Late that night—or, rather, very early the morning—Senator Morgan and his Number One were in the former's spy-ray-proofed office. Morgan's round, heavy, had a little of its color; the of his left hand upon the top of his desk. His eyes, however, were as and as calculating as ever.
"This thing smells, Herkimer ... it ... but I can't any of the angles. That operation was planned. Sure fire, it couldn't miss. Right up to the last second it perfectly. Then—blooie! A bust. The Patrol and was under control. There must have been a somewhere—but where in it have been?"
"There couldn't have been a leak, Chief; it doesn't make sense." The his long legs, them in the other direction, away a half-smoked cigarette, another. "If there'd been any of a they would have done a more than just kill the low man on the ladder. You know as well as I do that Rocky Kinnison is the hardest-boiled this of hell. If he had anything, he would have killed in sight, you and me. Besides, if there had been a leak, he would not have let Samms ten thousand miles of the place—that's one sure thing. Another is he wouldn't have waited until after it was all over to his army there. No, Chief, there couldn't have been a leak. Whatever Samms or Kinnison out—probably Samms, he's a of a than Kinnison is, you know—he learned right there and then. He must have Brainerd start to his gun."
"I of that. I'd it, for one fact. Apparently you didn't time the the and the of the tanks."
"Sorry, Chief." Herkimer's was a study in chagrin. "I a there."
"I'll say you did. One minute and fifty eight seconds."
"What!"
Morgan silent.
"The is fast, of ... and always ... and they would the in on beams, not under their own power ... but so ... five minutes, is my guess, Chief. Four and a half, minimum."
"Check. And where do you go from there?"
"I see your point. I don't. That wide open. One set of says there was a leak, which two and a and three minutes the was given. I ask you, Chief, that make sense?"
"No. That's what is me. As you say, the to be contradictory. Somebody must have learned something anything happened; but if they did, why didn't they do more? And Murgatroyd. If they didn't know about him, why the ships—especially the big battlewagons? If they did think he might be out there somewhere, why didn't they go and out?"
"Now I'll ask one. Why didn't our Mr. Murgatroyd do something? Or wasn't the to be in on this? Probably not, though."
"My would be the same as yours. Can't see any for having a a one-man operation, as well-planned a one as this was. But that's none of our business. These Lensmen are. I was them every second. Neither Samms Kinnison did anything that two minutes."
"Young Kinnison and Northrop each left the about that time."
"I know it. So they did. Either one of them have called the Patrol—but what has that to do with the price of C. I. F. Valeria?"
Herkimer from the question. Morgan and for minutes, then on slowly:
"There are two, and only two, possibilities; neither of which possible. It was—must have been—either the Lens or the girl."
"The girl? Act your age, Senator. I where she was, and what she was doing, every second."
"That was evident." Morgan stopped and cynically. "I'm a of a out of you taking it, for a change, of it out."
"Yes?" Herkimer's hardened. "That game isn't over, my friend."
"That's what you think," the Senator jibed. "Can't that any woman can be Herkimer-proof, eh? You've been on her for six now, of the six hours, and you haven't got yet."
"I will, Senator." Herkimer's viciously. "I'll her, one way or another, if it's the last thing I do."
"I'll give you eight to five you don't; and a six-month time limit."
"I'll take five thousand of that. But what makes you think that she's anything to be of? She's a psychologist, yes; but so am I; and I'm older and more than she is. That that stuff—her learning how to cross-legged, how to her navel, and how to try to in with the infinite. How do you that puts her in my class?"
"I told you, I don't. Nothing makes sense. But she is Virgil Samms' daughter."
"What of it? You didn't on George Olmstead—you him for one of the jobs we've got. By blood he's just about as close to Virgil Samms as Virgilia is. They might as well have been out of the same egg."
"Physically, yes. Mentally and psychologically, no. Olmstead is a realist, a materialist. He wants his in this world, not the next, and is out to it. Furthermore, the job will kill him, and if it doesn't, he will be in a position of trust or where he can learn much of anything. On the other hand, Virgil Samms is—but I don't need to tell you what he is like. But you don't to that she's just like him—she isn't playing around with you of your charm...."
