XX.

Out from Radelix and into deep space shot the speedster, bearing the

gray Lensman toward Boyssia II, where the Boskonian base was situated.

The patrol forces had not even yet been able to locate it definitely;

therefore, it must be cleverly hidden indeed. It was manned and staffed

by Tellurians--and this was fairly close to the line first taken by

the pilot of the pirate vessel whose crew had been so decimated by

VanBuskirk and his Valerians. There couldn't be so many Boskonian

bases with Tellurian personnel, Kinnison reflected. It was well within

the bounds of possibility, even of probability, that he might again

encounter here his former, but unsuspecting, shipmates.

Since the Boyssian system was less than a hundred parsecs from Radelix,

a couple of hours found the Lensman staring down upon another green and

Earthly world. Very Earthly indeed was this one. There were polar ice

caps, areas of intensely dazzling white. There was an atmosphere, deep

and sweetly blue, filled for the most part with sunlight, but flecked

here and there with clouds, some of which were slow-moving storms.

There were continents, bearing mountains and plains, lakes and rivers.

There were oceans, studded with islands great and small.

But Kinnison was no planetographer, nor had he been gone from Tellus

sufficiently long so that the sight of this beautiful and homelike

world aroused in him any qualm of nostalgia. He was looking for a

pirate base; and, dropping his speedster as low into the night side as

he dared, he began his search.

Of man or of the works of man he at first found little enough trace.

All human or pseudohuman life was apparently still in a savage state of

development; and, except for a few scattered races, or rather tribes,

of burrowers and of cliff or cave dwellers, it was still nomadic,

wandering here and there without permanent habitation or structure.

Animals of scores of genera and species were there in myriads, but

neither was Kinnison a biologist. He wanted pirates; and, it seemed,

that was the one form of life which he was _not_ going to find!

But finally, through sheer, grim, bulldog pertinacity, he was

successful. That base was there, somewhere. He would find it, no matter

how long it took. He would find it if he had to examine the entire

crust of the planet, land and water alike, kilometer by plotted cubic

kilometer! He set out to do just that; and it was thus that he found

the Boskonian stronghold.

It had been built directly beneath a towering range of mountains,

protected from detection by mile upon mile of native copper and of iron

ore.

Its entrances, invisible before, were even now not readily perceptible,

camouflaged as they were by outer layers of rock which matched exactly

in form, color, and texture the rocks of the cliffs in which they were

placed. Once those entrances were located, the rest was easy. Again he

set his speedster into a carefully observed orbit and came to ground in

his armor. Again he crept forward, furtively and skulkingly, until he

could perceive a shimmering web of force.

With minor variations, his method of entry into the Boskonian base was

similar to that he had used in making his way into the patrol base upon

Radelix. He was, however, working now with a surety and a precision

which had then been entirely lacking. His practice upon the patrolmen

and his terrific bout with the four Lensmen had given him knowledge

and technique. His sitting in judgment, during which he had touched

almost every mind in the vast assemblage, had taught him much. And,

above all, the grisly finale of that sitting, horribly distasteful and

soul-wracking as it had been, had given him training of inestimable

value; necessitating as it had the infliction of the ultimate penalty.

* * * * *

He knew that he might have to stay inside that base for some time;

therefore he selected his hiding place with care. He could, of course,

blank out the knowledge of his presence in the mind of any one chancing

to discover him; but since such an interruption might come at a

critical instant, he preferred to take up his residence in a secluded

place. There were, of course, many vacant suites in the officers'

quarters--all bases must have accommodations for visitors--and the

Lensman decided to occupy one of them. It was a simple matter to obtain

a key, and, inside the bare but comfortable little room, he stripped

off his armor with a sigh of relief.

Leaning back in a deeply upholstered leather arm chair, he closed

his eyes and let his sense of perception roam throughout the great

establishment. With all his newly developed power he studied it, hour

after hour and day after day. When he was hungry the pirate cooks fed

him, not knowing that they did so. He had lived on iron rations long

enough. When he was tired he slept, with his eternally vigilant Lens on

guard.

Finally, he knew everything there was to be known about that

stronghold, and was ready to act. He did not take over the mind of the

base commander, but chose instead the chief communications officer as

the one most likely and most intimately to have dealings with Helmuth.

For Helmuth, he who spoke for Boskone, had for many long months been

the Lensman's definite objective.

