With a cry of agony, Kendall ripped the radio-phone connection out of
his suit. A soft hiss of leaking air warned him of too great violence
only minutes later. For his ears had been deafened by the sudden shriek
of a tremendous signal from outside!
Instantly Kendall knew what that meant. And he could not communicate
with his men! There was no metal in these special suits, even the oxygen
tanks were made of synthetic plastics of tremendous strength. No scrap
of vibrating metal was permissible. The padded gloves and boots
protected him--but there was a new and different type of crackle and
haze from the metal points now. It was almost invisible in the
practically airless ship, but Kendall saw it.
Presently he felt it, as he desperately increased his acceleration. Slow
creeping heat was attacking him. The heat was increasing rapidly now.
Desperately he was working at the crumbler-protection controls--but
immediately set them back as they were. He had to have the crumbler
protection as well--!
* * * * *
Grimly the great Miran ship hung right beside them. Angrily the two
four-foot UV beams flashed back--seeking some weak spot. There were
none. At her absolute maximum of acceleration the little ship plunged
on. Gamma and atomic bombs were washing her in flame. The heavy blocks
of paraffin between her walls were long since melted, retained only by
the presence of the metal walls. Smoke was beginning to filter out now,
and Kendall recognized a new, and deadlier menace! Heat--quantities of
heat were being poured into the little ship, and the neutron guns were
doing their best to add to it. The paraffin was confined in there--and
like any substance, it could be volatilized, and as a vapor, develop
pressure--explosive pressure!
The Miran seemed satisfied in his tactics so far--and changed them.
Forty-seven million miles from Earth, the Miran simply accelerated a bit
more, and crowded the Solarian ship a bit. White-faced, Buck Kendall was
forced to turn a bit aside. The Miran turned also. Kendall turned a bit
more--
Flashing across his range of vision at an incredible speed, a tiny
thing, no more than twenty feet long and five in diameter, a scout-ship
appeared. Its tiny nose ultra-violet beam was blasting a solid cylinder
of violet incandescence a foot across in the hull of the Miran--and, to
the Miran, angling swiftly across his range of vision. Its magnetic
field clashed for a thousandth of a second with the T-253, instantly
meeting, and absorbing the fringing edges. Then--it swept through the
Miran's magnetic shield as easily. The delicate instruments of the scout
instantaneously adjusted its own magnetic field as much as possible.
There was resistance, enormous resistance--the ship crumpled in on
itself, the tail vanished in dust as a sweeping crumbler beam caught it
at last--and the remaining portion of the ship plowed into the nose of
the Miran.
The Miran's force-control-room was wrecked. For perhaps a minute and a
half, the ship was without control, then the control was
re-established--and in vain the telescopes and instruments searched for
the T-253. Lightless, her rockets out now, her fields damped down to
extinction, the T-253 was lost in the pulsing, gyrating fields of half a
dozen scout-ships.
Kendall looked grimly at the crushed spot on the nose of the Miran. His
ship was drifting slowly away from the greater ship. Presently, however,
the Miran put on speed in the direction of Earth, and the T-253 fell far
behind. The Miran was not seriously injured. But that scout pilot, in
sacrificing life, had thrown dust in their eyes for just those few
moments Kendall had needed to lose a lightless ship in lightless
space--lightless--for the Mirans at any rate. The IP ships had been
covered with a black paint, and in no time at all, Kendall had gotten
his ship into a position where the energy radiations of the sun made him
undetectable from the Miran's position, since the radiation of his own
ship, even in the heat range, was mingled with the direct radiation of
the sun. The sun was in the Miran's "eyes," both actual and
instrumental.
An hour later the Miran returned, passed the still-lightless ship at a
distance of five million miles, and settled to Phobos for the slight
repairs needed.
Twelve hours later, the T-253 settled to Luna, for the many
rearrangements she would need.
"I rather knew it was coming," Kendall admitted sadly, "but danged if I
didn't forget all about it. And--cost the life of one of the finest men
in the system. Jehnson's family get a permanent pension just twice his
salary, McLaurin. In the meantime--"
"What was it? Pure heat, but how?"
