“Yes. Tell me when to point this bucket. I want to line my gunsight along your intrinsic vector, positive.”
“Very well, sir. Please change attitude so that I can see Rigel. There! Can you bring Sirius into view at the same time? Good! Imagine a point midway and go south of it about nine degrees. Beta Lepi. Only third-magnitude but there’s not much out that way.”
“That one, Lensman?”
“Right! Now take her left slowly—mark! Raise your bow just a hair … mark! Steady on, keep it so. I think that’s the best we can do by gunsight, Captain.”
“Is it good enough?”
“Yes. Nighthawk can make fine adjustments after approach. Our intrinsic along that line is, in kilometers per second relative to you, ninety-seven thousand three hundred sixty-two point six—but I’ll settle for anything close to one hundred thousand.”
“Positive per second nine seven three six two point six—set, Captain.”
“Change velocity. Execute. Thank you, Dr. Burroughs.”
“Let me get a report … great balls of fire! My astrogator says you are dead in space with respect to us.”
“That was what you asked for, Lensman. Now coach me so that we line up with your ship, then tell us how far to move.”
“One second …. Will you get Deneb in your gunsight first? There we are! Now—easy!—toward the Coal Sack—mark! Dead on, Captain. Our distance from you in kilometers is one billion six hundred nine million fourteen thousand three hundred twenty.”
“Transit positive, l-axis, short range, one six oh nine oh one four three two oh point oh—set, Captain.”
“Do not execute, Dr. Burroughs. Lensman, is that distance correct?”
“I listened to the doctor read it back, Captain. It is correct.”
“And you said that we were ‘dead on.’ Captain, I want to miss your ship both in distance and direction.” I moved my point of sight slightly toward Deneb. “Doctor, please chop ten thousand kilometers off that setting.”
“Minus ten thousand. Reset, Captain.”
“Really, Captain Carter, there is no danger, as the Nighthawk will now go free. In the extremely unlikely event of a direct hit in over a billion miles, my ship will bounce ever so lightly that it won’t even put a scratch on yours.”
“Lensman, do you know how my ship works?”
“No, but ….”
“But me no buts, sir. Take my word for it that a direct hit even with your ship free of inertia would produce the most amazing explosion either of us has ever seen. But we would never see it. Both ships would be an expanding cloud of plasma, and all hands would be fitted either with halos or coal scoops. I agree that the chance of a hit is small … but I’m a cautious skipper; I take no chances I can avoid.”
“Neither do I, Captain—so the Nighthawk now goes free.”
“Reasonable. All hands, prepare to transit. Execute! Lensman, where are we now?”
“Klono’s claws! You’re dead in space to us, sixty-eight hundred miles—make that ten thousand nine hundred and forty kilometers. We see you near Canopus, so we are in Draco to you.”
“Can you give us a bright beacon? Blinking, by preference.”
“Certainly, Captain. Do you see it?”
“Uh … got you. Please set for transit, Doctor. I’m going to miss that beacon by half a mil.”
“Set, Captain.”
“Execute.”
Off to port, five kilometers away, swam a giant spaceship. As it appeared, its dazzling beacon shut down but milder lighting from the distant sun let us see it.
“Captain, that’s the most amazing display of piloting I’ve ever seen—and thank you for letting me take part in it.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your coaching, Lensman. Do you now think that we have something the Patrol can use?”
“I know you have! I can’t wait to see your ship with my own eyes instead of yours. Captain, if you will permit me to place a tractor beam on you, we will take you inboard. It will be quite gentle; we are still free of inertia.”
“Lensman Smith, you know your ship just as I know mine. I don’t want you to put anything on me, even a light line, until you can assure me that we have zero relative motion to about nineteen decimals. I don’t have instrumentation for that. As you noted, this vessel started life as an atmosphere craft. But I assume that you have.”
“We have. My astrogator is making fine adjustment to meet your safety requirements. There—relative motion zero to a tenth of an inch per hour. Is that satisfactory?”
“Yes. Do you have internal artificial gravity?”
“Yes, Captain. But it won’t be switched on in the cargo hold until your ship is clamped in place.
“Good. Just a moment. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb.”
