Galactic Patrol

by Edward E Smith

  Helmuth still quailed inwardly whenever he thought of what he had undergone at the Arisian barrier, and he had given up all thought of securing the secret of the Lens by force or from Arisia. But there must be other ways of getting it…

  And just then there came in the urgent call from Boyssia II, followed by the stunningly successful revolt of the hitherto innocuous Blakeslee, culminating as it did in the destruction of Helmuth’s every Boyssian device of vision or of communication. Blue-white with fury, the Boskonian flung his net abroad to take the renegade; but as he settled back to await results a thought struck him like a blow from a fist. Blakeslee was innocuous. He never had had, did not now have and never would have, the cold nerve and the sheer, dominating power he had just shown. Toward what conclusion did that fact point?

  The furious anger disappeared from Helmuth’s face as though it had been wiped therefrom with a sponge, and he became again the cold calculating mechanism of flesh and blood that he ordinarily was. This conception changed matters entirely. This was not an ordinary revolt of an ordinary subordinate. The man had done something which he could not possibly do. So what? The Lens again…again that accursed Lensman, the one who had somehow learned really to use his Lens!

  “Wolmark, call every vessel at Boyssia base,” he directed crisply. “Keep on calling them until someone answers. Get whoever is in charge there now and put him on me here.”

  A few minutes of silence followed, then Vice-Commander Krimsky reported in full everything that had happened and told of the threatened destruction of the base.

  “You have an automatic speedster there, have you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Turn over command to the next in line, with orders to move to the nearest base, taking with him as much equipment as is possible. Caution him to leave on time, however, for I very strongly suspect that it is now too late to do anything to prevent the destruction of the base. You, alone, take the speedster and bring away the personal files of the men who went with Blakeslee. A speedster will meet you at a point to be designated later and relieve you of the records.”

  An hour passed. Two, then three.

  “Wolmark! Blakeslee and the hospital ship have vanished, I presume?”

  “They have.” The underling, expecting a verbal flaying, was greatly surprised at the mildness of his chief’s tone and at the studious serenity of his face.

  “Come to the center.” Then, when the lieutenant was seated, “I do not suppose that you as yet realize what—or rather, who—it is that is doing this?”

  “Why, Blakeslee is doing it, of course.”

  “I thought so, too, at first. That was what the one who really did it wanted us to think.”

  “It must have been Blakeslee. We saw him do it, sir—how could it have been anyone else?”

  “I do not know. I do know, however, and so should you, that he could not have done it. Blakeslee, of himself, is of no importance whatever.”

  “We’ll catch him, sir, and make him talk. He can’t get away.”

  “You will find that you will not catch him and that he can get away. Blakeslee alone, of course, could not do so, any more than he could have done the things he apparently did do. No. Wolmark, we are not dealing with Blakeslee.”

  “Who then, sir?”

  “Haven’t you deduced that yet? The Lensman, fool—the same Lensman who has been thumbing his nose at us ever since he took one of our first-class battleships with a speed-boat and a firecracker.”

  “But—how could he?”

  “Again I admit that I do not know—yet. The connection, however, is quite evident. Thought. Blakeslee was thinking thoughts utterly beyond him. The Lens comes from Arisia. The Arisians are masters of thought—of mental forces and processes incomprehensible to any of us. These are the elements which, when fitted together, will give us the complete picture.”

  “I don’t see how they fit.”

  “Neither do I—yet. However, it should be clear to you that we do not want that Lensman thinking such thoughts as that into this base.”

  “We certainly do not. However, surely he can’t trace…”

  “Just a moment! The time has come when it is no longer safe to say what that Lensman can or cannot do. Our communicator beams are hard and tight, yes. But any beam can be tapped if enough power be applied to it, and any beam that can be tapped can be traced. I expect him to visit us here, and we shall be prepared for his visit. That is the reason for this conference with you. Here is a device which generates a field through which no thought can penetrate. I have had this device for some time, but for obvious reasons have not released it. Here are the diagrams and complete constructional data. Have a few hundred of them made with all possible speed, and see to it that every being upon this planet wears one continuously. Impress upon everyone, and I will also, that it is of the utmost importance that absolutely continuous protection be maintained, even while changing batteries.

  “Experts have been working for some time upon the problem of protecting the entire planet with a screen, and there is some little hope of success in the near future; but individual protection will still be of the utmost importance. We cannot impress it too forcibly upon everyone that every man’s life is dependent upon each one maintaining his thought-screen in full operation at all times. That is all.”

  When the messenger brought in the personal files of Blakeslee and the other deserters, Helmuth and his psychologists went over them with minutely painstaking care. The more they studied them the clearer it became that the chief’s conclusion was the correct one. The Lensman could read minds.

  Reason and logic told Helmuth that the Lensman’s only purpose in attacking the Boyssian base was to get a line on Grand Base; that Blakeslee’s flight and the destruction of the base were merely diversions to obscure the real purpose of the visit; that the Lensman had staged that theatrical performance especially to hold him, Helmuth, while his beam was being traced, and that that was the only reason why the visiset was not sooner put out of action; and finally, that the Lensman had scored another clean hit.