But this game could not be hurried. Bases, no matter how important,

did not call Grand Base except upon matters of the most dire urgency,

and no such matter eventuated. Nor did Helmuth call that base, since

nothing out of the ordinary was happening--to any pirates' knowledge,

that is--and his attention was more necessary elsewhere.

One day, however, there came crackling in a triumphant report: a ship

working out of that base had taken noble booty indeed; no less a prize

than a fully supplied hospital ship of the patrol itself! As the report

progressed, Kinnison's heart went down into his boots and he swore

bitterly to himself. How in all the nine hells of Valeria had they

managed to take such a ship as that? Hadn't she been escorted?

Nevertheless, as chief communications officer, he took the report and

congratulated heartily, through the ship's radio man, its captain, its

officers, and its crew.

"Mighty fine work; Helmuth himself shall hear of this," he concluded

his words of praise. "How did you do it? With one of the new maulers?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply. "Our mauler, accompanying us just out of

range, came up and engaged theirs. That left us free to take this ship.

We locked on with magnets, cut our way in, and here we are."

There they were indeed. The hospital ship was red with blood; patients,

doctors, internes, officers and operating crew alike had been butchered

with the horribly ruthless savagery which was the customary technique

of all the agencies of Boskone. Of all that ship's personnel only the

nurses lived. They were not to be put to death--yet. In fact, and under

certain conditions, they need not die at all.

* * * * *

They huddled together, a little knot of white-clad misery in that

corpse-littered room, and even now one of them was being dragged away.

She was fighting viciously, with fists and feet, with nails and teeth.

No one pirate could handle her; it took two of the huskies to subdue

that struggling fury. They hauled her upright and she threw back her

head, in panting defiance. There was a cascade of red-bronze hair and

Kinnison saw--Clarrissa MacDougall! He remembered that there _had_ been

some talk that they were going to put her back into space service! The

Lensman decided instantly what to do.

"Stop, you swine!" he roared through his pirate mouthpiece. "Where do

you think you're going with that nurse?"

"To the captain's cabin, sir." The huskies stopped short in amazement

as that roar filled the room, but answered the question concisely.

"Let her go!" Then, as the girl fled back to the huddled group in the

corner, he said, "Tell the captain to come out here and assemble every

officer and man of the crew. I want to talk to everybody at once."

He had a minute or two in which to think, and he thought furiously,

but accurately. He had to do something, but whatever he did must be

done strictly according to the pirates' own standards of ethics; if he

made one slip it might be Aldebaran I all over again. He knew how to

keep from making that slip, he thought. But also, and this was the hard

part, he must work in something that would let those nurses know that

there was still hope, that there were a few more acts of this drama

yet to come. Otherwise he knew with a stark, cold certainty what would

happen. He knew of what stuff the space nurses of the patrol were made,

knew that they could be driven just so far, and no further--alive.

There was a way out of that, too. In the childishness of his

hospitalization he had called Nurse MacDougall a dumb-bell. He had

thought of her, and had spoken to her quite frankly, in uncomplimentary

terms. But he knew that there was a real brain back of that beautiful

countenance, that a quick and keen intelligence resided under that

red-bronze thatch. Therefore, when the assembly was complete he was

ready, and in no uncertain or ambiguous language he opened up.

"Listen, you--all of you!" he barked, savagely. "This is the first

time in months that we have made such a haul as this, and you fellows

have the brazen gall to start helping yourselves to the choicest stuff

before anybody else gets a look at it. I tell you now to lay off, and

that goes exactly as it lays. I, personally, will kill any man that

touches one of those women before they arrive here at base. Now you,

captain, are the first and worst offender of the lot." And he stared

directly into the eyes of the officer whom he had last seen entering

the dungeon of the Wheelmen.

"I admit that you're a good picker." Kinnison's voice was now

venomously soft, his intonation distinct with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"Unfortunately, however, your taste agrees too well with mine. You

see, captain, I'm going to need a nurse myself. I think I'm coming

down with something. And, since I've got to have a nurse, I'll take

that red-headed one. I had a nurse once with hair just that color,

who insisted on feeding me tea and toast and a soft-boiled egg when I

wanted beefsteak; and I am going to take my grudge out on this one here

for all the red-headed nurses that ever lived. I trust that you will

pardon the length of this speech, but I want to give you my reasons in

full for cautioning you that that particular nurse is my own particular

personal property. Mark her for me, and see to it that she gets

here--exactly as she is now."