“Gay Deceiver, fold your wings, put down your wheels.”
“Sure thing, Zeb. Heard any new ones lately?”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“Why won’t you marry me, Zeb? Philanderer! Over.”
“Over and out, Gay. Lensman, you can take us inboard now.”
“Captain, I assume that that was a recording. I hope it was.”
“I hope so, too. We’re ready.”
Deety squeaked when the huge ship flashed up to us. Then it backed off slightly, opened clamshell doors, gently took us inside. Armored crewmen clamped us to a large, flat surface as the doors closed. Shortly, we heard hissing that gradually faded. The voice in my head said, “Normal Tellurian atmosphere at nine hundred millibars, Captain. Welcome aboard! I hope that you and your companions will do us the honor of dining with me and my officers at eighteen hours, ship’s time.”
“Thank you, Lensman; we accept. What is ship’s time now?”
“Fourteen oh two ten. That’s Tellurian units, not Galactic Standard. The Inner Patrol stays matched with Prime Base.”
I adjusted the outer ring on my watch, checked Gay Deceiver’s time, wrote down the difference. “Got it, Deety?”
“Yessir. Feels good to have my head set right again.”
“Captain, I’m about to withdraw from your mind and come down to greet you in person. Side honors?”
“Please dispense with honors, Lensman. Before we leave our ship, I want to show you one more thing it can do. You are welcome to stay in my mind and watch. Do you have a piloting officer who would enjoy a short ride in our ship?”
“I’m certain they all would, so I’ll send the most junior of the top watch list, Lieutenant Nganagana.”
“We’ll expect him. Deety, please open the bulkhead door and strap down, as you did for Thuv and Hal and Mobyas. Hilda, will you dog it open? You won’t miss anything, Deety—promise. All hands stay strapped or get strapped.”
By the time Deety’s seat was vacant, a young lieutenant arrived breathlessly. I opened the door and said, “Come in, Lieutenant. Slide past me and strap down—introductions later. Hilda, help him, please.”
As I checked the door seal, Hilda reported, “He’s belted down, Cap’n.” Deety echoed her. I instantly said, “Gay—Bounce!”
Lieutenant Nganagana gasped. The voice in my head said, “Captain Carter, what did you do?”
“Just a demonstration. Have you noted our position? Got us on your screens?”
“Uh … yes, you are sixty-two thousand one hundred and fifty miles away.”
“And four tenths,” corrected Deety. “Lensman, you’re four tenths of a mile wrong.”
“My apologies, Dr. Carter; you are right. That’s around … one hundred thousand kilometers. But we didn’t even open the cargo hold!”
“Explanations later, Lensman, and please keep quiet; I’m piloting. Expect us in your immediate vicinity at once. Dr. Burroughs, I’ve set just a hair of Tennessee windage; you can make the return exact.”
“Axis l, vernier setting four—set, Captain.”
“Execute.”
We popped out within a kilometer of the Nighthawk. I swallowed my stomach and said n
othing … and was glad that my slaphappy crew treated it as routine—I had intended to miss by at least ten kilometers. “Lensman, please take us inboard again. I will not maneuver.”
“Very well, Captain.”
Zeb introduced their guest while they were being taken into the ship. The young officer seemed to be suppressing shock and made a brave effort to be formally polite.
Deety said, “What’s your first name, Lieutenant? Call me ‘Deety’ if you like; we aren’t very formal.”
“Uh, ma’am, around the wardroom they usually call me ‘goo’ or ‘goop.’ That’s short for ‘Agú’—means ‘Leopard.’ ”
While we were waiting for pressure I said, “Lieutenant, please tell Captain Smith not to expect us at once. We need to bathe and change clothes before we see anyone.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Captain,” Smith lensed, “Mr. Nganagana can take you directly to guest quarters. Quite comfortable, and roomier than your vessel, I’m certain.”
“Thank you, Captain Smith—but I’m sure you know that ladies dislike to be seen until they’ve had time to dress properly. Dr. Hilda, how much time will be needed?”
“Deety?”
“Aunt Hilda, I can make it in forty-five minutes if you can.”
“Suits.”
