Subspace Encounter Part 7

"That is one of the perquisites of status. You all do it, and thousands of others. And the pair appointed are quite capable. Be very careful from now on, however. that greed does not result in the appointment of anyone unfit." A pause, then he continued.

"I present to you Sonrodnar Rodnar of Slaar. He is replacing the traitor Lizor as Supreme Commander of the Guard of the Person. Rodnar. your place." Rodnar bowed deeply.

"Your Magnificence, I thank you," he said, and took stance where the other man had stood.

"Having cleaned house," the dictator went on, "I will brief you on the situation regarding Garsh as it now is." He did so.

"You will all begin immediately to put your departments on a full war footing. First strike is vital. Supreme Admiral Sonaxten Axolgan of Spath, I do not direct experts in the minutiae of their highly specialized crafts. You will, however, report to me from time to time, in broad, as to what is being done. But prepare without delay. Dismissed." They all backed out of the Presence except Rodnar, who, with a, "Your permission, Your Magnificence," halted at the doorway. Ranjak smiled faintly.

"Of course, Rodnar And what is on your mind."

"Your Magnificence," Rodnar began, keeping close watch on the Tyrant's mental reaction, "I have news that may distress you. Your First Secretary Daughtelna Starrlah and I joined lives some time ago. We felt it was not... expedient... then to register the transaction. We will now do so." He paused. There was surprise and regret in Ranjak's response.

"Does this mean that I will lose the best FirSec I ever had?" Rodnar bowed.

"At least temporarily. It will be absolutely necessary that Starrlah and I take part in the attack on Garsh."

"You mean she too-is a psiontist?" This was a shocker for the Tyrant.

"That during these years-." Rodnar interrupted.

"Yes, she is a psiontist, but it has not been of long duration. She was a powerful latent with no recognizable psionic abilities until the Great X-storm. For her this produced a psychic trauma that suddenly released these powers, and now she is one of the most capable among us. And the two of us together are far greater than either of us alone. We will be far more useful in the coming battle than here in your service." Ranjak forced a smile but made no comment. Rodnar noted no reaction save surprise and regret.

"You will find, Your Magnificence, that Starrlah's First a.s.sistant is quite capable, should you wish to promote her, and before I leave with the fleet I will have given you an incorruptible Guard of the Person with all key positions filled by psiontists. You will never have had such complete protection." And Ranjak thought, "Nor as complete surveillance." He added aloud, "Is that all?" He sounded tired, it had been a trying day.

"You are dismissed." Rod backed out in approved fas.h.i.+on, then 'ported himself to Starrlah's office. Nothing needed to be said about what had happened, she had been an anxious observer. A fervent, exultant kiss-then she went on with her calling the farflung members of the Council of Justices.

12 - THE GUARD OF THE PERSON.

At day's end Rodnar and Starrlah 'ported themselves up into their new apartment. Dwelling Unit Four Point Five Zero, Zero, Zero of Quarters Five. Five because in the Justiciate the status of the higher-status one of any pair of complements was the status of the pair, and the Supreme Commander of the Guard of the Person was at the very top of Status Five. There was, of course, no trace left of the previous occupant of the apartment. Even Starrlah was impressed by the magnificence of the furnis.h.i.+ngs and decorations of the place and both were awed by the beauty and perfection of art so lavishly displayed, but Rodnar, taking the girl by the shoulder, turned her gently around to face him.

"It's beautiful, Starr, I know-I certainly never expected to live to see Naizlon's original 'Queen of the Ocean' in my own living room-but we've got work to do. Let's get at it."

"Not just yet, Rod, I've got something important to do first." She led him up to a full-length mirror and pointed.

"Just look at us side by side! I've simply got to do something about my hair before anything else... I wonder what color would look best with your new outfit... T' "Purple," he said facetiously with a sly grin.

"Or purple and gold. Better yet, purple and gold and silver."

"That's it!" she cried.

"Perfect! Parted a little to the left of center, with one side purple, the other side gold, and a sharp streak of silver right down the middle. Thanks, you wonderful guy!" He sobered.

"You wouldn't have the nerve."

