Astounding v40n05 (1948 01) (cape1736)

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JANUARY 1948 25 CENTS BY ISAAC ASIMOV

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The years melt away ( as the years always do ) as your years dwindle down— as ■rY everybody’s must —you’ll need more than affection and companionship. You’ll need a place to live and food to eat. Which means you— not the family next door, but you— will need money. There’s only one way for most of us to get money— that’s to save it. And for most of us, too, the best way to save money is through U. S. Savings Bonds. Because U. S. Savings Bonds are the most widely and easily available invest- ment to every citizen. Every bank sells them. Every post office sells them. AND— most important— you can buy them regularly and automatically. . .which helps overcome human inertia and re- luctance to save. To do so, you just sign up for the Pay- roll Savings Plan where you work, or for the Bond-A-Month Plan at the bank where you have a checking account. Then they really pile up. Of course, there are other reasons for buying U. S. Savings Bonds. They’re SAFE. Backed by the credit of the United States, that’s all. They’re PROFITABLE. You get 4 dol- lars out for 3 put in, after 10 years. They’re LIQUID. Like water. You can get your cash out of them at any time . . . in a few minutes . . . without penalty. Remember those words “melt away.” They say better than a volume of statis- tics that you have less time than you think, to save. Save the easy, automatic way... with U.S. Savings Bonds Contributed by this magazine in co-operation with the Magazine Publishers of America as a public service.

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CONTEXTS' JANUARY, 1948 VOL. XL, NO. 5 NOVELETTE NOW YOU SEE IT .... 6// Ixqpir Asimov . , » 7 SHORT STORIES THE IIELPIFKti HAND, by Burt Mai'rodgun . . 62 ADVENT, bn William Ba>le 70 ARTICLE SEKV03JECHA.VI.S3IS. by l.ornr. Xhm! magi'lan . SERIAL CHILDREN OP THE LENS. by B. B. s;mW> . (Part Throe of Four Parts) 80 )t>5 READERS’ DEPARTMENTS THE EDITOR’S PAGE- . . o IN TIMES TO COME THE ANALYTICAL LA BORA TOlt V ... . m COVER BY ROGERS Editor JOHN W CAUT’RBI.L. JR illustrations by Cartier and Rogers I'he editorial contents date net neen published uefore. are protected py copyright and cauDOt be reprinted wit bout publishers’ permission, ajj stories » this magazine are flrtlon. No aotiw! person' are i.'stenatr.t name )r char a<ter Any s.milarity is coincidental Monthly publication Issued by Street A Smith Publications, incorporated 122 East 4 2nd Street. New York 17, N. I. Allen L Orammer. President’ Gerald H. Sroitb. Exec. Vice President and Treasurer, Henry W Ralston Vice President and Secretary. Copyright, 1947, Jn C. S. A. and Great Britain 0? sued b Smith Publications. ‘nc. Reentered as Second-class Matter February i. 193m, al tne Post Office at New York under Act 0 i Congress of March 3 1879. Subscriptions to Countries la Pan American Union. $2.75 per year. $3.00 per yeas in Canada; elsewhere, $3.25 per year. We cannot accept re- sponsibility tot unsolicited manuscripts or artwork. Any material submitted must Include return postage. *2.50 Mr Year u U. i a PrlMM in must 25c «ar Cost NEXT ISSUE ON SALE JANUARY 20, 194S

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HIGH SPEED PILE ■ The recent announcement of the high-speed neutron pile at Los Alamos, like many atomic science announcements, is a little difficult to evaluate. The Oak Ridge and Han- ford piles, the piles at Argonne National Laboratory in Chicago, and the Canadian pile at Chalk River, are all different — and to a degree that's not immediately obvious. The piles at Hanford are, of course, “factory" piles — commercial- production jobs, as distinct from research or laboratory piles. They were built to produce plutonium, no knowledge. They are water-cooled, graphite-moderated piles working at extremely high-energy levels — mil- lions *of kilowatt-hours. • At Oak Ridge is the first of the large-scale laboratory piles; it was the one which first produced pluto- nium, and yielded knowledge of high-energy-level piles, since it was operated at kilowatt power levels before the first Hanford pile was completed. It's a graphite-moder- ated, air-cooled pile using purified natural uranium. It’s a laboratory pile, however, designed primarily to supply knowledge of plutonium manufacture. It has some utility as a research tool, and can produce a small quantity of radioisotopes. Its production of wanted isotopes is very limited however, since it was designed for plutonium-production research. In plutonium production, all available neutrons not essential to maintaining- the chain fission re- action must be used in transmuting U-238 to plutonium. A pile designed with this in mind will have such uranium slug spacing, et cetera, as to barely operate at all ; even a slight absorption of neutrons in something other than U-238 will cause a neu- tron deficiency, and the atomic fire will go out. Hence, putting in nitro- gen salts, say, for C-14 production will lower the available neutrons: only a very small quantity can be put in such a pile. At Argonne National Laboratory, there is a heavy-water moderated pile; here the heavy-water serves both as moderator and cooling agent, allowing fairly high power-level operation. Since heavy-hydrogen — in the heavy water — is a far more efficient moderating agent than graphite, more neutrons are avail- H1GH SPF.F.T) PII.K

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awe lor reactions otner tnan main- taining the fission reaction. Also, because the water can be pumped, and uranium slugs moved freely through it, slug-arrangements can be varied in a manner impossible with graphite-block piles. The Ar- gonne pile is a far more flexible unit, far more of a research tool, and more valuable for producing knowl- edge. All these piles use purified nat- ural uranium, containing somewhat less than 1 % U-235 and better than 99% U-238. Chalk River, Canada, has a heavy-water moderated pile using somewhat enriched uranium; a slight amount of purified, sepa- rated U-235 is added to the natural uranium slugs used in the pile. Still more neutrons can be taken from this pile for research purposes with- out quenching the atomic fires. The heavy-water moderator makes it flexible, capable of oj>eration at high- energy. levels. Finally, at Los Alamos, an en- tirely different type of atomic pile has been set up. . This uses no mod- erator whatever, and the fuel is pure U-235 or plutonium. It’s purely a research tool, but an exceedingly potent one. For one thing, in any moderated pile only slow neutrons — “moderate” neutrons — are avail- able, In the unmoderated pile, both slow and fast neutrons are available for research work. Second, huge quantities of neutrons can be ab- sorbed in experimental material without damping the fierce reaction of pure U-235. This unmoderated pile represents the most powerful atomic research tool in the whole uranium neia toaay. it is nexiDie, almost unlimited in energy level, in neutron production, ^tfd in control. It is, incidentally, -rionexplosive. Making U-235 explode is not a thing accomplished accidentally; it takes planning and very special mecha- nism. Avoiding an explosion, on the other hand, is simple. In an un- moderated pile, suberitical masses of U-235 or Pu-239. are brought near each other — inside massive, ray-proof shielding,., of course, by means of machinery^. If someone started the machinery bringing the pieces together, and let it run until they actually made direct contact — the condition of atomic explosion — the U-235 itself would see to it there was no dangerous blast, and would actually, automatically, cut off the reaction altogether! What would happen is easily fore- seen. As the U-235 masses ap- proached, the rate of reaction would mount on an extremely steep expo- nential curve. It would increase a millionfold in millionths of a second, when short distances were involved. But long before the explosive stage was reached, the enormous energy production in each of the masses will raise the temperature to thousands, then .tens of thousands of degrees. By that time, of course, the uranium masses will have been volatilized with a gentle pouuuff, and distilled away. And that, of course, means that the masses have been dispersed and scattered into the maximum pos- sible volume at the minimum pos- sible concentration — which stops the reaction. The Editor. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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NOW YOU SEE IT... The Mule had to find that Second Foundation. And. be- cause of his power, the Second Foundation couldii’t let him. But because he ruled most of the Galaxy, and had certain special powers * the Mule wasn't easily stopped — BY ISAAC ASIMOV illustrated by Rogers “After the definite break-up of the first Galactic Empire, it was the combination of worlds under the personal rule of that strange personality known to his times as ‘The Mule’ that first presents his- tory with a unified volume of space truly imperial in scope. The earlier commercial empire of the Founda- tion had been diverse and loosely knit, despite the impalpable back- ing of the predictions of psycho- history. It was not to be com- pared with the tightly controlled ‘Union of Worlds’ under the Mule, comprising as it did one tenth the volume of the Galaxy and one- fifteenth of its population — ” “Essays On History” — Ligurn Vier NOW TOO SEE IT . .

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L There is much more that Ligurn Vier has to say on the subject of the Mule and his Empire but al- most all of it is not germane to the issue at immediate hand, and most of it is considerably too dry for our purposes in any case. Mainly, he is concerned with the economic conditions that led to the rise of the “First Citizen of the Union” — the Mule’s official title — and with the economic consequences thereof. I f , at any time, he is mildly astonished over the colossal haste with which “that strange person- ality” rose from nothing to vast dominion in five years, he conceals it. If he is further surprised at the sudden cessation of expansion in favor of a five-year consolidation of territory, he hides the fact. We therefore abandon Vier and continue on our own path for our own purposes and take up the his- tory of the Great Interregnum — between the First and Second Galactic Empires — at the end of that five years of consolidation. . Politically, the Union is quiet Economically, it is prosperous. Few would care to exchange the peace of the Mule’s steady grip for the chaos that had preceded. On the worlds which' five' years previously had known the Foundation, there might be a nostalgic regret, but no more. The Foundation’s leaders were dead, where useless ; and Con- verted, where useful. And of the Converted, the most useful was Han Pritcher, now lieu- tenant general. s In the days of .the Foundation, Han Pritcher had been a captain and a member of -the underground Democratic Opposition. When the Foundation fell to the Mule with- out a fight, Pritcher fought the Mule. Until, that is, he was Con- verted. The Conversion was not the ordinary one brought on* by the power of superior reason. Han Pritcher knew that well enough. He had been changed because the Mule was a mutant with mental powers quite capable of adjusting the emotions of ordinary humans to suit himself. But that satisfied him completely. That was as it should be. The. very contentment with the Conversion was a prime symptom of it, but Han Pritcher was no longer even curious about the matter. And now that he was returning from his fifth major expedition into the boundlessness of the Galaxy outside the Union, it was with some- thing approaching artless joy that the veteran spaceman and Intelli- gence agent considered his approach- ing audience with the "First Citizen.” His hard face, gouged out of a dark, grainless wood that did not seem to be capable of smiling without cracking, didn’t show it — but the outward indica- tions were unnecessary. The Mule couM see. the emotions within, down to the smallest, much as an ordinary man could see the twitch of an eyebrow. Pritcher left his air car at the old vice-regal hangars and entered the palace grounds on foot as was ASTOOXDING SCIE.VCB-FICTIOX

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required. He walked one mile along the arrowed highway— which was empty and silent. Pritcher knew that over the square miles of palace grounds, there was not one guard, not one soldier, not one armed man. The Mule had need of no protec- tion. The Mule was his own best, all- powerful protector. Pritcher’s footsteps beat softly in his own ears, as the palace reared its gleaming, incredibly light and incredibly strong metallic walls before him in the daring, over- blown, near-hectic arches that characterized the architecture of the Late Empire. It brooded strongly over the empty grounds, over the crowded city on the bori- zon. Within the palace was that one man — by himself — on whose in- human mental attributes depended the new aristocracy, and the whole structure of the Union. The huge, smooth door swung massively open at the general's approach, and he entered. He stepped on to the wide, sweeping ramp that moved upward under him. He rose swiftly in the noise- less elevator. He stood before the small plain 'door of the Mule's own room in the highest glitter of the palace spires. It opened — Bail Channis was young, and Bail Channis was Unconverted. That is, in plainer language, his emotional make-up had been un- adjusted by the Mule. It remained NOW TOT SEE IT . . . exactly as it had been formed by the original shape of its heredity and the subsequent modifications of his environment. And that satisfied him, too. At not quite thirty, he was in marvelously good odor in the capi- tal. He was handsome and quick- witted— therefore successful in society. He was intelligent and self-possessed — therefore success- ful with the Mule. And he was thoroughly pleased at both suc- cesses. And now, for the first time, the Mule had summoned him to per- sonal audience. His legs carried him down the long, glittering highway that led tautly to the sponge-aluminum spires that ' had been once the residence of the viceroy of Kal- gan, who ruled under the old emperors; and that had been later the residence of the independent princes of Kalgan, who ruled in their own name ; and that was now the residence of the First Citizen of the Union, who. ruled over an empire of his own. Channis hummed softly to him- self. He did not doubt what this was all about. The Second Foundation, naturally! That all- embracing bogey, the mere con- sideration of which had thrown the Mule back from • his policy of limitless expansion into static cau- tion. The official term was “consolidation.” Now there were rumors — you couldn’t stop rumors. The Mule was to begin the offensive once more. The Mule had discovered 6,

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the whereabouts of the Second Foundation, and would attack. The Mule had come to an agreement with the Second Foundation and divided the Galaxy. The Mule had decided the Second Foundation did not exist and would take over all the Galaxy. No use listing all the varieties one heard in the anterooms. It was not even the first time such rumors had circulated. But now they seemed to have more body in them, and all the free, expansive souls who thrived on war, military adven- ture, and political chaos and withered in times of stability and stagnant peace were joyful. Bail Channis was one of these. He did not fear the mysterious Second Foundation. For that mat- ter, he did not fear the Mule, and boasted of it. Some, perhaps, who disapproved of one at once so young and so well-off, waited darkly for the reckoning with the gay ladies’ man who employed his wit openly at the expense of the Mule’s physical appearance and sequestered life. None dared join him and few dared laugh, but when nothing happened to him, his reputation rose accordingly. Channis was improvising words to the tune he was humming. Nonsense words with the recur- rent refrain: “Second Foundation threatens the Nation and all of Creation.” He was at the palace. The huge, smooth door swung massively open at his approach and he entered. He. stepped on' to the wide, sweeping ramp that it moved upward under him. He rose swiftly in the noiseless eleva- *tor. - He 9tood before the small plain door of the Mule’s own room in the highest glitter of the palace spires. It opened — The man who had no name other than the Mule, and no title other than First Citizen looked out through the one-way transpar- ency of the wall to the light and lofty city on the horizon. In the darkening twilight, the stars were emerging, and not one but owed allegiance to him. He smiled with fleeting bitter- ness at the thought. The alle- giance they owed was to a personality few had ever seen. He was not a man to look at, the Mule — not a man to look at without derision. Not more than one hundred and twenty pounds was stretched out into his" five- foot- eight length. His limbs were bony stalks that jutted out of his scrawni- ness in graceless angularity. And his thin faee was nearly drowned out in the prominence of a fleshy beak that thrust three inches out- ward. Only his eyes played false with the general farce that was the Mule. In their softness — a strange soft- ness for the Galaxy’s greatest conqueror — sadness was never en- tirely subdued. In the city was to be found all the gaiety of a luxurious capital on a luxurious world. He might have established his capital on the Foundation, the strongest of his ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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now-conquered enemies, but it was far out on the very rim of the Galaxy. Kalgan, centrally located, with a long tradition as aristocracy's playground, suited him better — strategically. But in its traditional gaiety, en- hanced by unheard-of prosperity, he found no peace. They feared him and obeyed him and, perhaps, ■ even respected him — from a goodly distance. But who could look at him without contempt ? Only those he had Converted. And of what value was their artificial loyalty? It lacked flavor. He might have adopted titles, and enforced ritual and invented elaborations, but even that would have changed nothing. Better — or at least, no worse — to be simply the First Citizen — and to hide himself. There was a sudden surge of rebellion within him— strong and brutal. Not a portion of the Galaxy must be denied him. For five years he had remained silent and buried here on Kalgan because of the eternal, misty, space-ridden menace of the unseen, unheard, unknown Second Foundation. Fie was thirty-two. Not old — but he felt old. His body, whatever its mutant mental powers, was physi- cally weak. Every star ! Every star he could see — and every star he couldn’t see. It must all be his I ■ Revenge on all. On a humanity of which he wasn’t a part. On a Galaxy in which he didn’t fit. The cool, overhead warning light flickered. He could follow the NOW YOU SEE IT . . . progress of the man who had en- tered the palace, and simultane- ously, as though his mutant sense had been enhanced and sensitized in the lonely twilight, he felt the wash of emotional content touch the fibers .of his brain. He recognized the identity with- out an effort. It was Pritcher. Captain Pritcher of the one-time Foundation. The Captain Pritcher who had been ignored and passed over by the bureaucrats of that decaying government. The Cap- tain Pritcher whose job as petty spy he had wiped out and whom he had lifted from its slime. The Captain Pritcher whom he had made first colonel and then gen- eral; whose scope of activity he had made Galaxy- wide. . The now-General Pritcher who was, iron rebel though he began, completely loyal. And yet with all that, not loyal because of bene- fits gained, not loyal out of grati- tude, not loyal as a fair return —but loyal only through the arti- fice of Conversion. The Mule was conscious of that strong unalterable surface layer of loyalty and love that colored every swirl and eddy of the emotionality of Han Pritcher — the layer he had himself implanted five years before. Far underneath there were the original traces of stubborn individu- ality, impatience of rule, idealism — but even he, himself, could scarcely detect them any longer. The door behind him opened, and he turned. The transparency <of the wall faded to opacity, and

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the purple evening light gave way to the whitely blazing glow of atomic power. Han Pritcher took the seat indicated. There was neither bow- ing, nor kneeling nor the use of honorifics in private audiences with the Mule. The Mule was merely “First Citizen.” He was addressed as “sir.” You sat in his presence, and you could turn your back on him if it so happened that you did. To Han Pritcher this was all evidence of the sure and confident power of the man. He was warmly satisfied with it. The Mule said: “Your final re- port reached me yesterday. I can't deny that I find it somewhat depressing, Pritcher.” The general’s eyebrows dosed upon each other: “Yes, I imagine so-— but I don’t see to what other conclusions I could have come. There just isn’t any Second Foundation, sir.” And the Mule considered and then slowly shook his head, as he had done .many a time before: “There’s the evidence of Ebling Mis. There is always the evidence of Ebling Mis.” It was not a new story. Pritcher said without qualification : “Mis may have been the greatest psychologist of the Foundation, but he was a baby ' compared to Hari Seldon. At the time he was investigating Seldon’s works, he was under the artificial stimulation of your own brain control. You is may have pushed him too far. He might have been wrong. Sir, he must have been wrong.” The Mule sighed, his lugubrious face thrust forward; on its thin stalk of a neck. “If only he had lived another minute. He was on the point of telling -me where the Second Foundation was. He knew, I’m telling you. I need not have retreated. 1 need not have waited and w'aited. So much time lost. Five years gone for nothing.” Pritcher could not have been censorious over the weak longing of. his ruler; his controlled mental make-up forbade that. He was dis- turbed instead ; vaguely uneasy. He said : “But What alternative explanation can there possibly be, sir? Five times I’ve gone out. You yourself have^ plotted the routes. And I’ve left' no asteroid unturned. It was three hundred years ago— that Hari Seldon of the old Empire supposedly established two Foundations to act as nuclei of a new Empire to replace the dying old one. One hundred years after Seldon, the First Foundation — the one we know so well-*- was known through all the Periphery. One hundred fifty years after Seldon — at the time of the last battle with the old Empire — it was known throughout the Galaxy. And now it’s three hundred years — and where should this mysterious Second be? In no eddy of the Galactic stream has it ‘been heard of.” “Ebiing Mis said it kept itself secret. Only secrecy can turn its weakness to strength.” “Secrecy as deep as this is past AfiTOOXOING SC IBXCB- FICTION

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possibility without nonexistence as well.” The Mule looked up, large eyes sharp and wary. “No. It does exist.” A bony finger pointed sharply. “There is going to be a slight change in tactics.” Pritcher frowned. “You plan to leave yourself? I would scarcely advise it.” “No, of course not. You will have to go out once again-r-one last time. But with another in joint command.” There was a silence, and Pritch- er’s voice was hard, “Who, sir:” “There’s a young man here in Kalgan. Bail Channis.” “I’ve never heard of him, sir.” “No, I imagine not. But he’s got an agHe mind, he’s ambitious — * and he’s not Converted.” Pritcher’s long jaw trembled for a bare instant, “I fail to see the advantage in that.” “There is one, Pritcher. You’re a resourceful and experienced man. You have given me good service. But you are Converted. Your motivation is simply an enforced and helpless loyally to myself. When you lost vour native motiva- tions, you lost something, some subtle drive, that I cannot possibly replace.” “I don’t feel that, sir,” said Pritcher, , grimly. “I recall myself quite well as I was in the days when I was an enemy of yours. I feel none the inferior.” “Naturally not," and the Mule’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Your judgment in tins matter is scarcely objective. This Channis, now, is NOW YOU SEE IT . ambitious — for himself. He is completely trustworthy — out of no loyalty but to himself: He knows that it is on my coat-tails that lie rides and he would do anything to increase my power that the ride might be long and far and that the destination might be glorious. If he goes with you, there is just that added push behind his seeking- - that push for himself.” “Then,” said Pritcher, still insist- ent, “why not remove my own Conversion, if you think that will improve me. I can scarcely be mistrusted, now.” “That never, Pritcher. While yon are within arm’s reach, or blaster reach, of myself, you will remain firmly held in Conversion. If I were to release you this min- ute, I would be dead the next.” The general’s nostrils flared. “I am hurt that you should think so,” “I don’t mean to hurt you, but it is impossible for you to realize what your feelings would be if ffree to form themselves along the lines of your natural motivation. The human mind resents control. The ordinary human hypnotist cannot hypnotize a person against his will for that reason. I can, because I’m not a hypnotist, and, believe me, Pritcher, the resentment that you cannot show and do not even know you possess is something I wouldn’t want to face,” Pritcher’s head bowed. Futility wrenched him and left him gray and haggard inside. He said with an effort: “But how cau you trust this man. I mean, completely — as 18