"Listen, Chief. She didn't know anything and she didn't do anything. I was dancing with her all the time, as close as that," he his hands together, "so I know what I'm talking about. And if you think she learn anything from me, it. You know that nobody on Earth, or else, can read my face; and besides, she was playing right then—wasn't looking at me. So count her out."
"We'll have to, I guess." Morgan his drumming. "If there were any possibility that she you I'd send you to the mines, but there's no ... that the Lens. It has seemed, right along, more logical than the girl—but a more fantastic. Been able to out anything more about it?"
"No. Just what they've been advertising. Combination radio-phone, language-converter, telepath, and so on. Badge of the top of the top-bracket cops. But I to think, out there on the floor, that they aren't they know."
"So did I. You tell me."
"Take the time zero three minutes. Besides the five Lensmen—and Jill Samms—the place was full of top brass; eggs all over the floor. Commodores and lieutenant-Commodores from all governments of the Earth, the other planets, and the colonies, all full-dress side-arms. Nobody anything then; we agree on that. But the next seconds, somebody out something and called for help. One of the Lensmen possibly have done that without signs. BUT—at zero time all four Lensmen had their out—and not Lewistons, note—and were shooting; none of the other officers that anything was going on until after it was all over. That puts the on the Lens."
"That's the way I it. But the unchanged. How? Mind-reading?"
"Space-drift!" Herkimer snorted. "My mind can't be read."
"Nor mine."
"And besides, if they read minds, they wouldn't have waited until the last possible second to do it, unless ... say, wait a minute!... Did Brainerd act or look nervous, toward the last? I wasn't to look at him, you know."
"Not nervous, exactly; but he did a little tense."
"There you are, then. Hired aren't smart. A Lensman saw him up and got suspicious. Turned in the on principles. Warned the others to keep on their toes. But so, it doesn't look like mind-reading—they'd have killed him sooner. They were watchful, and quick on the draw."
"That be it. That's about as thin and as an as I saw up, but it the ... and the two of us will be able to make it ... but take notice, boy, that parties are not going to like this at all. In fact, they are going to be very put out."
"That's a of understatement, boss. But notice one thing about this story?" Herkimer maliciously. "It lets us pass the to Big Jim Towne. We can be—and will be—sore as he such weak-sister to do his killings!"
In the ambulance, Virgil Samms sat up and a at his friend Kinnison, his mind a of confusion.
"What's the matter, Rod?"
"Plenty!" the big Lensman back. "They were—maybe still are—too ahead of us. Something has been going on that we haven't suspected. I by, as as a three-year-old girl baby, and let you walk right into that one—and I do not with my that way. It makes me jumpy. This may be all, but it may not be—not by eleven thousand light-years—and I'm trying to out what is going to next."
"And what have you deduced?"
"Nothing. I'm stuck. So I'm it into your lap. Besides, that's what you are paid for, thinking. So go ahead and think. What would you be doing, if you were on the other side?"
"I see. You think, then, that it might not be good to take the time to go to the spaceport?"
"You the idea. But—can you transfer?"
"Certainly. They got my and taped, and my arm in a sling. Shock all gone. Some pain, but not much. I can walk without down."
"Fair enough. Clayton!" He Lensed a thought. "Have any of the anything, high up or off?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Kinnison to Commodore Clayton, orders. Have a 'copter come and up Samms and myself on tractors. Instruct the Boise and the to maintain vigilance. Instruct the Chicago to us up. Detach the Chicago and the Boise from your force. Assign them to me. Off."
"Clayton to Commissioner Kinnison. Orders and are being out. Off."
The were without incident. The two super-dreadnaughts into the high and westward. Half-way to the Hill, Kinnison called Dr. Frederick Rodebush.
"Fred? Kinnison. Have Cleve and Bergenholm link up with us. Now—how are the Geigers on the of the Hill behaving?"
"Normal, all of them," the physicist-Lensman reported after a moment. "Why?"
Kinnison the of the past. "So tell the boys to all the the Hill has got."
"My God!" Cleveland exclaimed. "Why, that's us to the days of the Interplanetary Wars!"