"I wouldn't? Watch my contrails! First thing in the morning. Now we can get to work." Their first care was to scan to its depths each mind of the Cabinet-Starr with her inside knowledge and Rod with his impartial a.n.a.lysis-and when those two probers got done with any mind, that mind had been through the wringer Then, working separately, they went through the Guards of the Person, starting at the top and working down. The upper echelons were pretty solid stuff; career men and women mostly, who had grown up with the service and were doing their job. In the middle and lower brackets, however, they found quite a lot of eaglemeat and, both now being of Status Five, either of them declared eaglemeat immediately upon discovering it, and it became so forthwith. Neither was at all perturbed or felt any compunction about condemning fellow human beings to death. That was their job and that was their way of life-the fas.h.i.+on of their civilization and their culture. Throughout the Justiciate there were no reformatories or jails or penitentiaries; no prisons of any kind. There were no juries; in fact no word meaning jury or any equivalent thereof. A civilian suspect was brought before an Arbiter, who, after hearing the evidence, announced his decision, from which there was no appeal. There were three possible decisions. Go free-pay a finebecome eaglemeat. Government and military personnel were tried, usually very informally, by any convenient superior of Status Fifteen or better The possible verdicts were the same as in civil life. There was some corruption, malfeasance, and dirty work, of course, but not as much as might be supposed. Every person wearing a number had taken an oath that meant exactly what it said, plain-clothed spies abounded, and anyone caught violating their oath became eaglemeat in very short order. However, the two psiontists were much more lenient than were most of the overlings of their time. They overlooked many punishable offenses, but they would not condone corruption or treason. When Rodnar began to reorganize the Guard he was of course subjected to all the pressures that the about-to-be displaced persons and their more-or-less powerful friends could bring to bear, but nothing worked. He was moderately wealthy through his bladesman's winnings, and he was aware that there were more important things in life than money. Among these was the matter of status. Rodnar's status had been that of his father, Forty-Seven; and through his victories in the arena he had gained status-but not in his wildest dreams had he thought of becoming a Five. Now both he and Starrlah were Fives. FIVES! Was he going to do anything that would jeopardize that status? Not by nine thousand cl.u.s.ters of suns! And finally, and of overriding importance, the Guard had to be the very best he could make it for the safety of the Justiciate and the defeat of Garsh.

While he was cleaning up the Guard, and seeing to it that every eligible Guardsman down to and including Status Fifteen was a capable psiontist, other things were happening. The Justiciate was enlarged to one hundred eighty members, one from each loyal planet. This was a change from the arbitrary selection by His Magnificence of Chief Justices from those planets he deemed worthy. Those which had not been represented officially in the Justiciate had had planetary Chief Justices, of course, but they had had no direct voice in the affairs of the Justiciate as a whole. This was a source of dissatisfaction on many worlds; but none ever openly questioned the edicts of His Magnificence.

Now this was changed. The pioneer planet project Hope was abandoned before it really got started. The three Garshan planets-Garsh, Psi, and Quonike-had seceded from the Justiciate. The non-Garshan inhabitants of Garsh and Quonike had either emigrated or died.

The Garshan population of one hundred eighty worlds had likewise either emigrated or died. In time, the strongest psychics of those hundred eight worlds were the purple, gold, and silver of the Guard of the Person. By no means all of the psychics of the non-Garshan worlds, however; would join any such organization as the Guard of the Person-the hated "Purps"-the Justiciate's powerful, dreaded enforcement arm. The mystics, for instance, stayed away unanimously. They believed that the entire material universe was merely illusion, that the only Reality was in the mind and the things of the mind. That the only Reality rests in and is part of the completely immaterial ent.i.ty that is the One. That each living creature possesses-on loan, so to speak, and enchained by the illusion that is the flesh-some portion of the One. By denial of the flesh, and by intense concentration upon Reality, he can eventually cast aside all illusion, fuse his ever-increasing portion of the One with the One and know the full, perfect, and eternal Truth. Since neither Rodnar nor Starrlah could stomach any part of such squank, they did not try to recruit any mystics. Nor any pacifists. Nor any man or woman who could not pa.s.s fairly severe physical and mental tests. Thus it took a long time to fill all the places, but when it was done the quality of the corps was very high indeed. Every color of skin known to the one hundred and eighty loyal planets-except of course for the redbrown of Garsh-was represented. There was not, nor could be, any racial discrimination where ability alone was the determining factor. With everything organized and running smoothly, Rodnar called the one hundred seventy-nine Grand Commanders of the Guard of the Person to a conference in the Edifice. He opened the meeting with, "The Purps are now in position to."

