"So you didn't anything on Nevia." Roderick Kinnison got up, deposited the inch-long of his cigar in an ashtray, another, and about the room; hands into pockets. "I'm surprised. Nerado me as being a B.T.O.... I sure he'd qualify."
"So did I." Samms' was glum. "He's Big Time, and an Operator; but not big enough, by far. I'm—we're both—finding out that Lensman material is stuff. There's none on Nevia, and no that there will be any."
"Tough ... and you're right, of course, in your that we'll have to have Lensmen from as many different as possible on the Galactic Council or the thing won't work at all. So much jealousy—which is one why we're here in New York of out at The Hill, where we belong—we've that out already, in such a small and group as our own system—the Solarian Council will not only have to be up mostly of Lensmen, but each and every of Sol will have to be represented—even Pluto, I suppose, in time. And by the way, your Mr. Saunders wasn't any too pleased when you took Knobos of Mars and DalNalten of Venus away from him and Lensmen out of them—and put them miles over his head."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that ... exactly. I him ... but at that, since Saunders is not Lensman himself, it was a difficult for him to the completely."
"You say it easy—'difficult' is not the word I would use. But to the Lensman hunt." Kinnison blackly. "I agree, as I said before, that we need non-human Lensmen, the more the better, but I don't think much of your of any. What makes you think ... Oh, I see ... but I don't know you're or not in a high positive a of ability and advancement."
"No such is necessary. Start you please, Rod, and take it from there; Nevia."
"I'll start with facts, then. Interstellar is new to us. We haven't spread far, or much territory. But in the eight with which we are most familiar there are seven planets—I'm not Valeria—which are very much like Earth in point of mass, size, climate, atmosphere, and gravity. Five of the seven did not have any life and were easily and quickly. The Tellurian worlds of Procyon and Vega neighbors—thank God we learned something on Nevia—because they were already by races: Procia by people as as we are, Vegia by people who would be so if it weren't for their tails. Many other worlds of these are by more or less non-human races. Just how they are we don't know, but the Lensmen will soon out.
"My point is that no we have so has had either energy or any of space-drive. In any with having space-drives we have not been the discoverers, but the discovered. Our are all twenty six light-years of Earth Aldebaran II, which is fifty seven, but which a of people, in of the distance, it was so nearly with Earth. On the other hand, the Nevians, from a of over a hundred light-years, us ... an older and a higher ... but you just told me that they would produce a Lensman!"
"That point stopped me, too, at first. Follow through; I want to see if you arrive at the same I did."
"Well ... I ... I ..." Kinnison intensely, then on: "Of course, the Nevians were not colonizing; nor, speaking, exploring. They were for iron—a organized, operation to a material they needed desperately."
"Precisely," Samms agreed.
"The Rigellians, however, were surveying, and Rigel is about four hundred and light-years from here. We didn't have a thing they needed or wanted. They at us in and on going. I'm still on your track?"
"Dead center. And just where that put the Palainians?"
"I see ... you may have something there, at that. Palain is so away that nobody where it is—probably thousands of light-years. Yet they have not only this system; they Pluto long our white America. But it, Virge, I don't like it—any part of it. Rigel Four you may be able to take, with your Lens ... one of their automobiles, if you en with the driver. But Palain, Virge! Pluto is enough, but the home planet! You can't. Nobody can. It can't be done!"
"I know it won't be easy," Samms admitted, bleakly, "but if it's got to be done, I'll do it. And I have a little that I haven't had time to tell you yet. We once before, you remember, what a job it was to into any of with the Palainians on Pluto. You said then that nobody them, and you were right—then. However, I re-ran those brain-wave tapes, my Lens, and them—the thoughts, that is—as well as though they had been recorded in precisionist-grade English."
"What?" Kinnison exclaimed, then silent. Samms silent. What they were of Arisia's Lens cannot be in words.
"Well, go on," Kinnison said. "Give me the of it—the that you've been back."