"With one exception," Kinnison pointed out. "The attack, if any, will be modern. I we'll be able to it. One good thing, the old mountain's got a of mass. How much will it stand?"
"Allotropic iron, U-235, or plutonium?" Rodebush his slide-rule.
"What it make?"
"From a practical ... none. But with a defending, not many through, so I'd say ..."
"I wasn't so much of bombs."
"What, then?"
"Isotopes. A good, thick of dust. Slow-speed, that neither our ships the Hill's screens handle. We've got to decide, first, Virgil will be there in the Hill or out in space in the Chicago; and second, for how long."
"I see ... I'd say here, under the Hill. Months, years, anything work this far. And we can always out. No how the surface gets, we've got screen, water, cadmium, lead, mercury, and else necessary to him out through the locks."
"That's what I was you'd say. And now, about the defense ... I wonder ... I don't want to think I've gone hysterical, but I'll be if I want to again with...." His out.
"May I offer a suggestion, sir?" Bergenholm's the silence.
"I'd be very to have it—your so haven't been vaporings. Another hunch?"
"No, sir, a logical procedure. It has been some months since the last call-out was held. If you issue such another call now, and nothing happens, it can be another drill; with credit, promotion, and for the best performances; and for the less units."
"Splendid, Dr. Bergenholm!" Samms' and mind up the and it along. "And what a chance, Rod, for something larger and more than a Continental, or a Tellurian, drill—make it the of the Galactic Patrol!"
"I'd like to, Virge, but we can't. My boys are ready, but you aren't. No top and no authority."
"That can be in a very minutes. We have been waiting for the moment. This, if trouble should develop, is the time. You an attack, do you not?"
"Yes. I would not start anything unless and until I was to it, and I see no for that it was that to kill you is not at least as good a planner as I am."
"And the of you...? Dr. Bergenholm?"
"My reasoning, while it not that of Commissioner Kinnison, leads to the same conclusion; that an attack in great is to be expected."
"Not parallel?" Kinnison demanded. "In what respects?"
"You do not to have the possibility, Commissioner, that the of First Lensman Samms very well have been only the step in a operation."
"I didn't ... and it have been. So go ahead, Virge, with...."
The was finished, for Samms had already gone ahead. Simultaneously, it seemed, the minds of eight other Lensmen joined the group of Tellurians. Samms, serious, spoke to his friend:
"The Galactic Council is now assembled. Do you, Roderick K. Kinnison, promise to uphold, in as much as you can and with all that in you lies, the authority of this Council all space?"
"I promise."
"By of the authority in me its president by the Galactic Council, I you Port Admiral of the Galactic Patrol. My are now the of their into the Galactic Patrol ... It will not take long ... There, you may make your and issue orders for the mobilization."
The two super-dreadnaughts were now the Hill. The Boise "up on top"; the Chicago down. Kinnison, however, paid very little attention to the landing or to Samms' disembarkation, and none to the Chicago's into the high heavens. He that was under control; and, now alone in his cabin, he was busy.
"All of all just into the Galactic Patrol, attention!" He spoke into an ultra-wave microphone, the familiar parade-ground very in his and voice. "Kinnison of Tellus, Port Admiral, speaking. Each of you has taken to the Galactic Patrol?"
They had.
"At ease. The organization already in your hands is as of now. Enter in your the date and time. Promotions: Commodore Clayton of North America, Tellus...."
In his office at New York Spaceport Clayton came to attention and crisply; his shining, his deeply-scarred alight.
"... to be Admiral of the First Galactic Region. Commodore Schweikert of Europe, Tellus ..."
In Berlin a narrow-waisted, almost foppish-seeming man, with and eyes, from the and punctiliously.
"... to be Lieutenant-Admiral of the First Galactic Region."
And so on, the list. A and a lieutenant-marshal of the Solarian System; a and a lieutenant-general of the Sol Three. Promotions, upon long since, to the high offices thus vacated. Then the list of upon other planets—Guindlos of Redland, Mars; Sesseffsen of Talleron, Venus; Raymond of the Jovian Sub-System; Newman of Alphacent; Walters of Sirius; van-Meeter of Valeria; Adams of Procyon; Roberts of Altair; Barrtell of Fomalhout; Armand of Vega; and Coigne of Aldebaran—each of was actually the commander-in-chief of the of a world. Each of these was of his planet.