"Pure radio. Nothing but short-wave radio directed at us. They probably
had the apparatus, knew how to make it, but that's not a good type of
heat ray, because a radio tube is generally less than eighty percent
efficient, which is a whale of a loss when you're working in a battle,
and a whale of an inconvenience. We were heated only four times as much
as the Miran. He had to pump that heat into a heat-reservoir--a water
tank probably--to protect himself. Highly inefficient and ineffective
against a large ship. Also, he had to hold his beam on us nearly ten
minutes before it would have become unbearable. He was again, trying to
kill the men, and not the ship. The men are the weakest point,
obviously."
"Can you overcome that?"
"Obviously, no. The thing works on pure energy. I'd have to match his
energy to neutralize it. You knew it's an old proposition, that if you
could take a beam of pure, monochromatic light and divide it exactly in
half, and then recombine it in perfect interference, you'd have
annihilation of energy. Cancellation to extinction. The trouble is, you
never do get that. You can't get monochromatic light, because light
can't be monochromatic. That's due to the Heisenberg Uncertainty--my pet
bug-bear. The atom that radiates the light, must be moving. If it isn't,
the emission of the light itself gives it a kick that moves it. Now, no
matter what the quantum _might_ have been, it loses energy in kicking
the atom. That changes the situation instantly, and incidentally the
'color' of the light. Then, since all the radiating atoms won't be
moving alike, etc., the mass of light can't be monochromatic. Therefore
perfect interference is impossible.
"The way that relates to the problem in hand, is that we can't possibly
destroy his energy. We can, as we do in the crumbler stunt, change it.
He can't, I suspect, put too much power behind his crumbler, or he'd
have crumbling going on at home. We get a slight heating from it,
anyway. Into the bargain, his radio was after us, and his neutrons
naturally carried energy. Now, no matter what we do, we've got that to
handle. When we fight his crumbler, we actually add heat-energy to it,
ourselves, and make the heating effect just twice as bad. If we try to
heterodyne his radio--presto--it has twice the heat energy anyway,
though we might reduce it to a frequency that penetrated the ship
instead of all staying in it. But by the proposition, we have to use as
much energy, and in fact, remember the 80% rule. We've got to take it
and like it."
"But," objected McLaurin, "we _don't_ like it."
"Then build ships as big as his, and he'll quit trying to roast you.
Particularly if the inner walls are synthetic plastics. Did you know I
used them in the 'S Doradus' and 'Cepheid'?"
"Yes. Were you thinking of that?"
"No--just luck--and the fact that they're light, strong as steel almost,
and can be manufactured in forms much more quickly. Only the outer hull
is tungsten-beryllium. The advantage in this will be that nearly all the
energy will be absorbed outside, and we'll radiate pretty fast,
particularly as that tungsten-beryllium has a high radiation-factor in
the long heat range."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, ordinary polished silver is a mighty poor radiator. Homely
example: Try waiting for your coffee to cool if it's in a polished
silver pot. Then try it in a tungsten-beryllium pot. No matter how you
polish that tungsten-beryllium, the stuff WILL radiate heat. That's why
an IP ship is always so blamed cold. You know the passenger ships use
polished aluminum outer walls. The big help is, that the
tungsten-beryllium will throw off the energy pretty fast, and in a big
ship, with a whale of a lot of matter to heat, the Strangers will simply
give up the idea."
"Yes, but only two ships in the system compare with them in size."
"Sorry--but I didn't build the IP fleet, and there are lots of tungsten
and beryllium on Earth. Enough anyway."
"Will they use that beam on the fort? And can't we use the thing on
them?"
"They won't and we won't--though we could. A bank of those new million
watt tubes--perhaps a hundred of them--and we'd have a pretty effective
heater--but an awful waste of power. I've got something better."
"New?"
"Somewhat. I've found out how to make the mirror field in a plate of
metal, instead of a block. Come on to the lab, and I'll show you."
"What's the advantage? Oh--weight saved, and silver metal saved."
"A lot more than that, Mac. Watch."