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you can trust me in my Conver- sion." ' “Well, I suppose I can’t entirely. That is why you must go with him. You see, Pritcher,” and. the Mule buried himself in the large arm- chair against the soft back of which hev looked like an angularly ani- mated toothpick, “if he should stumble on the Second Foundation — if it should occur to him that an arrangement with them might be more profitable than with me — You understand ?” A profoundly- satisfied light blazed in Pritcher’s eyes. “That is better, sir.” “Exactly. But remember, he must have a free rein as far as possible,” “Certainly.” “And. . . . uh . . . Pritcher. The young man is handsome, pleasant, and extremely charming. Don’t let him fool you. He’s a dangerous and unscrupulous character. Don’t get in his way unless you’re pre- pared to meet him properly. That’s all.” The Mule was alone again. He let the lights die and the wall be- fore him kicked to transparency again. The sky was purple now, and the city was a smudge of light on the horizon. What was it all for? And if he "were the master of all there was — what then? Would it really stop men like Pritcher from being straight and tall, self-confident, strong? Would Bail Channis lose his looks? Would he himself be other than he was? . 14 He cursed his doubts! What was he really after? The cool, overhead warning light flickered. He could follow the progress of the man who had en- tered the palace and, almost against his will, he felt the soft wash of emotional content touch the fibers of his brain. He recognized the identity with- out an effort. It was Chanfiis. Here the Mule saw no uniformity, but the primitive diversity of a strong mind, untouched and un- molded except by the manifold disorganizations of the. Universe. It writhed in floods and waves. There was caution on the surface, a thin, smoothing effect, but with touches of cynical ribaldry in the hidden eddies of it. And under- neath there was the strong flow of self-interest and self-love, with a gush of cruel humor here and there, and a deep, still pool of ambition underlying all. The Mule felt that he could reach out and dam the current, wrench the pool from its basin and turn it in another course, dry up one flow and begin another. But what of it? If he could bend Channis’ curly head in the profoundest adoration, would that change his own grotesquerie that made him shun the day and love the night, that made him a recluse inside an empire that was unconditionally his? The door behind him opened, and he turned. The transparency of the wall faded to opacity, and the darkness gavex way to the ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

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whitely blazing artifice of atomic power. Bail Channis sat down lightly and said : “This is a not-quite- unexpected honor, sir.” The Mule rubbed his proboscis with all four fingers at once and sounded a bit irritable in his re- sponse. “Why, so, young man?” “A hunch, I suppose. Unless I want to admit that I’ve been listen- ing to rumors.” “Rumors? Which one of the several dozen varieties are you referring to?” “Those that say a renewal of the Galactic -Offensive is being planned. It is a hope with me that such is true and that I might play an appropriate part.” “Then you think there is a Sec- ond Foundation?” “Why 'not? It would make things so much more interesting.” “And you find interest in it as well?” “Certainly. In the very mystery of it! What better subject could you find for conjecture? The newspaper supplements are full of nothing else lately — which is proba- bly significant. The Cosmos had one of its feature writers compose a weirdie about a world consisting of beings of pure mind — the Sec- ond Foundation, you see — who had developed mental force to energies large enough to compete with any known to physical science. Space- ships could 'be ‘ blasted light-years away, planets could be turned out of their orbits — ” “Interesting. Yes. But do you NOW TOD SM IT . . . have any notions on the subject? Do you subscribe to this mind- power notion?” “Galaxy, no ! Do jou think creatures like that would stay on their own planet? No, sir. I think the Second Foundation re- mains hidden because it is weaker than we think.” “In that case, I can explain my- self very easily. How- would you like to head an expedition to lo- cate the Second Foundation?” For a moment Channis seemed caught up by the sudden rush of events at just a little greater speed than he was prepared for. His' tongue had apparently skidded to a halt in a lengthening silence. The Mule said dryly: “Well?” Channis corrugated his forehead. “Certainly. But where am I to go ? Have you any information available ?” “General Pritcher will be with you — ” “Then I'm not to head it?” “Judge for yourself when I’m done. Listen, you’re not of the Foundation. You're a native oi Kalgan, aren’t you? Yes. Well, then, your knowledge of the Sel- don plan may be vague. When the first Galactic Empire was falling, Hari Seldon and a group of psycho- historians, analyzing the future course of history by mathematical tools no longer available in these degenerate times, set up twp Foundations, one at each end of the Galaxy, in such a way that the economic and sociological forces that were slowly evolving, would make them serve as foci for the 15 ,

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Second Empire. Hari Seldon planned on a thousand years to accomplish that — and it would have taken thirty thousand without the Foundations, But he couldn’t count on me. I am a mutant and I am unpredictable by psycho- history which can only deal with the average reactions of numbers. Do you understand?” Second Foundation. So I must know more about it. General I Vi tcher is of the definite' opinion that it does not exist at all I know otherwise.” Giannis said delicately: “How do you know, sir V* And the Mule’s words were sud- denly liquid indignation: “Because minds under my control have been “Perfectly, sir. But how does that involve me?” “You’ll understand shortly. I intend to unite the Galaxy now— and reach Seldon’s thousand-year goal in three hundred. One Foundation — the world of physical scientists — is still flourishing, un- der me. Under the prosperity and order of the Union, the atomic weapons they have developed are capable of dealing with anything in the Galaxy — except perhaps the it interfered with. . Delicately 1 Subtly! But not so- subtly that I couldn’t notice. And these interfer- ences are increasing, and hitting valuable men at important times. Do you wonder now that a certain discretion has kept me motionless these years? “That is your importance. Gen- eral Pritcher is . the best man left me, so he is no longer safe. Of course, he does not know that. But you are Unconverted and ASTOUNDING SCIEN^E-FICTION

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therefore not instantly detectable as a Mule’s man. You may fool the Second Foundation longer than one of my own men would— perhaps just sufficiently longer. Do you understand ?” “Um-m-m. Yes. But pardon me, sir, if I question you. How are these men of yours disturbed, so that I might detect change in General Pritcher, in case any occurs. Are they Unconverted again ? Do they become dis- loyal ?3 “No. I told you it was subtle. It's more disturbing than that, because it’s harder to detect and sometimes I have to wait before acting, uncertain whether a key man is being normally erratic or has been tampered with. Their loyalty is left intact, but initiative and ingenuity are rubbed out. I’m left with a perfectly normal per- son, apparently, but one completely useless. In the last year, six have been so treated. Six of my best.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “They’re in charge of training bases now — and my most earnest wishes go with them that no emer- gencies come up for them to decide upon.” “Suppose, sir . . . suppose it were not the Second Foundation. What if it were another, such as yourself — another mutant?” “The planning is too careful, too long range. A single man would be in a greater hurry. No, it is a world, and you are to be my weapon against it.” Channis' eyes shone as he said: “Pm delighted at the chance.” now son su* it . . ■ But the Mule caught the sudden emotional upwelling. He said : “Yes, apparently it occurs to you, that you will perform a unique service, worthy of a unique reward — perhaps even that of being my successor. Quite so. But there are unique punishments, too, you know. My emotional gymnastics are not confined to the creation of loyalty alone.” And fhe little smile on his thin lips was grim, as Channis leaped out of his seat in horror. For just an instant, just one, flashing instant, Channis had felt the pang of an overwhelming grief close over him. It had slammed down with a physical pain that had blackened his mind unbearably, and then lifted. Now nothing was left but the strong wash of anger. The Mule said: “Anger won't help . . . yes, you’re covering it up now, aren't you? But I can see it. So just remember — that sort of business can be made more intense and kept up. I’ve killed men by emotional control, and there’s no death crueler ” He paused: “That’s all!” The Mule was alone again. He let the lights die and the wall be- fore him kicked to transparency again. The sky was black, and the rising body of the Galactic Lens was spreading its bespanglement across the velvet depths of space. All that haze of nebula was a mass of stars so numerous that they melted one into the other and left nothing but a cloud of light. And all to be his — 17

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And now but one last arrange- ment to make, and he could sleep. INTERLUDE The Executive Council of the Second Foundation was in session. To us they are merely voices. Neither the exact scene of the meeting nor the identity of those present are essential at the point. Nor, strictly speaking, can we even consider an exact reproduction of any part of the session — unless we wish to sacrifice completely even the minimum comprehensi- bility we have a right to expect. We deal here with psychologists — and not merely psychologists. Let us say, rather, scientists with a psychological orientation. That is, men whose fundamental conception of scientific philosophy is pointed in an entirely different direction from all of the orientations we know. The “psychology” of scien- tists brought up among the axioms deduced from the observational habits of physical science has only the vaguest „ relationship to PSY- CHOLOGY. Which is about as far as I can go in explaining color to a blind man — with myself as blind as the audience. The point being made is that the minds assembled understood thor- oughly the workings of each other, not only by general theory but by the specific application over a long period of these theories to particu- lar individuals. Speech as known to us was unnecessary. A fragment of a sentence amounted almost to long-winded redundancy. A ges- ture, a grunt, the curve of a facial line — even a significantly timed pause yielded informational juice. The liberty is taken, therefore, of freely translating a small portion of the conference into the extremely specific word-combinations neces- sary to minds oriented from child- hood to -a physical science philoso- phy, even at the risk of losing the more delicate nuances. There was one “voice” predomi- nant, and that belonged to the individual known simply as the First Speaker. He said : “It is apparently quite definite now as to what stopped the Mule in his first mad rush. I can’t say that the matter reflects credit upon . . . well, upon. the organiza- tion of the situation. Apparently, he almost located us, by means of the artificially heightened brain- energy of what they call a ‘psychologist’ on the First Founda- tion. This psychologist was killed just before he could communicate his . discovery to the Mule. The events leading to that killing were completely fortuitous for all calcula- tions below Phase Three. Suppose you take over.” It was the Fifth Speaker who was indicated by an inflection of the voice. He said, in grim nuances: “It is certain that the situation was mishandled. We are, of course, highly vulnerable under mass at- tack, particularly an attack led by such a mental phenomenon as the Mule. Shortly after he first achieved Galactic eminence with the conquest of the First Founda- 18 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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whitely blazing artifice of atomic power. Bail Channis sat down lightly and said : “This is a not-quite- unexpected honor, sir.” The Mule rubbed his proboscis with all four fingers at once and sounded a bit irritable in his re- sponse. “Why, so, young man?” “A hunch, I suppose. Unless I want to admit that I’ve been listen- ing to rumors.” “Rumors? Which one of the several dozen varieties are you referring to?” “Those that say a renewal of the Galactic Offensive is being planned. It is a hope with me that such is true and that I might play an appropriate part.” “Then you think there is a Sec- ond Foundation?” “Why mot? It would make things so much more interesting.” “And you find interest in it as well ?” “Certainly. In the very mystery of it! What better subject could you find for conjecture? The newspaper supplements are full of nothing else lately — which is proba- bly significant. The Cosmos had one of its feature writers compose a weirdie about a world consisting of beings of pure mind — the Sec- ond Foundation, you see — who had developed mental force to energies large enough to compete with any known to physical science. Space- ships could 'be blasted light-years away, planets could be turned out of their orbits — ” “Interesting. Yes. But do you NOW you sb» it . . . have any notions on the subject? Do you subscribe to this mind- power notion?” “Galaxy, no ! Do jou think creatures like that would stay on their own planet? No, sir. I think the Second Foundation re- mains hidden because it is weaker than we think.” “In that case, I can explain my- self very easily. HovT would you like to head an expedition to lo- cate the Second Foundation?” For a moment Channis seemed caught up by the sudden rush of events at just a little greater speed tfcm he was prepared for. His tongue had apparently skidded to a halt in a lengthening silence. The Mule said dryly: “Well?” Channis corrugated his forehead. “Certainly. But where am I to go ? Have you any information available ?” “General Pritcher will be with you—” “Then I'm not to head it?” “Judge for yourself when I'm done. Listen, you’re not of the Foundation. You’re a native oi Kalgan, aren’t you? Yes. Well, then, your knowledge of the Sel- don plan may be vague. When the first Galactic Empire was falling, Hari Seldon and a group of psycho- historians, analyzing the future course of history by mathematical tools no longer available in these degenerate times, set up twp Foundations, one at each end of the Galaxy, in such a way that the economic and sociological forces that were slowly evolving, would make them serve as foci for the

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“Oh — Well, then drag up a chair, old man, and let’s get into it. I’ve been going over your notes. I find them excellent.” • “How . . . pleasant that you do.” “But I’m wondering if you’ve come to the conclusions I have. Have you ever tried analyzing the problem deductively? I mean, it’s all very well to comb the stars at random, and to have done all you did in five expeditions is quite a bit of star-hopping. That’s obvious. But have you calculated how long it would take to go through every known world at this rate ?” “Yes. Several times.” Pritcher felt no urge to meet the young man halfway, but there was the impor- tance of filching the other’s mind — the other’s uncontrolled, and hence, unpredictable, mind. “Well, then, suppose we’re ana- lytical about it and try to decide just what we’re looking for?” “The Second Foundation,” said Pritcher,' grimly. “A Foundation of psychologists,” corrected Channis, “who are as weak in physical science as the First Foundation was weak in psychol- ogy. Well, you’re from the First Foundation, which I’m not. The implications are probably obvious to you. W7e must find a world which rules by virtue of mental skills, and yet which is very backwards scien- tifically.” “Is that necessarily so?” ques- tioned Pritcher, quietly. “Our own ‘Union of Worlds’ isn't backwards scientifically, even though our ruler owes his strength to his mental powers.” 2A “Because he has the skills of the First Foundation to draw upon,” came the slightly impatient answer, “and that is the only such reservoir of knowledge in the Galaxy. The Second Foundation must live among the dry crumbs of the broken Ga- lactic Empire. There are no pick- ings there.” “So then you postulate mental power sufficient to establish their rule over a group of worlds and physical helplessness as well?” “Comparative physical helpless- ness. Against the decadent neigh- boring areas, they are competent to defend themselves. Against the re- surgent forces of the Mule, with his background of a mature atomic economy, they cannot stand. Else, why is their location so well-hidden, both at the start by the founder, Hari Seldon, and now by * them- selves. Your own First Foundation made no secret of its existence and did not have it made for them, when they were an undefended single city on a lonely planet three hundred years ago.” The smooth lines of Pritcher’s dark face twitched sardonically. “And now that you’ve finished your deep analysis, would you like a list of all the kingdoms, republics, planet states and dictatorships of one sort oi* another in that political wilderness' out there that correspond to your description and to several factors besides ?” “Ail this lias been considered then?” Channis lost none of his braslmess. “You won’t find it here, naturally, but we have a completely worked ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

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out guide to the political units of the Opposing Periphery. Really,* did you suppose the Mule would work entirely hit-and-miss?” “Well, then,” and the young man’s voice rose in a burst of energy, “what of the Oligarchy of 'fa- zenda?” Pritcher touched his ear thought- fully, “Tazenda ? Oh, I think I know it. They’re not in the Pe- riphery,, are they? It seems to me they’re ..fully a third of the way .’towards; the center of the Galaxy.” “Yes. What of that?” “The. -records we have place the Second .Foundation'at the other end of the -Galaxy. Space knows it’s the only thing we have to go on. Why talk of Tazenda anyway? It’s angular- deviation from the First Foundation radian is only about one hundred ten. to oneJiundred twenty degrees anyway. Nowhere near one hundred .eighty.” “There’s another point in the records. The Second Foundation was established at ‘Star’s End.’ ” “No such region in the Galaxy has ever been located.” “Because it was a local name, suppressed -later for greater se- crecy. Or maybe one invented for the purpose by Seldon and his group. Yet there’s -some relation- ‘ ship between ‘Star’s End’ and .‘Ta- zenda/ don’t you think?” “A vague similarity in sound? Insufficient.” “Have you ever been there?” “No” “Yet it is mentioned in your rec- ords.” “Where? Oh, yes, but that was NOW TOTJ SHE IT . . . merely to take on food and water. There was certainly nothing' re- markable about the world.” "Did you land at the ruling planet?- The center of govern- ment ?” "I couldn’t possibly say.” Cimnnis brooded about it under the other’s cold gaze. Then, “Would you look at the Lens with me for a moment?” “Certainly.” The Lens was perhaps the new- est feature of the interstellar cruis- ers of the day. Actually, it was a complicated calculating machine which could throw on a screen a re- production of the night sky as seen from any given point of the Galaxy. Channis adjusted the co-ordinate points and the wall lights of the pilot room were extinguished. In the dim red light at the control board of the Lens, Channis’ face glowed ruddily. Pritcher sat in the pilot seat, long legs crossed, face lost in the gloom. Slowly, as the induction period passed, the points of light bright- ened on the screen. And then they were thick and bright with the gen- erously populated star-groupings of the Galaxy’s center. “This,” explained Channis, “is the winter night-sky as seen from Trantor. That is the important point that, as far as I know, has been neg- lected so far in your search. All in- telligent orientation must start from Trantor as zero point. Trantor was the capital of the Galactic Empire. Even more so scientifically and cul- turally/than politically. And, there- ; 31.

