XI.

_"Shapley holds that these (star) clusters, under the gravitative

control of the larger system, vibrate back and forth through the

galaxy." Fath, "Elements of Astronomy," p. 297._

At some distance from the galaxy, yet shackled to it by the flexible

yet powerful bonds of gravitation, the small but comfortable planet

upon which was Helmuth's base circled about its parent sun. This planet

had been chosen with the utmost care, and its location was a secret

guarded jealously indeed. Scarcely one in a million of Boskone's

teeming millions knew even that such a planet existed; and of the

chosen few who had ever been asked to visit it, fewer still by far had

been allowed to leave it.

Grand Base covered hundreds of square miles of that planet's surface.

It was equipped with all the arms and armament known to the military

genius of the age; and in the exact center of that immense citadel

there arose a glittering metallic dome.

[Illustration: _It was equipped with all the arms and

armament--visiplates and communicators--known to the military genius of

the age._]

The inside surface of that dome was lined with visiplates and

communicators, hundreds of thousands of them. Miles of catwalks clung

precariously to the inward-curving wall. Control panels and instrument

boards covered the floor in banks and tiers, with only narrow runways

between them. And what a personnel! There were Solarians, Crevenians,

Sirians. There were Antareans, Vandemarians, Arcturians. There were

representatives of scores, yes, hundreds of other solar systems of the

galaxy.

But whatever their external form they were all breathers of oxygen and

they were all nourished by warm, red blood. Also, they were all alike

mentally. Each had won his present high place by trampling down those

beneath him and by pulling down those above him in the branch to which

he had first belonged of the "pirate" organization.

Kinnison had been eminently correct in his belief that Boskone's was

not a "pirate outfit" in any ordinary sense of the word, but even his

ideas of its true nature fell far short indeed of the truth.

It was a tyranny, an absolute monarchy, a despotism not even remotely

approximated by the dictatorships of earlier ages. It had only one

creed: "The end justifies the means." Anything--literally _anything at

all_--that produced the desired result was commendable; to fail was the

only crime.

Therefore, no weaklings dwelt within that fortress; and of all its

cold, hard, ruthless crew far and away the coldest, hardest, and most

ruthless was Helmuth, the "speaker for Boskone," who sat at the great

desk in the dome's geometrical center. This individual was almost

human in form and build, springing as he did from a planet closely

approximating Earth in mass, atmosphere, and climate. Indeed, only his

general, all-pervasive aura of blueness bore witness to the fact that

he was not a native of Tellus.

His eyes were blue; his hair was blue; and even his skin was faintly

blue beneath its coat of ultra-violet tan. His intensely dynamic

personality fairly radiated blueness--not the gentle blue of an Earthly

sky, not the sweetly innocuous blue of an Earthly flower; but the

keenly merciless blue of a delta ray, the cold and bitter blue of a

Polar iceberg, the unyielding, inflexible blue of chilled and tempered

steel.

* * * * *

Now a frown sat heavily upon his arrogantly patrician face, as his eyes

bored into the plate before him, from the base of which were issuing

the words being spoken by the assistant pictured in its deep surface:

"--the fifth dived into the deepest ocean of Corvina II, in the depths

of which all rays are useless. The ships which followed have not as yet

reconnected. No trace of the sixth has been found, and it is therefore

assumed that she was destroyed upon Velantia----"

"Who assumes so?" demanded Helmuth, coldly. "There is no justification

whatever for such an assumption. Go on!"

"The Lensman, if there is one, must therefore be in the fifth ship,

since he was not in any of the four which we have retaken."

"Your report is neither complete nor conclusive. I do not at all

approve of your intimation that the Lensman is simply a figment of

my imagination. That there is a Lensman is the only possible logical

conclusion. None other of the patrol forces could have done what has

been done. Postulating his reality, it seems to me that instead of

being a rare possibility, it is highly probable that he has again

escaped us, and again in one of our own vessels--this time in the one

you have so conveniently 'assumed' to have been destroyed. Have you

searched the line of flight?"

"Yes, sir. Everything in space and every planet within reach of that

line has been examined with care; except, of course, Velantia and

Trenco."

"Velantia is, for the time being, unimportant. It will be reduced

later. Why Trenco?" and Helmuth pressed a series of buttons. "Ah, I

see. To recapitulate, one ship, the one which in all probability is

now carrying the Lensman, is still unaccounted for. _Where is it?_ We

assume that it left Velantia. We know that it has not landed upon or

near any solarian planet. Incidentally, we must see to it that it does

not so land. Now, I think, it has become necessary to have that planet

Trenco combed, inch by inch."