The captain had been afraid to interrupt his superior, but now he

erupted.

"But see here, Blakeslee!" he stormed. "She ought to be mine, by every

right. I captured her; I saw her first; I've got her here----"

"Enough of that back talk, captain!" Kinnison sneered elaborately. "You

know, of course, that you are violating every rule by taking booty for

yourself before division at base, and that you can be shot for doing

it."

"But everybody does it!" protested the captain.

"Except when a superior officer catches him at it. Superiors get first

pick, you know," the Lensman reminded him, suavely.

"But I protest, sir! I'll take it up with----"

"Shut up!" Kinnison snarled, with cold finality. "Take it up with whom

you please, but remember this, my last warning: Bring her in to me as

she is and you live. Touch her and you die! Now, you nurses, come over

here to the board!"

* * * * *

Nurse Macdougall had been whispering furtively to the others, and

now she led the way, head high and eyes blazing defiance. She was an

actress, as well as a nurse.

"Take a good, long look at this button, right here, marked 'Relay 46,'"

came curt instructions. "If anybody aboard this ship touches any one of

you, or even looks at you as though he wants to, press this button and

I'll do the rest. Now, you big, red-headed dumb-bell, look at me. Don't

start begging--yet. I just want to be sure that you'll know me when you

see me."

"I'll know you, never fear, you--you _brat_!" she flared, thus

informing the Lensman that she had received his message. "I'll not only

know you--I'll scratch your eyes out on sight!"

"That'll be a good trick if you can do it," Kinnison sneered, and cut

off.

"What's it all about, Mac? What has got into you?" demanded one of the

nurses, as soon as the women were alone.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Watch out; they may have spy rays on

us. I don't know anything, really, and the whole thing is too wildly

impossible, too utterly fantastic to be even partially true. But pass

the word along to all the girls to ride this out, because my gray

Lensman is in on it, somewhere and somehow. I don't see how he can be,

possibly, but I just know that he is."

For, at the first mention of tea and toast, before she perceived even

an inkling of the true situation, her mind had flashed back instantly

to Kinnison, the most stubborn and rebellious patient she had ever

had--more, the only man she had ever known who had treated her

precisely as though she were a part of the hospital's very furniture.

As is the way of women--particularly of beautiful women--she had orated

of women's rights and of women's status in the scheme of things. She

had decried all special privileges, and had stated, often and with

heat, that she asked no odds of any man living or yet to be born.

Nevertheless, and also beautiful-woman-like, the thought had bitten

deep that here was a man who had never even realized that she _was_

a woman, to say nothing of realizing that she was an extraordinarily

beautiful one! And deep within her and sternly suppressed the thought

had still rankled.

At the mention of beefsteak she all but screamed, gripping her knees

with frantic hands to keep her emotion down. For she had had no real

hope; she was simply fighting with everything she had until the

hopeless end, which she had known could not long be delayed. Now she

gathered herself together and began to act.

When the word "dumb-bell" boomed from the speaker she knew, beyond

doubt or peradventure, that it was Kinnison, the gray Lensman, who was

really doing that talking. It was crazy; it didn't make any kind of

sense at all; but it was, it must be, true. And, again, woman-like, she

knew with a calm certainty that as long as that gray Lensman were alive

and conscious, he would be completely the master of any situation in

which he might find himself. Therefore, she passed along her illogical

but cheering thought, and the nurses, also being women, accepted it

without question as the actual and accomplished fact.

They carried on, and when the captured hospital ship had docked at

base, Kinnison was completely ready to force matters to a conclusion.

In addition to the chief communications officer, he now had under his

control a highly capable observer. To handle two such minds was child's

play to the intellect which had directed, against their full fighting

wills, the minds of two and three quarters alert, powerful, and fully

warned Lensmen!

"Good girl, Mac!" he put his mind _en rapport_ with hers and sent his

message. "Glad you got the idea. You did a good job of acting, and if

you can do some more as good we'll be all set. Can do?"

"I'll say I can!" she assented fervently. "I don't know what you are

doing, how you can possibly do it, or where you are, but that can wait.

Tell me what to do and I'll do it!"