"The messages—as messages—were clear and plain. The backgrounds, however, the and implications, were not. Some of their and to be different from ours—so and different that I cannot either their or their with their high and their of development. However, they have at least some minds of power, and none of the I were of such a nature as to Lensmanship. Therefore I am going to Pluto; and from there—I hope—to Palain Seven. If there's a Lensman there, I'll him."
"You will, at that," Kinnison paid to what he, than anyone else, that his friend had.
"But of me—how are you doing?"
"As well as can be at this stage of the game. The thing is along three main lines. First, the pirates. Since that of thing is more or less my own line I'm it myself, unless and until you someone qualified. I've got Jack and Costigan on it now.
"Second; drugs, vice, and so on. I you somebody to take this line over, because, frankly, I'm in over my and want to out. Knobos and DalNalten are trying to out if there's anything to the idea that there may be a planetary, or inter-planetary, ring involved. Since Sid Fletcher isn't a Lensman I couldn't him openly from his job, but he a about the dope-vice and is full time with the other two.
"Third; pure—or rather, impure—politics. The more I that subject, the it that politics would be the and biggest of the three. There are too many I don't know a thing about, such as what to do about the of foaming, your friend Senator Morgan will be the minute he out what our Galactic Patrol is going to do. So I the whole political line.
"Now you know as well as I do—better, probably—that Morgan is only the Pernicious Activities Committee of the North American Senate. Multiply him by the thousands of others, all over space, who will be on our necks the Patrol can its space-legs, and you will see that all that will have to be by a Lensman who, as well as being a operator, will have to know all the and will have to have of guts. I've got the guts, but none of the other requisites. Jill hasn't, although she's got else. Fairchild, your Relations ace, isn't a Lensman and can one. So you can see who has got to politics himself."
"You may be right ... but this Lensman comes first...." Samms pondered, then brightened. "Perhaps—probably—I can somebody on this trip—a Palainian, say—who is than any of us."
Kinnison snorted. "If you can, I'll you a week in any Venerian you want to name."
"Better start saving up your credits, then, from what I already know of the Palainian such a is more than a possibility." Samms paused, his narrowing. "I don't know it would make Morgan and his more or less so to have a non-Solarian authority in our political—but at least it would be something new and different. But in of what you said about 'ducking' politics, what have you got Northrop, Jill and Fairchild doing?"
"Well, we had a of discussions. I couldn't give either Jill or Dick orders, of course...."
"Wouldn't, you mean," Samms corrected.
"Couldn't," Kinnison insisted. "Jill, being your and Lensman grade, had no official with either the Triplanetary Service or the Solarian Patrol. And the Service, Fairchild, is still Triplanetary; and it will have to Triplanetary until you have Lensmen so that you can your surprises—Galactic Council and Galactic Patrol. However, Northrop and Fairchild are their and ears open and their mouths shut, and Jill is out she can about and so on, as well as the political angles. They'll report to you—facts, deductions, guesses, and recommendations—whenever you say the word."
"Nice work, Rod. Thanks. I think I'll call Jill now, I go—wonder where she is? ... but I wonder ... with the Lens are superfluous? I'll try it."
"JILL!" he into his Lens, as he did so a image of his as he her. But he found, to his surprise, that neither was necessary.
"Ouch!" came the almost answer, long his was complete. "Don't think so hard, Dad, it hurts—I almost missed a step." Virgilia was actually there with him; his own mind; in closer touch with him than she had been. "Back so soon? Shall we report now, or aren't you to go to work yet?"
"Skipping for the moment your on my present activities—not quite." Samms the of his to a level. "Just wanted to check with you. Come in, Rod." In he her up to date. "Jill, do you agree with what Rod here has just told me?"
"Yes. Fully. So do the boys."
"That settles it, then—unless, of course, I can a more substitute."
"Of course—but we will that when we see it."
"Where are you and what are you doing?"
"Washington, D.C. European Embassy. Dancing with Herkimer Third, Senator Morgan's Number One secretary. I was going to make at him—in a perfectly lady-like way, of course—but it wasn't necessary. He thinks he can my resistance."
"Careful, Jill! That of stuff...."