* * * * *
At the laboratory, the new apparatus looked immensely lighter and
simpler than the old. The atostor, the ionizer, and the twin
ion-projectors were as before, great, rigid, metal structures that would
maintain the meeting point of the ions with inflexible exactitude under
any acceleration strains. But now, instead of the heavy silver block in
which a mirror was figured, the mirror consisted of a polished silver
plate, parabolic to be sure, but little more than a half-inch in
thickness. It was mounted in a framework of complex, stout metal braces.
Kendall started the ion-flame at low intensity, so the UV beam was
little more than a spotlight.
"You missed the point, Mac. Now--watch that tungsten-beryllium plate.
I'll hold the power steady. It's an eighteen-inch beam--and now the
energy is just sufficient to heat that tungsten plate to bright red.
But--"
Kendall turned over a small rheostat control--and abruptly the
eighteen-inch diameter spot on the tungsten-beryllium plate began
contracting; it contracted till it was a blazing, sparkling spot of
molten incandescence less than an inch across!
"That's the advantage of focus. At this distance of a few hundred feet
with a small beam I can do that. With a twenty-foot beam, I can get a
two-foot spot at a distance of nearly ten miles! That means that the
receiving end will have the pleasure of handling _one hundred times the
energy concentration_. That would punch a hole through most anything.
All you have to do is focus it. The trouble being, if it's out of focus
the advantage is more than lost. So if there's any question about
getting the focus, we'll get along without it."
"A real help, if you do. That would punch a hole before the Stranger
ship could turn away as they do now."
Kendall nodded. "That's what I was after. It is mainly for the forts,
though. We'll have to signal the dope to the Mars Center and Deenmor
stations. They can fix it up, themselves. In the meantime--all we can do
is hold on and hunt, and let's hope better than the Strangers do."
X
Sadly the convalescent Gresth Gkae listened to the reports of his
lieutenants. More and more disgraced he felt as he realized how badly he
had blundered in reporting the people of this system unable to cope with
the attackers' weapons. Gresth Gkae looked up at his old friend and
physician, Merth Skahl. He shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid, Merth
Skahl. I am afraid. We have, perhaps, made a mistake. The better and the
stronger alone should rule. Aye, but is the _stronger_ always the
_better_? I am afraid we have mistaken the Truth in assuming this. If we
have--then may Jarth, Lord of Truth and Wisdom punish us. Mighty Jarth,
if I have mistaken in following my judgments, it is not from
disobedience, it is lack of Thy knowledge. The strongest--they are not
always the better, are they?"
Merth Skahl bent sharply over his friend. "Quiet thyself, Gresth Gkae.
You know, and I know, you have done only your best, and surely Jarth
himself can ask no better of any one. You must rest, for only by rest
can those terrible burns be healed. All your _stheen_ over half the
body-area was burned off. You have been delirious for many days."
"But Merth Skahl, think--have we disobeyed Jarth's will? It is, we know,
his will that only the best and the strongest shall rule--but are the
best always the strongest? An imbecile adult could destroy the life of a
genius-grade child. The strongest wins, but not the best. Such would not
be the will of Jarth. If we be the stronger, _and_ the best, then it is
right and just that these strange creatures should be destroyed that we
may have a stable world of stable light and heat. But look and see, with
what terrible swiftness these strange creatures have learned! May it not
be they are the better race--that it is _we_ who are the weaker and the
poorer? Can it be that Jarth has brought us together that these people
might learn--and destroy us? If they be the stronger, and the
better--then may Jarth's will be done. But we must test our strength to
the utmost. I must rise, and go to my laboratory soon. They have set it
up?"
"Aye, they have, Gresth Gkae. But remember, the weak and the sick make
faults the strong and the well do not. Better that you rest yourself.
There is little you can do while your body seeks to recover from these
terrible burns."
"You are wrong, my friend, wrong. Don't you see that my mind is
clear--that it is the mind which must fight in these battles, for surely
the man is weak against such things as this infra-X-radiation? Why, I am
better able to fight now than are you, for I am a trained fighter of the
mind, while you are a trained healer of the body. These strange beings
with their stiff arms and legs, their tender skins, and--and their swift
minds have fought us all too well. If we must test, let it be a test. I
have heard how they so quickly solved the riddle of the crumbling field.