"Make a pass at the base commander," he instructed her. "Hate me--the

ape I'm working through, you know--all over the place. Go into it

big. You maybe could love him, but if I get you you'll blow out your

brains--if any. You know the line--play up to him with everything you

can bring to bear, and hate me all to pieces. Help all you can to start

a fight between us. If he falls for you hard enough the blow-off comes

then and there. If not, he'll be able to do us all plenty of dirt. I

can kill a lot of them, but not enough of them quick enough."

"He'll fall," she promised him gleefully, "like ten thousand bricks

falling down a well. Just watch my jets!"

* * * * *

And fall he did. He had not even seen a woman for months, and he

expected nothing except bitter resistance and suicide from any of

these women of the patrol. Therefore, he was rocked to the heels--set

back upon his very haunches--when the most beautiful woman he had ever

seen came of her own volition into his arms, seeking in them sanctuary

from his own chief communications officer.

"I hate him!" she sobbed, nestling against the huge bulk of the

base commander's body and turning upon him the full blast of the

high-powered projectors which were her eyes. "_You_ wouldn't be so mean

to me, I just know you wouldn't!" And her subtly perfumed head sank

upon his shoulder. The base commander was just so much soft wax.

"I'll say I wouldn't be mean to you!" his voice dropped to a gentle

bellow. "Why, you little sweetheart, I'll _marry_ you. I will, by all

the gods of space!"

It thus came about that nurse and base commander entered the control

room together, arms about each other.

"There he is!" she shrieked, pointing at the chief communications

officer. "He's the one! Now let's see you start something, you

rat-faced clunker! There's one real man around here, and he won't let

you touch me--ya-a-a!" She gave him a resounding Bronx cheer, and her

escort swelled visibly.

"Is--that--so----?" Kinnison sneered. "Get this, baby-face, and get it

straight. You were marked as mine as soon as I looked the ship over,

and mine you're going to be, whether you like it or not, and no matter

what anybody else says or does about it. And as for you, chief, you're

too late. I saw her first. And now, you red-headed hussy, come over

here where you belong!"

She snuggled closer into the commander's embrace and the big man turned

purple.

"What do you mean, too late?" he roared. "You took her away from the

ship's captain, didn't you? You said that superior officers get first

choice, and they do. I am the boss here and I am taking her away from

you. Get me? You'll stand for it, too--yes, and you'll like it. One

word out of you and I'll have you spread-eagled across the mouth of No.

6 Projector!"

"Superior officers do not _always_ get first choice," Kinnison replied,

with bitter, cold ferocity, but choosing his words with care. "It

depends entirely upon who the two men are."

Now was the time to strike. Kinnison knew that if the base commander

kept his head, the lives of those valiant women were forfeit, and

the Lensman's whole plan seriously endangered. He himself could get

away, of course--but he could not see himself doing it under these

conditions. No, he must goad the commander to a frenzy. Mac would help.

In fact, and without his suggestion, she was even then hard at work

fomenting trouble between the two men.

"You don't have to take that from anybody, big boy," she was

whispering, urgently. "Don't call in a crew to spread-eagle him,

either; beam him out yourself. You're a better man than he is, any

time. Blast him down. That'll show him who's who around this base!"

"When the inferior is such a man as I am, and the superior such a one

as you are," the biting, contemptuously sneering voice went on without

a break, "such a bloated swine, such a mangy, low-down cur, such a

pussy-gutted tub of lard, such a worthless, brainless spawn of the

lowest dregs of the sourest scum of space, such an utterly incompetent

and self-opinionated ass as you are----"

The outraged pirate chief, bellowing incoherently in wildly mounting

rage, was leaping toward a cabinet in which were kept the DeLameters.

"--then, in that case, the inferior keeps the red-headed wench himself.

Put that on a tape, chief, and eat it. Then, if you are too much

of a lily-livered coward to do anything about it yourself, have me

spread-eagled," the Lensman concluded, cuttingly.

"Blast him! Blast him down!" the nurse had been shrieking; and, as the

raging commander neared the cabinet, no one noticed that her latest and

loudest scream was "Kim! Blast him down! Don't wait any longer--beam

him down before he gets a gun!"

But the Lensman did not act--yet. Although almost every man of the

pirate crew stared spellbound, Kinnison's enslaved observer had for

many seconds been jamming the subether with Helmuth's personal and

urgent call. It was of almost vital importance to his plan that

Helmuth himself should see the climax of this scene. Therefore, the

communications officer stood immobile, while the profanely raving base

commander reached the cabinet, tore it open, seized a DeLameter, and

swung it savagely toward him!