"Except for lieutenant-commodores and up, who will their minds to me—dismissed!" Kinnison stopped talking and onto his Lens.
"That was for the record. I don't need to tell you, fellows, how I am to be able to do this. You're tops, all of you—I don't know of I'd have at my when the ..."
"Right at you, chief!" "Same to you Rod!" "Rocky Rod, Port Admiral!" "Now we're blasting!" came a of thoughts. Those men, with he had so much of and of stress, were all as as schoolboys.
"But the thing that makes this possible may also make it necessary for us to go to work; to earn your and my wheel." Kinnison the of and the situation, concluding: "So you see it may turn out to be only a drill—but on the other hand, since the is big to have a war-fleet alone, if it wanted one, and since it may have had a of first-class help that none of us anything about, we may be in for the that any of us saw. So come prepared for anything. I am now going onto voice, for the record.
"Kinnison to the officers of all fleets, sub-fleets, and task-forces of the Galactic Patrol. Information. Subject, problem; defense of the Hill against a postulated Black Fleet of unknown size, strength, and composition; of unknown nationality or origin; from an unknown direction in space at an unknown time.
"Kinnison to Admiral Clayton. Orders. Take over. I am of the Boise and the Chicago."
"Clayton to Port Admiral Kinnison. Orders received. Taking over. I am at the Chicago's main lock. I have Ensign Masterson, the officer of this gig, to wait; that he is to take you to the Hill."
"WHAT? Of all the damned...." This was a thought, and unrecorded.
"Sorry, Rod—I'm sorry as hell, and I'd like no end to have you along." This, too, was a thought. "But that's the way it is. Ordinary Admirals the with their fleets. Port Admirals aground. I report to you, and you things—in broad—by control."
"I see." Kinnison then Lensed a at Samms. "Alex couldn't do this to me—and wouldn't—and well that I'd him to a if he had the to try it. So it's your doing—what in hell's the big idea?"
"Who's being now, Rod?" Samms asked, quietly. "Use your brain. And then come here, where you belong."
And Kinnison, after a long moment of and with as much as he muster, came down. Down not only to the Patrol's familiar offices, but into the them. He was enough, and bitter, at first: but he much to do. Grand Fleet Headquarters—his headquarters—was being organized, and the best of the best minds and of the best of three worlds were being to the of the already of THE HILL. And in a very time the plates of GFHQ that Admiral Clayton and Lieutenant-Admiral Schweikert were doing a very job.
All of the was of Earth, the Mother Planet, and was already in place; as were the less and much of Mars, of Venus, and of Jove. And the of the systems—cutters, scouts, and a light cruisers—were neither for Sol. Instead, each was at maximum for the position in space in which it would one unit of a at a of light-years the entire Solarian System, and each of those hundreds of ships was all space with its furiously-driven beams.
"Nice." Kinnison to Samms, now him at the master plate. "Couldn't have done any myself."
"After you it made, what are you going to do with it in case nothing happens?" Samms was still skeptical. "How long can you make a last?"
"Until all the have long if I have to, but don't worry—if we have time to the I'll be the man in the system."
And Kinnison was not surprised; full was accomplished, a loud-speaker gave tongue.
"Flagship Chicago to Grand Fleet Headquarters!" it blatted, sharply. "The Black Fleet has been detected. RA twelve hours, plus twenty degrees, about thirty light-years...."
Kinnison started to say something; then, by main force, himself up. He wanted to take over, to tell the boys out there what to do, but he couldn't. He was now a Big Shot—damn the luck! He be and must be for policy and for strategy, but, once those had been made, the work would have to be done by others. He didn't like it—but there it was. Those took only an of time.
"... which is such range that no of or can be at present. We will keep you informed."
"Acknowledge," he ordered Randolph; who, now the five of major, was his Chief Communications Officer. "No instructions."
