. And when
that happens those Overlords are bound to take plenty of steps--the
nature of none of which we can even guess at."
"We must have power enough now so that we can all fly away from any
possible trouble," Worsel suggested.
"But that's just exactly what we are _not_ going to do!" Kinnison
declared, with finality. "Now that we've found a good charger, we
aren't going to leave it until our accumulators are chocka-block. It's
coming in faster than full draft will take it out, and we're going to
get a full charge if we have to stand off all the vermin of Delgon to
do it."
Far longer than Kinnison had thought possible they were unmolested,
but finally a couple of Delgonian engineers came to investigate the
unprecedented shortage in the output of their completely automatic
generators. At the entrance they were stopped, for no ordinary tools
could force the barricade VanBuskirk had erected behind that portal.
With leveled weapons the patrolmen stood, awaiting the expected
attack. But none developed. Hour by hour the long night wore away,
uneventfully. At daybreak, however, a storming party appeared and
massive battering-rams were brought into play.
As the dull, heavy concussions reverberated throughout the building
the patrolmen each picked up two of the weapons piled before them and
Kinnison addressed the Velantian.
"Drag a couple of those metal benches across that corner and coil up
behind them," he directed. "They'll be enough to ground any stray
charges. If they can't see you they won't know you're here, so probably
nothing much will come your way direct."
The Velantian demurred, declaring that he would not hide while his two
companions were fighting his battle.
But Kinnison silenced him fiercely. "Don't be a fool!" the Lensman
snapped. "One of these beams would fry you to a crisp in ten seconds,
whereas the defensive fields of our armor could neutralize a thousand
of them, from now on. Do as I say, and do it quick, or I'll beam you
unconscious and toss you in there myself!"
* * * * *
Realizing that Kinnison meant exactly what he said, and knowing that,
unarmored as he was, he was utterly unable to resist either the
Tellurian or their common foe, Worsel unwillingly erected his metallic
barrier and coiled his sinuous length behind it. He hid himself just in
time.
The outer barricade had fallen, and now a wave of reptilian forms
flooded into the control room. Nor was this any ordinary investigation.
The Overlords had studied the situation from afar, and this wave was
one of heavily armed--for Delgon--soldiery. On they came, projectors
fiercely aflame, confident in their belief that nothing could stand
before their blasts.
But how wrong they were! The two repulsively erect bipeds before them
neither burned nor fell. Beams, no matter how powerful, did not reach
them.
[Illustration: _The two repulsively erect bipeds before them neither
burned nor fell. Beams--no matter how powerful--did not reach them at
all----_]
Nor were these outlandish beings inoffensive. Utterly careless of
the service life of the pitifully weak Delgonian projectors, they
were using them at maximum drain and at extreme aperture--and in the
resultant beams the Delgonian soldier slaves fell in scorched and
smoking heaps. On came reserves, platoon after platoon, only and
continuously to meet the same fate; for as soon as one projector
weakened the invincibly armored man would toss it aside and pick up
another. But finally the last commandeered weapon was exhausted and
the beleaguered pair brought their own DeLameters--the most powerful
portable weapons known to the military scientists of the Galactic
Patrol--into play.
And what a difference! In _those_ beams the attacking reptiles did not
smoke or burn. They simply vanished in a blaze of flaming light, so did
also the near-by walls and a good share of the building beyond! The
Delgonian hordes having disappeared, VanBuskirk shut off his DeLameter.
Kinnison, however, left his on, angling its beam sharply upward,
blasting into fiery vapor the ceiling and roof over their heads,
remarking: "While we're at it we might as well fix things so that we
can make a quick get-away if we want to."
Then they waited. Waited, watching the needles of their meters creep
ever closer to the "full-charge" marks; waited while, as they shrewdly
suspected, the distant, cowardly hiding Overlords planned some other,
more promising line of physical attack.
Nor was it long in developing. Another small army appeared, armored
this time; or, more accurately, advancing behind metallic shields.