  He, Helmuth himself, had been caught flat-footed; and his face hardened and his jaw set at the thought. But he had not been taken in. He was forewarned and he would be ready, for he was coldly certain that Grand Base and he himself were the real objectives of the Lensman. That Lensman knew full well that any number of ordinary bases, ships, and men could be destroyed without damaging materially the Boskonian cause.

  Steps must be taken to make Grand Base as impregnable to mental forces as it already was to physical ones. Otherwise, it might well be that even Helmuth’s own life would presently be at stake—a thing precious indeed. Therefore council after council was held, every contingency that could be thought of was brought up and discussed, every possible precaution was taken. In short, every resource of Grand Base was devoted to the warding off of any possible mental threat which might be forthcoming.

  * * * * *

  Kinnison approached that star cluster with care. Small though it was, as cosmic groups go, it yet was composed of some hundreds of stars and an unknown number of planets. Any one of those planets might be the one he sought, and to approach it unknowingly might prove disastrous. Therefore he slowed down to a crawl and crept up, light-year by light-year, with his ultra-powered detectors fanning out before him to the limit of their unimaginable reach.

  He had more than half expected that he would have to search that cluster, world by world; but in that, at least, he was pleasantly disappointed. One corner of one of his plates began to show a dim glow of detection. A bell tinkled and Kinnison directed his most powerful master plate into the region indicated. This plate, while of very narrow field, had tremendous resolving power and magnification; and in it he saw that there were eighteen small centers of radiation surrounding one vastly larger one.

  There was no doubt then as to the location of Helmuth’s base, but there arose the question of approach. The Lensman had not considered the possibility of a
screen of lookout ships—if they were close enough together so that the electromagnetics had even a fifty percent overlap, he might as well go back home. What were those outposts, and exactly how closely were they spaced? He observed, advanced, and observed again; computing finally that, whatever they were, they were so far apart that there could be no possibility of any electro overlap at all. He could get between them easily enough—he wouldn’t even have to baffle his flares. They could not be guards at all, Kinnison concluded, but must be simply outposts, set far outside the solar system of the planet they guarded; not to ward off one-man speedsters, but to warn Helmuth of the possible approach of a force large enough to threaten Grand Base.

  Closer and closer Kinnison flashed; discovering that the central object was indeed a base, startling in its immensity and completely and intensively fortified; and that the outposts were huge, floating fortresses, practically stationary in space relative to the sun of the solar system they surrounded. The Lensman aimed at the center of the imaginary square formed by four of the outposts and drove in as close to the planet as he dared. Then, going inert, he set his speedster into an orbit—he did not care particularly about its shape, provided that it was not too narrow an ellipse—and cut off all his power. He was now safe from detection. Leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, he hurled his sense of perception into and through the massed fortifications of Grand Base.

  For a long time he did not find a single living creature. Hundreds of miles he traversed, perceiving only automatic machinery, bank after towering, miles-square bank of accumulators, and remote-controlled projectors and other weapons and apparatus. Finally, however, he came to Helmuth’s dome; and in that dome he received another severe shock. The personnel in that dome were to be numbered by the hundreds, but he could not make mental contact with any one of them. He could not touch their minds at all; he was stopped cold. Every member of Helmuth’s band was protected by a thought-screen as effective as the Lensman’s own!

  Around and around the planet the speedster circled, while Kinnison struggled with this new and entirely unexpected setback. This looked as though Helmuth knew what was coming. Helmuth was nobody’s fool, Kinnison knew; but how could he possibly have suspected that a mental attack was in the book? Perhaps he was just playing safe. If so, the Lensman’s chance would come. Men would be careless; batteries weakened and would have to be changed.

  But this hope was also vain, as continued watching revealed that each battery was listed, checked, and timed. Nor was any screen released, event for an instant, when its battery was changed, the fresh power source being slipped into service before the weakening one was disconnected.

  “Well, that tears it—Helmuth knows,” Kinnison cogitated, after watching vainly several such changes. “He’s a wise old bird. The guy really has jets—I still don’t see what I did that could have put him wise to what was going on.”

  Day after day the Lensman studied every detail of construction, operation, and routine of that base, and finally an idea began to dawn. He shot his attention toward a barracks he had inspected frequently of late, but stopped, irresolute.

  “Uh uh, Kim, maybe better not,” he advised himself. “Helmuth’s mighty quick on the trigger, to figure out that Boyssian thing so fast…”

  His projected thought was sheared off without warning, thus settling the question definitely. Helmuth’s big apparatus was at work, the whole planet was screened against thought.

  “Oh well, probably better, at that,” Kinnison went on arguing with himself. “If I’d tried it out maybe he’d’ve got onto it and laid me a stymie next time, when I really need it.”

  He went free and hurled his speedster toward Earth, now distant indeed. Several times during that long trip he was sorely tempted to call Haynes through his Lens and get things started; but he always thought better of it. This was altogether too important a thing to be sent through so much sub-ether, or even to be thought about except inside an absolutely thought-tight room. And besides, every waking hour of even that long trip could be spent very profitably in digesting and correlating the information he had obtained and in mapping out the salient features of the campaign that was to come. Therefore, before time began to drag, Kinnison landed at Prime Base and was taken directly to Port Admiral Haynes.