He to his plate. Clayton hadn't had to be told to in his light stuff; it was all hell-for-leather for Sol and Tellus. Three plans of had been out by Staff. Each had its advantages—and its disadvantages. Operation Acorn—long distance—would be at, say, twelve light-years. It would keep everything, particularly the big stuff, away from the Hill, and would make ... unless some got past, or unless the were in on a course, or unless other things—in any one of which cases what a God-awful the Hill would take!
He at Samms, who had been his thought, and quoted: "A of flame, through which neither material can pass."
"Well, that statement, while a florid, was true at the time—before the days of iron and of polycyclic drills. Now I'll one: 'Nothing is permanent change'."
"Uh-huh," and Kinnison returned to his thinking. Operation Adack. Middle distance. Uh-uh. He didn't like it any now than he had before, though some of the Big Brains of Staff it the solution. A compromise. All of the of of the others, and none of the of either. It still stunk, and unless the Black had an Operation Adack was out.
And Virgil Samms, a cigarette, inwardly. Rod the Rock be to be in of any of compromise.
That left Operation Affick. Close up. It had three advantages. First, the Hill's own weapons—as long as they lasted. Second, the new Rodebush-Bergenholm fields. Third, no attack be without and interception. It had one disadvantage; some stuff, and a of it, would through. Automatics, robots, with super-speed drives, with polycyclic drills, and with war-heads to shake the whole world.
But with those new fields, the world wouldn't be enough; in order to to Virgil Samms they would near have to the world. Could a bomb that powerful? He didn't think so. Earth technology was all space; of Earth the North Americans were, and always had been, tops. Grant that the Black Fleet was, basically, North American. Grant that they had a man as good as Adlington—or that they spy-ray Adlington's brain and and shops—a tall order. Adlington himself was months away from a world-wrecker, unless he put one a hundred miles detonation, which was not feasible. He to Samms.
"It'll be Affick, Virge, unless they've got a that is different from anything I saw put into space."
"So? I can't say that I am very much surprised."
The and the reply were of the two men. Kinnison had not asked, had Samms offered, advice. Kinnison, after the facts, his decision. Samms, that the was the best that be upon the data available, it without question or criticism.
"We've still got a minute or two," Kinnison remarked. "Don't know what to make of their line of approach. Coma Berenices. I don't know of anything at all out that way, do you? They have detoured, though."
"No, I don't." Samms in thought. "Probably a detour."
"Check." Kinnison to Randolph. "Tell them to report they know; we can't wait any ..."
As he was speaking the report came in.
The Black Fleet was of more or less normal make-up; larger than the North American contingent, but to the Patrol's present Grand Fleet. Either three or four ships ...
"And we've got six!" Kinnison said, exultantly. "Our own two, Asia's Himalaya, Africa's Johannesburg, South America's Bolivar, and Europe's Europa."
... Battle and cruisers, about in the proportions; but an high of and light cruisers. There were either two or three large ships which not be definitely at that distance; long-range were going out to study them.
"Tell Clayton," Kinnison Randolph, "that it is to be Operation Affick, and for him to at it."
"Report continued," the came to life again. "There are three ships, of the Chicago class, but tear-drop-shaped of ..."
"Ouch!" Kinnison a at Samms. "I don't like that. They can and run."
"... The are also tear-drops. The small are torpedo-shaped. There are three of the large ships, which we are still not able to definitely. They are in shape, and very large, but do not to be either or screened, and are carriers—possibly of automatics. We are now making contact—off!"
Instead of looking at the plates them, the two Lensmen en with Clayton, so that they see he saw. The Cone of Battle had long since been formed; the word to fire was in a two-second call. Every officer in every Patrol ship touched his in the same second. And from the mouth of the Cone there a miles-thick of energy so raw, so stark, so that it must have been to be appreciated. It cannot be described.
Its prototype, Triplanetary's Cylinder of Annihilation, had been a indeed. The of the fish-shaped Nevian of the were more powerful. The Cleveland-Rodebush projectors, the original Boise on the long Nevian way, were still. The by this of the Galactic Patrol, however, was the and of each of these, and by scientists and of ever-increasing knowledge, and by of ever-increasing skill.
Capital ships and a of the screen able to that load; but every smaller ship in that semi-solid of into nothingness.