That took us longer, and we designed it. The Counsel of Worlds put me in
command, let me up, Skahl, I must work."
Concerned, the physician looked down at him. Finally he spoke again.
"No, I will not permit you to leave the hospital-ship. You must stay
here, but if, as you have said, the mind is what must fight, then surely
you can fight well from here, for your mind is here."
"No, I cannot, and you well know it. I may shorten my life, but what
matter. 'Death is the end toward which the chemical reaction, Life,
tends,'" quoted the scientist. "You know I have left my children--my
immortality is assured through them. I can afford to die in peace, if it
assures their welfare. Time is precious, and while my mind might work
from here, it must have data on which to work. For that, I must go to
the laboratories. Help me, Merth Skahl."
Reluctantly the physician granted the request, but begged of Gresth Gkae
a promise of at least six hours rest in every fifteen, and a good sleep
of at least twenty-seven hours every "night." Gresth Gkae agreed, and
from a wheelchair, conducted his work, began a new line of
experimentation he hoped would yield them the weapon they needed. Under
him, the staff of scientists worked, aiding and advising and suggesting.
The apparatus was built, tested, and found wanting. Time and again as
the days passed, they watched Gresth Gkae, gaining strength very, very
slowly, taken away despondent at the end of his forty hours of work.
A dozen expeditions were sent to Jupiter's poles to watch and measure
and study the tremendous auroral displays there, where Jupiter's vast
magnetic field sucked in countless quintillions of the flying electrons
from the sun, and brought them circling in, in a vast, magnificent
display of auroral ionization.
* * * * *
Expeditions went to the great Southern Plateau, the Plateau of Storms,
where the titanic air currents resulted in an everlasting display of
terrific lightnings, great burning balls of electric force floating
dangerous and deadly across the frozen, ultra-cold plain.
And the expeditions brought back data. Yet still Gresth Gkae could not
sleep, his thoughts intruding constantly. Hours Merth Skahl spent with
him, calming him to sleep.
"But what is this constant search? It is little enough I know of
science, but why do you send our men to these spots of wonderfully
beautiful, but useless natural forces. Can we somehow, do you think,
turn them against the people of these worlds?"
Softly the old Miran smiled. "Yes, you might say so. For look, it is the
strange balls of electric force I want to know about. Sthor had few, but
occasionally we saw them. Never were they properly investigated. I want
to know their secret, for I am sure they are balls of electric forces
not vastly dissimilar from the nucleus of the atom. Always we have known
that no system of purely electrical forces could remain stable. Yet
these strange balls of energy do. How is it? I am sure it will be of
vast importance. But the direct secret I hope to learn is in this: What
can be done with electric fields can nearly always be duplicated, or
paralleled in magnetic fields. If I can learn how to make these
electric balls of energy, can I not hope to make similar magnetic balls
of energy?"
"Yes, I see--that would seem true. But what benefit would you derive
from that? You have magnetic beams now, and yet they are useless because
you can get nowhere near the forts. How then would these benefit you?"
"We can do nothing to those forts, because of that magnetic shield.
Could we once break it down, then the fort is helpless, and one or two
small atomic bombs destroy it. But--we cannot stay near, for the
terrible infra-X-rays of theirs burn holes in our ships, and--in our
men.
"But look you, I can drop many atomic bombs from a distance where their
beams are ineffective. Suppose I _do_ make a magnetic ball of energy, a
magnetic bomb. Then--I can drop it from a distance! We have learned that
the power supply of these forts is very great--but not endless, as is
ours now, thanks to the vast supplies of power metal on this heavy
planet. Then all we need do is stay at a distance where they cannot
reach us--and drop magnetic bombs. Ah, they will be stopped, and their
energy absorbed. But we can keep it up, day after day, and slowly drain
out their power. Then--then our atomic bombs can destroy those forts,
and we can move on!" But suddenly the animation and strength left his
voice. He turned a sad, downcast face to his friend. "But Merth Skahl,
we can't do it," he complained.