"Are you calling us 'Purps'?" a surprised thought broke in. Rodnar grinned.

"Why not? Everybody else does, always has, and probably always will. We're stuck with it. As I started to say, we are now in a position to operate as no police force in history has ever operated, and if we do a good job over the years, that nickname will become a t.i.tle of honor and respect, not a jeer. Any argument on that." There was a short and thoughtful silence, but no argument.

"To that end every planetary commander must act, always and in every decision, for the good of the human race as a whole. In case of doubt, a conference will thrash the matter out to substantial agreement or no action will be taken at that time.

"Next. In the matter of status we have all advanced tremendously, to the cla.s.s of Fives. Also, we have all advanced tremendously in authority and responsibility. I am therefore adopting the system of equating psionic ability to status throughout the upper echelons of our organization. You Grand Commanders are now all Fives. Each of you has the exact decimal status rating of his or her psionic ability as determined by computation of all available data. Are there any beefs about this pecking order." There were no beefs. In fact, everyone was highly pleased.

"We thank you all. Now. Over the centuries, as the Tyranny has become more and more powerful and absolute, more and more people have been reduced to an animal existence. Thinkers have deplored this condition, but no one has been able to do anything about it. Every revolution or reform movement has been either crushed by the Justiciate or absorbed into it and become part of it. Knuaire of Spath reduced his thinking on this matter to four words, 'Power, of itself, corrupts.' "I think that we Grand Commanders, by using all the psionic powers we have, can do something about this condition. To implement the method, however, we must give up one of our most cherished tenets. We must permit-in fact, we must encourage-in everything pertaining to our work... -he paused for a long five seconds."... full and willing invasion of privacy." There was a concerted gasp at that, and a confused roar of thought.

"But why?" a woman demanded.

"I don't see any possible..." The thought died.

"I think you all see, but I'll draw you a diagram. There will be pressures and temptations that no world ever saw before. Things that I would not trust any living person, including my complement, Starrlah and myself, to resist. But with a hundred seventy-nine other minds looking on, none of us would turn crooked. We couldn't. Nonpsis would think that the other fellow was taking it too, so he'd fall. But we'd all know that the other fellow was not taking it, and even without the tremendous mutual support we'd have, none of us would ever admit to being the weakest link in our chain of command. Would it work." The concensus was that it would work, and Sleht, now Grand Commander of the Guard of Skane, added, "To say nothing of the fact you so delicately omitted, Rod, that anyone deciding to sell out wouldn't live to collect his bribe." Rodnar grinned.

"It'll never come to that, I'm sure. It is agreed, then, that the corruptive agent, in order to be effective, would have to corrupt all of us at once. Considering the fact that we collectively have all the power there is-we actually are the Tyrannycan any of you think of anything that could make all of us turn traitor to the entire human race." There was a long and profoundly relieved silence. It would work! "Very well," Rodnar said.

"Think about it-see if there's anything all of us can't lick. Now let's try that mind-linkage thing. It'll be tough, compartmentalizing that way... It may take a lot of practice... but n.o.body'd peek, anyway."