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fore, the significance of any descrip- live name should stem, nine times* out of ten, from a Trantorian ori- entation. You’ll remember in this connection that, although Seldon was from Santanni, towards the Periphery, his group worked on Trantor itself.” “What is it you’re trying to show me?” Pritcher’s level voice plunged icily into the gathering enthusiasm of the other. “The map will explain it. Do you see the dark nebula?” The shadow of his arm fell upon the screen, which took on the bespanglement of the Galaxy. The pointing finger ended on a tiny patch of black that seemed a hole in the speckled fab- ric of light. “The stellagraphical records call it Pelot’s Nebula. Watch it. I’m going to expand the image.” Pritcher had watched the phenom- enon of Lens Image expansion be- fore but he still caught his breath. It was like being at the visiplate of a spaceship storming through a hor- ribly crowded Galaxy without en- tering hyperspace. The stars di- verged towards them from a com- mon center, flared outwards and tumbled off the edge of the screen. Single points became double, then globular. Hazy patches dissolved into myriad points. And always that illusion of motion. Channis spoke through it all, “You’ll notice that we are moving along the direct line from Trantor to Pellot’s Nebuia, so that in effect we are still looking at a stellar ori- entation equivalent to that of Tran- tor. There is probably a slight error 28 because of the gravitic deviation of light that I haven’t the math to cal- culate for, but I’m sure it can’t be significant.” The darkness was spreading over the screen. As the rate of magnifi- cation slowed, the stars slipped off the four ends of the screen in a re- gretful leave-taking. At the rims of the growing nebula, the brilliant universe of stars shone abruptly in token for that light which was merely hidden behind the swirling unradiating atom fragments of so- dium and calcium that filled cubic parsecs of space. And Channis pointed again, “This has been called ‘The Mouth’ by the inhabitants of that region of space. And that is significant because' it is only from the Trantorian orienta- tion that it looks like a mouth.” What he indicated was a rift in the body of the Nebula, shaped like a ragged, grinning mouth in profile, outlined by the glazing glory of the starlight with which it was filled. “Follow ‘The Mouth,’. ” said Channis. “Follow The Mouth’ to- wards the gullet as it narrows down to a thin, splintering line of light.” Again the screen expanded . a tri- fle, until the Nebula stretched away from “The Mouth” to block off all the screen but that narrow trickle, and Channis’ finger silently followed it down, to where it straggled to a halt,, and then, as his finger con- tinued moving onward, to a spot where one single star sparked lone- somely ; and there his finger halted, for beyond that was blackness, un- relieved. “ ‘Star’s End,’ ” said the young ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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man, simply. “The fabric of the Nebula is thin there and the lightr of that one star finds its way through in just that one direction — to shine on Trantor.” “You're trying to tell me that — ” the voice of the Mule’s general died in suspicion. “I’m not trying. That is Tazenda — Star’s End.” The lights went on. The Lens flicked off. 'Pritcher reached Gian- nis- in three long strides, “What made you think of this?” And Channis leaned hack in his chair with a queerly puzzled expres- sion on his face. “It was accidental. I'd like to take intellectual credit for this, but it was only accidental. In any case, however it happens, it fits. According to our references, Tazenda is an oligarchy. It rules twenty-seven inhabited planets. It is not advanced scientifically. And most of all, it is an obscure world that has adhered to a strict neutral- ity in the local politics of that stellar region, and is not expansionist. I think we ought to see it.” “Have you informed the Mule of this?” “No. Nor shall we. • We’re in space now, about to make the first hop.” Pritcher, in sudden horror, sprang to the visiplate. Cold space met his eyes when he adjusted it. He gazed fixedly at „ the view, then turned. Automatically, his hand reached for the hard, comfortable curve of the butt of his blaster. “By whose order?” “By my order, general” — it was NOW TOC SEE IT . . . the first time Channis had ever used the other’s title — “while I was en- gaging you here. You probably felt no acceleration, because it came at the moment I was expanding the field of the Lens and you undoubt- edly imagined it to be an illusion of the apparent star motion.” ' “Why? Just what are you do- ing? What was the point of your nonsense about Tazenda, then?” “That was no nonsense. I was completely serious. We’re going there. We left today because we were scheduled to leave three days from now. General, you don’t be- lieve there is a Second Foundation, and I do. You are merely following the Mule’s orders without faith; I, recognize a serious danger. The Second Foundation has now had five years to prepare. How they’ve prepared, I don’t know, but what if they have agents on Kalgan. If I carry about in my mind the knowl- edge of the whereabouts of the Sec- ond Foundation, they may discover that. My life might be no longer safe, and I have a great affection for my life. Even on a thin and remote possibility such as that,' I would rather play safe. So no one knows of Tazenda but you, and you found out only after we were out in space. And even so, there is the question of the crew.” Channis was smiling again, ironically, in obviously com- plete .control of the situation. Pritcher’s hand fell away from - his blaster, and for a moment a vague discomfort pierced him. What kept him from action? What dead- ened him f There was a time when he was a rebellious and unpromoted *a

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captain of the First Foundation’s commercial empire, when it would have been himself rather than Chan- nis who would have taken prompt and daring action such as that. Was the Mule right? Was his controlled mind so concerned with obedience as to lose initiative? He felt a thickening despondency drive him down into a strange lassitude. He said, “Well done ! However, you will consult me in the future before making decisions of this na- ture.” The flickering signal caught his attention. “That’s the engine room,” said Channis. casually. “They warmed up on five minutes* notice and 1 asked them to let me know if there was any trouble. Want to hold the fort ?” Pritcher nodded mutely, and cogi- tated in the sudden loneliness on the evils of approaching fifty. The visiplate was sparsely starred. The main body of the Galaxy misted one end. What if he were free of the Mule’s influence — But he recoiled in horror at the thought. Chief Engineer Huxlani looked sharply at the young, un-uni formed man who carried himself with the assurance of a Fleet officer and seemed to be in a position of au- thority. Huxlani, as a regular Fleet man from the days- his chin had dripped milk, generally confused au- thority with specific insignia. But the Mule had appointed this man, and the Mule was, of course, the last word. The only word for 24 that matter. Not even subconscious- ly did he question that. Emotional control went deep. He handed Channis the little oval object without a word. Channis hefted it, and smiled en- gagingly. “You’re a Foundation man, aren’t you, chief?” “Yes, sir. I served in the Foun- dation Fleet eighteen years before the First Citizen took over.” “Foundation training in engineer- ing?” “Qualified Technician, First Class — Central School on Anacreon.” “Good enough. And you found this on tile communication circuit, where I asked you to look?” “Yes, sir.” “Does it belong there?” “No, sir.” “Then what is it?” “A hypertracer, sir.” “That’s not enough. I’m not a Foundation man. What is it?” “It’s a device to allow the ship to he traced through hyperspace.” “In other words we can he fol- lowed anywhere.” “Yes, sir.” “All right. It’s a recent inven- tion, isn't it? It was developed by one of the Research Institutes set up by the First Citizen, "wasn’t it?” “I believe so, sir.” “And its workings are a govern- ment secret. Right?” “I believe so, sir.” “Yet here it is. Intriguing.” Channis tossed the hypertracer methodically from hand to hand for a few seconds. Then, sharply, he held it out, “Take it, then, and put ASTOUNDING SCIENCB-FICTION

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it back exactly where you found it and exactly how you found it. Un- derstand ? And then forget this •incident! ‘ Entirely!” The chief choked down his near- automatic salute, turned sharply and left. The ship bounded through the Galaxy, its path a wide-spaced dot- ted line through the stars. The dots, referred- to, were the scant stretches of ten? ' to sixty light-seconds spent in normal space and between them stretched the'hundred-and-up light- year gaps that represented the “hops” through hyperspace. Bail Channis sat at the control panel of the Lens and felt again the involuntary surge of near-worship at the contemplation of it. He was not a Foundation man and the in- terplay of forces at the twist of a knob or the breaking of a contact was not second nature to him. Not that the Lens ought quite to bore even a Foundation man. Within its unbelievably compact body were enough . electronic cir- cuits to pin point accurately a hun- dred million separate stars in exact relationship to each other. And as if that were not a feat in itself, it was further capable of translating any given portion of the Galactic Field along any of the three spatial axes of to rotate any portion of the Field about a center. It was because of that, that the Lens had performed a near-revolu- tion in interstellar travel. In the younger days of interstellar travel, the calculation of each “hop” through' hyperspace meant any . SOW YOU SHE IT . . . amount of work from a day- to a week — and the larger portion of such Work was the more or less pre- cise calculation of “Ship’s Position” on the Galactic scale of reference. Essentially that meant the accurate observation of at least three widely - spaced stars, the position of which, with reference to the arbitrary Galactic triple-zero, were known. And it is the word “known,” that is the catch. To any who know the star field well from one certain ref- erence point, stars are as individual as people. Jump ten parsecs, how- ever, and not even your own sun is recognizable. It may not even be visible. The answer was, of course, spec- troscopic analysis. For centuries, the main object of interstellar engi- neering was the analysis of the “light signature” of more and more stars in greater and greater detail. With this, and the growing precision of the “hop” itself, standard routes of travel through the Galaxy were adopted and interstellar travel be- came less of an art and more of a science. And yet, even under the Founda- tion, however, with improved calcu- lating machines and the new method of mechanically scanning the star field for a known “light signature,” it sometimes took days to locate three stars and then calculate posi- tion in regions not previously fa- miliar to the pilot. It was the Lens that changed all that. For one thing it required only a single known star. For another, even a space tyro such as Channis could operate 4t. 2$

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The nearest sizable star at the moment was Vincetori, according to “hop” calculations, and on the visi- plate now, a bright star was cen- tered. Channis hoped that it was Vincetori. The field screen of the Lens was thrown directly next that of the visi- plate and with careful fingers, Chan- nis punched out the co-ordinates of Vincetori. He closed a relay, and the star field sprang to bright view. In it, too, a bright star was centered, but otherwise there seemed no rela- tionship. He adjusted the Lens along the Z-Axis and expanded the Field to where the photometer showed both centered stars to be of equal brightness. Channis looked for a second star, sizabiy bright, on- the visiplate and found one on the field screen to cor- respond. Slowly, he rotated the screen, to similar angular deflection. He twisted his mouth and rejected the result with a grimace. Again he rotated and another bright star was brought into position, and a third. And then he grinned. That did it. Perhaps a specialist with trained re- lationship perception might have clicked first try, but he’d settle for three. That was the adjustment. In the final step, the two fields overlapped and merged into a sea of not-quite- rightness. Most of the stars were close doubles. But the fine adjust- ment did not take long. The double stars melted together, one field re- mained, and the “Ship’s Position” could now be read directly off the dials. The entire procedure had taken less than half ^an hour. Channis found Han Pritcher in his private quarters. The general was quite apparently preparing for bed. He looked up. “News ?” “Not particularly. We’ll be- at Tazenda in another hop.” “I know.” “I don’t want to bother you if you’re turning in, but have you looked through the film we picked up in Cil?” Han Pritcher cast a disparaging look at the article in question, where it lay in its black case upon his low bookshelf, “Yes.” “And what do you think?” “I think that if there was ever any science to History, it lias been quite lost ki this region of the Galaxy.” Channis grinned broadly, “I know 'what you mean." Rather barren, isn’t it?” “Not if you enjoy personal chron- icles of rulers. Probably unreliable. I should say, in both directions. Where history concerns mainly per- _ sonalities, .the drawings become either black or white according to the interests of the writer. I find it all remarkably useless.” “But there is talk about Tazenda. That’s the point I tried to make when I gave you the film. It’s the only one I could find that even men-, tioned them.” “All right. They have good rulers and bad. They’ve conquered a few planets, won some battles, lost a few. There is nothing distinctive about them. I don’t think much of your theory, Channis.” “But you’ve missed a few points. Didn’t you notice that they never ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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formed coalitions ? They always re- mained completely outside the pol- itics of this comer of the star swarm. As you say, they conquered a few planets, but then they stopped — and that without any startling de- feat of consequence. It’s just as if they spread out enough to protect themselves, but not enough to attract attention.” . “Very well,” came the unemo- tional response. “I have no objec- tion to landing. At the worst: — a little lost time.” “Oh, no. At the worst — complete • defeat. If it is the Second Founda- tion. Remember it would be a world of space-knows-how-many Mules.” “What do you plan to do?” “Land on some minor subject planet. Find out as much as we can about Tazenda first, then improvise from that.” “All right. No objection. If you don’t mind now, I would like the light out.” Channis left with a wave of his band. And in the darki/ess of a tiny room in an island of driving metal lost in the vastness of space, Gen- eral Han Priteher remained awake, following the thoughts that led him through such fantastic reaches. If everything he had so painfully decided were true — and how all the facts were beginning to fit— then Tazenda was the Second Founda- tion. There was no way out. But how? How? Could it be Tazenda? An ordi- nary world? One without distinc- J?OW YOU SEE IT . . . tion ?. A slum lost amid the wreck- age of an Empire? A splinter among the fragments? He remembered, as from a distance, the Mule’s shriv- eled face and his thin voice as he used to speak of the old Foundation psychologist, Ebling Mis, the one man who had — maybe — learned the secret of the Second Foundation. Priteher recalled the tension of the Mule's words: “It was as if astonishment had overwhelmed Mis. It was as though something about the Second Foundation had sur- passed all his expectations, had driven in a direction completely dif- ferent from what he might have assumed. If I could only have read his thoughts rather than his emo- tions. Vet the emotions were plain — and above everything else was this vast surprise.” Surprise was the keynote. Some- thing supremely astonishing! And now came this boyr this grinning youngster, glibly joyful about Ta- zenda and its undistinguished sub- normality. And he had to be right. He had to. Otherwise, nothing made, sense. Pritcher’s last conscious thought had a touch of grimness. That hypertracer along the Etheric tube was still there. He had checked it one hour back, with Channis well out of the way. INTERLUDE It was a casual meeting in the anteroom of the Council Chamber —just a few moments before pass- ing into the Chamber to take up the business of the day — and the few 97

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thoughts flashed back and forth quickly. “So the Mule is on his way.” . “That's what I hear, too. Risky 1. Mighty risky !” “Not if affairs adhere to the functions set up.” “The Mule is not an ordinary man — and it is difficult to manipulate his chosen instruments without de- tection by him. The ‘controlled minds are difficult to touch. They say he’s caught on to a few cases.” “Yes, I don’t see how that can be avoided.” “Uncontrolled minds are easier. But so few are in positions of au- thority under him — ” They entered the Chamber. Others of the Second Foundation followed then*. III. Rossem is one of those marginal worlds usually neglected in Galactic history and scarcely ever obtruding itself upon the notice of men of the myriad happier planets. •In the latter days of the Galactic Empire, a few political prisoners had inhabited its wastes, while an observatory and a small Naval gar- rison served to keep it from com- plete desertion. Later, in the evil days of strife, even before the time of Hari Seldon, the weaker sort of men, tired of the periodic decades of insecurity and danger; weary of sacked planets and a ghostly suc- cession of ephemeral emperors mak- ing their way to the Purple for a few wicked, fruitless years — these men fled the populated centers and sought shelter in the barren nooks of the Galaxy. Along the chilly wastes of Ros- sem, villages huddled. Its sun was a small ruddy niggard that clutched its dribble of heat to itself, while snow beat thinly down for nine months of the year. The tough na- tive grain lay dormant in the soil those snow-filled months, then grew and ripened in almost panic speed, when the sun’s reluctant radiation brought the temperature to nearly fifty. Small, goatlike animals cropped the grasslands, kicking the thin snow aside with tiny, tri-hooved feet. The men of Rossem had. thus, their bread and their milk — and when they could spare an animal — even their meat. The darkly omi- nous forests that gnarled their way over half of the equatorial region of the planet supplied a tough, fine- grained wood for housing. This wood, together with certain furs and minerals, was even worth exporting, and the ships of the Empire came at times and brought in exchange farm machinery, atomic heaters, even televisor sets. The last was not really incongruous, for the long winter imposed a lonely hibernation upon the peasant. Imperial history flowed past the peasants of Rossem. The trading ships might bring news in impatient spurts; occasionally new fugitives would arrive — at one time, a rela- tively large group arrived in a body and remained — and these usually had news of the Galaxy. It was then that the Rossemites ASTOUNDING RCIEXCE-rJCTlOX

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learned of sweeping battles and dee- finally it spread that Trantor had imated populations or of tyrannical been sacked. The great capital emperors and rebellious viceroys, world of all the Galaxy, the splen- And they would sigh and shake their did, storied, unapproachable and in- heads, and draw their fur collars comparable home of the emperors closer about their bearded faces as had been despoiled and ruined and.- they sat about the village square in . brought to utter destruction, the weak' sun and philosophized on It was something inconceivable, the evil of men. and to many of the peasants of Ros- Then after a while, no trading sem, scratching away at their fields, ships arrived at all, and life grew it might well seem that the end of harden Supplies of foreign, soft the Galaxy was at hand, food, of tobacco, of machinery . stopped. Vague word from scraps And then one day not unlike other gathered on the televisor brought days a ship arrived again. The old increasingly disturbing news. And men of each village nodded wisely NOW you SEE IT . .

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and lifted their old eyelids to whis- per that thus it had been in their father’s time — but it wasn’t, quite. This ship was not an Imperial ship. The glowing Spaceship-and- Sun of the Empire was missing from its prow. It was a stubby af- ' fair made of scraps of older ships — and the men within called them- selves soldiers of Tazenda. The peasants were confused. They lmd not heard of Tazend^, but they greeted the soldiers neverthe- less in the traditional fashion of hos- pitality. The newcomers inquired .closely as to the nature of the planet, the number of its inhabitants, the number of its cities — a word mis- taken by the peasants to mean “villages” to the confusion of all concerned — its type of economy ana so on. Other ships came and proclama- tions were issued all over the world that Tazenda was now the ruling world, that tax-collecting stations would be established girdling the equator— the inhabited region — that percentages of grain and furs ac- cording to certain numerical for- mulae would be collected annually. The Rossemites had blinked sol- emnly. uncertain of the word “taxes.” When collection time came, many had paid, or had stood by in confusion while the uniformed, other-worldlings loaded the harvest- ed com and the pelts on to the broad ground-cars. Here and there indignant peas- ants banded together and brought out ancient hunting weapons — but of this nothing ever came. Grum- 30 Mingly they had disbanded when the men of Tazenda came and with dismay watched their hard struggle for existence become harder. But a new equilibrium was reached. The Tazendian governor lived dourly in the village of Gentri, from which all Rossemites were barred. He and the officials under him were dim other-world beings that rarely impinged on the Ros- semite ken. The tax-farmers, Ros- semites in the employ of Tazenda, came periodically, but they were creatures of custom now — and the peasant had learned how to hide his grain and drive his cattle into the forest, and refrain from having his hut appear too ostentatiously pros- perous. Then with a dull, uncom- prehending expression he would greet all sharp questioning as to his assets by merely pointing at what they could see. Even that grew less, and taxes de- creased, almost as if Tazenda wear- ied of extorting pennies from such a world. Trading sprang up and perhaps Tazenda found that more profitable. The men of Rossem no longer re- ceived in exchange the polished cre- ations of the Empire, but even Ta- zendian machines and Tazendian food was better than the native stuff. And there were clothes for the women of other than gray home- spun, which was a very important thing. So once again, Galactic history glided past peacefully enough, and the peasants scrabbled life out of the hard soil. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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Narovi blew into his beard as he stepped out of his cottage. The first snows were sifting across the hard ground and the sky was a dull, overcast pink. He squinted care- fully upward and decided that no real storm was in sight. He could travel to Gentri without much trou- ble and get rid of his surplus grain in return for enough canned foods to last the winter. He roared back through the door, which he opened a crack for the purpose: “Has the car been fed its fuel, y tinker?” A voice shouted from within, and then Narovi’s oldest son, his short, red beard not yet completely out- grown its boyish sparseness, joined him. “The car,” he said, sullenly, “is fueled and rides well, but for the bad condition of the axles. For that I am of no blame. I have told you it needs expert repairs.” The old man stepped hack and surveyed his sdn through 'lowering eyebrows, then thrust his hairy chin outward: “And is the fault mine? Where and in what manner may I achieve expert repairs? Has the harvest then been anything but scanty for five years? Have my herds escaped file pest? Have the pelts climbed of themselves — ” “Narovi!” The well-known voice from within stopped him in mid- word. He grumbled, “Well, well — and now your mother must insert herself into the affairs of a father and his son. Bring out the car, and see to it that the storage trailers are securely attached.” He pounded his gloved hands to- NOW YOU SEE IT ... . gether, and looked upward again. The dimly-ruddy clouds were gath- ering and the gray sky that showed in the rifts bore no warmth. The sun was hidden. He was at the point of looking away, when his dropping eyes caught and his finger almost auto- matically rose on high while his mouth fell open in a shout, in com- plete disregard of the cold air, “Wife,” he called vigorously, “Old woman — come here.” An indignant head appeared at a window. The woman’s eyes fol- lowed his finger, gaped. With a cry, she dashed down the wooden stairs, snatching up an old wrap and a square of linen as she went. She emerged with the linen wrapped in- securely over her head and ears, and the wrap dangling from her shoul- ders. She snuffled : “It is a ship from outer space.” And Narovi remarked impatient- ly : “And what else could it be? We have visitors, old woman, visitors!” The ship was sinking slowly to a landing on the bare frozen field in the northern portions of Narovi’s farm. “But what shall we do?” gasped the woman. “Can we offer these people hospitality ? Is the dirt floor of our hovel to be theirs and the pickings of last week’s hoecake ?” “Shall they then go to our neigh- bors?” Narovi purpled past the crimson induced by the cold and his arms in their sleek fur covering lunged out and seized the woman’s brawny shoulders. “Wife of my soul,” he purred,-

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“you will take the two chairs from our room downstairs; you will see that a fat youngling is slaughtered and roasted with tubers; you will bake a fresh hoecake. I go now to greet these men of power from outer space . . . and . . . and-*-” He paused, placed his great cap awry, and scratched hesitantly. “Yes, I shall bring my jug of brewed grain as well. Hearty drink is pleasant.” The woman’s mouth had flapped idly during this speech. Nothing came out. And when that stage passefi, it was only a discordant screech that issued. Narovi lifted a finger, “Old woman, what was it the village Elders said a se’nnight since ? Eh ? Stir your memory. The Elders went from farm to farm-— themselves ! Imagine the importance of it! — to ask us that should any ships from outer space land, they were to be informed immediately on the orders of the governor. “And now shall I not seize the opportunity to win into the good graces of those in power ? Regard that ship. Have you gver seen its like? These men from the outer worlds are rich, great. The gov- ernor himself sends such urgent messages concerning them that the 'Elders walk from farm to farm in the cooling weather. Perhaps the message is sent throughout all Ros- sem that these men are greatly de- sired by the Lords of Tazenda — and it is on my farm that they are landing.” He fairly hopped for anxiety, “The proper hospitality now — the mention of my name to the governor — and what may not be ours ?” His wife was suddenly aware of the cold biting through her thin house-clothing. She leaped towards the door, shouting over her shoul- ders, “Leave then quickly.” But she was speaking to a man who was even then racing towards the segment of the horizon against which the ship sank. Neither the cold of the world, nor its bleak, empty spaces worried Gen- eral Han Pritcher. Nor the pov- erty of their surroundings, nor the perspiring peasant himself. What did bother him was the question of the wisdom of their tactics ? He and Channis were alone here. The ship, left in space, could take care of itself in ordinary circum- stances, but still, he felt unsafe. It was Channis, of course, who was responsible for this move. He looked across at the young man and caught him winking cheerfully at the gap in the furred partition, in which a woman's peeping eyes and gaping mouth momentarily ap- peared. Channis, at least, seemed com- pletely at ease. That fact Pritcher savored with a vinegary satisfaction. His game had not much longer to proceed exactly -as he wished it. Yet, meanwhile their wrist ultra- wave sender-receivers were their only connection with the ship. And then the peasant host smiled enormously and bobbed his head several times and said in a voice oily with respect, “Noble Lords, I crave ASTOUNDING SCrUNCK-FICTU’X