Knowing what to expect, Kinnison was not surprised when the beam of his
DeLameter not only failed to pierce one of those shields, but did not
in any way impede the progress of the Delgonian column.
"Well, we're all done here, anyway, as far as I'm concerned." Kinnison
grinned at the Dutchman as he spoke. "My cans've been showing full back
pressure for the last five minutes. How about yours?"
"Same here," VanBuskirk reported, and the two leaped lightly into the
Velantian's refuge. Then, inertialess all, the three shot into the
air at such a pace that to the slow senses of the Delgonian slaves
they simply disappeared. Indeed, it was not until the barrier had been
blasted away and every room, nook, and cranny of the immense structure
had been literally and minutely combed that the Delgonians--and through
their enslaved minds the Overlords--became convinced that their prey
had in some uncanny and unknown fashion eluded them.
* * * * *
Now high in the air, the three troopers traversed, in a matter of
minutes, the same distance that had cost them so much time and strife
the day before. Over the monster-infected forest they sped, over the
deceptively peaceful green lushness of the jungle, to slant down toward
Worsel's thoughtproof tent. Inside that refuge they snapped off their
thought-screens and Kinnison yawned prodigiously.
"Working days and nights both is all right for a while, but it gets
monotonous in time. Since this seems to be the only really safe spot on
the planet, I suggest that we take a day or so off and catch up on our
eats and sleeps."
They slept and ate; slept and ate again.
"The next thing on the program," Kinnison announced then, "is to clean
out that den of Overlords. Then Worsel will be free to help us get
going about our own business."
"You speak lightly indeed of the impossible," Worsel, again all glum
despondency, reproved him. "I have already explained why the task is,
and must remain, beyond our power."
"Yes, but you don't quite grasp the possibilities of the stuff we've
got to work with now," the Tellurian replied. "Listen: you could
never do anything because you couldn't see through or work through
your thought-screens. Neither we nor you could, even now, enslave a
Delgonian and make him lead us to the cavern, because the Overlords
would know all about it 'way ahead of time and the slave would lead
us anywhere else except to the cavern. However, one of us can cut his
screen and surrender; possibly keeping just enough screen up to keep
the enemy from possessing his mind fully enough to learn that the other
two are coming along. The big question is--which of us is to surrender?"
"That is already decided," Worsel made instant reply. "I am the
logical--in fact, the _only_ one--to do it. Not only would they think
it perfectly natural that they should overpower me, but also I am the
only one of us three sufficiently able to control his thoughts so as to
keep from them the knowledge that I am being accompanied. Furthermore,
you both know that it would not be good for your minds, unaccustomed as
they are to the practice, to surrender their control voluntarily to an
enemy."
"I'll say it wouldn't!" Kinnison agreed, feelingly. "I might do it if I
had to, but I wouldn't like it and don't think I'd ever quite get over
it. I hate to put such a horrible job off onto you, Worsel, but you're
undoubtedly the best equipped to handle it--and even you may have your
hands full."
"Yes," the Velantian said, thoughtfully. "While the undertaking is
no longer an absolute impossibility, it is difficult--very. In any
event you will probably have to beam me yourselves, if we succeed in
reaching the cavern. The Overlords will see to that. If so, do it
without regret. Know that I expect it and am well content to die in
that fashion. Thousands of better men than I am would be only too glad
to be in my place, meaning what it does to all Velantia. Know also that
I have already reported what is to occur, and that your welcome to
Velantia is assured, whether or not I accompany you there."
"I don't think I'll have to kill you, Worsel," Kinnison replied,
slowly, picturing in detail exactly what that steel-hard reptilian
body would be capable of doing when, unshackled, its directing mind
was completely taken over by an utterly soulless and conscienceless
Overlord. "If we can't keep from going off the deep end, of course
you'll get pretty tough and I know that you're hard to handle. However,
as I told you back there, I think I can beam you unconscious without
killing you. I may have to burn off a few scales, but I'll try not to
do any damage that can't be repaired."