"But sir, how----" began the anxious-eyed underling.

"When did it become necessary to draw diagrams and make blue prints for

you?" demanded Helmuth, harshly. "We have ships manned by Rigellians

and other races having the sense of perception. Find out where they are

and get them there at full blast!" He flipped over two double-throw

switches, thus replacing the image upon his plate by another.

"It has now become of paramount importance that we complete our

knowledge of the Lens of the patrol," he began, without salutation or

preamble. "Have you traced its origin yet?"

"I believe so, but I do not certainly know. It has proved to be a task

of such difficulty----"

"If it had been an easy one I would not have made a special assignment

of it to you. Go on!"

"Everything seems to point to a planet named Arisia, but of that planet

I can learn nothing definite whatever except that----"

"Just a moment!" Helmuth punched more buttons and listened.

"Unexplored--unknown--shunned by all spacemen----"

"Superstition, eh?" he snapped. "Another of those haunted planets?"

"Something more than ordinary spacemen's superstition, sir, but just

what I have not been able to discover. By combing my department I

managed to make up a crew of those who either were not afraid of it or

have never heard of it. That crew is now _en route_ there."

"Whom have we in that sector of space? I find it desirable to check

your findings."

The department head reeled off a list of names and numbers, which

Helmuth considered at length.

"Gildersleeve, the Valerian," he announced finally. "He is a good man,

coming along fast. Aside from a firm belief in his own peculiar gods,

he has shown no signs of weakness. You considered him?"

"Certainly." The henchman, as cold as his icy chief, knew that

explanations would not satisfy Helmuth, therefore he offered none. "He

is raiding at the moment, but I will put you on him if you like."

"Do so." And upon Helmuth's plate there appeared a deep-space scene of

rapine and pillage.

* * * * *

The convoying patrol ships, two of them, had already been blasted out

of existence; only a few idly drifting masses of débris remaining to

show that they had ever been. Needle rays were at work, and soon the

merchantman hung inert and helpless. The pirates, scorning to use the

emergency inlet port, simply blasted away the entire entrance panel.

Then they boarded, an armored swarm, flaming DeLameters spreading death

and destruction before them.

The sailors, outnumbered as they were and overarmed, fought

heroically--but uselessly. In groups and singly they fell; those

who were not already dead being callously tossed out into space

in slitted space suits and with smashed motors. Only the younger

women--the stewardesses, the nurses, the one or two such among the few

passengers--were taken as booty; all others shared the fate of the crew.

Then the ship plundered from nose to after jets and every article

or thing of value trans-shipped, the raider drew off, bathed in the

blue-white glare of the atomic bombs that were destroying every trace

of the merchant ship's existence. Then and only then did Helmuth reveal

himself to Gildersleeve.

"A good, clean job of work, captain," he commended. "Now, how would you

like to visit Arisia for me--for _me_, direct?"

A pallor overspread the normally ruddy face of the Valerian and an

uncontrollable tremor shook his giant frame. But as he considered the

implications resident in Helmuth's concluding phrase he licked his lips

and spoke.

"I hate to say no, sir, if you order me to and if there was any

way of making my crew do it. But we were near there once, sir, and

we--I--they--it----Well, sir, I _saw_ things, sir, and I was--was

_warned_, sir!"

"Saw what? And was warned of what?"

"I can't describe what I saw, sir. I can't even think of it in thoughts

that mean anything. As for the warning, though, it was very definite,

sir. I was told very plainly that if I ever go near that planet again

I will die a worse death than any I have dealt out to any other living

being."

"But you will go there again?"

"I tell you, sir, that the crew will not do it," Gildersleeve replied,

doggedly. "Even if I were anxious to go, every man aboard will mutiny

if I tried it."

"Call them in right now and tell them that you have been ordered to

Arisia!"

* * * * *

The captain did so. But he had scarcely started to talk when he was

stopped in no uncertain fashion by his first officer--also, of course,

a Valerian--who pulled his DeLameter and spoke savagely: "Cut it,

chief! We are not going to Arisia, nor anywhere near there. I was with

you before, you know. Point course within a quadrant of that accursed

planet and I flash you where you sit!"

"Helmuth, speaking for Boskone!" ripped from the headquarters' speaker.

"This is rankest mutiny. You know the penalty, do you not?"

"Certainly I do. What of it?" the first officer snapped back.

"Suppose that I _tell_ you to go to Arisia?" Helmuth's voice was now

soft and silky, but instinct with deadly menace.

"In that case _I_ tell _you_ to go to hell--or to Arisia, a million

times worse!" snapped the officer.