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leave to tell you that my eldest son — a good, worthy lad whom my pov- erty prevents from educating as his wisdom deserves-r-has informed me that the Elders will arrive soon. I trust your stay here has been as pleasant as my humble means— for I am poverty-stricken, though a hard-working, honest, and humble farmer, as anyone here will tell you — could afford.” "Elders?” said Channis, lightly. ‘‘The chief men of the region here ?” "So they 4re, Noble Lords, and honest, worthy men all of them, lor our entire village is known through- out Rossenj as a just and righteous spot — though living is hard and th# returns of the fields and forests meager. Perhaps you will mention to the Elders, Noble Lords, of- my respect and honor for travelers and it may happen that they will request a new motor wagon for our house- hold as the old one can scarcely creep and upon the remnant of it depends our livelihood.” He looked "humbly eager and I tan Pritcher nodded with the prop- erly aloof condescension required of the role of “Noble Lords” bestowed* upon them, “A report of your hospitality shall reach the ears of your Elders.” Pritcher seized the next moments of isolation to speak to the appar- ently half-sleeping Channis. “I am not particularly fond of this meeting of the Elders,” he said. "Have you any thoughts on the sub- ject?” Channis seemed surprised. “No. What worries you?” “It seems we have better things NOW YOU SEE IT . . . to do than to become conspicuous here.” Channis spoke hastily, in a low monotoned voice : “It may be neces- sary to risk becoming conspicuous in our next moves. We won’t find the type of men we want, Pritcher, by simply reaching out a hand into a dark bag and groping. Men wht> rule by tricks of the mind need not necessarily be men in obvious power. In the first place, the psy- chologists of the Second Foundation are probably a very small minority of the total population, just as oil vour own First Foundation, the technicians and scientists formed a minority. The ordinary inhabitants are probably just that — very ordi- nary. The psychologists may even be well hidden, and the men in the apparently ruling position, may hon- estly think they are the true mas- ters. Our solution to that problem may be found here on this' frozen lump of a planet.” “I don’t follow that at all.” “Why, see here, it’s obvious enough. Tazenda is probably a huge world of millions or hundreds . of millions. How could we identify the psychologists among them and be able to report truly to the Mule that we have located the Second Foundation ? But here, on this tiny peasant world and subject planet, all the Tazendlan rulers, our host informs us, are concentrated in their chief village of Gentri. There may be only a few hundred of them there, Pritcher, and among them must be one or more of the men of the Second Foundation. We will go there eventually, but let us see the 33

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Elders first — it’s a logical step on the way.” They drew apart easily, as their black-bearded host tumbled into the room again, obviously agitated. “Noble Lords, the Elders are ar- riving. I crave leave to beg you once more to mention a word, per- haps, on my behalf — ” He almost bent double in a paroxysm of fawn- ing. “We shall certainly remember you,” said Channis. “Are these your Elders ?” They apparently were. There were three. One approached. He bowed with a dignified respect and said*' “We are honored. Transportation has been provided, Respected sirs, and we hope for the pleasure of your company at our Meeting Hall.” INTERLUDE The First Speaker gazed wistfutly at the night sky. Wispy clouds skudded across the faint star- gleams. Space looked actively hos- tile. It was cold and awful at best but now it contained that strange creature, the Mule, and the very content seemed to darken and thicken it into ominous threat. The meeting was over. It had not been long. There had been the doubts and questionings inspired by the difficult mathematical problem of dealing with a mental mutant of uncertain makeup. All the extreme permutations load had to be consid- ered. Were they even yet .certain; Somewhere in this region of space 34 — within reaching distance as La lactic spaces go — was the Mule. What would he do ? It was easy enough to handle his men. They reacted — and were re- acting— according to plan. But what of the Mule himself ? IV. The Elders of this particular re- gion of Rossem were not exactly what one might have expected. They were not a mere extrapolation of the peasantry; older, more authori- tative, less friendly. * Not at all. • The dignity that had marked them at first meeting had grown in im- pression till it had reached the mark of being' their predominant charac- teristic. They sat about their oral table, like so many grave and slow-moving thinkers. Most were a trifle past their physical prime, though the few who possessed beards wore them short and neatly arranged. Still, enough appeared younger than forty to make it quite obvious that “Elders” was a term of respect rather than entirely a literal descrip- tion of age. The two from outer space were at the head of the table and in the solemn silence that accompanied a rather frugal meal that seemed cere- monious rather than nourishing, alv- • sorbed the new, contrasting atmos- phere. After the meal and after one or two respectful remarks — too short and simple to be called speeches — had been made by those of the ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTIO&

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Elders apparently held most in Es- teem, an informality forced itself upon the assembly. It was as if the dignity of greet- ing foreign personages had finally given way to the amiable rustic qual- ities of curiosity and friendliness. They crowded around the two strangers and the flood of questions came. They asked if it were difficult to handle a spaceship, how many men were required for the job, if better motors could be made for their ground-cars, if it was true that it rarely snowed on other worlds as was said to be the case with Ta- zenda, how many people lived on their world, if it was as large as Tazenda, if it was far away, how their clothes were woven and what gave them the metallic shimmer, why they did not wear furs, if they shaved every day, what sort of stone that was in Pritcher’s ring — .The list stretched out. And almost always the questions were addressed to1 Pritcher as , though, as the elder, they automati- cally invested him with the greater authority. Pritcher found himself forced to answer at greater and greater length. It was like an im- mersion in a crowd of children. Their questions were those of utter and disarming wonder. . Their ea- gerness to know was completely ir- resistible and would not be denied. Pritcher explained that spaceships were not difficult to handle and that crews varied with the size, from one to many, that the motors of their ground-cars* were unknown in de- tail to him but could doubtless be improved, that the climates of worlds varied almost infinitely, that many hundreds of millions lived on his world but that it was far smaller and more insignificant than the great empire of Tazenda, that their clothes were woven of silicone plas- tics in which metallic luster was arti- ficially produced by proper orienta- tion of the surface molecules, and that they could be artificially heated so that furs were unnecessary, that they shaved every day, that the stone in his ring was an amethyst. The List stretched out. He found him- self thawing to these naive provin- cials against his will. And always as he answered there was a rapid chatter among the Eld- ers, as though they debated the in- formation gained. ‘It was difficult to follow these inner discussions ofc. theirs for they lapsed into their own accented version of the universal Galactic language that, through long separation from the currents of liv- ing speech, had become archaic. Almost, one might say, their curt comments among themselves hov- ered on the edge of understanding, but jusUmanaged to elude the clutch- ing tendrils of comprehension. Until finally Channis interrupted to say, “Good sirs, you must answer us for a while, for we are strangers and would be very- much interested to know all we can of Tazenda.” And what happened then was that a great silence fell and each of the ' hitherto voluble Elders grew silent. Their hands, which had been moving in such rapid and delicate- accompaniment to their words as as now Yon see it . . AST— 2P

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though to give them greater scope and varied shades of meaning, fell suddenly limp. They stared fur- tively at one another, apparently quite willing each to let the other have all theJloor. Pritcher interposed quickly, “My companion asks this in friendliness, for the fame of Tazenda fills the Galaxy and we, of course, shall in- form the governor of the loyalty and love of the Elders of Rossem/’ No sigh of relief was heard but faces brightened. An Elder stroked his'heard with thumb and forefinger, straightening its slight curl with a gentle pressure, and said: “We arc faithful servants of the Lords of Tazenda.” Priteher’s annoyance at Giannis’ bald question subsided. It was ap- parent. at least, that the age that he had felt creeping over him of late had not yet deprived him of his own capacity for making smooth tho blunders of others. He continued : “We do not know, in our far part of the universe, much of the past history of the Lords of Tazenda. We presume they have ruled benevolent^ here for a long time.” The same Elder who spoke before, answered. In a soft, automatic way he had become spokes- man. He said: “Not the grand- father of the oldest can recall a time in which the Lords were ab- sent.” “It has been a time of peace?” “It has been a time of peace!” He hesitated. “The governor is a strong and powerful Lord who would not hesitate to punish trai- tors. None of us are traitors, of course.” * “He has punished some in the past, I imagine, as they deserve.” Again hesitation, “None here have ever been traitors, or our fathers or our fathers' fathers. But on other worlds, there have been such, and death followed for them quickly. It is not good to think of for we are humble men who are poor farmers and not concerned with matters of politics.” The anxiety in his voice, the uni- versal concern in the eyes of all of them was obvious. Pritcher said smoothly: “Could you inform us as to how we can arrange an audience with your gov- ernor.” •And instantly an element of sud- den bewilderment entered the situa- tion. For after a long moment, the elder said : “Why, did you not know; The governor will be here tomorrow. He has expected you. It has been a great honor for us. We ... we hope earnestly that you will report to him satisfactorily as to our loyalty to him.” Pritcher’s smile scarcely twitched. “Expected us ?” The Elder looked wonderinglv from one to the other. “Why . . . it is now a week since we have been waiting for you.” Their quarters were undoubtedly luxurious for the world. Pritcher had lived in wor.se. Channis showed nothing but indifference to exter- nals. But there was an element of ten- ASTOFXDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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sion between them of a different nature than hitherto. Pritcher felt the time approaching for a definite decision and yet there was still the desirability of additional waiting. To see the governor first would be to increase the gamble to dangerous dimensions and yet to win that gam- ble might multi-double the winnings. He felt a surge of anger at the slight crease between Channft' eye- brows, the delicate uncertainty with which tlie young man’s lower lip presented itself to an upper tooth. He detested the useless play-acting and yearned for an end to it. He said : “W e seem to be antici- pated.” “Yes,” said Channis, simply. “Just that? You have no contri- bution of greater pith to make. We come here and find that the governor expects us. Presumably we shall find from the governor that Ta- zenda itself expects us. Of what value then is ouj^entire mission ?” Channis looked up, without en- deavoring to conceal the weary note in his voice: “To expect us is one thing ; to know who we are and what we came for, is another.” ’‘Do you expect to conceal these things from men of the Second Foundation ?” “Perhaps. Why not? Are you ready to throw your hand in? Sup- pose our ship was detected in space. Is it unusual for a realm to main- tain frontier observation posts? Even if we were ordinary strangers, we would be of interest.” “Sufficient interest for a governor (o come to us rather than the re- verse?” NOW YOU SEE IT . . . Channis shrugged: “We’ll have to meet that problem later. Let us see what this governor is like.” Pritcher bared his teeth in a bloodless kind of scowl. The sit- uation was becoming ridiculous. Channis proceeded with an arti- ficial animation : “At least we know one thing. Tazenda is the Second Foundation or a million shreds of evidence are. unanimously pointing the wrong way. How do you in- terpret the obvious terror in which these natives hold Tazenda? I see no signs of political domination. Their groups of Elders apparently meet freely and without interference of any sort. The taxation they speak of doesn’t seem at all exten- sive to me or efficiently carried through. The natives speak much, of poverty but seem sturdy and well- fed. The houses are uncouth and their villages rude, but are obviously adequate for the purpose. “In fact, the world fascinates me. I have never seen a more forbid- ding one, yet I am convinced there is no suffering among the popula- tion and that their uncomplicated lives manage to contain a well- balanced happiness lacking in the sophisticated populations of the ad- vanced centers.” “Are you an admirer of peasant virtues, then ?” “The stars forbid.” Channis seemed amused at the idea. “I mere- ly point out the significance of all this. Apparently, Tazenda is an effi- cient administrator — efficient in a sense far different from the effi- nVnev of the old Empire or of the First Foundation, or even of our 37

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own Union. All these have brought mechanical efficiency to their sub- jects at the cost of more intangible values. Tazenda brings happiness and sufficiency. Don’t you see that the whole orientation of their dom- ination is different ? It is not physi- cal, but psychological.” “Really?” Pritcher allowed him- self irony. “And the terror with which the Elders spoke of the pun- ishment of treason by these kind- hearted psychologist administrators ? How does that suit your thesis ?” . “Were they the objects of the punishment? They speak of pun- ishment only of others. It is as if knowledge of punishment has been so well implanted in them that pun- ishment itself need never be used. The proper mental attitudes are so inserted into their minds that I am certain that not a Tazendian soldier exists on the planet. Don’t you see all this?” “I’ll see perhaps,” said Pritcher, coldly, “when I see the governor. And what, by the way, if our men- talities are handled ?'* Channis replied with brutal con- tempt: " You should be accustomed to that.” Pritcher whitened perceptibly, and. with an effort, turned away. They spoke to one another no more that day. It was in the silent windlessness of the frigid night, as he listened to the soft, sleeping motions of the other, that Pritcher silently adjusted his wrist-transmitter to the ultra- wave region for which Channis’ was unadjustable and, with noiseless touches of his fingernail, contacted the ship. The answer came in little periods of noiseless vibration that barely lifted themselves above the sensory threshold. Twice Pritcher asked: “Any communications at all yet?” Twice the answer came: “None. We wait always.” He got out of bed. It was cold in the room and he pulled the furry blanket around him as he sat in the chair and stared out at the crowd- ing stars so different in the bright- ness and complexity of their arrangement from the even fog of the Galactic Lens that domi- nated the night sky of his native Periphery. Sdmewhere there between the stars was the answer to the complications that overwhelmed him, and he felt the yearning for that solution to arrive and end things. ^ . For a moment he wondered again if the Mule were right — if Conversion had robbed him of the firm sharp edge of self-reliance. Or was it simply age and the fluctua- tions of these last years? He didn’t really care. He was tired. The governor of Rossem arrived with minor ostentation. His only companion was the uniformed man at the controls of the ground- •car. The ground-car itself was of lush design but to Pritcher it appeared inefficient. It turned clumsily; more than once it apparently ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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balked at what might have been a too-rapid change of gears. It was obvious at once from its design that it ran on chemical, and not on atomic, fuel. The Tazendian governor stepped softly on to the thin layer of snow and advanced between two lines of respectful Elders. He did not look at them but entered quickly. They followed after him. From the quarters assigned to them, the two men of the Mule's Union watched. He — the governor — ;was thickset, rather stocky, short, unimpressive. But what of that? Pritcher cursed himself for a failure of nerve. His face, to be sure, remained icily calm. There was no humiliation before Channis — but he knew very well that his blood pressure had heightened and his throat had become dry. It was not a case of physical fear. He was not one of those dull-witted, unimaginative men of nerveless meat who were too stupid ever to be afraid — but physical fear he could account for and discount. But this was different. It was the other fear. He glanced quickly at Channis. The young man glanced idly at the nails of one hand and poked leisurely at some triflling un- evenness. Sometliing inside Pritcher be- came vastly indignant. What had Channis to fear of mental handling ? Pritcher caught a mental breath and tried to think back. How had be been before the Mule had Con- SOW TOD SEE IT . . . verted him from the die-hard Democrat that he was. It was hard to remember. He could not place himself mentally. He could not break the dinging wires that bound him emotionally to the Mule. Intellectually, he could remember that he had once tried to assassinate the Mule but not for all the strain- ing he could endure, could he remember his emotions at the time. That might be the self-defense of his own mind, however, for at the intuitive thought of what those emotions might have been — not realizing the details, but merely comprehending the drift of it — his stomach grew queazy. What if the governor tampered with his mind? What if the insubstantial mental tendrils of a Second Foundationer insinuated itself down the emo- tional crevices of his makeup and pulled them apart and rejoined them— There had been no sensation the first time. There had been no pain, no mental jar — not even a feeling of discontinuity. He had always loved the Mule. If there had ever been a time long before — as long before as five short years — when he had thought he hadn’t loved him, that he had hated him — that was just a horrid illusion. The thought of that illusion embarrassed him. But there had been no pain. Would meeting the governor duplicate that? Would all that had gone before — all his service for the Mule — all his life’s orientation — join the hazy, other- m

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life dream that held the word, Democracy. The Mule also a dream, and only to Tazenda, his loyalty — Sharply, he turned away. There was that strong desire to retch. And then Giannis’ voice clashed on his ear, “I think this is it, general.” Pritcher turned again. - An' Elder had opened the door silently and stood with a dignified and calm respect upon the threshold. He said, “His Excellency, Gover- nor of Rossem, in the name of the Lords of Tazenda, is pleased to present his permission for an audi- ence and request your appearance before him.” “Sure thing,” and Channis tight- ened his belt with a jerk and adjusted a ,Rossemian hood over his head. Pritcher’s jaw set. This was the beginning of the real gamble. The governor of Rossem was not of formidable appearance. For one thing, he was bareheaded, and his thinning hair, light brown, tending to gray, lent him mildness. His bony eye-ridges lowered at them, and his eyes, set in a fine net- work of surrounding wrinkles, seemed calculating, but his fresh- cropped chin was soft and small and, by the universal convention of followers of • the pseudoscience of reading character by facial bony structure, seemed “weak.” Pritcher avoided the eyes and watched the chin. He didn’t know 40 whether that would be effective — if anything would be. The governor's voice was high- pitched, indifferent: “Welcome to Tazenda. We greet you in peace. You have eaten?” His hand — long fingers, gnarled veins — waved almost regally at the U-shapcd table. They bowed and sat down. The governor sat the outer side of the base of the U, they on the inner; along both arms sat the double row of silent Elders. The governor spoke in short, abrupt sentences — praising the food as Tazendian importations — and it had indeed a quality different if, somehow, not so much better, than the rougher food of the Elders— disparaging R o ssemian weather, referring with an attempt at casualness to the intricacies of space travel. Channis talked little. Pritcher not at all. Then it was over. The smalt, stewed fruits were finished ; the napkins used and discarded, and the governor leaned back. His small eyes sparkled. “I have inquired as to your ship;. Naturally, I would like to see that it receives due care and overhaul. I am told its whereabouts is un- known,” “True,” Channis replied lightly. “We have left it in space. It is a large ship, suitable for long jour- neys in sometimes hostile regions, and we felt that landing it here might give rise to doubts as to our peaceful intentions. We preferred to land alone, unarmed.” ASTOUNDING SClB?f CE-FICTION

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“A iriendly act/’ commented the governor, without conviction. “A large ship, you say?” “Not a vessel of war, ex- cellency/* “Ha, hum. Where is it you come from?” “’A small world of the Santanni. sector, your excellency. It may be you are not aware of its existence for it lacks importance. We are interested in establishing trade relationships.” •“Trade, eh? And what have you to sell?” “Machines of all sorts, excellency. In return, food, wood, ores — ” “Ha, hum.” The governor seemed doubtful. “I know little of these matters. Perhaps mutual profit may be arranged. Perhaps, after I have examined your creden- tials at length — for much in forma- tion will be required by my government before matters , may proceed, you understand — and after I have looked over your ship, it Would be advisable for you to pro- ceed to Tazenda.” There was no answer to that, and the governor’s attitude iced percep- tibly. “It is necessary that I see your ship, however.” Channis said distantly : “The ship, unfortunately, is undergoing repairs at the moment. If your excellency would not object to giving us forty-eight hours, it will he at your service.” “I am not accustomed to wait- ing.” For the first time, Pritcher met the glare of the other, eye to eye, and his breath exploded softly in- side him. For a moment, he had the sensation drowning, but then his eyes tore away. Channis did not waver. He said : “The ship cannot be lauded for forty-eight hours, excellency. We are here and unarmed. Can you doubt our honest intentions ?” There was a long silence^ and then the governor said gruffly: “Tell me of the world from which you come.” That was all. It passed with . that. There Was iio more Un- pleasantness. The. governor, hav- ing fulfilled his official duty, appar- ently lost interest and the audience died a dull death. And When it was all over, Pritcher found himself hack in their quar- ters and took stock of himself. Carefully — holding his breath— he “felt” his ' emotions. Certainly he seemed no different to himself, but zvould he feel any difference? Had he felt different after the Mule’s Conversion ? Had. not everything seemed natural? As it should have been? He experimented. With cold purpose, he shouted inside the silent caverns of his mind, and the shout was, “The Second Foundation must be dis- covered and destroyed.” And the emotion that accom- panied it was honest hate. There was not as much as a hesitation involved in it. And then it was in his mind to substitute the word “Mule” for the phrase “Second Foundation” and NOW VOU SEE IT . . 41

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his breath caught at the mere emo- tion and his tongue clogged. So far, good.. But had he been handled otherwise — more subtly? Had tiny changes been made? Changes that he couldn’t detect because their very existence warped his judg- ment. There was no way to tell. But . he still felt absolute loyalty to the Mule! If that were un- changed, nothing else really mat- tered. He turned his mind to action again. Channis was busy at his end of the room. Pritcher’s thumb- nail idled at his wrist communica- tor. And then at the response that came, he felt a wave of relief surge over him and leave him weak. The quiet muscles of his face did not betray him, but inside Ife was shouting with joy — and when Chan- nis turned to face him, he knew that the farce was about over. INTERLUDE The two Speakers passed each other on the road and one stopped the other. “I have word from the First Speaker.” There was a half-apprehensive flicker in the other’s eyes. “Inter- section point ?” “Yes! May we live to sec the dawn !” V. There was no sign in any of Channis’ actions that he was aware of any subtle change in the atti- tude of Pritcher and in their