"That's for sure," someone agreed, then added, doubtfully, "I hope." There was a general laugh, and Rodnar said, "No peeking, everybody, on honor. Say it." Still laughing, everybody said in unison, "No peeking, on honor," and then they tried the compartment-fusion. It wasn't easy. In fact, it was the hardest mental work any of them had ever done. It wasn't at all like an open meeting of minds. It was still less like thinking into a group, in which process only surface thoughts were involved. It was a.n.a.logous to dividing an open warehouse up into rooms, one of which could be thrown wide open while all the others remained tightly closed. Everyone was skittish, jittery, and on a hair trigger. No one peeked, of course. What happened was just the opposite. At one time or another everyone leaked, generally a half a dozen at once; spilling into the pool of police business such extraneous matters as fun-last-night, s.e.x-affairs, hair-bleach, more-tonight, and so on. Whenever that happened, solid blocks would snap up all over the place and they would have to start all over again. It was embarra.s.sing to everyone, at times, extremely so. However, those first ineffectual attempts showed so plainly what could be done that they all kept doggedly at it. Not one of them suggested abandoning the project. They worked at it all the rest of that day, slept in the Edifice that night, and tore into it again right after breakfast next morning. They worked until almost evening. Then, all of a sudden, one of them got the solution. She uttered a piercing mental shriek, showed everyone else the exact technique of doing it, and there ensued a meeting of minds of a kind, scope, size, and quality undreamed of before in all s.p.a.ce. It was one tremendous mind, knowing everything of official business that any one of them had ever known, yet not befogged or cluttered up with anything except official business. Also, each individual mind now had the total police knowledge of the whole group. It was wonderful-aweful-utterly perfect-and for two long minutes they held that fusion, savoring it, appreciating it, marveling at it, reveling in it. Then they broke it up and celebrated-a celebration that was not limited to the mental. Men yelled triumphantly, women shrieked ecstatically, men and women hugged and kissed each other and danced joyously throughout the big room. After the turmoil had subsided a little, Rodnar ordered up a banquet that was really a Royal Gorge. At the end of that hectic feast, Rodnar said, "Thanks, all of you, for coming. More than thanks for what you have just done. We thought we were doing a job before, but now we know what we can do. We'll all drink a salute." All stood up and raised their gla.s.ses as high as they could reach.

"To the Purps!" Rodnar shouted aloud.

"To the Purps!" came the response in unison, and they all downed their drinks. Then in perfect synchronization, one hundred eighty-one empty gla.s.ses clinked sharply against the bare tops of four long tables and one hundred eighty-one persons disappeared. To where they disappeared and with whom, it was agreed, was private business. Rodnar 'ported to his quarters, where Starrlah waited. She knew, of course, of the successful completion of the meeting of the Grand Commanders of the Guard. After several minutes which had nothing to do with State business, Rodnar called for audience with His Magnificence Supreme Grand Justice Sonrathendak Ranjak, speaking to Starrlah's replacement, the new FirSec. Without delay he was admitted to the Presence, where, concisely but completely, he reported what had been accomplished, and that now, with the permission of His Magnificence, he and Starrlah would join Grand Fleet. Together, then, they 'ported out to a s.p.a.ce-yard. They had figured out a thing. They didn't know whether or not it would work and they didn't have much time to check, since Grand Fleet was just about to blast off. If it did work, though, it would really be something.

13 - THE ATTACK ON GARSH.

Psychokinetics-sometimes called psychodynamics or telekinetics-is a subject to which very few nonpsis have given serious consideration. Nothing worthwhile concerning it is in general circulation, since it can be handled only in the esoteric symbology of paraphysics and paramechanics; both of which disciplines are closed books to nonpsionic minds. Thus the belief is widespread that any psychic who can 'port a pencil one inch above a table's top can 'port anything anywhere he pleases. This belief is false. The laws of psionics are as immutable as those of mechanics. While it is true that the map is the territory, the map must be very finely detailed indeed-the psiontist must know the object's fine structure very well indeed-if great ma.s.ses are to be handled psionically. Rodnar and Starrlah, however, did not know that-then. Starr, before her explosive psionic development, was a strong, dynamic, brilliant woman. Rodnar found her an amazingly apt pupil. She quickly gained an impervious s.h.i.+eld and achieved excellence in every common area of psionics including short- and long-range scanning, psycho-control, and teleportation. Both could 'port themselves anywhere they wanted to go. Almost literally anywhere at all. Either of them could 'port a subspeedster from one solar system to another. So they decided to see what they could do with a superdreadnought. They found out. Nothing. Neither of them could move it. Both of them together could not move it.

"Slankerosity!" Rodnar snorted in disgust.

"Just like trying to blow it away with our breaths."