But in the the order was given—as though timed, which in all was the case—the ever-watchful up two of which the new Admiral of the First Galactic Region cut his almost and up his Cone of Battle after only a of action. One: those three had the them, and hundreds—yes, thousands—of small objects had outward, out well the of action of the Patrol's beam, at a speed many times that of light. Two: Kinnison's had been prophetic. A of Blacks, all small—must have been right on Earth somewhere!—were already at the Hill from the south.
"Cease firing!" Clayton into his microphone. The expired. "Break formation! Independent action—light and scouts, those bombs! Heavy and cruisers, of the Blacks, two to one if possible. Chicago and Boise, attack Black Number One. Bolivar and Himalaya, Number Two. Europa and Johannesburg, Number Three!"
Space was full of darting, flashing, ships. The three Black super-dreadnaughts as one. Their of beams, and aimed, out as one at the nearest Patrol super heavy, the Boise. Under the power of that beautifully-timed that warship's first, second, and third screens, her very wall-shield, through the and into the black. Her Chief Pilot, however, was fast—very fast—and he had a of a second in which to work. Thus, in the of her wall-shield's failure, she free; and while she was and put out of action, she was not out of space. In fact, it was learned later that she only men.
The Blacks were not as fortunate. The Chicago, now without a partner, joined with the Bolivar and the Himalaya against Number Two; then, a half-second later, with her other two sister-ships against Number Three. And in that very space of time two Black super-dreadnaughts to be.
But also, in that second of time, Black Number One had all but disappeared! Her commander, with no at all for of five to one against, had ordered at max; she was already one-sixtieth of a light-year—about one hundred thousand miles—away from the Earth and was her every energy to the of still more distance.
"Bolivar! Himalaya!" Clayton savagely. "Get him!" He wanted to join the chase, but he couldn't. He had to here. And he didn't have time to swear. Instead, without a break, the over each other against his teeth: "Chicago! Johannesburg! Europa! Act at will against left. Blast 'em down!"
He his teeth. The and light were doing their damndest, but they were out-numbered three to one—Christ, what a of was through! The Blacks wouldn't last long, the Hill and the ... but maybe long enough, at that—the Patrol was like a sieve! He a of of deep-space and, although he was almost to look, a quick peek to see how much was left of the Hill. He looked—and stopped in the middle of a four-letter Anglo-Saxon word.
What he saw did not make sense. Those Black should have the off of that like the skin off of a and it from the Pacific to the Mississippi. By now there should be a a mile where the Hill had been. But there wasn't. The Hill was still there! It might have a little—Clayton couldn't see very well of the worse-than-incandescent of the continuous, sense-battering, world-shaking detonations—but the Hill was still there!
And as he stared, and shaken, at that spectacle, a Black cruiser, and helpless, toward that with an to credit. And when it it did not penetrate, and splash, and crater, as it should have done. Instead, it spread out, in a thin layer, over an or so of the fortress' and still surface!
"You saw that, Alex? Good. Otherwise you it," came Kinnison's voice. "Tell all our ships to away. There's a of over a hundred thousand G's acting in a direction normal to every point of our surface. The boys are it all the they can—somewhere and fourth power—but so it's stuff. How about the Bolivar and the Himalaya? Not having much luck Mr. Black, are they?"
"Why, I don't know. I'll check ... No, sir, they aren't. They report that they are ground and will soon trace."
"I was so, from that shape. Rodebush was about the only one who saw it ... well, we'll have to and ..."
Port Admiral Kinnison, after the thought, in his chair and smiled. The was over. The Hill had come through. The Rodebush-Bergenholm had her together through the most God-awful session of that any world had or that the mind of man had conceived. And the counter-forces had the from like water. So far, so good.
Her original was gone. Converted into ... what? For hundreds of from the surface she was than the of the Hanfords. Delousing her would be a project, not an operation; millions of yards of material would have to be off into space with and allowed to for a hundred years; but what of that?
Bergenholm had said that the would to prevent the from spreading, as they otherwise would—and Virgil Samms was still safe!
"Virge, my boy, come along." He took the First Lensman by his good arm and him out of his chair. "Old Doctor Kinnison's for you and me is a big, thick, juicy, steak."