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relations to each other. He leaned hack on the hard wooden bench and spread-eagled his feet out in front of him. ‘‘What did you make oi the governor ?’* Pritcher shrugged: “Nothing at all. He certainly seemed no men- tal genius to me. A very poor specimen of the Second Foundation, if that’s what he was supposed to be.” “I don’t think he was, you know. I’m hot sure what to make of it. Suppose you were a Second Foundationer,” C h annis grew thoughtful, “what would you do? Suppose you had an idea of our purpose here. How would you handle us?” “Conversion, of course.” “Like the Mule?” Channis looked up, sharply. “Would we know if they had converted us? 1 wonder — And what if they were simply psychologists, but very clever ones.” “In that case, I’d have us killed rather quickly.” “And our ship? No.” Channis wagged a forefinger. “We’re play- ing a bluff, Pritcher, old man. It can only be a bluff. Even if they have emotional control down pat, we — you and I — are only fronts. It’s the Mule they must fight, and they’re being just as careful of us as we are of them. I’m assuming that they know who we are.” Pritcher stared coldly : “What do' you intend doing?” “Wait.” The word was bitten off. “Let them come to us. They’re worried, maybe about the NOW YOU SEE IT . . . ship, but probably about the Mule. They bluffed with the governor. It didn’t work. We stayed pat. The next person they’ll send will lie a Second Foundationer, and he’ll propose a deal of some sort.” “And then ?” “And then we make the deal.” “I don’t think so.” “Because you think it will double- cross the Mule ? It won’t.” “No, the Mule could handle . your double-crosses, any you could invent. But I still don’t think so.” “Because you think then we couldn’t double-cross the Founda- tioners ?” “Perhaps not. But that’s not the reason.” Channis let his glance drop to what the other held in his fist, and said grimly: “Ton mean that’s the reason.” Pritcher cradled his blaster, “That’s right. You are under arrest.” “Why?” “For treason to the First Citi- zen of the Union.” Channis’ lips hardened upon one ’ another: “What’s going on?” “Treason ! As I said. And correction of the matter,, on my part.” “Your proof? Or evidence, assumptions, daydreams? Are you mad V* “No. Are you? Do you think the Mule sends out unweaned youngsters on ridiculous swash- buckling missions tor nothing? It was queer to me at the time. But I wasted time in doubting myself. Why should he send yaiti Because 43

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you smile and dress well? Because you’re twenty-eight.” ‘‘Perhaps because I can be trusted. Or aren't you in the market for logical reasons ?” * “Or perhaps because yon can’t be trusted. Which is logical enough, as it turns out.” “Are we matching paradoxes, or is this all a word game to see who can say the least in the most words?” And the blaster advanced, with Pritcher after it. He stood erect before the younger man: “Stand up!” Channis did 'so, in no particular hurry, and felt the muzzle of the blaster touch his belt with no shrinking of the stomach muscles. Pritcher said: “What the Mule wanted was to find the Second Foundation. He had failed and l had failed, and .the secret that neither of us can find is a well- hidden one. So there was one out- standing possibility left— and that was to find a seeker who already knew the hiding-place." “Is that I?” “Apparently it was. I didn’t know then, of course, but though my mind must be slowing, it still points in the right direction. How easily we found Star’s End ! How miraculously you examined the correct Field Region of the Lens from among an infinite number of possibilities! And having done so, how nicely we observe just the correct . point for observation ! You clumsy fool ! Did you so underestimate me that no combina- tion of impossible fortuities struck you as being too much for me to swallow ?” “You mean I’ve been toe successful?” “Too successful by half for am loyal man.” “Because the standards of suc- cess you set me were so low?” And the blaster prodded, though in the face that confronted Chan- nis only the cold glitter of the eyes betrayed the growing anger: “Be- cause you are in the pay of the Second Foundation.” “Pay ?” — infinite contempt. “Prove that.” “Or under the mentul influence." “Without the Mule’s knowledge? Ridiculous.” "With the Mule’s knowledge. Exactly my point, my young dul- lard. IVith the Mule’s knowledge. Do you suppose* else that you would be given a ship to play with ? Yon led us to the Second Founda- tion as you were supposed to do.” “I thresh a kernel of something or other out of this immensity of chaff. May I ask why I’m supposed to be doing all this? If I were a traitor,, why should I lead you to the Second Foundation? Why not hither and yon through the Galaxy, skipping gaily, finding no more' than you ever did ?” “For the sake of the ship. And because the men of the Second Foundation quite obviously need atomic warfare for self-defense.” “You’ll have to do better than that. One ship won’t mean any- thing to them, and if they think they’ll learn science from it and ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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build atomic power plants next year, they are very, very simple Second Foundationers, indeed. On the order of simplicity as yourself, I should say.” “You will have the opportunity to explain that to the Mule.” “We’re going back to Kalgan?” “On the contrary. We’re staying here. And the Mule will join us in fifteen minutes — more or less. •Do you think he hasn’t followed us, my sharp-witted, nimble-minded lump of self-admiration? You have played the decoy well in re- verse. You may not have led our victims to us, but you have cer- tainly led us to our victims.” “May I sit down,” said Chan- ms, “and explain something to you in picture drawings? Please.”* “You will remain standing.” “At that, I can say it as well standing. You think the Mule fol- lowed us because of the hypcr- tracer on the communication circuit ?” The blaster might have wavered. Channis wouldn’t have sworn to it. He said : “You don’t look sur- prised. But I don’t waste time doubting that you feel surprised. Yes, I knew about it. And now, having shown you that I knew of something you didn’t think I did, I’ll tell you something you don’t know, that I know you don’t.” “You allow yourself too many preliminaries, Channis. I should think your sense of invention was more smoothly greased. “There’s no invention to this. There have been traitors, of course, XOW TOU SKK IT . . . or enemy agents, if you prefer that term. But the Mule knew of that in a rather curious way. It seems, you see, that some of his Converted men had been tampered with.” The blaster did waver that time. Unmistakably. “I emphasize that, Pritcher. It was why he needed me. I w&s an Unconverted man. Didn’t he emphasize to you that he needed an Unconverted? Whether he gave you the. real reason or not?” “Try something else, Channis. If I were against the Mule, I’d know it.” Quietly, rapidly, Pritcher was feeling his mind. It felt the same. It felt the same. Obviously the man was lying. “You mean you feel loyal to the Mule. Perhaps. Loyalty wasn’t tampered with. Too easily detect- able, the Mule said. But hmv do you feel mentally? Sluggish? Since you started this trip, have you always felt normal? Or have you felt strange sometimes, as though you weren’t quite yourself? What are you trying to do, bore *8 hole through me without touching the trigger?” Pritcher withdrew his blaster half an inch, “What are you try- ing to say?” “I s£y that you’ve been tampered with. You’ve been handled. . .You didn’t see the Mule install that hyper-tracer. You didn’t see any- one do it. You just found it there, and assumed it was the Mule, .and ever since you’ve been assuming he was following us. Sure, the wrist receiver you’re wearing con- tacts the ship on a wave length mine

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isn’t good for. Do you think I didn’t know that ?” He was speak- ing quickly now, angrily. His cloak *bf indifference had dissolved into savagery. “But it’s not the Mule that’s coining toward us from out there. It’s not the Mule.” “Who, if not?” “Well, who do you suppose? I found that hyper-tracer, the day we left. But I didn’t think it was the Mule. He had no reason for indirection at that point. Don’t you see the nonsense of it? If I were a traitor and he. knew that. I could be Converted as easily as you were, and he would have the secret of the location of the Second Foundation out of my mind without sending me half across the Galaxy. Can you keep a secret from the Mule? And if I didn't know- then I couldn’t lead him to it. So why send me in either case ? “Obviously, that hyper-tracer must have been put there by an agent of the Second Foundation. Jtfiafs who’s coming towards us now. And would you have been fooled if your precious mind hadn’t been tampered with? What kind of normality have* you that you. imagine immense folly to be wis- dom. Me bring a ship to the Second Foundation r What would they do with a ship? “It's you they want, Pritcher. You know more about the Union than anyone but the Mule, and you’re not dangerous to them while he is. That’s why they put the direction of search into my mind. Of course, it was completely im- 40 possible for me to find Tazenda by random searchings of the Lens. I knew that. But I knew there was the Second Foundation after us, and l knew they engineered it. Why not play their game? It was a battle of bluffs. They wanted us and l wanted their location — and space take the one that couldn’t outbluff the other. “But it’s, we that will lose as long as you hold that blaster on me.. And it obviously isn’t your idea. It’s theirs. Give me the blaster, Pritcher. I know it seems wrong to you, but it isn’t your mind speak- ing, it’s the Second Foundation within you. Give me the blaster, Pritcher, and we’ll face what’s coming now, together.” Pitcher faced a growing confu- sion in horror. Plausibility ! Could he be so wrong? Why this eter- nal doubt of himself? Why wasn’t he sure? What made Channis sound so plausible? Plausibility ! Or was it his own tortured mind fighting the invasion of the alien. Was he split In two? Hazily, he saw Channis stand- ing before him, hand outstretched — and suddenly, he knew he was going to give him the blaster. And as the muscles of his arm were on the point 6f contracting in the proper manner to do so, the door opened, not hastily, behind him- — and he turned. There are perhaps men in the Galaxy who can be confused for one another even by men at their - peaceful leisure. Correspondingly, ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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there may be conditions of mind when even unlikely pairs may be mis-recognized. But the Mule rises above any combination of the two factors. Not all Pritcher $ agony of mind prevented the instantaneous mental flood of cool vigor that engulfed him. Physically, the Mule could not dominate any situation. Nor did he dominate this one. He was rather a ridiculous figure in his layers of clothing that thickened him past his normality without allowing him to reach nor- mal dimensions even so. His face was muffled and the usually domi- nant teak covered what was left in a cold-red prominence. Probably as a vision of rescue, no greater incongruity Could exist. He said : ''Keep your blaster, Pritcher.” Then he turned to Channis, who had shrugged and seated himself : '‘The emotional context here seems rather confusing and considerably in conflict. What’s this about someone other than myself follow- ing yon.?” Pritcher intervened sharply: “Was a hyper-tracer placed upon our ship by your orders, sir?” The Mule turned cool eyes upon him, “Certainly. Is it very likely that any organization in the Galaxy other than the Union of Worlds have access to it?” “He said—” “Well, he’s here, general. In- direct quotation is not necessary. Have you been saying anything, Channis ?” xoW you sxfc it . . . “Yes. But mistakes apparently, sir. It has been my opinion that the tracer was put there by some- one in the pay of the Second Foundation and that’ we had been led here for some purpose of theirs, which I was prepared to counter. I was tinder the further impression that the general was more or less in their hands.” “You sound as if you think so no longer.” “Pm afraid not. Or it would not have been you at the door,” “Well, then, let us thresh this out.” The Mule peeled off the outer layers of padded, and elec- trically heated clothing. “Do you mind if I sit down as well? Now — we are safe, here and perfectly free of any danger of intrusion. No native of this lump of ice will have any. desire to approach this place. I assure you of that,” and there was a grim earnestness about his insistence upon his powers. Channis showed his disgust. “Why privacy? Is someone going to serve tea and bring out the dancing girls?” “Scarcely. What was this theory of yours, young man? A Second Foundationer was tracing you with a device which no one . but I have and— how did you say you found tliis place?” “Apparently, sir, it seems obvi- ous, in order to account for known facts, that certain notions have been put into my head — ” “By these same Second Founda- tioners ?” “No one else, I imagine.” “Then it did not occur to you 47

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that if a Second . Foundationer could force, or entice, or inveigle you into going to the Second Foundation for purposes of his own — and I assume you imagined he used methods similar to mine, though, mind you, I can implant only emotions, not ideas — it did not occur to you that if he could do that there was little necessity to put a hyper-tracer on you.” And Channis looked up sharply and met his sovereign’s large eyes with sudden startle. Pritcher grunted and a visible relaxation showed itself in his shoulders. "No,” said Channis, “that hadn’t occurred to me.” "Or that if they were obliged to trace you, they couldn’t feel ca- pable of directing you, and that, undirected, yott could have precious little chance of finding your way here as you did. Did that occur to you ?” “That, neither.” "Why not? Has your intellectual level receded to a so-much-greater- than-probable degree?” “The only answer is a question, sir. Are you joining General Pritcher in accusing me of being a traitor?” “You have a defense in case I am?” "Only the one I presented to the general. If I were a traitor and knew the whereabouts of the Sec- ond Foundation, you could Convert me and learn the knowledge di- rectly. If you felt it necessary to trace ’me, then I hadn't the knowledge beforehand and wasn’t a traitor. So I answer your para- dox with another. “Then your conclusion?” "That I am not a traitor.” “To which I must agree, since your- argument is irrefutable.” “Then may I ask you why you had us secretly followed?” "1 because to all the tacts there is a third explanation. Both* you and Pritcher explained some facts in your own individual ways, but not all. I — if you can spare me the time — will explain all. And in a rather short time, so there is little danger of boredom. Sit down, Pritcher, and give me your blaster. There is no danger of attack on us any longer. None from in here and none from out there. None in fact even from the Second Foundation. Thanks to you, Channis.” The room was lit in the usual lvossenuan fashion of electrically heated wire. A single bulb was suspended from the ceiling and in its dim yellow glow, the three cast their individual shadows. The Mule said: “Since I felt it necessary to trace Channis, it was obvious I expect to gain something thereby. Since lie went to the Second Foundation with a startling Speed and directness, we can reasonably assume that that, was what I was expecting to happen. Since I did not gain the knowledge from him directly, something must have been preventing me. Those are the facts. Channis, of course, knows the answer. So do I. Do you see it, Pritcher?” ASTOUNDING SCTKNCK-FTCTIOX’

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And Pritcher said doggedly: “No, sir.” “Then 1*11 explain. Only one kind of man can both know the location of the Second Foundation and prevent me from learning it. Channis, I’m afraid you’re a Sec- ond Foundationer yourself/’ And Channis’ elbows rested on his knees as lie leaned forward, and through stiff and angry lips said: “What is your direct evidence? Deduction has proven wrong twice today.” “There is direct evidence, too, Channis. It was easy enough. I told you that my men - had been tampered with. The tamperer must have, been, obviously, some- one who was a) Unconverted, and b) fairly close to the center of things. The field was laro0 but not entirely unlimited. You were too successful, Channis. People liked you too much. You got along too well. I wondered — ” “And then I summoned you ‘to take over this expedition and it didn’t set you back. I watched your emotions. It didn’t bother you. You overplayed the con- fidence there, Channis. No man of real competence could have avoided a dash of uncertainty at a job like that. Since your mind did avoid it. it was either a foolish one or a controlled one. “It was easy to test the alterna- tives. I seized your mind at a moment of relaxation and filled it with grief for an instant and then removed it. You were angry after- wards with such accomplished art that I could have sworn it was a sow von skis it . . . natural reaction, but for that which went first. For when I wrenched at your emotions, for just one in- stant, for one tiny instant before you could catch yourself, your mind resisted. It was all I needed to know. “No one could have resisted me, even for that tiny instant, without control similar to mine.” Channis’ voice was low and bit- ter: “Well, then? Now what?” “And now you die — as a Second Foundationer, Quite necessary, as I believe you realize." And once again Channis stared into the muzzle of a blaster. A muzzle guided this time by a mind, not like Pri teller’s capable of off- hand twisting to suit himself, but by one as mature as his own and as resistant to force as his own. And the period of time allotted him for a correction of events was small. What followed ' thereafter is difficult to describe by one with the normal complement of senses and the normal incapacity for emotional control. Essentially, this is what Chan- nis realized iii the tiny space of time involved In the pushing of .the Mule’s thumb upon the trigger con- tact. The Mule’s current emotional makeup was one of a hard and polished determination, unmisted by hesitation in the least. Had Chan- nis been sufficiently interested after- ward to calculate the time involved from the determination to shoot to the arrival of the disintegrating 4fl

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energies, he might have realized that his leeway was about one-fifth of a second. That was barely time. What the Mule realized in that same tiny space of time was that the emotional potential of Channis’ brain had surged suddenly upwards without his own mind feeling any impact and that, simultaneously, a flood of pure, thrilling hatred cas- caded upon him from an unexpected direction. * It was that new emotional ele- ment that jerked his thumb off the contact. Nothing, else could have done it, and almost together with his change of action, came complete realization of the new situation. It was a tableau that endured far less than the significance adhering to it should require from a dramatic standpoint. There was the Mule, thumb off the blaster, staring in- tently upon Channis. There was Channis, taut, not quite daring to breathe yet. And there was Pritcher, convulsed in -his chair; every muscle at a spasmodic break- ing point ; every tendon writhing in an effort to hurl forward; his face twisted at last out of schooled woodenness into an unrecognizable death mask of horrid hate; and his eyes only and entirely and su- premely upon the Mule. Only a word or two passed be- tween Channis and the Mule-7-only a word or two and that utterly revealing stream of emotional consciousness that remains forever the true interplay of understand- ing between such as they. For the sake of our own limits, it is neces- 60 sary to translate into words what went on, then, and thenceforward. Channis said, tensely: “You’re between two fires, First Citizen. You can’t control two minds simultaneously, not when one of them is mine — so you have your choice. Pritcher is free of your Conversion now. I’ve snapped the bonds. He’s the old Pritcher; the one who tried to kill you once ; the one who thinks you’re the enemy of all that is free and right and holy ; and he’s the one -besides who knows that you've debased him to helpless adulation for five years. I’m holding him back now by suppressing his will, but if you kill me, that ends, and in considera- bly less time than you could shift your blaster or even your will — he will kill you.” The Mule quite plainly realized that. He did not move. Channis continued : “If you turn to place him under control, to kill hiih, to do anything, you won’t ever be quick enough to turn again to stop me.” The Mule still did not move. Only a soft sigh of realization. “So,” said Channis, “throw down the blaster, and let us be on even terms again, and you can have Pritcher back,” “I made a mistake,” said the Mule, finally. “It was wrong to have a third party present when I confronted you. It- introduced one variable too many. It is a mistake that must be paid for, I suppose.” He dropped the blaster carelessly, and kicked it to the, other end of - ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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the room. Simultaneously, Pritcher crumpled into profound sleep. “Hell be normal when he awakes,” said the Mule, indiffer- ently. The entire exchange from the time the Mule’s thumb had begun pressing the trigger-contact to the time he dropped the blaster had occupied just under a second and a half of time. But just beneath the borders of consciousness, for a time just above the borders of- detection, Channis caught a fugitive emotional gleam in the Mule’s mind. And it was still one of sure and confident tri- umph, • Two men, apparently relaxed and entirely at ease, poles apart physically — with every nerve that served as 'emotional detector quiver- ing tensely. The Mule, for the first time in long years, had insufficient surety of his own way. Channis knew that, though he could protect him- self for the moment, it was an effort — and that the attack upon him was none such for his opponent. In a test of endurance, Channis knew he would lose. But it was deadly to think of that. To give away to the Mule an emotional weakness would be to hand him a weapon. There was already that glimpse of something — a winner’s something — in the Mule’s mind To gain time — Why did the others delay? Was that the source of the Mule’s confidence? What ,did his oppo- nent know that he didn’t? The mind he watched told nothing. If only he could read ideas. And yet — Channis braked his own mental whirling roughly. There was only that; to gain time — Channis said: “Since it is de- cided, and not denied by myself after our little duel over Pritcher, that I am a Second Foundationer, suppose you tell me why I came to Tazenda.” “Oh, no,” and the Mule laughed, with high-pitched confidence, “I am not Pritcher. I need make no explanations to you. You had wliat you thought were reasons. Whatever they were, your actions suited me, and so I inquire no fur- ther.” “Yet there must be such gaps in your conception of the story. Is Tazenda the Second Foundation you expected to find? Pritcher spoke much of your other attempt at finding it, and of your psycholo- gist tool, Ebling' Mis. He babbled a bit sometimes under my . . . uh . . . slight encouragement. Think back on Ebling Mis, First Citi- zen.” “Why shbuld I ?” Confidence ! Channis felt that confidence edge out into the open, as if with the: passage of time, any anxiety the Mule might be having was increasingly vanishing. He said, firmly restraining the rush of desperation: “You lack curiosity, then? Pritcher told me of Mis’ vast surprise at something. There was his terribly drastic urging for speed, for a rapid warn- NOW YOU SEE IT . . .