"Well, we'll have to do something else, then," Starrlah said, practically. Rodnar scowled.

"Such as."

"Nothing definite-but maybe this," and the two went into a lightning-fast exchange of ideas and plans. Finally Rodnar commented, "I think we're ready to talk business with the admiral." Supreme Admiral Axolgan was amenable to reason, of course. If he had not been, someone else would have been Supreme Admiral. Wherefore, when the Grand Fleet of the Justiciate blasted off for Garsh, the Guard of the Person was left in charge of medium-grade personnel, every upper-bracket psiontist Purp, man or woman, was with the fleet. Rodnar and Starrlah, while with the fleet, were not of it. They were together aboard a small scout-cla.s.s cruiser, which, it had turned out, was the biggest vessel their combined powers could handle. They were hanging back, waiting for time zero minus sixty seconds-zero being the exact instant at which the Justiciate's immense fleet would emerge and begin to tear the ether apart with its beams. Precisely on the count of sixty their cruiser emerged, within a thousand miles of Garsh's surface, well inside the Garshan defense in depth. Both scanned at top speed. They knew they wouldn't have much time, much less than a minute. It wouldn't take nearly that long for the nearest Garshan battles.h.i.+p to detect their cruiser and bring a projector to bear on it, and if they were still there when that beam arrived-!!!-so they wouldn't be there then.

"You clicked, Rod," the girl said.

"So far," he agreed.

"But the crux is still ahead-but I don't think he's expecting us-if he is you'll have to dig him outget with it!" and he launched his first bomb. The capital city of Garsh was built on the precipitous face of a mountain, a mountain that plunged so deeply and so steeply into the ocean that the water a few hundred yards offsh.o.r.e was two hundred fathoms deep. Rodnar's first bomb exploded against that city a scant quarter mile above sea level, with a power so appallingly vast as to jar the planet to its core, so incomprehensibly vast as to open half the faults of the planet's crust. A huge part-sphere of emptiness appeared where buildings and rock and water had been, what had formerly been there had been transformed into subatomic debris. Then, as soon as matter could move and could become affected as such by the multimillion degree heat, the explosively boiling water formed a wall and began to move violently and turbulently away. City and mountain, in the form of an incandescent liquid almost as fluid as water, rushed in torrents into the sea. Cubic miles of steam roared upward to join the h.e.l.lish pillar of horribly transformed matter that was boiling straight up into the stratosphere. Higher and higher, more and ever more viciously raging, that pillar hurled itself upward, to spread finally into a mushroom cap many miles in diameter. Neither Rodnar nor Starrlah observed anything of this, of course. They were too busy. She was scanning, he was launching bombs as fast as he could think. He annihilated the sixteen largest cities of Garsh before she told him to quit.

"Get ready!" she snapped.

"He was expecting us, the kfard, but I'm holding him... 'Port." They 'ported, a couple of milliseconds ahead of a beam that would have whiffed them out of existence, and braced themselves to meet the ultimately savage mental attack of Laynch and his complement. They took it on their s.h.i.+elds and countered just as viciously-and just as effectively. Then two pairs of psionic battlers, probably the two strongest pairs of their whole s.p.a.ce, stood still and fought. While even the sense of perception was not at all clear in that rapidly thickening murk of psionic force, they could "see" well enough to fight. Laynch was standing stiffly still, with his right arm in a sling. His left hand gripped the back of a chair. His complement, a tall, splendidly proportioned woman, stood beside him, gripping the same chair. They were in a scoutdestroyer; a vessel a little smaller than the Slaaran vessel, but big enough to carry plenty of bombs, each one of which was to have exploded in the vitals of a wars.h.i.+p of the Justiciate. Each bomb, however, was still in its cell. Rodnar and Starrlah had known the earliest instant in which the Garshans could act and they had acted first. First by not very much, but by enough. Both hawk-nosed faces looked more demonic than human. Both were twisted into grimaces of sheerest, starkest ferocity, the ultimately desperate ferocity of such conquest-l.u.s.ting minds as theirs at seeing triumph, practically in grasp, turn so suddenly into frustration. Rodnar, by contrast, looked relaxed. His physical self was standing apparently at ease, his face wore a grimly saturnine half-smile-half-sneer. But never were appearances more deceitful, he was putting out force enough to make the very subether boil. Starrlah's whole body was tense. Her fists were clenched. Her face was set and pale. Her eyes were diamond-hard, steady, and utterly, bitterly cold. In the flags.h.i.+p, at time zero minus twenty seconds, Supreme Admiral Sonaxten Axolgan of Spath whirled around to face Knuaire and Marrjyl, who were standing beside him.