"Is very old indeed, Daddy dear. Simple. And Herkimer Third isn't a menace; he just thinks he is. Take a look—you can, can't you, with your Lens?"
"Perhaps ... Oh, yes. I see him as well as you do." Fully en with the girl as he was, so that his mind with hers any which she was to share, it as though a keen, handsome, from a of toward his own. "But I don't like it a bit—and him less."
"That's you aren't a girl," Jill mentally. "This is fun; and it won't him a bit, maybe for a vanity, when I don't at his feet. And I'm learning a that he hasn't any he's away."
"Knowing you, I that. But don't ... that is ... well, be very not to your burned. The job isn't it—yet."
"Don't worry, Dad." She laughed unaffectedly. "When it comes to playboys like this one, I've got millions and and of of resistance. But here comes Senator Morgan himself, with a and Venerian—he's calling my boy-friend away from me, with what he thinks is an high-sign, into a huddle—and my nerves a rich and aroma, as of skunk—so ... I to to be a Solarian Councillor the heave-ho, but if I want to read what goes on—and I do—I'll have to concentrate. As soon as you give us a call and we'll report. Take it easy, Dad!"
"You're the one to be told that, not me. Good hunting, Jill!"
Samms, still seated at his desk, out and pressed a marked "GARAGE". His office was on the floor; the level after level of sub-basement. The screen brightened; a appeared.
"Good evening, Jim. Will you send my car up to the Wright Skyway feeder?"
"At once, sir. It will be there in seventy five seconds."
Samms cut off; and, after a of with Kinnison, out into the and along it to the "DOWN" shaft. There, going free, he through a doorless, into over a thousand of air. Although it was long after office hours the was still busy, but that no difference—inertialess cannot be felt. He to the floor, where he himself to an halt.
Leaving the shaft, he joined the now toward the exit. A girl with and an hair-do, of his Lens, took her hands out of her pockets—skirts out, as office dress, when up-and-down open-shaft of a hundred or so miles hour replaced elevators—nudged her companion, and excitedly:
"Look there! Quick! I saw one close up before, did you? That's him—himself! First Lensman Samms!"
At the Portal, the Lensman as a of out his car-check, but such were no longer necessary, or possible. Everybody knew, or wanted to be of as knowing, Virgil Samms.
"Stall four sixty five, First Lensman, sir," the told him, without at the disk.
"Thank you, Tom."
"This way, please, sir, First Lensman," and a youth, teeth white in a black face, proudly to the and opened the vehicle's door.
"Thank you, Danny," Samms said, as as though he did not know where his ground-car was.
He got in. The door itself shut. The runabout—a Dillingham eleven-forty—shot upon its two fat, soft tires. Half-way to the he was doing forty; he the steeply-banked leading into the "street" at ninety. Nor was there or strain. Motorcycle-wise, but automatically, the "Dilly" against its at the angle; the low-pressure to the of the as though with it. Nor was there any question of traffic, for this thoroughfare, six full above Varick Street proper, was not, speaking, a at all. It had only one point of access, the one which Samms had used; and only one exit—it was and only a into Wright Skyway, a limited-access superhighway.
Samms saw, without particularly, the of traffic-ways of which this was only one part; a which from ground-level up to a point well above the of New York's district.
The way rose sharply; Samms' right a little farther; the Dillingham to up speed. Moving loud-speakers sang to him and and at him, but he did not them. Brilliant signs, and all the colors of the spectrum—sheer of the electrician's art—blazed in or into and eye-catching pictures, but he did not see them. Advertising—designed by to sell from to Martian ("bottled ecstacy")—but the First Lensman was a big-city dweller. His mind had long since a perfect filter, to his only which he wanted to perceive: only so can big-city life be endurable.
Approaching the Skyway, he cut in his roadlights, a trifle, and his low-flyer into the of traffic. Those lights fifteen hundred apiece, but there was no glare—polarized and wind-shields saw to that.