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ing of the Second Foundation? Why? Why? Ebling Mis died. The Second Foundation was . not warned. And yet the Second Foundation exists.” The Mule smiled in real pleasure, and with a sudden and surprising dash of cruelty that Channis felt advance and suddenly withdraw : “But apparently the Second Foundation was warned. Else how and wiry did -one Bail Chan- nis arrive on Kalgan to handle my men and to assume the rather thankless task of outwitting me. The warning came too late, that is all,” ‘‘Then,” and Channis allowed pity to drench outward from him, “you don’t even know what the Second Foundation 1$, or anything of the deeper meaning of all that has been going on.” To gain time! The Mule felt the other’s pity, and his eyes narrowed with instant hostility. He rubbed his nose in his familiar four-fingered gesture, arid snapped : “Amuse yourself, then; What of the Second Founda- tion?” Channis spoke deliberately, in words rather than in emotional symbology. He said; “From what I have heard, it was the mystery that surrounded the Second Founda- tion that most puzzled Mis. Hari Seldon founded his two units so differently. The First Foundation was a splurge that in two centuries dazzled half the Galax}'. And the Second was an abyss that was dark. »a "You won’t understand why that was, unless you can once again feel the intellectual atmosphere of the days of the dying Empire. It was a time of absolutes, of the great final generalities, at least in thought. It was a sign of decaying culture, of course, that dams had been built against the further development of ideas. It was his revolt against these dams that made Seldon famous. It was that One last spark of youthful creation in him that lit the Empire in a sunset glow and dimly foreshadowed the rising sun of the Second Empire,” “Very dramatic. So what?” “So he created his Foundations according to the laws of psycho- history, but who knew better than he that even those laws were rela- tive. He never created a finished product. Finished products are for decadent minds. His was an evolving mechanism and the Sec- ond Foundation was the instrument of that evolution. We, First Citi- zen of your Temporary Union of Worlds, we are the guardians of Seldon’s Plan. Only we!” “Are you trying to talk yourself into courage,” inquired the Mule, contemptuously, “or are you try- ing to impress me ? For the Second Foundation, Seldon’s Plan, the Second Empire all impresses me not the least, nor touches any spring of compassion, sympathy, respon- sibility, nor any other source of emotional aid you may be trying to tap in me. And in any case, poor fool, speak of the Second Foundation in the past tense, for it is destroyed.” ASTOUNDING SGIENCK-PICTION

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Channis felt the emotional poten- tial that pressed upon his mind rise in intensity as the Mule rose from his chair and approached. He fought back furiously, but something crept relentlessly on within him, battering and bending his mind back — and back. He felt the wall behind him, and the Mule faced him, skinny arms akimbo, lips smiling terribly be- neath that mountain of nose. The Mule said:' “Your game is through, Channis. The game of all of you — of all the men of what used to be the Second Foundation. Used to be! Used to be! “What were you sitting here waiting for all this time, with your babble to Pritcher, when you might have struck him down and taken the blaster from him with- out the least effort of physical force? You were waiting for me, weren’t you, waiting to greet me in a situation that would not too arouse my suspicions. “Too bad for you that I needed no arousal. I knew you. I knew you well, Channis of the Second Foundation. “But what are you waiting for now? -You still throw words at me desperately, as though the mere sound of your voice would freeze me to my seat. And all the while you speak, something in your mind is waiting and waiting and is still waiting. But no one is coming. None of those you expect — none of your allies. You are alone here, Channis, and you will remain alone. Do you know why? “It is because your Second NOW YOU SEB IT . . . Foundation miscalculated me to the ■very dregs of the end. I knew their plan early. They thought I would follow you here and be proper meat for their cooking, You were to be a decoy indeed — a decoy for a poor, foolish weakling mu- tant, so hot on the trail of Empire that he would fall blindly into an obvious pit. But am I their prisoner ? “I wonder if it occurred to them that I’d scarcely be here without my fleet — against the artillery of any unit of which they are entirely and pitifully helpless? Did it occur to them that I would not pause for discussion or wait for events? “My ships were launched against Tazenda twelve hours ago and they are quite, quite through with their mission- Tazenda is laid in ruins; its centers of population are wiped out. There was no resistance. The Second Foundation no longer exists, Channis — and I, the queer, ugly weakling, am the ruler of the Galaxy.” Channis could do nothing but shake his head feebly. “No — No — ” “Yes— Yes—” mimicked the Mule. “And if you are the last one alive, and you may be, that will not be for long either.” And then there followed a short, pregnant pause, and Channis al- most howled with the sudden pain of that tearing penetration of the innermost tissues of his mind. The Mule drew back and mut- tered: “Not enough. You do not pass the test after all. Your 63

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despair is pretense. Your fear is not the broad overwhelming that adheres to the destruction of an ideal, but the puny seeping fear of personal destruction.” And the Mule's weak hand seized Channis by the throat in a pun)' grip that Cliannis was some- how unable to break. “You are my insurance, Channis. You are my director and safeguard against any underestimation I may make.” The Mule's eyes bore down upon him. Insistent — Demanding — “Have I calculated rightly, Channis? Have I outwitted your men of the Second Foundation? Tazenda is destroyed, Cliannis, tremendously destroyed ; so why is your despair pretense? Where is the reality? I must have reality and truth! Talk, Channis, talk. Have I penetrated then, not deeply enough? Does the danger still exist? Talk, Channis. Where have 1 done wrong?” Giannis felt the words drag out of his mouth. They did not come willingly. He clenched his teeth against them. He bit his tongue. Tie tensed every muscle of his throat. And they came out — gasping — pulled out by force and tearing his throat and tongue and teeth on the way. “Truth,” he squeaked, “truth—” “Yes, truth. What is left to be done ?” “Seldon founded Second Founda- tion here. Here, as I said. I told no lie. The psychologists arrived S4 and took control of the native population.” “Of Tazenda ?” The "*Mule plunged deeply into rhe flooding torture of the other's emotional upweliings — tearing at them bru- tally. “It is Tazenda I have destroyed. You know what I want. Give it to me.” “Not Tazenda. I said Second Foundationers might not be those apparently in power; Tazenda is the figurehead — ” The words were almost unrecognizable, forming themselves against every atom of will of the Second Foundationer, “Rossem — Rossem — Rossetti is the world — ” The Mule loosed his grip and Channis dropped into a huddle of pain and torture.- “And you thought to fool me?” said the Mule, softly. “You zvere fooled.” It was the- last dying shred of resistance in Channis. “But not long enough for you and yours. I am in communication with my Fleet, And after Tazenda can come Rossem. But first — ” Channis felt the excraciatihg darkness rise against him, -and the automatic lift of his arm to his tortured eyes could not ward it off. It was a darkness that throttled, and as he felt his torn, wounded mind reeling backwards, backwards into the everlasting black — there was that final' picture of the triumphant Mule — laughing match- stick — that long, fleshy nose quivering with laughter. The sound faded away. The darkness embraced him lovingly. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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It ended with a cracking sensa- tion that was like the jagged glare of a lightning flash, and Channis came slowly to earth while sight returned painfully in blurry transmission through tear-drenched eyes. His head ached unbearably, and it was only with a stab of agony that he could bring up a hand to it. Obviously, he was alive. Softly, like feathers caught up in an eddy of air that had passed, his thoughts . steadied and drifted to rest. He felt comfort suck in — from outside. Slowly, torturedly, he bent his neck — and relief was a sharp pang. For the door was open; and the First Speaker stood just inside the threshold. He tried to speak, to shout, to warn— but his tongue froze and he knew that a part of the Mule's mighty mind sli!. held him and clamped all speech within him. He bent his neck once more. The Mule was still in the room. He was angry and hot-eyed. He laughed no longer, but his teeth were bared in a ferocious smile. Channis felt the First Speaker’s mental influence moving gently over his mind with a healing touch and then there was the numbing sensation as it came into contact with the Mule’s defense for an instant of struggle and withdrew. The Mule said gratingly, with a 1 fury that was grotesque in his meagre body; “Then another comes to greet me.” His agile mind reached its tendrils out of the room —out -out — “You are alone,” he said. And the First Speaker inter- rupted with an acquiescence : “I am thoroughly alone. It is neces- sary that I be alone, since it was I who miscalculated your future five years ago. There would be a certain satisfaction to me in correct- . ing that matter without aid. Un- fortunately, I did not count on the strength of your Field of Emo- tional Repulsion that surrounded 55 NOW YOU SEE IT . . .

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this place. It took me long to penetrate. I congratulate you upon the skill with which it was con- structed.” “Thank you for nothing,” came the hostile rejoinder. “Bandy no compliments with me. Have you come to add your brain splinter to that of yonder cracked pillar of your realm ?” The First Speaker smiled : “Why, the man you call Bail Channis performed his mission well, the more so since he was not your mental equal by far. I can see, of course, that you have mis- treated him, yet it may be that we may restore him fully even yet. lie is a brave man, sir. He volun- teered for this mission although we were able to predict mathemati- cally the huge chance of damage to his niind— a more fearful alterna- tive than that of mere physical crippling.” Channis’ mind pulsed futilely with what he wanted to say and couldn’t ; the warning he wished to shout and was unable to. He could only emit that continuous stream of fear — fear — The Mule was calm. “You know, of course, of the destruction of Tazenda,” “I do. The assault by your fleet was foreseen.” Grimly: “Yes, so I suppose. But not prevented eh?”’ “No, not prevented.”' The First Speaker’s emotional symbology was plain. It was almost a self-horror; a complete self-disgust : “And the 56 fault is much more mine than yours. Who could have imagined your powers five years ago. We suspected from the start — from the moment you captured Ivalgan — • that you had the powers of emo- tional control. That was not too surprising. First Citizen, as I can explain to you. “Emotional contact such as you and I possess is not a very new development. Actually it is implicit in the human brain. Most humans can read emotion in a primitive manner by associating it pragmati- cally with facial expression, tone of voice and so on. A good many animals possess the faculty to a higher degree; they use the sense of smell to a good extent, and the emotions involved are, of course, less complex. “Actually, humans are capable of much more, but the faculty of direct emotional contact tended to atrophy with the development of speech a million years hack. It has been the great advance of our Second Foundation that this forgot- ten sense, has been restored to at least some of its potentialities. “But we are not bom with its full use. A million years of decay is a formidable obstacle, and we must educate the sense, exercise it as we exercise our muscles. And there you have the main difference. You were born with if. “So much we could calculate. We could also calculate the effect of such a sense upon a person in a world of men who did not pos- sess it. The seeing man in the kingdom of the blind — We calcu- A8TOONDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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latcd the extent to which a megalomania would take control of you and we thought we were pre- pared. But for- two factors we were not prepared. ‘'The first was the great extent of your seme. IV c can induce emotional contact . only when in eyeshot, which is why we are more helpless against physical weapons than you might think. Sight plays such an enormous part. Not so with you. You are definitely known to have had men under control, and, further, to have had intimate emo- tional contact with them when out of sight and out of earshot. That was discovered too late. “Secondly, we did not know .of your physical shortcomings, particu- larly the one that seemed so impor- tant to you, that you adopted the name of the Mule. We didn’t foresee that you were not merely a mutant, hut a. sterile mutant and the added psychic distortion due to your inferiority complex passed us by. We allowed only for a megalomania — not for an intensely psychopathic paranoia as well, “It is myself that bears the responsibility for' having missed all that, for I was the leader of the Second Foundation when you cap- tured Kalgan. When you destroyed the First Foundation, we found out — but too late — and for that fault millions have died on Tazenda.” “And you will correct things now The Mule’s thin lips curled, his mind pulsing with hate : “What will you do? Fatten me? Restore me to a masculine vigor? Take away from my past the long child- now you. see O’ .. . hood in an alien environment. Do you regret my sufferings? Do you regret my unhappiness? I have no sorrow for what I did in my neces- sity. Let the Galaxy protect itself' as best it can, since it stirred not a whit for my protection when I needed it.” “Your emotions are, of course,” said the First Speaker, “only the children of your background and are not to be condemned — merely changed. The destruction of Tazen- da was unavoidable. The alterna- tive would have been a much greater destruction generally throughout the Galaxy over a period of centuries. We did on r best in our limited way. We withdrew as many men from Tazenda as we could. We decen- tralized the rest of the wTorld. Un- fortunately, our measures were of necessity far from adequate. It left many millions to die: — do you not regret that ?’’ “Not at all — any more than I re- gret the hundred thousand that must die on Rossem in not more than six hours,” “On Rossem?” said the First Speaker, quickly. He turned to Channis who had forced himself into a half-sitting posture, and his mind exerted its force. Channis felt the duel of minds strain over him, and then there Was a short snapping of the bond and the words came tumbling out of his mouth: “Sir, I have failed completely. He forced it from me not ten minutes before your arrival. I could not resist him and I offer no excuses. He knows Tazenda is

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not the Second Foundation. He knows that Rossem is/' And the bonds closed down upon him again. The First Speaker frowned: “I see. What is it you are planning to do ?” ‘‘Do you really wonder ? Do you really find it difficult to penetrate the obvious ? All this time that you have preached to me of the nature of emotional contact — all this time that you have been throwing words such as megalomania and paranoia at me, I have been working. I have •been in contact with my Fleet and it has its orders. In six hours, unless I should for some reason counteract my orders, they are to bombard all of Rossem except this lone village and an area of a hundred square miles about it. They are to do a thorough job. and are then to land here. '‘You have six hours, and in six hours, you cannot beat down my mind, nor can you save the rest of Rossem.” The Mule spread his hands and laughed again while the First Speaker seemed to find difficulty in absorbing this new state of affairs. He said: “The alternative?” “Why should there even be an alternative ? I can stand to gain no more by any alternative. Is it the lives of those on Rossem I’m to be diary of? Perhaps it you allow my ships to land and submit, all of you, — all the men on the Second Foun- dation— to mental control sufficient to suit myself, I may countermand the bombardment orders. It may be worthwhile to put so many men of high intelligence under my con- trol. But then again it would be a considerable effort and perhaps not 'worth it after all,, so I’m not par- ticularly eager to have you agree to it. What do you say. Second Foun- dationer? What weapon. have you against my mind which is as strong as yours at least and against my ships which are stronger than any- thing you have ever dreamed of possessing ?” “What have I?” repeated the First Speaker, slowly : “Why noth- ing— except a little grain — such a little grain of knowledge that even yet you do not possess.” “Speak quickly” laughed the Mule, “speak inventively. For squirm as you might, you won’t squirm but qf this.” “Poor mutant,” said the First Speaker, “I have nothing to squirm Out of. Ask yourself — why was Bail Chan nk sent to Kalgan as a decoy — Bail Channis, who though young and brave is almost as much your mental inferior as is this sleep- ' ing officer of yours, this Han Pritcher. Why did not I go, or another of our leaders, who would be more your match ?” “Perhaps,” came the supremely confident reply, “you were not suf- ficiently-foolish, since perhaps none of you are my match.” “The true reason is more logical. You knew Channis to be a Second Foundationer. He lacked the ca- pacity to hide that from you. And you knew, too, that you were his superior, so you were not afraid to play his game and follow him as he wished you to in order to outwit ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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him later. Had X gone to Kalgan. you would have killed me for I would have been a real danger, or had I avoided death by concealing my identity, I would yet have failed in persuading you to follow me into space. It was only known inferior- ity that lured you on. And had you remained on Kalgan, not all ■ the force of the Second Foundation could have harmed you, surrounded as you were by your men, your machines, and your mental power/' “My mental power is yet with me, squirmer/-' said the Mule, “and my men and machines are not far off." ‘‘Truly so, but you are not on Kalgan. You are here in the King- dom of Tazenda, logically presented to you as the Second Foundation — very logically presented. It had to be so presented, for you are a wise man. First Citizen, and would fol- low only logic.” “Correct, and it was a momentary victory for your side, but there was still time for me to worm the truth from your man, Channis, and still wisdom in me to realize that such a truth might exist." “And on our side, oh, not-quite- suffieiently-subtle one, was the real- ization that you might go that one Step further and so Bail Channis was prepared for you," “That he most certainly was not. for. I stripped his brain clean as any plucked chicken. It quivered bare and open before me and when he said Rossem was the Second Foun- dation, it was basic truth for I had ground him so flat and smooth that not the smidgeon of a deceit could have found refuge in any micro- scopic crevice:" “True enough. So much the bet- ter for our foresight. For I have told you already that Bail Channis was a volunteer. Do you know what sort of a volunteer? Before he left our Foundation for Kalgan and you, he submitted to emotional surgery of a drastic nature. Do you think it was sufficient to deceive your Do you think Bail Channis, mentally untouched, could possibly deceive you ? No, Bail Channis was himself deceived, of necessity and voluntarily. Down to the inmost core of his mind, Bail Channis hon- estly believes that Rossem is the Second Foundation. “And for three years now, we of 'the Second Foundation have built up the appearance of that here in the Kingdom of Tazenda, in prep- aration and waiting for you. And we have succeeded, have we not? You penetrated to Tazenda, and beyond that, to Rossem— -but past that, you could not go." The Mule was upon his feet: “You dare tell me that Rossem also, is not the Second Founda- tion ?” Channis, from the floor, felt his bonds burst for good, under a stream of mental force on the part of the First Speaker and strained upright. He let out one long, in- credulous cry: “You mean Rossem is not the Second Foundation?" The memories of life, the knowl- edge of his mind — everything — whirled mistily about him in con- fusion. ROW YOU SEE IT . . - 59

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The First Speaker smiled : “You see, First Citizen, Channis is as up- set as you are. Of course, Rossem is not the Second Foundation. Are we madmen then, to lead you, our greatest, most powerful, most dan- gerous enemy to our own world? Oh, no ! “Let your Fleet bombard Ros- sem, First Citizen, if you must have it so. Let them destroy all they can. For at most they can kill only Channis and myself- — and that will leave you in a situation improved not in the least. “For the Second Foundation’s Expedition to Rossem which has been here for three years and has functioned, temporarily, as Elders in this village, embarked yesterday and are returning to Kalgan. They will evade your Fleet, of course, and they will arrive in Kalgan at' least a day before you can, which is why 1 tell you all this. Unless I counter- mand my orders, when you return, you will find a revolting Empire, a disintegrated realm, and only the men with you in your Fleet here will be loyal to you. They will be hopelessly outnumbered. And more- over, the men of the Second Foun- dation will be with your Home Fleet and will sec to it that you re- convert no one. Your Empire is done, mutant.” Slowly, the Mule bowed his head, as anger and despair cornered his mind completely, “Yes. Too late — Too late — Now I see it.” “Now you see it,” agreed the First Speaker, “and now- you don’t.” In the despair of that moment, 80 when the Mule’s mind lay open, the First Speaker — ready for that moment and pre-sure of its nature — entered quickly. It required a rather insignificant fraction of a second to consummate the change completely. The Mule looked tip and said: “Then I shall return to Kalgan?” “Certainly. How do you feel?” “Excellently well.” His brow puckered: “Who are you ?” “Does it matter?” “Of course not.” He dismissed the matter, and touched Pritcher’s shoulder: “Wake up, Priteher, we’re going home.” It was two hours later that Bail Channis felt strong enough to walk by himself. He said: “He won’t ever remember?” “Never. He retains his mental powers and his Empire — but his motivations are now entirely differ- ent. The notion of . a Second Foun- dation is a blank to him, and he is a man of peace. He will be a far happier man henceforward, too, for the few years of life left him by his maladjusted physique. And then, after he is dead, Seldon’s Plan will go on — somehow.” “And it is true,” urged Channis, “it is true that Rossem is not the Second Foundation? I could swear — I tell you I know it is. I am not mad.” “You are not mad, Channis, merely, as I have said, changed. Rossem is not the Second Founda- tion. Come I We, too, will return home.” ASTOUNDING SCIKXOK-FICT I ON 4

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INTERLUDE Bail Channis sat in the small white-tiled room and allowed his mind to relax. He was content to live in the present. There were the walls and the window and the grass outside. *■ They had no names. They were just things. There was a bed and a chair and books that devel- oped themselves idly on the screen at the foot of his bed.. There was the nurse: who brought him his food. At first he had made efforts to piece together the scraps of things he had heard. Such as those two men talking together. One had said : ‘‘Complete aphasia now. It’s cleaned-. out, and I think without damage. It will only be necessary to return the recording of his original brain-wave makeup.” He remembered the sounds by rote, and for some reason they seemed peculiar sounds — as if they meant something. But why *bother. Better to watch the pretty chang- TIIE ing colors on the screen at the foot of the thing he lay on. And then someone entered and did things to him and for a long time, he slept. And when that had passed, the bed was suddenly a bed and he knew he was in a hospital, and the Words he remembered made sense. He sat up: “What’s happening The First Speaker was beside him, “You’re on the Second Foun- dation, and you have your mind bade — your original mind.” “Yes! Yes!” Channis came to the realization that he was himself, and there was. incredible triumph and joy in that. “And now tell me,” said the First Speaker, “do you know where the Second Foundation is now?” And the truth came flooding down in one enormous wave and Channis did not answer. Like Ebling Mis before him, he was conscious of only one vast, numbing surprise. Until he finally nodded, and said : “By the Stars of the Galaxy — now, I know/* END.