"What? You dare speak thus to _me_?" demanded the archpirate, sheer

amazement at the fellow's audacity blanketing his rising anger.

"I so dare," declared the rebel, brazen defiance and unalterable

resolve in every line of his hard body and in every lineament of his

hard face. "All you can do is kill us. You can order out enough ships

to blast us out of the ether, but that's all you _can_ do. That would

be a clean, quick death and we would have the fun of taking a lot

of the boys along with us. If we go to Arisia, though, it would be

different--very, very different, believe me. No, Helmuth, and I say

this to your face: If I ever go near Arisia again it will be in a ship

in which you, Helmuth, in person, are sitting at the controls. If you

think this is an empty dare and don't like it, you don't have to take

it. Send on your dogs!"

"That will do! Report yourselves to Base D under----" Then Helmuth's

flare of anger passed and his cold reason took charge. Here was

something utterly unprecedented: an entire crew of the hardest-bitten

marauders in space offering open and barefaced mutiny--no, not mutiny,

but actual rebellion--to him, Helmuth, in his very teeth. And not a

typical, skulking, carefully planned uprising, but the immovably brazen

desperation of men making an ultimately last-ditch stand.

Truly, it must be a powerful superstition, indeed, to make that crew

of hard-boiled hellions choose certain death rather than face again

the imaginary--they _must_ be imaginary--perils of a planet unknown to

and unexplored by Boskone's planetographers. But they were, after all,

ordinary spacemen, of little mental force and of small real ability.

Even so, it was clearly indicated that in this case precipitate action

was to be avoided. Therefore, he went on calmly and almost without a

break. "Cancel all this that has been spoken and that has taken place.

Continue with your original orders pending further investigation."

Helmuth switched his plate back to the department head.

"I have checked your conclusions and have found them correct," he

announced, as though nothing at all out of the way had transpired. "You

did well in sending a ship to investigate. No matter where I am or what

I am doing, notify me instantly at the first sign of irregularity in

the behavior of any member of that ship's personnel."

* * * * *

Nor was that call long in coming. The carefully selected crew--selected

for complete lack of knowledge of the dread planet which was their

objective--sailed along in blissful ignorance, both of the real meaning

of their mission and of what was to be its ghastly end. Soon after

Helmuth's unsatisfactory interview with Gildersleeve and his mate, the

luckless exploring vessel reached the barrier which the Arisians had

set around their system and through which no uninvited stranger was

allowed to pass.

The free-flying ship struck that frail barrier and stopped. In the

instant of contact a wave of mental force flooded the mind of the

captain, who, gibbering with sheer, stark, panic terror, flashed his

vessel away from that horror-impregnated barrier and hurled call after

frantic call along his beam, back to headquarters. His first call, in

the instant of reception, was relayed to Helmuth at his central desk.

"Steady, man; report intelligently!" that worthy snapped, and his

eyes, large now upon the cowering captain's plate, bored steadily,

hypnotically into those of the expedition's leader. "Pull yourself

together and tell me exactly what happened. Everything!"

"Well, sir, when we struck something--a screen of some sort--and

stopped, something came aboard. It was----Oh--ay-ay-e-e!" his voice

rose to a shriek. But under Helmuth's dominating glare he subsided

quickly and went on. "A monster, sir, if there ever was one. A

fire-breathing demon, sir, with teeth and claws and cruelly barbed

tail. He spoke to me in my own Crevenian language. He said----"

"Never mind what he said. I did not hear it, but I can guess what it

was. He threatened you with death in some horrible fashion, did he not?"

The coldly ironical tones did more to restore the shaking man's

equilibrium than reams of remonstrance could have done. "Well, yes,

that was about the size of it, sir," he admitted.

"And does that sound reasonable to you, the commander of a first-class

battleship of Boskone's fleet?" sneered Helmuth.

"Well, sir, put in that way, it does seem a bit far-fetched," the

captain replied, sheepishly.

"It _is_ far-fetched." The director, in the safety of his dome, could

afford to be positive. "We do not know exactly what caused that

hallucination, apparition, or whatever it was. You were the only one

who could see it, apparently; it certainly was not visible on our

master plates here at base. It was probably some form of suggestion or

hypnotism; and you know as well as we do that any suggestion can be

thrown off by a definitely opposed will. But you did not oppose it, did

you?"

"No, sir, I didn't have time."

"Nor did you have your screens out, nor automatic recorders on the

trip. Not much of anything, in fact. I think that you had better report

back here, at full blast."