He his way over to the left-hand, high-speed and opened up. At the of the district, where Wright Skyway to ground level, Samms' attention was and by something off to his right—a blue-white, something that into the air. As it it down; its and in pitch; its light through the toward the red. Finally it exploded, with an earth-shaking crash; but the lightning-like of the detonation, of almost instantaneously, settled itself upon a low-hanging cloud and a picture and four words—two and "SMITH BROS. COUGH DROPS"!
"Well, I'll be damned!" Samms spoke aloud, at having been to to and to look at an advertisement. "I I had everything, but that is new!"
Twenty minutes—fifty miles—later, Samms left the Skyway at a point near what had once been South Norwalk, Connecticut; an area now into the level square miles of New York Spaceport.
New York Spaceport; then, and until the of Prime Base, the biggest and in upon any of Civilization. For New York City, long the financial and of the Earth, had the same position in the of the Solar System and was a lead over her rivals, Chicago, London, and Stalingrad, in the for inter-stellar supremacy.
And Virgil Samms himself, of the ever-increasing of piracy, had been for the policy of the war-vessels of the Triplanetary Patrol upon each space-field in direct to the size and of that field. Hence he was no in New York Spaceport; in fact, master that he was, he had it a point to know by name with it.
No sooner had he his Dillingham over to a attendant, however, than he was by a man he had before.
"Mr. Samms?" the asked.
"Yes." Samms did not his Lens; he had not yet either the or the to every who approached him, upon any whatever, in order to out what that wanted.
"I'm Isaacson ..." the man paused, as though he had a world of information.
"Yes?" Samms was receptive, but not impressed.
"Interstellar Spaceways, you know. We've been trying to see you for two weeks, but we couldn't past your secretaries, so I to you here, myself. But we're just as much alone here as we would be in either one of our offices—yes, more so. What I want to talk to you about is having our to the and the colonies."
"Just a minute, Mr. Isaacson. Surely you know that I no longer have a portfolio in the Council; that all of my attention is, and for some time to come will be, elsewhere?"
"Exactly—officially." Isaacson's spoke volumes. "But you're still the Boss; they'll do anything you tell them to. We couldn't try to do with you before, of course, but in your present position there is nothing to prevent you from into the biggest thing that will be. We are the biggest in now, as you know, and we are still growing—fast. We don't do in a small way, or with small men; so here's a check for a credits, or I will deposit it to your account...."
"I'm not interested."
"As a binder," the other on, as as though his had not been interrupted, "with twenty-five more to on the day that our goes through."
"I'm still not interested."
"No ... o ... o ...?" Isaacson the Lensman narrowly: and Samms, Lens now wide awake, the entrepreneur. "Well ... I ... while I admit that we want you badly, you are to know that we'll what we want anyway, with or without you. With you, though, it will be and quicker, so I am to offer you, the twenty six ..." he the as he them: "twenty two and one-half of Spaceways. On today's market that is fifty credits; ten years from now it will be fifty billion. That's my high bid; that's as high as we can possibly go."
"I'm to that—I'm still not interested," and Samms away, calling his friend Kinnison as he did so.
"Rod? Virgil." He told the story.
"Whew!" Kinnison expressively. "They're not pikers, anyway, are they? What a sweet set-up—and you it up and hand it to them like a of coffee...."
"Or you could, Rod."
"Could be...." The big Lensman ruminated. "But what a hookup! Perfectly legitimate, and with of precedents—and arguments, of a sort—in its favor. The planets. Then Alpha Centauri and Sirius and Procyon and so on. Monopoly—all the traffic will bear...."
"Slavery, you mean!" Samms stormed. "It would Civilization for a thousand years!"
"Sure, but what do they care?"
"That's it ... and he said—and actually believed—that they would it without my help.... I can't help about that."
"Simple enough, Virge, when you think about it. He doesn't know yet what a Lensman is. Nobody does, you know, Lensmen. It will take some time for that knowledge to around...."
"And still longer for it to be believed."
"Right. But as to the of Interstellar Spaceways the they're for, I didn't think I would have to you that it was not by accident that over of the members of the Solarian Council are Lensmen, and that any Galactic Councillor will have to be a Lensman. So go right ahead with what you started, my boy, and don't give Isaacson and Company another thought. We'll an or two in that direction while you are gone."