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Illustrated by Cartier BY' BURT MACFADYEN Zone 192-A-10 291400B, 2540 A.D. Dearjarl': As a member of .the Society of Former Americans, and a telewriter, you might be interested in my re- cent adventures in the Mad Period. A full account has already appeared in the Journal of Chrono-History but it is so cluttered up with un- avoidable technical jargon as to be unreadable to a lionspecialist such as yourself. I’m not sure that I under- stand it either, although I wrote it. Well, to gyre right into it, it was a hot summer day in the “month” of June, 1985 — “A.D.” of course — when: I “arrived.” (I feel a slight somatic conflict at describing sen- sum scanning in such fantastic and meaningless language ! As you know, or ought to, “time” -is an A ST OCX D I XG S OT r. X C 12 • 1? iff* T I O N 62

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abstraction like "space.” Both are organs of sense perception — obser- ver-functions in the dialectic. The chronal displacement process, which you will probably call "time travel- ing” in your telescript, thus involves merely a sensory re-orientation — sensum scanning in the jargon. The World Encyclopedia will give you the technical details, if you can read Karsch symbols.) I had three reasons for being in the Twentieth Century. (My usual beat on field trips is the First Cen- tury Han Period in China— most fascinating.) I had to locate Kirn, another field worker who had van- ished in the Twentieth and had not been reported in any other century. I had to check on the strength of the thalamic-stimulating MacDonald Rays — a solar radiation I yond the ultraviolet. If this radiation was at peak in the Twentieth, it might ex- plain why the Mad Period was mad. But, most important, I had to check the Loam mystery. It was Loam, you remember, who wrote the great book "Sanity" which had such an influence on the Twenty- first Century ' Scottish hermit and educator, MacTavish of Inniskilling — an historical turning point. Loam began his great work after escaping from confinement in 1985. And there was reason to suspect that his escape was aided by 'a man from the future. We had to be certain — that was obviously vital. Wherefore I found myself — after the usual dizzy sensation of hurtling through a nonexistent void — stand- ing ankle-deep in dust at a country crossroads. A signpost said, “Bayeux — 30 kilo” and an old Frenchman with a woodsman’s ax on his shoulder was gaping at me. He stank most abominably — super- stitious fear.. I said : " Soyez tranquil. Quel est le mois ?” . - He stammered, “Juin” “Bien. Le vingt-cinq, peut-etre?” “ C’est ga. Mats monsieur — mon- sieur est nue !” Naturally I was naked — my clothes, nonmental matter being in- capable of sensum scanning, were lying on the floor of my office in the History Building, five hundred years in his future. I said: “C’est ga-il fait trop chaud. M ais qtielle est I’annee?” “Quatre-vingt cinq — ” “Dix-neuf quatre-vingt cinq V* He nodded dumbly. That was fair shdoting — 'for a target I’d been forced to use a fete held in Bayeux on the 20th of June, 1985. I’d missed it by plus five days, but that was normal. Since the Loam mystery was first on my schedule I had to displace to the United States of America — as it then was called. I said, “Meet rnille fois” the old Frenchman answered automatically, “Bien venu — ” and so far as he was concerned, I vanished back into thin air. With sensory control, of course, you can’t displace either in time or space without targets. Nobody can vize himself into a place he’s never seen, unfortunately. „ And while I wanted to slip over to Westchester County, New York State — where THE HELPING. HAND

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we suspected Loam was in jail — the only space target I had was the memory of an old photograph of a hamlet named Roebuck in Massa- chusetts— a photograph made in 1.996, eleven years too late. That was what I now mentally focused on and that was where I arrived next — right in the middle of a thunderstorm! I had a spectator here too, I saw — I always regret a witness, for it invariably gives, rise to still another supernatural legend. This, one was a lean brown old man in ragged clothes. He sat on a curb in Roe- buck’s main street and nursed a half- full bottle in his hand while he stared at me. He looked at me, then at the bot- tle, said, “Never again,” and lurched to his feet, throwing down the bottle* * I said in Old American : “Just a minute,” and tapped him on the shoulder. He yelped; “No, no, I won’t be- lieve it!” and took to his heels through the pelting rain, leaving be- hind him the heavy odor of hys- teria. There was no use chasing him, of course. Rather than accept the simple fact that a man could ap- pear out of the air he would cling to the notion that I was a ghost or an alcoholic hallucination. The ir- rationality of this Twentieth Cen- tury was its outstanding character- istic. | walked dowil the deserted street looking for a clothing store. The rain didn’t bother me, but I was still naked and this period labored under the influence of Nineteenth Century Puritanism. The spirit of Cotton Mather was still abroad in the land. Nudity was automatically associated with immorality. Naked, I was actually liable to be thrown into prison for indecent ex- posure. Of course, no prison could hold a Scanner, but it might be awk- ward. The lashing rain hissed on the pavement and stung my back. Inter- mittent lightning split the black sky overhead and thunder grumbled in the hollows of the air. Most of the inhabitants, I supposed, were cow- ering indoors away from the rain but the fact that a good sixty per- cent of the stores and buildings were boarded up rather puzzled me. I came to a sign which said, in the old lettering : General Goods H. Witwer, Prop. and turned in. A grille of steel bars covered the door, but a face appeared when I thumped on the glass. After a long stare the door opened and a body joined the face. He said, “What kin I do fur ye?” There was no alternative— I had to lie, although I knew' it was dan- gerous. I said: “I ran my car into the river and had to strip to swim out. I need clothes.” “Reckon you do,” he grunted, un- locking the grille. “Come in.” He snapped on the curious ar- chaic electric lighting of . the period and had another long look at me. “Big, ain’t ye?” he said. “Don’t know’s I kin* fit ye but we’ll have a AST O U 2i n I X-G S 0 IK X CR-FICT IOX «4

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look.” He started in behind a long table, hesitated then said, “Ain’t one o’ these Loamians from Monset, are ye?” Loamians! This was puzzling. “No,” I said, “I’m certainly not a Loamian. You haVe them around here?” He spat. “Sure. What’d you think?” “I wasn’t sure.” He began to paw through stacks of clothes, A field worker is always under a great disadvantage, especially in' an unfamiliar period. I could hardly follow the old fellow’s colloquial speech. My own sightly stilted Old American had been learned from tapes, naturally, since nobody in the Twenty-sixth Century speaks it. And, although I had a general grasp of the Twentieth— the four major wars, thirteen major-, revolutions and twenty minor, the Great Book Burning in ’98, the Science Revolt in ’95 and so forth — I was very sketchy on the little intimate details with which ordinary social conver- sation in any time period is largely concerned. My friend Mr.. Witwer turned and tossed a garnient in my direc- tion. “Ye kin try that on for size,” he said, “and cover up your nekkid- ness. I’ll have to look in the back room — your sizes ain’t made much.” He went through a door and I struggled into the ill-fitting, repul- sive garment. It was a one-piece affair with buttons, tip the front and a curious flap to cover the buttocks. We habitually go naked, weather THE HEXPIXC! %ND permitting, and the rough synthetic wool made my skin itch but if this was what Americans wore in the Twentieth Century I would have to bear it without scratching. Witwer was gone but I could still smell him. and suddenly I was aware that his personal odor had changed subtly. Shortly he came in again, looked at me furtively, and went back to his shelves. His smell was louder than ever, the smell of fear, and I knew what he had done in the “back room” as if he had told me verbally. I said: “Don’t bother — this gar- ment will suit me very well.” He looked at me sharply from under long gray eyebrows and grunted, “Cain’t go about the streets in long underwear, kin ye? Just wait a minute.” The policeman arrived in about four minutes. He was a huge lumbering indi- vidual in a blue uniform. He was nearly as tall as I — about two hun- dred centimeters — which suited my purpose quite well. He gave me the hard stare com- mon to police officials of all periods. “This the fella, Harry?” “That’s him.” The storekeeper spat on his own floor again — a dis- gusting habit. “Got a funny accent I cain’t place. Claims he ain’t a Loamian but he’s tanned all over, black as an Indian, like he went nekkid. Says his car went in the river. Ain’t no river near a road around here.” “You done good, Henry,” the po- liceman said. “Let’s see your iden- 65

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tity card, bud.” _ “It’s in the river,” I said. “What river?” “The Allegheny/’ I said, picking a name at random. "That's quite a piece from here.” "It did seem rather a long walk,” I said. My friend Witwer put in: “He thought long underwear was clothes.” The policeman puzzled over that statement. He gave up. He said, "Well, you may be all right, but we got to check — that’s the law now- adays. Everybody gotta have a card. You better come along with me in the car. And don’t try nuthin’.” Witwer produced a raincoat for me and unlocked his door. I fol- lowed the policeman into an ancient automohile and we moved off down the street. It was still raining. I have recorded the above dia- logue rather fully, Jarl, to indicate the profound irrationality of these people. Their thought processes were purely thalamic, unhindered by any reasoning impulses from the forebrain. Consider Witwer’s rea- soning: I had a strange accent and I had been naked — therefore I was an enemy, although I had offered him no harm. Fantastic, isn’t it? The rest of the incident was field worker’s routine. I understood the operation of the automobile before we had gone a mile. I put my foot on the pedal used to stop the car and took my policeman friend by the throat. His strength was noth- ing against mine. My thumbs pressed on his jugular just long 68 enough to render him unconscious. I stripped off his uniform and donned it I left him at the side of the road covered with my rain- coat and drove off rapidly south — trying to look as much as possible like an eager policeman in pursuit of a dangerous criminal. A small worry tugged at my brain as I drove. As you 'know, Jarl, the ability to “move” at will through “time” or “space” — those silly concepts again ! — by sensory control is achieved only by the most rigorous type of right thinking. The old mystics were right. The way to Power is the Eightfold Path. But within the space of a few min- utes I had told several minor lies and done violence on a human. Furthermore, I was right in the heart of one of the maddest periods of history. My actions and my en- vironment would inevitably dull the keen edge of my control. I wondered if that was what had happened to Kirn. He had al- ways been slightly unstable, for a field worker. I remembered the time I myself had nearly become lodged in Ren- aissance Italy as a direct result of aiding a Borgia. And I recalled the field worker Nassor, whose ex- periences in Sixteenth Century France made him so neurotic that stasis set in, and he spent the rest of his life in that century, writing silly verses under the name of Nostradamus. The occupational hazards of a chronal missionary, Jarl ! Even to have such thoughts was an ominous, symptom, so I cleaned ASTODNDIXO SCIEN CB-PICTION

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them out of my mind and concen- trated on my problem. All we had on the Loam affair was a torn, an- cient clipping on yellowed paper. I recalled it: . . . and at roll call Loam was reported missing. An eerie atmosphere of super-, natural mystery shrouds the whole affair. Who was the six foot six giant who — so it is claimed by eyewitnesses — stepped through the cell wall? IV hat was he — ghost or illusion? And, equally impor- tant, who or what was Loam himself? Mad criminal or saint? Confined for three years in the Westchester — And there the fragment ended. From this, I was to find Loam. Measurement of the 'radioactive carbon content of the ink had dated the fragment as late June, 1985. And today was the 25th. A sign flashed past : “ Winster, 20 miles” and an instrument on the control board of my borrowed car began to click loudly. I noticed that the landscape on either side of the highway had a wildly tumbled ap- pearance, as if a giant had stirred it up with his heel. I halted the car and investigated. The instrument appeared to be a modification of the ancient — or rather current — Gieger- Miiller ionizing radiation counter. _ Well, of course, the fact that T was passing through a radioactive area didn’t bother me since we are all naturally immune nowadays. It was probably a relic of the third or fourth global war of the Twenti- eth Century. It possibly explained why the inevitable police pursuit had not appeared— for in that cen- tury, as in all unstable cultures, THE HELPING HAND the state security organizations were quite efficient. But the police would be unable to follow me through what was to them a lethal area. Ten miles farther on the counter had stopped clicking and my car had stopped running. I’m not a technician but it seemed to me that the fuel had given out, so I took a selection of maps from a small cupboard, threw away the police- man's shoes, and set out on foot. I had driven through the thunder- storm and the air was clear. Dusk was beginning to shadow the land- scape. I strode along, my senses tuned to the thousand clashing odors of the countryside — no man of the Twentieth Century, of course, has our sense of smell — but I had not gone five miles before I became con- scious of danger from two different directions. A faint humming^crept down from the sky. I saw a growing speck in the west. It was probably a police helicopter, but it did not worry me unduly. The other sensory signal was more baffling. This was the scent of dog— but dog with a subtle difference. It smelled, in fact, like dog gone mad, and I didn’t like it. The short hairs on the nape of my neck, bristled. Then I saw them. Over the crest of a small hill they came pouring down towards the highway, heading straight for me — a pack of a hundred or more dogs of all shapes and sizes. In the lead, bounding with huge strides, was a magnificent Great Dane — a' vast brute who must have weighed close to seventy kilograms. AST— 3P *7

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Now, as you know, Jarl, the sin- ^ular rapport which we have towards dogs is a comparatively recent de- velopment. I think it appears first in the Twenty-third Century. It’s probably due to our heightened sense of smell. But whether, it would serve me here, I didn’t know — I was badly mauled once by a pack of wild dogs in an old Hindu village in the First Century. But I knew I couldn't fight a hundred. No man can move fast enough. So I stood quite still and re- laxed. The leader was almost on me when a note of puzzlement crept into his savage baying. I suppose he ex- pected me to run for my life. He stopped short and the rest of his pack halted and milled' in confusion. The big Dane lifted his massive .bronzed head and, from a distance of a dozen paces, analyzed my scent., He looked confused. I didn’t smell right. He came closer, cautiously, and then he let out a piteous yelp — one of the most pathetic sounds I have ever heard— -and began to inch towards me on his belly. The poor brute was trying- to apologize. I squatted down on my heels and touched noses with him. I think he thought I was a new type of dog — half man, half canine. His pack gathered round,, sitting on their haunches, silent and awed and we had a conference. My nose told me a lot. These dogs were neurotic, every one of them. Trained for centuries to hunt with men, they’d been abandoned by men. Old loyalties fought with the hunger drive to produce a hope- less conflict. It was' clear now why Roebuck had been half empty and why the doors and windows had been pro- tected with steel bars. But I had no time for either philosophy or canine psychiatry. A spinning shadow drifted across the highway and I looked up to see the helicopter — a strange, ungainly air machine — land not sixty feet away by the roadside. : Two -men in blue uniforms ap- peared. One called, “O.K„ don’t try iluthm* !” — and shot at me. The lmcklcs on the Great Dane rose and lie looked up at me. Well, Jarl, my only excuse is that I needed the helicopter and that I thought I;: could control my new allies. -■«*. I rose and pointed. ‘‘Take them — but don’t kill !” I said, and in a second the pack was on them. Their guns were useless.' They wrent down, smothered under an avalanche of dogs. All except my big Dane. He stood looking on like a commanding general. Then he helped me get the dogs off their victims, but by then it was too^ late. Well, now I was a murderer twice over. The fact that the police were the hired killers of the totalitarian government established in 1981 in no way absolved me for they were still humans. And what the inevi- table subconscious conflicts would do to my sensory control I didn’t like to think. At any rate, I had a helicopter. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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i climbed in. The pack leader put his huge fore paws on the side of the machine and pleaded with me. I said : “Come on, then,” he jumped in gladly, and after a brief study of the unfamiliar controls we took off. On the highway below the pack looked up and howled farewell. It was well named the Mad Period, T studied the map I’d taken from the _ police car. Sure enough, the town of Monset mentioned by Witr wer was in Westchester County. I located my position and flew to Monset through the deepening dusk. My Dane slept trustingly on the floor of the machine, his big pawrs twitching in dream. I didn't know' what pari he was to play in getting Loam out of jail but I was sure he would be useful. Improvise, im- provise, always improvise — that is the field worker’s slogan. The men we contact in time who later turn out to be Destiny's key figures, in their own current en- vironments are usually the most obscure individuals it is possible to imagine. You will remember the famous case of Moses. Jarl. A historical figure for three thousand

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years — afterwards. But it took me two years in his own time to find him — an obscure herdsman, thought to be deranged and given to visions by the few friends he had. So it would be with Loam. Of biographical data on this; - great thinker there is, in our century, nothing whatever. Yet by his influ- ence on MacTavish of Innisk-ilfing he ranks with the man who taught Lao Tse. It was dark when I reached Mon- set. so I landed the helicopter in a small canyon near the darkened town, walked away from it three miles and slept in a tree, with my faithful Dane on guard at the foot of it. Waking at noon I threw away the policeman’s coat— the trousers were not so distinctive — walked into town and ate a meal at a small restaurant. The food was abomin- able, naturally — in that century they Were still cooking food, thus tough- ening the fibers and reducing the vitamin content quite effectively. The fact that I wore no shoes seemed to convince the waitress that I was a person of small repute. She said, “On the bum, big boy?” I said, “I never wear shoes. Why do you?’* “Oh, I dunno,” she said, looking down at her feet incased in a few shreds of plastic, mounted on low stilts. “Habit, I guess. These shoes are killin’ me. If I had any sense, I’d take ’em off. Maybe you got something.” But, of course, she didn’t take them off. I bought five kilograms of meat scraps and bran for my big Dane. While he was wolfing the 7« food hungrily there was a commo- tion in the street, outside. “Those crazy Loamians!” said my waitress. . I was at the window in a second. A small band of men straggled down the center of the street. They were led by a tall lean, man with white hair and sharp eyes. Some carried banners bearing such emo- tional slogans as ; ‘ RELEASE LOAM NOW !” “LOAM IS THE NEW RE- DEEMER!” “RELEASE LOAM AND STOP THE WAR!” “LOAM IS SENT TO SAVE US!” “IN THIS MAD WORLD ONLY LOAM IS SANE!” “JOIN THE LOAMIANS AND BIND PEACE OF MIND.” “GIVE US LOAM THE MAS- TER!” And every man was stark naked. That was the significant detail, I threw the policeman’s money to the waitress, stripped off the policeman’s trousers and Mr. Wit- wer’s underwear, stepped out of the restaurant and slipped into the band as they marched past. I re- lieved an elderly man, who looked tired, of his sign — it said “WE WANT LOAM !” — and slouched to '.inimize my height, the Dane following close at my heels. The elderly man said, “Are you with us, brother?” I said, “I have come from a great distance to join you, brother.” He looked from me to the savage ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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dog and his eyes widened. “Isn't that one of the wild ones ?” “It was.” “Then you have the Power, too !” “Yes, brother,” I said solemnly. This weird dialogue Was inter- rupted by another appearance of my friends the security police— the citizens of that century were continually bedeviled .by these watchdogs of the state. This time four small open automobiles filled with armed men in black uniforms appeared from side streets to con-, f ront the head of our ragged column. A second four, moving abreast, came up in our rear, trapping the body of the. marchers between them. Banners were discarded as the Loamians scattered in panic. The police started shooting. My elderly friend’ groaned. I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder — I'm afraid my motives weren’t purely altruistic — called the dog to heel and ran into a narrow alley ' away from the confusion. The ah ley ended in a low fence, which I hurdled with my burden. I set him down. I said. “Quickly! Where is our headquarters ?” “This way,” he panted, and we set off between two botises. Teh minutes spent dodging up and down alleys brought us to a half -demolished building. My friend picked a way through the rubble and dropped into a dark hole. I followed, calming the Dane, who was nervous. We went along a low tunnel, my friend rapped a signal on a steel door and a man in a white THE HELPING HAND gown admitted the three of us to a large low-ceilinged room dimly lit by gasoline lamps. The tall leader was there. Gowns were produced and we slipped them on. My friend said dramatically, “I bring one who has the Power !” The white-haired leader gave me a doubtful look, “Let him prove it.” I decided that I had finally found a rational man. “I have many powers,” I said. “Which one are you interested in?” “Who are you and where do you come from ?” “My name is Nerl,” I said. “I come from Lhasa.” Somebody said, “A Tibetan !•*’ and a murmur went around. Tibet- ans afe always thought to possess hiagical powers by persons who have never met them. “Can you speak with the beasts?” “Certainly,” and I murmured to my Dane. The massive dog went over to the leader, peered into his face — the white-haired man did not flinch, for which I gave him credit — and then returned to nuzzle my ear. “The dbg says that you are an honest man,” I said, “and a true friend of Lpam, whom 1 1 w < c come to aid” Another murmur, “The dog is very shrewd,” said the tall man. cocking an eyebrow. “What else can you do ?” “This” I' said, and displaced across the intervening space to his side. To my audience it probably looked as though I vanished and reappeared twelve' feet away. That got them. “I’d better talk ti