"If you can so stop me it will be wonderful indeed. Are we ready?"
They were ready. Worsel opened the door and in a moment was hurtling
through the air, his giant wings arrowing him along at a pace no winged
creature of Earth would even approach. And, following him easily at
a little distance, floated the two patrolmen upon their inertialess
drives.
* * * * *
During that long flight scarcely a thought was exchanged, even between
Kinnison and VanBuskirk. To direct a thought at the Velantian was, of
course, out of the question. All lines of communication with him had
been cut; and, furthermore, his mind, able as it was, was being taxed
to the ultimate cell in doing what he had set out to do. And the two
patrolmen were reluctant to converse with each other, even upon their
tight beams, radios, or sounders, for fear that some slight leakage
of thought energy might reveal their presence to the ever-watchful
Overlords. If this opportunity were lost, they knew, another chance to
wipe out that hellish horde might never present itself.
Land was traversed, and sea; but finally a stupendous range of
mountains reared before them and Worsel, folding back his tireless
wings, shot downward in a screaming, full-weight dive. In his line of
flight Kinnison saw the mouth of a cave, a darker spot of blackness in
the black rock of the mountain's side. Upon the ledged approach there
lay a Delgonian--a guard or lookout, of course.
The Lensman's DeLameter was already in his hand, and at sight of the
guardian reptile he sighted and fired in one incredibly fast motion.
But, rapid as it was, it was still too slow. The Overlords had seen
that the Velantian had companions of whom he had been able to keep them
in ignorance theretofore.
Instantly, Worsel's wings again began to beat, bearing him off at a
wide angle; and, although the patrolmen were insulated against his
thought, the meaning of his antics was very plain. He was telling them
in every possible way that the hole below was _not_ the cavern of
the Overlords, that it was over this way, that they were to keep on
following him to it. Then, as they refused to follow him, he rushed
upon Kinnison in mad attack.
"Beam him down, Kim!" VanBuskirk yelled. "Don't take any chances with
that bird!" He leveled his own DeLameter.
"Lay off, Bus!" the Lensman snapped. "I can handle him--a lot easier
out here than on the ground."
And so it proved. Inertialess as he was, the buffetings of the
Velantian affected him not at all; and when Worsel coiled his supple
body around him and began to apply pressure, Kinnison simply expanded
his thought-screen to cover them both, thus releasing the mind of his
temporarily inimical friend from the Overlord's grip. Instantly the
Velantian became himself, snapped on his own shield, and the three
continued, as one, their interrupted downward course.
[Illustration: _Inertialess as he was, the buffetings of the
Velantian affected him not at all----Then he simply expanded his
thought-screen----_]
Worsel came to a halt upon the ledge, beside the practically
incinerated corpse of the lookout, knowing, unarmored as he was, that
to go farther meant sudden death. The armored pair, however, shot on
into the gloomy passage. At first they were offered no opposition. The
Overlords had had no time to muster an adequate defense. Scattering
handfuls of slaves rushed them, only to be blasted out of existence as
their hand weapons proved useless against the armor of the Galactic
Patrol. Defenders became more numerous as the cavern itself was
approached; but neither were they allowed to stay the patrolmen's
progress. Finally, a palely shimmering barrier of metal appeared to
bar their way. Its fields of force neutralized or absorbed the blasts
of the DeLameters, but its material substance offered but little
resistance to a thirty-pound sledge swung by one of the strongest men
ever produced by any planet colonized by the humanity of Earth.
* * * * *
Now they were in the cavern itself--the sanctum sanctorum of the
Overlords of Delgon. There was the hellish torture screen, with its
burden of mental and physical pain. There was the horribly avid
audience, now milling about in a mob frenzy of panic. There, upon a
raised balcony, were the "big shots" of this nauseous clan; now doing
their utmost to marshal some force able to cope effectively with this
unheard-of violation of their age-old immunity.