"Oh, no, sir--please!" He knew what rewards were granted to failures,

and Helmuth's carefully chosen words had already produced the effect

desired by their speaker. "They took me by surprise then, but I'll go

through this next time."

"Very well. We will give you one more chance. When you get close to

the barrier, or whatever it is, go inert and put out all your screens.

Man your plates and weapons, for whatever can hypnotize can be killed.

Go ahead at full blast, with all the acceleration you can get. Crash

through anything that opposes you, and beam anything that you can

detect or see. Can you think of anything else?"

"That should be sufficient, sir." The captain's equanimity was

completely restored, now that the warlike preparations were making more

and more nebulous the sudden, but single, thought wave of the Arisian.

"Proceed!"

* * * * *

The plan was carried out to the letter. This time the pirate craft

struck the frail barrier inert, and its slight force offered no

tangible bar to the prodigious mass of metal. But this time, since

the barrier was actually passed, there was no mental warning and no

possibility of retreat.

Many men have skeletons in their closets. Many have phobias, things

of which they are consciously afraid. Many others have them, not

consciously, but buried deep in the subconscious, specters which seldom

or never rise above the threshold of perception. Every sentient being

has, if not such specters as these, at least a few active or latent

dislikes, dreads, or outright fears. This is true, no matter how quiet

and peaceful a life the being has led.

These particular pirates, however, were the scum of space. They were

beings of hard and criminal lives and of violent and lawless passions.

Their hates and conscience-searing deeds had been legion, their count

of crimes long, black, and hideous. Therefore, slight indeed was the

effort required to locate in their conscious minds--to say nothing of

the noxious depths of their subconscious ones--visions of horror fit to

blast stronger intellects than theirs.

And that is exactly what the Arisian guardsman did. From each pirate's

total mind, a veritable charnel pit, he extracted the foulest, most

unspeakable dregs, the deeply hidden things of which the subject was

in the greatest fear. Of these things he formed a whole of horror

incomprehensible and incredible, and this ghastly whole he made

incarnate and visible to the pirate who was its unwilling parent; as

visible as though it were composed of flesh and blood, of copper and

steel. Is it any wonder that each member of that outlaw crew, seeing

such an abhorrent materialization, went instantly mad?

It is of no use to go into the horribly monstrous shapes of the things,

even were it possible; for each of them was visible to only one man,

and none of them was visible to those who looked on from the safety

of the distant base. To them the entire crew simply abandoned their

posts and attacked each other, senselessly and in insane frenzy, with

whatever weapons came first to hand. Indeed, many of them fought

barehanded, weapons hanging unused in their belts, gouging, beating,

clawing, biting until life had been rived horribly away. In other parts

of the ship DeLameters flamed briefly; bars crashed crunchingly; knives

and axes sheared and trenchantly bit. And soon it was over--almost. The

pilot was still alive, unmoving and rigid at his controls.

Then he, too, moved, slowly, haltingly, as though in a trance. Without

touching the controls of the Bergenholm, he nursed his driving

projectors up to maximum, spun his ship and steadied her on course;

and when Helmuth read that course even his iron nerves failed him

momentarily. For the ship, still inert, was pointed, not for its own

home port, but directly toward Grand Base, the jealously secret planet

whose spatial coördinates neither that pilot nor any other creature of

the pirates' rank and file had ever known!

* * * * *

Helmuth snapped out orders, to which the pilot gave no heed. His

voice--for the first time in his career--rose almost to a howl. But the

pilot still paid no attention. Instead, eyes bulging with horror and

fingers curved tensely into veritable talons, he reared upright upon

his bench and leaped as though to clutch and to rend some unutterably

appalling foe. He leaped over his board into thin and empty air. He

came down a-sprawl in a maze of naked, high-potential busbars. His body

vanished in a flash of searing flame and a cloud of thick and greasy

smoke.

The busbars cleared themselves of their gruesome "short" and the great

ship, manned now entirely by corpses, bored on.

"--stinking klebots, the lily-livered cowards!" the department head,

who had also been yelling orders, was still pounding his desk and

cursing. "If they're _that_ afraid--go mad and kill each other without

being touched--I'll have to go myself----"

"No, Sansteed," Helmuth interrupted, curtly. "You will not have to go.

There is, after all, I think, something there--something that you may

not be able to handle. You see, you missed the one essential key fact."

He referred to the course, the setting of which had shaken him to the

very core.

"Let be," he silenced the other's flood of question and protest. "It

would serve no purpose to detail it to you now. Have the ship taken

back to port."

Helmuth knew now that it was not superstition that made spacemen shun

Arisia. He knew that, from his standpoint at least, there was something

very seriously amiss.