“Lensman, please make that fifty minutes—seventeen hours, ship’s time. Now, if we may have privacy?”
“Certainly, Captain. I will not enter your mind or any of your party again, other than by direct invitation.”
XXXVIII
Deety
Zebadiah had us all gather in Hilda’s—my—dressing room after Agú left us and the doors were locked again. Pop asked, “What are the plans, Skipper?”
“Jake, the Lensman knows how cramped our cabin is and Goop knows—”
I broke in with: “Zebadiah, don’t call him ‘Goop!’ It’s Ah-goo.”
“… that the after compartment is so low that Deety had to lie down to make room for him. But they don’t know about our Land-of-Oz space warp—and won’t, until if and when we show it off. So we’ll surprise ’em. They will expect us to show up washed a bit and, possibly, in fresh flight suits. So we give ’em the works. Hilda, can you put Deety’s hair up Barsoomian style?”
“Certainly. And she can do mine just as well.”
“Okay. High heels and your prettiest formals—the ones you were married in, if that suits you, but it’s your choice. High style with jewelry in your hair. Not all-out Barsoomian but more rocks than you wore last night at Glinda’s party.”
“Good heavens, was that only last night!”
“Sure was, Aunt Nanny Goat. Despite all the ducking in and out we’ve done, we’ve wound up with ship’s time only thirteen minutes later than Oz time. Is that chance? Or necessity? How does it fit your theory?”
“Discuss it later, darlings. Jake, do you have black tie along?”
“He does,” said Aunt Hilda. “Both white mess jacket and black coat. I fetched everything Jacob had when I learned that there was extra mass allowance. Then I got them cleaned and pressed in Helium.”
“ ‘Cleaned and pressed?’ How?”
“Tira can solve any problem. Deety had your clothes cleaned, too. Poor little boys—you both need nursemaids.”
“We married ’em. Good work, dears.”
“Zeb,” Pop said worriedly, “aren’t you overdoing it?”
“Jake, I intend to. They have no idea what correct dress is where we come from, so we’ll set our own styles and knock their eyes out. Wear the white mess jacket; it’s short enough that you can put it over your Sam Browne without fouling your saber.”
“ ‘Saber?’ ”
“Saber. I’ll lend you miniature ribbons for your lapel. I’m going to wear the medals themselves on my only suit of aerospace dress blues—and before you ask, I’ve always carried it on Gay Deceiver because the only times I needed to wear it involved trips away from campus. I’ll wear navy sword and belt over it … and not mention that they don’t belong together.”
“Zebadiah,” I asked, “can you dance wearing sword?”
“Try me, just try me.”
“I will if there’s a chance. They have artificial gravity, I’m sure they must have music. If I get a chance to dance, I’ll grab it.”
“As may be. Forty minutes; let’s get cracking. I’ve got to shave.”
“Forty-three minutes, Zebadiah. We’ll be on time.”
Boy oh boy, did I have fun! I think everybody did and I’m certain Aunt Hilda did. Did you ever go to a party where you could legitimately split three dozen men with only one other woman?—all of them young and healthy and handsome (at least nice-looking) and all of them terribly anxious to please? Even the Lensman wasn’t much older than Zebadiah, although he did have gray in his hair and some worry wrinkles. Understandable.
I don’t want to be a Lensman; I just want to be Deety—and married to Zebadiah, who would be a Lensman (I think!) had he been born where-when they have Lensmen. But that wouldn’t suit me, as Lensmen lead a tough life and are hardly ever at home and rarely marry as young as Zebadiah is. As Lewis Carroll told me, all my dreams do come true.
Pop needn’t have worried; Zebadiah wasn’t overdoing it because the Patrol’s everyday uniform, all black and silver and gold, is fancy as can be. Add medals (they wore them that night, but don’t when working) and it’s downright gaudy.
A Lens makes even Barsoomian jewelry look plain. I don’t know what I expected but whatever it was, a Lens is more. The nearest I can think of is an enormous fire opal with a light behind it—but take that and cube it. It’s all colors and the colors keep changing and the lights come from the Lens itself and dance like a color organ but brighter and more alive—and I still haven’t described it.