A last wave of Delgonian slaves hurled themselves forward, futile
projectors furiously aflame, only to disappear in the DeLameters' fans
of force. The patrolmen hated to kill those mindless slaves, but it
was a nasty job that had to be done. The slaves out of the way, those
ravening beams bored on into the massed Overlords.
And now Kinnison and VanBuskirk killed, if not joyously, at least
relentlessly, mercilessly, and with neither sign nor sensation of
compunction. For this unbelievably monstrous tribe needed killing, root
and branch. Not a scion or shoot of it should be allowed to survive, to
continue to contaminate the civilization of the galaxy. Back and forth,
to and fro, up and down swept the raging beams of the DeLameters,
playing on until in all the vast volume of that gruesome chamber
nothing lived save the two grim figures in its portal.
Assured of this fact, but with DeLameters still in hand, the two
destroyers retraced their way to the tunnel's mouth, where Worsel
anxiously awaited them. Lines of communication again established,
Kinnison informed the Velantian of all that had taken place, and the
latter gradually cut down the power of his thought-screen. Soon it was
at zero strength and he reported jubilantly that for the first time in
untold ages, the Overlords of Delgon were off the air!
"But surely the danger isn't over yet!" protested Kinnison. "We
couldn't have got them all in this one raid. Some of them must have
escaped, and there must be other dens of them on this planet somewhere?"
"Possibly; possibly." The Velantian waved his tail airily--the first
sign of joyousness he had shown. "But their power is broken, definitely
and forever. With these new screens, and with the arms and armament
which, thanks to you, we can now fabricate, the task of wiping them
out completely will be comparatively simple. Now you will accompany me
to Velantia where, I assure, the resources of the planet will be put
solidly behind you in your own endeavors. I have already summoned a
space ship. In less than twelve days we will be back in Velantia and at
work upon your projects. In the meantime----"
"Twelve _days_! Holy jumping rockets!" VanBuskirk exploded.
Kinnison said, "Sure--you forget that they knew nothing of our free
drive. We'd better hop over and get our lifeboat, I think. It's not so
good, either way, but in our own boat we'll be open to detection less
than two hours, as against twelve days in the Velantians'. And the
pirates may be here any minute. It's as good as certain that their ship
will be stopped and searched long before it gets back to Velantia, and
if we were aboard it would be just too bad."
"And, since the crew knows about us, the pirates soon will, and it'll
be just too bad, anyway," VanBuskirk reasoned.
"Not at all," interposed Worsel. "The few of my people who know of you
have been instructed to seal that knowledge. I must admit, however,
that I am greatly disturbed by your conceptions of these pirates of
space. You see, until I met you I knew nothing more of the pirates than
I did of your patrol."
"What a world!" VanBuskirk exclaimed. "No patrol and no pirates! But at
that, life might be simpler without both of them and without the free
space drive--more like it used to be in the good old airplane days that
the novelists rave about."
"Of course, I could not judge as to that." The Velantian was very
serious. "This in which we live seems to be an out-of-the-way section
of the galaxy; or it may be that we have nothing that the pirates want."
"More likely it's simply that, like the patrol, they haven't got
organized into this district yet," suggested Kinnison. "There are so
many millions of solar systems in the galaxy that it will probably be
thousands of years yet before the patrol gets into them all."
"But about these pirates," Worsel went back to his point. "If they have
such minds as those of the Overlords, they will be able to break the
seals of our minds. However, I gather from your thoughts that their
minds are not of that strength?"
"Not so far as I know," Kinnison replied. "You folks have the most
powerful brains I ever heard of, short of the Arisians. And speaking of
mental power, you can hear thoughts a lot farther than I can, even with
my Lens or with this pirate receiver I've got. See if you can find out
whether there are any pirates in space around here, will you?"
* * * * *
While the Velantian was concentrating, VanBuskirk asked: "Why, if his
mind is so strong, could the Overlords put him under so much easier
than they could us 'weak-minded' humans?"