"I was a things, at that, I guess." Samms in as he entered the main office of the Patrol.
The line at the receptionist's was short, but so, Samms was not allowed to wait. That decorative, but far-from-dumb blonde, off in mid-sentence her of the moment, on her as though it had been a of floodlights, pressed a on her desk, and spoke to the man her and to the Lensman:
"Excuse me a moment, please. First Lensman Samms, sir...?"
"Yes, Miss Regan?" her communicator—"squawk-box", in every day parlance—broke in.
"First Lensman Samms is here, sir," the girl announced, and the circuit.
"Good evening, Sylvia. Lieutenant-Commander Wagner, please, or else is clearances," Samms answered what he was to have been her question.
"Oh, no, sir; you are cleared. Commodore Clayton has been waiting for you ... here he is, now."
"Hi, Virgil!" Commodore Clayton, a big, solid man with a and a of iron-gray hair, the two which him to be the commander-in-chief of a of the Patrol, hands vigorously. "I'll you out. Miss Regan, call a bug, please."
"Oh, that isn't necessary, Alex!" Samms protested. "I'll one up outside."
"Not in any Patrol in North America, my friend; nor, unless I am very mistaken, else. From now on, Lensmen have priority, and the what that means, the better."
The "bug"—a vehicle something like a jeep, more so—was waiting at the door. The two men jumped aboard.
"The Chicago—and blast!" Clayton ordered, crisply.
The driver obeyed—literally. Gravel from as the little ground-car took off. A turn into the famous Avenue of Oaks. Along the Avenue. Through the Gate, the as the past them. Past the barracks. Past the and strips. Out into the space-field, the and area to the widely-spaced of the which the of inter-planetary and inter-stellar space. Spacedocks were, and are, and structures; of and and and ultra-stubborn and and vacuum-breaks; air-conditioned and having of thousands of hour of ice; designed not only to servicing, unloading, and loading, but also to protect materials and from the raving, of take-off and of landing.
A space-dock is a and cylinder, into top the one-third of a space-ship's as as a into the "pocket" of a fielder's long-seasoned glove. And the those the size, of the themselves and of the them. Thus, from a distance, the Chicago looked little enough, and enough; but as the under the and the driver to a stop at one of the dock's entrances, Samms keep from flinching. That featureless, gray, of so high above them—extended so its visible means of support! It must be on the very of crashing!
Samms at the of metal above him, then smiled—not without effort—at his companion.
"You'd think, Alex, that a man would over being that a ship was going to on him, but I haven't—yet."
"No, and you will. I have, and I'm one of the old hands. Some not to mind it—but not in of a detector. That's why they had to make the than the liners—too many and had to be on stretchers—or passage entirely. However, out of them on the ground had one big advantage; they so safe that they didn't the colly-wobbles so when they free."
"Well, I've got over that, anyway. Good-bye, Alex; and thanks."
Samms entered the dock, upward, an officer to the captain's own cabin, and settled himself into a chair an ultra-wave view-plate. A appeared upon his screen and spoke.
"Winfield to First Lensman Samms—you will be to blast off at twenty one hundred?"
"Samms to Captain Winfield," the Lensman replied. "I will be ready."
Sirens briefly; a noise which Samms was purely a formality. Clearance had been issued; Station PiXNY was the air with warnings. Personnel and material close to the Chicago's to be by the blast were under and safe.
The blast on; the plate showed, of a view of the space-field, a of blue-white light. The war-ship was inertialess, it is true; but so were the that gases, driven, the and for hundreds of yards around it.
The plate cleared. Through the lower, of the Chicago in seconds; then, as the air and thinner, she and faster. The ... then convex. Being without inertia, the ship's was at every that at which the of the medium through which she her way the of her thrust.
Wherefore, out in open space, the Earth a fast-shrinking and Sol himself smaller, paler, and at a rate, the Chicago's speed an almost value; a value for the mind to grasp.