I got a chance to ask the Lensman about it at the “cocktail” party from seventeen to eighteen. I put “cocktail” in quotes because my husband had warned us not to get spiffed. Fat chance: there wasn’t a cup of alcohol in the Nighthawk, outside of sick bay. The drinks were soft drinks, including tea and coffee, hot and cold. I took Coca-Cola because I had never expected to see a Coke again.
Later at dinner they drank toasts in a red wine called fayalin but it’s a stimulant not a depressant and tastes better (to me) than any of the alcoholic red wines.
But about the Lens … I asked Lensman Smith (or “Captain” as his officers called him) if it was true that touching a Lens would kill anyone but the wearer?
He said, “Oh, no, no, no!—that was a common misconception. The Lens will kill anyone who tried to wear it except the person it was fitted to, but it is perfectly safe to touch it while it is being worn—go ahead, Doctor; touch it.”
So I did—and snatched my finger back. Not a hurt but a thrill so intense that I can compare it only to orgasm but entirely different. And I suddenly knew that he was in my mind.
“Sorry, Doctor,” he said soberly. “I should have warned you. I didn’t go deep and I didn’t learn anything that I didn’t already know.”
“Please don’t call me ‘Doctor.’ Oh, I am one, but I’m not called by it, not even on campus. I’m not called ‘Professor’ often, either, and anyhow I’m not a full professor like my father; I’m just an assistant professor. Call me ‘Deety,’ that’s my usual name.”
“If you will call me ‘Ted,’ dear lady.”
“But I can’t, sir. In your own ship you’re ‘Captain’; you can’t be anything else. Why, I rarely call my husband anything but ‘Captain’ when we’re in Gay Deceiver, and my father always calls Zebadiah ‘Captain’ when we are underway. Even though Pop—my father—is older and they are more than friends. Blood brothers.”
“What do you mean by ‘blood brothers’?”
“Meaning that they have fought and killed side by side, sir. What else could it mean?”
“Only that, to me. But some use that idiom loosely.”
I suddenly realized that now was the time to ask him something. “Lensman,
come into my mind.” I turned my thoughts to a panic-stricken time by our lost-forever swimming hole.
“Goodness!” he said. “You really do mean it. The swords they are wearing?”
“Yessir.”
“They handle them as well as Major van Vogt handles a space ax. Against firearms, that takes courage. A nasty customer.”
“Keep looking, Lensman.” I showed him that “ranger” with its clothes cut away, then opened up by Hilda—then the Pankera in the Palace of Memories. Then I blanked out and he withdrew. “Captain, have you ever seen one of those vermin?”
“No, and I hope I never do.” He gave a shudder, just like ordinary people.
“I should not have brought it up at a party. But my husband and my father and Dr. Hilda will want to ask your advice, later.”
“They shall have it, if I’m asked. I’m not sure what it’s worth.” He frowned. “I wonder …. But later, later.”
At dinner, Aunt Hilda was on the captain’s right and Zebadiah was on his left—and my husband got very little attention because the Hillbilly was taking the Lensman into camp. I’ve studied her in action but it’s not something I can duplicate, so I don’t try. He may have started out thinking Hildy ate cateagles for breakfast but before he finished the soup, I’m sure he was convinced that she was sugar and spice and everything nice. Hilda is like a kitten—paws as gentle as snowflakes … until she shows her claws.
I was on the chief engineer’s right at the far end of the wardroom table, with Pop on his left. Chief engineers are always Scots in stories, but Chief Lee was from Mauritius and was Chinese and Tamil and looked Amerindian to me. He was pleasant but I spent most of my time talking to Major van Vogt on my right because Pop and the chief got involved in equations and almost didn’t eat—I had to catch Pop’s attention and signal “No!” when he started to write on a napkin. The chief produced paper and the table linen was saved.
Major van Vogt commanded the ship’s boarding party, he admitted. “But we don’t get much of that sort of fun. From day to day we’re the ship’s guard, so I guess you could call me the chief of police. My top sergeant does the work. What I specialize in is sleeping. I’m very good at that.”
The Pursuit of the Pankera: A Parallel Novel About Parallel Universes Page 46