"Well?" he demanded, savagely. Knuaire's set face did not change, nor did the faraway look in Marrjyl's eyes.

"No hold. Minus eighteen and counting." Knuaire's countdown was for their own information, it had nothing to do with either the absolute time of or the simultaneity of Grand Fleet's emergence. No. Zero time had been computed in nanoseconds and would take place by the nanosecond. Each s.h.i.+p had a timer operating on one single wavelength of monochromatic ultraviolet light. All timers were synchronized to within a very small fraction of the frequency. The operating leads from timer to operator, while only three inches long, were all made of the same composition of isotopically-a.n.a.lyzed silver, were all of the same length to within a thousandth of an inch, and were all kept at the same temperature-4.28K. Even so there was some error, but it didn't amount to more than a couple of miles.

"But what do you see?" Axolgan demanded.

"Nothing. It's so thick we can't drive a probe into it. They've got each other immobilized for the duration, is my best guess. I didn't expect anything like this, but Rodnar more than half did. So no hold. Minus eleven and counting."

"d.a.m.ned foolishness," the admiral grumbled, half to himself.

"Only one planet. They can't have enough stuff to need half of this-nor a quarter."

"You hope," Knuaire said, quietly.

"Five-four-threetwo-one-GO." The vast fleet emerged with battle screens full out and all its projectors began as one to blaze, and Axolgan got the shock of his not-too-war-filled life. All s.p.a.ce around the planet was full of wars.h.i.+ps, the Garshan fleet was larger than his own! He said something to Knuaire, but got no answer. The psiontist-fusion was busy. Very busy. They were doing the work that Rodnar and Starrlah would have been doing if they had not been so hard at work elsewhere. It is impossible to teleport anything into any volume protected by a capable psiontist; and Rodnar had insisted that every wars.h.i.+p of Grand Fleet, of whatever tonnage, should have a psiontist aboard. Thus Grand Fleet could have been larger than it was, but Axolgan did not object to that. He thought it already four or five times too big for the job. While the Garshan fleet was, at the moment of engagement, larger than the Justiciate fleet by two hundred twenty-one units, the Guards outnumbered the Garshan psiontists by three hundred sixteen. Wherefore, in the first thirty seconds of plus time, five hundred thirty-seven Garshan s.h.i.+ps were blown out of s.p.a.ce. Ragingly incandescent, furiously expanding fireb.a.l.l.s appeared where each unprotected wars.h.i.+p had been. Knuaire and Manjyl came out of their trance and Knu spoke.

"Yours now, Admiral, you can fight the rest of this battle on conventional lines-I think. Plus thirty-two and counting."