"You are confusing 'mind' with 'will,' I think. Ages of submission
to the Overlords made the Velantians' will power zero, as far as
the bosses were concerned. On the other hand, you and I could raise
stubbornness to sell to most people. In fact, if the Overlords had
succeeded in really breaking us down, back there, I believe that we
would have been insane for the rest of our lives."
"Probably you're right. We break, but don't bend, huh?"
Then the Velantian was ready to report. "I have scanned space to the
nearer stars--some eleven of your light years--and have encountered no
intruding entities," he announced.
"Eleven light years--what a range!" Kinnison exclaimed. "However,
that's only a shade over two minutes for a pirate ship at full blast.
But we've got to take a chance sometime, and the quicker we get started
the sooner we'll get back. We'll pick you up here, Worsel. No use in
you going back to your tent--we'll be back here long before you could
reach it. You'll be safe enough, I think, especially with our spare
DeLameters. Let's get going, Bus!"
Again they shot into the air; again they traversed the airless depths
of interplanetary space. To locate the temporary tomb of their
lifeboat required only a few minutes, to disinter her only a few more.
Then again they braved detection in the void; Kinnison tense at his
controls, VanBuskirk in strained attention listening to and staring at
his unscramblers and detectors. But the ether was still blank as they
materialized in an inertialess landing beside the waiting Velantian.
"All right, Worsel, snap it up!" Kinnison called, and went on to
VanBuskirk, "Now, you big, flat-footed Valerian space hound, I hope
that that spaceman's god of yours will see to it that our luck holds
good for just seven minutes more. We've had more luck already than
we had any right to expect, but we can put a little more to most
gosh-awful good use!"
"Noshabkeming _does_ bring spacemen luck," insisted the giant,
grimacing a peculiar salute toward a small, golden image set inside
his helmet, "and the fact that you warty, runty little space fleas of
Tellus haven't got sense enough to know it, doesn't change matters at
all."
"That's tellin' 'em, Bus!" Kinnison applauded. "But if it helps charge
your batteries, go to it. Ready to blast! Lift!"
The Velantian had come aboard; the tiny air lock was again tight, and
the little vessel shot away from Delgon toward far Velantia. And still
the ether remained empty as far as the detectors could reach. Nor was
this fact surprising, in spite of the Lensman's fears to the contrary;
for the patrolmen had given the pirates such an extremely long line
to cover that many days must yet elapse before the minions of Boskone
would get around to visit that unimportant, unexplored, and almost
unknown solar system.
* * * * *
En route to his home planet Worsel got in touch with the crew of the
Velantian vessel already in space, ordering them to return to port
posthaste and instructing them in detail what to think and how to act
should they be stopped and searched by one of Boskone's raiders. By the
time these instructions had been given, Velantia loomed large beneath
the flying midget. Then, with Worsel as guide, Kinnison drove over a
mighty ocean upon whose opposite shore lay the great city in which
Worsel lived.
"But I would like to have them welcome you as befits what you have
done, and have you go to the dome!" mourned the Velantian. "Think of
it! You have done a thing which for ages the massed power of the planet
has been trying vainly to accomplish, and yet you insist that I alone
take full and complete credit for it!"
"I don't insist on any such thing," argued Kinnison, "even though
it's practically all yours, anyway. I insist only on your keeping us
and the patrol out of it, and you know as well as I do why you've got
to do that. Tell them anything else you want to. Say that a couple
of pink-haired Chickladorians helped you and then beat it back home.
_That_ planet's far enough away so that if the pirates chase them
they'll get a real run for their money. After this blows over you can
tell the truth--but _not until then_.
"And as for us going to the dome for a grand hocus-pocus, that is
completely and definitely _out_. We're not going anywhere except to the
biggest space yard you've got. You're not going to give us anything
except a lot of material and a lot of highly trained help that can keep
their thoughts sealed.
"We've got to build a lot of heavy stuff fast; and we've got to get
started on it just as quickly as the gods of space will let us!"