Among the world-girdling fortifications of a planet distant indeed
from star cluster AG 257-4736 there squatted sullenly a fortress quite
similar to Helmuth's own. Indeed, in some respects it was even superior
to the base of him who spoke for Boskone. It was larger and stronger.
Instead of one dome, it had many. It was dark and cold withal, for its
occupants had practically nothing in common with humanity save the
possession of high intelligence.
In the central sphere of one of the domes there sparkled several of
the peculiarly radiant globes whose counterpart had given Kinnison so
seriously to think, and near them there crouched or huddled or lay at
ease a many-tentacled creature indescribable to man. It was not exactly
like an octopus. Though spiny, it did not resemble at all closely a
sea-cucumber. Nor, although it was scaly and toothy and wingy, was it,
save in the vaguest possible way, similar to a lizard, a sea serpent,
or a vulture. Such a description by negatives is, of course, pitifully
inadequate; but, unfortunately, it is the best that can be done.
The entire attention of this being was focused within one of the
globes, the obscure mechanism of which was relaying to his sense of
perception from Helmuth's globe and mind a clear picture of everything
which was happening within Grand Base. The corpse-littered dome was
clear to his sight; he knew that the Patrol was attacking from without;
knew that that ubiquitous Lensman, who had already unmanned the
citadel, was about to attack from within.
"You have erred seriously," the entity was thinking coldly,
emotionlessly, into the globe, "in not deducing until after it was too
late to save your base that the Lensman had perfected a nullifier of
subethereal detection. Your contention that I am equally culpable is, I
think, untenable. It was your problem, not mine; I had, and still have,
other things to concern me. Your base is of course lost; whether or not
you yourself survive will depend entirely upon the adequacy of your
protective devices."
"But, Eichlan, you yourself pronounced them adequate!"
There followed an interval of silence, as though those conferring
were separated by such a gulf of space that even thought, with its
immeasurable velocity of propagation, required finite time to traverse
it.
"Pardon me--I said that they _seemed_ adequate."
[Illustration: _Through inter-Galactic space Helmuth's thought drove._
"_You said the defenses were adequate!_"
"_I said they seemed adequate_," _said the Eichlan coldly._]
"If I survive--or, rather, after I have destroyed this Lensman--what
are your orders?" Another interval.
"Go to the nearest communicator and concentrate our forces; half of
them to engage this Patrol fleet, the remainder to wipe out all the
life of Sol III. I have not tried to give those orders direct, since
all the beams are keyed to your board and, even if I could reach them,
no commander in that Galaxy knows that I speak for Boskone. After you
have done that, report to me here."
"Instructions received and understood. Helmuth, ending message."
"Set your controls as instructed. I will observe and record. Prepare
yourself, the Lensman comes. Eichlan, speaking for Boskone, ending
message."
The Lensman rushed. Even before he crashed the pirate's screens his own
defensive zone flamed white in the beam of semiportable projectors, and
through that blaze came tearing the metallic slugs of a high-caliber
machine rifle. But the Lensman's screens were almost those of a
battleship, his armor relatively as strong; he had at his command
projectors scarcely inferior to those opposing his advance. Therefore,
with every faculty of his newly enlarged mind concentrated upon that
thought-screened, armored head behind the bellowing gun and the flaring
projectors, Kinnison held his line and forged ahead.
* * * * *
Attentive as he was to Helmuth's thought-screens, the Patrolman was
ready when it weakened slightly and a thought began to seep through,
directed at that peculiar ball of force. He blanketed it savagely,
before it could even begin to take form, and attacked the screen so
viciously that the Boskonian had either to restore full coverage
instantly or else die there and then.
Kinnison feared that force-ball no longer. He still did not know what
it was; but he had learned that, whatever its nature might be, it was
operated or controlled by thought. Therefore it was and would remain
harmless. If the pirate chief softened his screen enough to emit a
thought he would never think again.
Doggedly the Lensman drove in, closer and closer. Magnetic clamps
locked and held. Two steel-clad, warring figures rolled into the line
of fire of the ravening automatic rifle. Kinnison's armor, designed and
tested to withstand even heavier stuff, held; wherefore he came through
that storm of metal unscathed. Helmuth's, however, even though stronger
far than the ordinary personal armor of space, failed; and thus the
Boskonian died.
Blasting himself upright, the Patrolman shot across the inner dome to
the control panel and paused, momentarily baffled. He could not throw
the switches controlling the defensive screens of the gigantic outer
dome! His armor, designed for the ultimate of defensive strength, could
not and did not bear any of the small and delicate external mechanisms
so characteristic of the ordinary spacesuit. To leave his personal tank
at that time and in that environment was unthinkable; yet he was fast
running out of time. A scant fifteen seconds was all that remained
before zero, the moment at which the hellish output of every watt
generable by the massed fleet of the Galactic Patrol would be hurled
against those screens in their furiously raging destructive might. To
release the screens after that zero moment would mean his own death,
instantaneous and inevitable.
Nevertheless, he could open those circuits--the conservation of
Boskonian property meant nothing to him. He flipped on his own
projector and flashed its beam briefly across the banked panels in
front of him. Insulation burst into flame, fairly exploding in its
haste to disintegrate; copper and silver ran in brilliant streams or
puffed away in clouds of sparkling vapor: high-tension arcs ripped,
crashed, and cracked among the writhing, dripping, flaring bus-bar.
The shorts burned themselves clear or blew their fuses, every circuit
opened, every Boskonian defense came down; and then, and only then,
could Kinnison get into communication with his friends.
"Haynes!" he thought crisply into his Lens. "Kinnison calling!"
"Haynes acknowledging!" a thought instantly snapped back. "Congrat--"
"Hold it! We're not done yet! Have every ship in the Fleet go free at
once. Have them all, except yours, put out full-coverage screens, so
that they can't look at or think into this Base."