"Thank the Power for that!" The old s.p.a.cehound was very glad indeed to take over and to conduct the rest of the battle as a s.p.a.ce-battle should be conducted. Immediately upon emergence, Grand Fleet had of course launched thousands of missiles. Immediately after detecting the invaders, the Garshans had of course launched thousands of the same. Equally, of course, none of these missiles. .h.i.t anything, automatic, instantly reactive spotters and blasters and antimissile missiles saw to that. The dreadnoughts and supers drove up and slugged. The lighter; more maneuverable s.h.i.+ps darted hither and thither, searching out heavies who were taking too much punishment, trying to slip a big one where it would do some good. As soon as the battle situation began to stabilize, Axolgan began to use his numerical superiority. Percentage-wise it was small, but actually it was decisive. Through the linked minds of the psiontists he had full knowledge and, for the first time in his life, perfect control. Ten or fifteen of his "loose" s.h.i.+ps, all that were within striking distance of a target, would half englobe one Garshan and pour in everything they could put out of vibratories, plasma beams, and atomic missiles. Objective-to blow the Garshan out of s.p.a.ce before he could duck into subs.p.a.ce-was not attained very often, since it took almost perfect point-blank range placing of the attacking s.h.i.+ps and almost perfect synchronization of their fire-power to do any really crippling damage before the automatic overload kickouts of the enemy could act. Technically, however, a force-out was good business. Any s.h.i.+p forced to retreat that way weakened the enemy's formation and was out of action for some time-the exact length of time depending upon the quality and speed of its computers and the speed and ability of its astrogators-and every force-out increased Grand Fleet's numerical superiority. Thus the rate of force-out of Garshan vessels increased geometrically until, in just under two hours of ether-wracking combat, all that was left of the Garshan fleet vanished at once. The Garshan admiral had decided to call it a day. Although Grand Fleet hadn't made very many kills-only one hundred sixty-six, as compared with the psiontists' bag of five hundred thirty-seven in the first thirty seconds of the battle-Axolgan was immensely pleased. One sixty-six was excellent and he hadn't lost a s.h.i.+p. His astrogators and his powermen had been right up to the tips of their toes. Grand Fleet had done a Cla.s.s A Triple-Prime job. He was still smiling happily to himself when Rodnar and Starrlah appeared in his control room. (Laynch and his complement had disappeared with their fleet.) They both looked tired. Rodnar glanced once at the admiral's smiling face and said aloud, "Shall we break the bad news to him gently, Starr, about how many people we killed on Garsh, or let him stay happy until he finds it out for himself." Starr smiled a tired smile, her baptism of fire had been exhausting.

"Well, that's one way of breaking it gently, I suppose. The admiral's expression changed instantly.

"Don't tell me Garsh was abandoned!" he roared.

"Just that," Rodnar informed him.

"Maybe a few technicians and supervisors on the automation, but I didn't perceive any. The net result of this whole operation is, scrub one abandoned planet."

"But-bub-but... how?" Axolgan stuttered.

"How could they-and why."

"That'd be guessing," Rodnar said quietly.

"Knu, I told you Laynch has been plotting this thing for years... How wrong can a man get? Centuries-Laynch and his forefathers... Finding Garsh empty rocked us back on our heels. What I'm wondering now is how many Garshan planets there are that n.o.body ever heard of." The admiral's jaw dropped in amazement and Knuaire stared, but Marrjyl had been thinking right along with Rodnar, perhaps a trifle ahead of him.

"So you think, just by pure dumb luck, we forced his hand? So they had to act before they were ready? Say another twenty-five years, or however long it would take for them to have more psiontists than we have."

"I'm not thinking anymore, Marr." He grinned at her.

"I'm all thunk out, or else too d.a.m.ned tired to, I don't know which." His gaze turned toward Starrlah.

"All I want to do right now is to go to bed and sleep for four solid days. How about it, sweetheart."

"Now you're clicking, man of mine, you're really clicking." She took his hand, and Rodnar addressed a final word to the admiral.

"The skeleton crew is bringing in the cruiser and you will, of course, report to His Magnificence. We'll go planet-hunting later. After all, those Garshan worlds weren't developed in a day, and we won't find 'em in a day. The search will be our next order of business-but sleep comes first." And Rodnar and Starrlah disappeared. Marrjyl hooked arms with Knuaire and exclaimed, "A right n.o.ble idea. Agreed, Knu? Sleep sounds very inviting." And a somewhat disconcerted Supreme Admiral Axolgan was alone. In a conference room at the MetEnge headquarters on Newmars, eight psiontists gathered at the suggestion of Carlyle Deston. In his call to each couple he had given the reason for his request-another venture into Second s.p.a.ce. Because they had not seen each other for several weeks, time was spent in small talk, audible and enthusiastic. Bernice Jones spoke above the hubbub, "Not strictly necessary, of course," swinging out the well-stocked portable bar by hand, "but it's fun, especially since we're practically strangers. Drinks-smokes-name your poisons, ladies and gentlemen, and I'll play Hebe. I'll serve you with my own lily-white hands."