"Ah--now I can see why you so want to continue this wearing and worrying
work. You need time, Gresth Gkae, only time for success. Tomorrow it may
be that you will see the first hint that will lead you to success."
"Ah--I only hope it, Merth Skahl, I only hope it."
But it was the next day that they saw the first glimpse of the secret,
and saw the path that might lead to hope and success. In a week they
were sending electric bombs across the laboratory. And in three days
more, a magnetic bomb streaked dully across the laboratory to a magnetic
shield they had set up, and buried itself in it, to explode in brilliant
light and heat.
From that day Gresth Gkae began to mend. In the three weeks that were
needed to build the apparatus into ships, he regained strength so that
when the first flight of five interstellar ships rose from Jupiter, he
was on the flagship.
To Phobos they went first, to the little inner satellite of Mars,
scarcely eight miles in diameter, a tiny bit of broken metal and rock,
utterly airless, but scarcely more than 3700 miles from the surface of
Mars below. The Mars Center and Deenmor forts were wasting no power
raying a ship at that distance. They could, of course, have damaged it,
but not severely enough to make up for the loss of their strictly
limited power. The photocells had been working overtime, every minute of
available light had been used, and still scarcely 2100 tons of charged
mercury remained in the tanks of Mars Center and 1950 in the tanks at
Deenmor.
The flight of five ships settled comfortably upon Phobos, while the
three relieved of duty started back to Jupiter. Immediately work was
begun on the attack. The ships were first landed on the near side, while
the apparatus of the projectors was unloaded, then the great ships moved
around to the far side. Phobos of course rotated with one face fixed
irrevocably toward Mars itself, the other always to the cold of space.
Great power leads trailed beneath the ships, and to the dark side. Then
there were huge water lines for cooling. On this almost weightless
world, where the great ships weighing hundreds of thousands of tons on a
planet, weighed so little they were frequently moved about by a single
man, the laying of five miles of water conduit was no impossibility.
Then they were ready. Mars Center came first. Automatic devices kept the
aim exact, as the first of the magnetic bombs started down. At
five-second intervals they were projected outward, invisible globes of
concentrated magnetic energy, undetectable in space. Seven seconds
passed before the first became dimly visible in the thin air of Mars. It
floated down, it would miss the fort it seemed--so far to one side--
Abruptly it turned, and darted with tremendously accelerating speed for
the great magnetic field of the fort. With a vast blast of light, it
exploded. Five seconds later a second exploded. And a third.
Mars Center signaled scoffingly that the bombs were all being stopped
dead in the magnetic atmosphere, after the bombardment had been
witnessed from Earth and Luna. An hour later they gave a report that
they were concentrated magnetic fields of energy that would be rather
dangerous--if it weren't that they couldn't even stand into the magnetic
atmosphere. Three hours later Mars Center reported that they contained
considerably more energy than had at first been thought. Further, which
they had not carefully considered at first, they were taking energy with
them! They were taking away about an equal amount of energy as each blew
up.
It was only a half-hour after that that the men at Mars Center realized
perfectly what it meant. Their power was being drained just a little bit
better than twice as fast as they generated during the day--and since
Phobos spun so swiftly across the sky.
Deenmor got the attack just about the time Mars Center was released.
Deenmor immediately began seeking for the source of it. Somewhere on
Phobos--but where?
The Mirans were experts at camouflage. Deenmor Station, realizing the
menace, immediately rayed the "projector." They tore up a great deal of
harmless rock with their huge UV rays. But the bomb device continued to
throw one bomb each five seconds.
When Deenmor operated from Phobos' position, Mars Center was exposed to
the deadly, constant drain. A day or two later, the bombs were coming
one each second and a half, for more ships had joined in the work on
Phobos.
Gresth Gkae saw the work was going nicely. He knew that now it was only
a question of time before those magnetic shields would fail--and then
the whole fort would be powerless. Maybe--it might be a good idea, when
the forts were powerless to investigate instead of blowing them up.
There might be many interesting and worthwhile pieces of
apparatus--particularly the UV beam's apparatus.