  “Mighty glad to see you, son,” Haynes greeted the young Lensman cordially as he sealed the room thought-tight. “Since you came in under your own power, I assume that you are here to make a constructive report?”

  “Better than that, sir—I’m here to start something in a big way. I know at last where their Grand Base is, and have detailed plans of it. I think I know who and where Boskone is. I know where Helmuth is, and I have worked out a plan whereby, if it works, we can wipe out that base. Boskone, Helmuth, and all the lesser master minds, at one wipe.”

  “Mentor did come through, huh?” For the first time since Kinnison had known him the old man lost his poise. He leaped to his feet and seized Kinnison by the arm. “I knew you were good, but not that good! He gave you what you wanted?”

  “He sure did,” and the younger man reported as briefly as possible everything that had happened.

  “I’m just as sure that Helmuth is Boskone as I can be of anything that can’t be proved,” Kinnison continued, unrolling a sheaf of drawings. “Helmuth speaks for Boskone, and nobody else ever does, not even Boskone himself. None of the other big shots know anything about Boskone or ever heard him speak; but they all jump through their hoops when Helmuth, ‘speaking for Boskone,’ cracks the whip. And I couldn’t get a trace of Helmuth ever taking anything up with any higher-ups. Therefore I’m dead certain that when we get Helmuth we get Boskone.

  “But that’s going to be a job of work. I scouted his headquarters from stem to gudgeon, as I told you; and Grand Base is absolutely impregnable as it stands. I never imagined anything like it—it makes Prime Base here look like a deserted cross-roads after a hard winter. They’ve got screens, pits, projectors, accumulators, all on a gigantic scale. In fact, they’ve got everything—but you can get all that from the tape and these sketches. They simply can’t be taken by any possible direct frontal attack. Even if we used every ship and mauler we’ve got they could stand us off. And they can match us, ship for ship—we’d never get near Grand Base at all if they knew we were coming…”

  “Well, if it’s such an impossible job, what…”

  “I’m coming to that. It’s impossible as it stands; but there’s a good chance that I’ll be able to soften it up,” and the young Lensman went on to outline the plan upon which he had been working so long. “You know, like a worm—bore from within. That’s the only possible way to do it. You’ll have to put detector nullifiers on every ship assigned to the job, but that’ll be easy. We’ll need everything we’ve got.”

  “The important thing, as I gather it, is timing.”

  “Absolutely. To the minute, since I won’t be able to communicate, once I get inside their thought-screens. How long will it take to assemble our stuff and put it in that cluster?”

  “Seven weeks—eight at the outside.”

  “Plus two for allowances. QX—at exactly hour 20, ten weeks from today, let every projector of every vessel you can possibly get there cut loose on that base with everything they can pour in. There’s a detailed drawing in here somewhere…here—twenty-six main objectives, you See. Blast them all, simultaneously to the second. If they all go down, the rest will be possible—if not, it’ll be just too bad. Then work along these lines here, straight from those twenty-six stations to the dome, blasting everything as you go. Make it last exactly fifteen minutes, not a minute more or less. If, by fifteen minutes after twenty, the main dome hasn’t surrendered by cutting its screen, blast that, too, if you can—it’ll take a lot of blasting, I’m afraid. From then on you and the five-star admirals will have to do whatever is appropriate to the occasion.”

  “Your plan doesn’t cover that, apparently. Where will you be—how will you be fixed—if
the main dome does not cut its screens?”

  “I’ll be dead, and you’ll be just starting the damndest war that this galaxy ever saw.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  Tregonsee Turns Zwilnik

  HILE SERVICING AND checking the speedster required only a couple of hours, Kinnison did not leave Earth for almost two days. He had requisitioned much special equipment, the construction of one item of which—a suit of armor such as had never been seen before—caused almost all of the delay. When it was ready the greatly interested Port Admiral accompanied the young Lensman out to the steel-lined, sand-filled concrete dugout, in which the suit had already been mounted upon a remote-controlled dummy. Fifty feet from that dummy there was a heavy, water-cooled machine rifle, with its armored crew standing by. As the two approached the crew leaped to attention.

  “As you were,” Haynes instructed, and:

  “You checked those cartridges against those I brought in from Aldebaran I?” asked Kinnison of the officer in charge, as, accompanied by the Port Admiral, he crouched down behind the shields of the control panel.

  “Yes, Sir. These are twenty-five percent over, as you specified.”

  “QX—commence firing!” Then, as the weapon clamored out its stuttering, barking roar, Kinnison made the dummy stoop, turn, bend, twist and dodge, so as to bring its every plate joint, and member, into that hail of steel. The uproar stopped.

  “One thousand rounds, sir,” the officer reported.

  “No holes—no dents—not a scratch or a scar,” Kinnison reported, after a minute examination, and got into the thing. “Now give me two thousand rounds, unless I tell you to stop. Shoot!”