"Bun the Barmaid, and a truly rara avis of the ilk." Deston laughed and led a round of applause. Then, when all were settled, he went on, "Okay, Herc, you aren't sold. Shoot."

"I certainly am not. You know what happened to the Explorer. She lasted quick, and I do mean quick. Considering the stuff she had and how long it lasted, I'm dubious as all h.e.l.l about going in with a thing that hasn't got screen enough to stop a flashlight nor a beam hot enough to light a cigarette. My personal opinion is that both you Destons are more than somewhat daft."

"Hear, hear!" Train applauded, raising his gla.s.s.

"Or to put it somewhat less poetically-nuts. Squirrel food. The thing to do is wait for Explorer Two, so as to go in loaded for."

"I object!" Barbara snapped.

"I object most strenuously to that system of nomenclature-it's strictly for cretins. Explorer Two! No imagination. Anyone with one-tenth of a brain ought to be ashamed of it." Train frowned.

"Can you think of a better one."

"Of course I can. Almost anything would be better than that. Something original-distinctive. I was reading an old book a while ago...

"A-ha!" Deston stage-whispered to Mrs. Adams.

"The wench claims she can read printed words." Barbara faked a glare.

"That's all we'll have out of you, Babe. This old book was about ancient Africa-on Tellus, you know-when it was practically all unexplored jungles and swamps all full of poisonous snakes and monkeys and crocodiles. So I'm going to name our s.h.i.+p the Safari and if you don't know what that word means you can go and look it up."

"Okay, but let's get back to business," Deston said.

"That flat bust was my fault. I was overconfident. c.o.c.ky. It never even occurred to me that we might hit something it'd be smart to run away from. I wasn't even set to run, but this time I will be. Believe me, I will be! I'll do everything the sneaky way, and I mean sneaky. Carefully, furtively, on soft little feet. Timid like a mouse, and just as ready to scamper." The girls started to laugh and the men joined in. It was hard to visualize Carlyle Deston in the role of the Timid Soul, but they all knew that he could do it if he would, and he convinced them that this time he would. Dr. Andrew Adams made the deciding contribution to the discussion.

"My friends, I don't want to exert undue influence on your decision-but I can't stress too strongly our need for more data." He hesitated, then continued with some uncertainty, "For reasons which I can't pinpoint, and which I suppose could be called instinctive, I believe more knowledge of Second s.p.a.ce is vital-and delay in acquiring that data could be very costly." Wherefore, a few days later, a light cruiser immerged and felt its way at low power through the indescribable something-or nothing?-that is subs.p.a.ce. Indescribable? Utterly. No ordinary pa.s.senger or s.p.a.ceman ever looks into it. The ordinary mind cannot stand it. Psiontists can look at it-even though their physical senses reel at being extruded by force into that three-dimensionally impossible region-but looking doesn't do even them any good. No two observers ever see the same things and not one of them likes what he sees. Thus the eight aboard the cruiser did not look with their eyes. They scanned with their three-dimensionally impossible supersenses, which did not require transparent ports. Ready for inters.p.a.ce transit, Train said, "We're taking it by steps this time. First step, rotation into alignment with Second s.p.a.ce, but we won't emerge. Ready? Hold onto your breakfasts." There came the well-remembered wracking, battering, sense-shattering-but only momentary-shock of reorientation. They scanned. They checked their instruments. Senses and meters and 'scopes alike told them that they were still in the same subs.p.a.ce they had known so long. Jones's right hand reached for the EMERGE b.u.t.ton, but stopped halfway.

"You still think, Babe, they'll necessarily be friendly."

"Maybe not exactly friendly," Deston said, and paused.

"I can't say I'm exactly friendly myself. But they'll certainly be receptive, the same as we are. d.a.m.n it, Herc, they're psiontists. They have to be. Of approximately our own grade. Everything points that way. Those things we hit were automatics-they must have been. Minds of that caliber can't be barbarous enough to attack on sight without warning."

"Automatic or not, something attacked us last time," Train said dryly.

"Remember that, my friend."

"I'm remembering it and I'll be ready to run, but I'm sure as sure that they've figured out things the same way we have. So I'm pretty sure that they're expecting us to visit them again." Barbara shuddered.