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to you alone, I think,” the leader said. He rose and X followed him into a small room furnished with a bed and a desk. He closed the door and we sat on the bed. He said, “My name is Jarvis. I was a physicist before the current war so forgive me if I seem a bit cynical, How’d you do that last trick ?” “It’s hard to explain without a certain development of tensor cal- culus unknown in this country,” I said. “But it isn’t even new. You call it astral projection — ghost ap- pearances and wliat not.” “ Superstition 1” he nodded, con-' temptuously. “Yes, we’re a credu- lous lot— like those crackpots out there. But I have to work with those who will follow me. What do you want?” “My mission is to find Loam. Where is he?” He gave me a grin. “In the West- chester County Asylum for the In- sane.” I laughed, The greatest mind of the Twentieth Century — and they had him in an asylum. The pattern was familiar. . “Why?” “For preaching sanity. The State psychiatrists had him committed to shut him up. Although — ” 'Jarvis frowned thoughtfully — “there were times when he seemed to talk wildly, irrationally/* “Let’s get him out!” “Yes, but how? The guards are armed and we, are not. Besides, we are sworn not to take life— that is the key thought in the Loam philosophy.” 72 i concentrated for about five sec- onds. “Is there a wild dog pack near here?” “Several.” “Good.” I called my Dane and gave him instructions while Jarvis watched curiously, doubtfully. The big dog left eagerly, “Now,” I said, “let us make plans. What transportation can we steal?** It was midnight when Jarvis and I lay in tall grass across the road from the huge steel gate of the asy- lum on the edge of Monset A thin fingernail of moon hung behind the bulk of the huge building behind the high wall. Beside me crouched the Dane and to right and left the wild hunting pack my dog had rounded up waited under bushes, I had spoken to each dog individu- ally this time. I didn’t want any. more killing — for my own sake as much as anything, I must admit. Almost everything I had done so far had been a direct violation of Twenty-sixth Century Ethics. I was heading for a beautiful neuro- sis. The gate opened to let a car out. The guard came forward to close the gate. I nudged the Dane. The big dog went across the road like , a terrible shadow and the guard was knocked, flat on his back. The Dane stood on his chest and bayed. That was the signal. The wild dogs streamed across the road and in a few seconds they were all through the grounds, filling the night with their hellish howling. Searchlights went on. The guards ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

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— the asylum held political prison- ers, too — on the walls began shoot- ing. By that time I had the uncon- scious gate guard's uniform off. I tucked it under my arm and ran for the main building, dodging the moving circles thrown by the search- lights. I knew the location of Loam's cell from a plan Jarvis had secured. Most of the guards had been drawn awTay outside by the menace and clamor of the wild dogs. And, of course, they would never believe that a savage hunting pack could be so controlled as to aid in a jail break. I encountered one guard — which gave me a set of useful keys — and then I was in Loam’s corridor. The scent of madness is not pleasant and I was heartily wishing I was out of it when I caught another odor. It was the odor of a man from my own time. Was this the “giant” who stepped through walls ? I came to Loam’s cell. The fourth key opened it. The door swung open— and the scent was stronger than ever. And at the sight of the tall man who rose from a chair in the cornel* I laughed aloud. Loam was Kirn. I had been concentrating so rigor- ously on the Loam matter that I had almost forgotten the field Worker I had also been sent to find. But of course this explained his singular disappearance — we had been looking for a Scanner, not a citizen. This was why the Loamians T1TE IIKI.riNG UAXD marched naked — they were imitat- ing Kirn. And it explained that silly “Power” I was supposed to possess ■ — naturally Loam could talk with animals too — we all can. I said, in Twenty-sixth Century Damian, “Kirn, it’s me — Nerl ! Are you all right?” He rubbed his forehead and stared at me. “Who are you?” he asked — in Old American. Dissociation! That was why he had never returned. He’d been too long in the Twentieth Century. The slight instability I had always sus- pected had increased in the neurotic environment. A perfect split — he’d lost the- keen edge of his mind, part of his memory, and with it all the ability to Scan. He was a castaway five hundred years in his own past. Well, there was nothing I or any- one else could do about that. 1 couldn’t get him back to his own time — I might have trouble getting myself back. . The immediate job was to get him to his friends outside. “Get that smock off,” I said in American. “Get these on. Hurry!” He looked confused, but he got into the guard's uniform fast enough. The uniform was a bit small but it would do. “Here’s a gun,” I said, giving him the weapon I’d taken from the gate guard. “Run for the main gate — you’ll find Jar- vis with a helicopter outside. Go with him — and don’t forget you’ve got a book to write.” “How did you know that?” lie asked. “Never mind — run! If anybody 7«

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stops you, say you’re going to shoot some dogs.” He was rational enough to obey without question. As he vanished down the corridor I went back into his cell and closed the door. It had been my intention, of course, to simply displace myself outside— using the road as»a tar- get— check to see that his escape was complete and then return to my own century. I’d had enough of the Twentieth. Two parts of my as- signment were finished — a fresh field worker could check the Mac- Donald radiation. So I sat down on the hard bed, visualized the road outside the asy- lum, integrated the Karsch symbols and waited expectantly for the curi- ous jerk which usually accompanies a space displacement. It didn’t come. The cell stayed around me. Sweat broke out on my brow and my heart speeded up. Was I going to be stuck in the Mad Period, too? Had the inevitable subconscious con- flicts engendered by a neurotic en- vironment dulled my sensory control to the fatal degree? . I let every muscle go limp and breathed with a steady rhythm. My control wasn’t complete — I could still hear. Doors were being flung open and closed outside. They were checking for missing inmates and prisoners. I made a stronger effort and the sounds faded. Darkness and silence closed in on me as I approached complete control, My heart slowed down to forty, thirty — From a 74 great distance I was conscious that my cell door was thrown open. I vized again. Space yielded reluctantly and I found myself on the road Outside the prison walls. I was sweating. It had been too close for my peace of mind. I looked up into the night sky in time to see Jarvis’ helicopter moving into the east. So Loam — or Kirn — -had got away all right. A cold muzzle touched my hand. My faithful Dane wagged his tail. I discovered suddenly that my arm was bleeding. One of the guards must have taken a shot at me in the cell at the last moment. He would see I wasn’t Loam. So 1 was the ‘‘six foot six giant who stepped through the cell wall !” Strange are the ways of destiny, Jarl. I walked to the canyon where I had hidden the police helicopter and flew south while the Dane slept on the floor. I needed rest — and men- tal peace. I knew I was in no shape to scan myself back to the Twenty- sixth Century. As we flew I thought about Loam, or Kirn as we knew him. He was stuck there, poor devil. He would never know it, of course. It was ironical to think that the book he would write could have been written by almost anyone in our century — - By the Way, Jarl, I hope you won’t be bothered by any silly ideas of paradox. There isn’t any paradox involved, although it would take Karsch symbols to prove it. Verb- ally, the nearest I can come is to ASTOUNDING SCIENCE^FICTION

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point a parallel. You’ll find an exact analogy in an ancient “radio” cir- cuit— “regeneration”, where part of the output of an amplifier is fed back in the right. phase to reinforce the input. That's what happened in this little chunk of history. “Sanity,” which Kirn-Loam was to write, came from his fragmentary memory of Twenty- sixth Centufv education. MacTavish of Inniskilling was the man who fought to have it adopted. Thus the use of Kirn-Loam’s principles led to Twenty-sixth Century education. Just a case of positive feedback. A genuine paradox never occurs — obviously, it can’t. How did I get back? Well, that was n detail. To get back my full control I needed an environment resembling our own. -I found it in New Mexico after a few weeks of wandering with the Dane. The Zuni culture was the only oasis of sanity in that delirious world. These Zuni lived in small villages along the Colorado River, preserv- ing an ancient, sober culture in the midst of social chaos. They lived without jurisdiction, almost without authority, as we do, and social con- trol was by intricate ritual. I learned the language within a few weeks and actually became a quite popular kachina priest. I regained my control — I showed my fellow priests some of the exer- cises we use — and one day said fare- well to my Dane. In exactly zero time I was back in my office in the History Building and began to write my report. The whole affair had taken about five minutes — our time — although I was six months older. The MacDonald radiation? Let somebody else find out why the Mad Period was mad! I hope my next assignment is something safe, like the Carboniferous Period. Yours, Nerl. IN TIMES TO COME Next month we have Alejandro's third cover— this one another of his purely symbolic covers. And he’s working on another one. Your comments will, of course, be welcomed. . , , . , Doc Smith’s “Children of the Lens” will conclude m the February issue, oi course — and going one month further into the future, there’s a sequel to "With Folded Hands . - by Jack Williamson coming up. It'll be our next novel — and will explain the with which the title of the novelette ended! But the feature novelette next month is by a fellow we’ve heard from before- Ted Sturgeon. It’s called “There Is No Defense”, but it is vot about atomic bomb warfare, it does contain a nice proposition, and makes a fascinating yam. There’s an old saying “It takes two to make a quarrel”; that isn’t so at all. The fact that it takes only one to make a quarrel is proven in the beginning of this varn— and, at the end. they find it takes nobody at all to make a quarrel! The Editor. TS THE HELPING HAND

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ADVENT BY WILLIAM BADE When men have forgotten the truth — somebody icUl invent a myth . And after that myth has been accepted , somebody mil defend it to the death. The other gay's death, of course . . . Illustrated by Cartier ‘‘But he was wrong,” Hinsie said. “I looked it up, just to be sure. At least two books mention that Lassek was a tanner’s apprentice as a boy/* The High Superior leaned back in his chair, his lined old face twisting into a bitter scowl as he looked at Hinsie. He sighed. “You’re only a boy,” he said. “There’s a lot you don’t know. But as head of Breck I can’t let you break down discipline here, and as a Tuylan I can’t let you get wrong 7« idq}.s as you seem to be doing.” He stopped and scowled again. Probably the old tyrant was going to put him on another fast. Of course, there were worse things he could do. “Hinsie,” the High Superior said, “you’re young, and what you need is discipline. Young people easily go astray, ■ it they’re not watched. I’m putting you on a fast. Start today. 1 3 read and water. I’ll decide later how long it’ll last, after I’ve seen how your ASTOUNDIN'^ SCIENCE - FI CTTON

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attitude lias improved. Also, you'll stay out of the library from now on. You’ve just been wasting your time with those books. They’re too advanced for you. All you can do with them is find impious mean- ings in them that are not really there. Now, go out into the court and read Lassek until morning lunch.” Hinsie didn’t move. “Not use the library?” lie said. “But how can I learn?” “Read your J^assek. boy! The library is for men older and wiser than you. You can’t interpret the old books.' You don’t know enough yet. Now — ” Joining the monastery had been a mistake. Hinsie didn’t blame himself. He had been too young, when his father died, to estimate the chances of the thing properly. But it was clear now, after four- teen hundred days, that life at Breck was going to be one long fight against being pressed into the monastic mold. “Now,” the High Superior said, “go out and read your Lassek.” Hinsie turned, then stopped. The High Superior’s room, like all the other rooms in the monas- ter}', was a gloomy place. Its two small, high windows opening into the courtyard normally let in so little light that the High Superior had to do all his reading outside. But now the room was getting lighter and lighter. Brightness was streaming m through the windows from outside. “What — ?” the High Superior began. There was shouting outside, start- ling in the usually serene walls of Breck. There were running steps In the corridor and a bearded superior stuck his head in the door. “It's a god-light!” he shouted. “Come on out!” “A god-light The High Supe- rior pulled up his long gray robe with both hands and ran for the door. Hinsie followed, suddenly dizzy with excitement. The brightness in the courtyard made Hinsie’s eyes ache. All the people of the monastery seemed to be out there. The brick and stone walls of the buildings sparkled, and the sky — Tuyl, the sky! — was so dazzling that it was pure agony to look at it. Some warm spirit seemed to reach down out of heaven and caress the skin of Hinsie’s face and arms. The dark cloth of his noviti- ate tunic became warm to the touch. “Down! Down! All of us!” The High Superior’s voice was excited and urgent. “Down on our knees and pray.” Obedience swept across the yard like a hot breeze. The novices, the superiors, all knelt with their arms hanging at their sides and their faces turned blindly upward toward that blazing open door to heaven. Hinsie felt the gravel of the yard cutting, into his knees, and that blinding light in his near-closed eyes and that uncanny warmth on his face. “Oh, mighty Lords o| the Sky,” the High Superior was intoning, “we, thy degenerate' children’s chil- ADVEKT rt

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dren, are smitten by Thy sign. We plead for Thy great mercy on our misdeeds. Oh, grant us wisdom that we may understand Thy will and desire. We are but — ” Hinsie’s eyes were beginning to get used to the glare. He squinted up at the sky. Only part of it was especially bright. An indistinct dividing line ran overhead, oil one side of it ordinary sky-gray, on the other this most extraordinary bril- liance. Wyler, in his “History of the Miraculous,” had described a similar feature in the god-light of the 2146th hundredday. That was interesting, but did not explain anything. The High Superior went on and on, working up to the point where he would implore the Skylords to restore humanity now to its divine heritage. Finally he concluded his prayer with a fervent, pleading exhortation that the human race had surely suffered enough, citing several examples from recent his- tory to prove his point. Then he ordered all the people of the monastery to He on their faces on the ground, and pray for their own souls. After a while the light dimmed. When Hinsie looked up, the world seemed as gloomy as if night were beginning, although it was only time for the midmorning meal. The god-light was over. The monastery grew all its own food in an extensive set of gardens Outside the walls. The novices did the work. A couple of days after the god-light, Hinsie was out with Tt about a dozen of his fellows, clear- ing weeds out of one field. "I asked Superior Koupal about it,” a red-headed novice named Osier said. “He thought that the Advent might come just any day now.” “The Council of Superiors wasn't so sure about its being in the near future,” another said. “But at least it was sure that the time has finally come.” lie grunted as he lifted a basket of uprooted weeds, then went on, “I can’t get over the good luck we’ve had to be alive now, of all the ages since the Begin- ning. When I think that we, of all the generations of men, have been selected for the Advent . . He laughed. “It’s almost hard to be- lieve.” “It was foreordained,” the red- head said. “The earliest writings refer to this- time as the day of restoration.” Hinsie stood up with a load of weeds sagging in the front part of his tunic, held apronlike by the hem. “I wonder,” he said. “At seven of the ten god-lights in the last four thousand some hundred- days, someone has predicted that the Advent was at hand. Usually it was on just that same basis. I mean, that old writings and tradi- tions indicated each of those periods as the time. I don’t think it would do to feel too sure that this time the prediction is right, despite the fact that it had been wrong every time so far.” Red-headed Osier spat. “You make me slightly sick,” he said. “Hinsie, why can’t you catch on ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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that you're not really smarter than the whole Council of Superiors? It shows people how conceited and stupid you are, which is all right; but you'll 'get yourself into trouble one of these days if you don’t watch out.” Hinsie' smiled forcedly. “X like you, too,” he said. He dumped the weeds into a basket, picked it up, and walked away. He should never, never have joined the monastery. It was perfectly clear to Hinsie that the god-light, although an impressive and mysterious thing, did not presage the coming of the Skylords. Perfectly clear. The idea was ridiculous. Men had been predicting the Advent on an aver- age of once a century as far bad? as the histories went, and nothing had ever come of it. Hinsie and Osier and another novice were making paper when the news came. The novices col- lected rags from the peasants of the surrounding country and, when they had a sufficient supply, pulped them and made them into' the paper the superiors needed for new books. Osier stopped stirring the steam- ing vat of rags for a moment and pushed his red hair back out of his eyes. “Superior Koupal,” he told the tall novice working with him, “has ..promised to help me make a special study of the nature of heaven.” “That's nice of him,” the tall novice said. “There isn’t; much on that in ADVENT the library,” Hinsie put in. “Wy- ler mentions a couple of saints who had visions, and some of Las- sek’s books tell old traditions about the world above the sky. Actually, the different versions vary a lot. so I don’t think you’ll find out too much.” “If. you don’t stay quiet,” Osier remarked, “I'll quiet you.” Hinsie shrugged and put his attention back to the business of felting the pulp into paper by means of fine fiber screeps. Things went along pretty quietly for a while, practically the only sounds in - the room being the occasional noises of stirring and scraping that accom- panied the work. Suddenly a growing sound of shouting began outside, many voices raised in joy and hysterical excite- ment. Osier and the tall novice looked at each other, questioningly and hopefully. Hinsie stopped his work and went uneasily toward the door.. Outside in the courtyard, novices were laughing and shouting and running around. 1 One was going back and forth between the statue of Breck and the novitiate dormi- tory bv means of a series of hand- springs. He finally collapsed hysterically helpless on the ground. The superiors, their customary dignity forgotten, were embracing each other and the, novices and praying to Heaven, or simply standing . around so filled with emotion that they couldn’t do any- thing at all. “Is it the^ Adyenr?” Osier de- manded of another novice who was T9

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crawling past on torn and bloody knees, his face turned to the sky, sobbing and smiling. ‘‘The Advent ! The Skylords have come ! A messenger just came from Beston,” He crawled away, tears on his cheeks. Osier and the tall novice started thumping each other on the back, shouting for joy. Hinsie was si- lent. A few novices started singing, an old chorus about ’’The day when the Skylords come and carry us all away.” It spread until everyone, even the superiors, even Hinsie, was singing it. It was sup- posed to be a sad song, but now it was triumphant as the battle- shout of an army charging a hostile wall of shields and sword-points. The Skylords had come. For a few days- everybody at Breck went Ground in a state of hysterical anticipation of the next world. Nothing happened. The thought occurred to Hinsie that re- ports can be false and mistaken. The monastics had been extraor- dinarily ready to accept this one as true. But in the following weeks more reports came in from Beston, confirming and adding to the first one. The gods had taken certain citizens of the city into their tremendous metal vessel. They had been seen flying about over the countryside. Then they had re- leased the captured mortals with the command that representatives should assemble from all parts of the island of Llorda at Beston, to confer with them. The High Superior of Breciy naturally pre- pared at once to set but with a few superiors and novices for the city. Elinsie was excited. Here was the chance of a lifetime, of a thou- sand lifetimes. Dozens of genera- tions had passed before, who could only guess at the accuracy of what was written in the old books and said in the old traditions. He could go to Beston and see for hint self. So he asked the High Superior for permission to go along on the trip to Beston. ‘‘My boy,” the old man said, “I’m glad to see that you finally do be- lieve and have a sincere wish to submit to the lords of the world. But I’m sorry, I just can’t take you along. I’ve already " chosen the novices who are most deserving of that honor. And even if there were room, I wouldn’t take you anyway, much as I hate to say it. You see, the Skylords will un- doubtedly base their final decision as to the present fate of the world on their judgment of the representa- tives that come to Beston. And you , , . well, you have shown very impious leanings. I’m sorry. “Now, I’m busy. Don’t be too disappointed. I think you’ll get into heaven all right, if you don’t go back to your old ways. Good- by ” ’ Hinsie went slowly out into the courtyard and sat down on a stone bench. For a while, what had hap- pened did not affect his emotions. He just sat there dully staring at the ground. He would not go to Beston, then. He would hear the ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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reports of the great things that were going on there, but he would not see the events themselves. Oh, he should never have joined this monastery! It grew darker gradually. The bell rang for dinner. He went to the dining hall and made short work of his hard piece of bread and cup of water. Then he went out again and sat in the evening gloom, morosely surveying his probable future in the monastery. There would be the dislike of the other novices and the distrust oi the superiors. The library barred from him, he would go on in ignorance about the things that really mat- tered. It was a black prospect. So after a while he went to the little factory where the paper was made and took a stained, ragged tunic some frugal but pious peasant had given the monastery as raw material lie exchanged it for his . novitiate gown. The gate of the monastery was guarded, and IJ.in- sic doubted his own ability to force his way Out without raising a row that would bring pursuit on his trail too soon. There was a tree just inside the wall at one place, and he might he able to climb it. The wall was ten feet high. lie could not, therefore, scale it di- rectly. 'l'hc tree proved to be difficult iu itself, so large around tliat it was hard to climb. He tried several times, and failed. Any moment, someone might no- tice that he was missing and start a search. It would just about ruin, his already poor position in the monastery if he were to be caught trying to escape. The least alarming aspect of recapture was that he would never be given an- other chance to get out. Violations of the monastic oath could be punished with anything from a mild flogging ami fast to death by tor- ture. Trying to escape was out* of the more serious offenses. At last, trembling and breathing hard, he reached the lowest limb. It was a fearsome drop from the limb to the top of the wall, with a good chance of breaking a few bones in the attempt. He sum- moned courage, and let go. Land- ing with bended knees oir the yard- wide top' of the wall, he almost rolled over the inner edge, but saved himself. When he was finally standing on the firm ground outside the monas- tery, it was only the knowledge that pursuit might be starting any time that kept him from collapsing. But he was free, with the whole long, dark night ahead of him for travel. He made the most of it, took a roundabout path to throw’ off pursu- ers, and before noon the next day was safely hidden in the waterfront area of Boston. Tfinsie was walking down one of the city’s ancient streets. The great blocks of stone underfoot had come originally from the moun- tains forty miles inland, and now were deep-worn and cracked. Once Beston had been the capital of the world. Out of the crowd on the street.

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one face caught his eye, that of a hard-looking young man who was staring at him. After a moment, he recognized the fellow. He was an old friend of Hinsie’s from childhood days. “Hello, Thad,” Hinsie smiled. “It’s a long time since I've seen you.” “Yeah. I’ll bet you’re here to see about this Skylord bus’ness.” “Uh huh. What’ve yon. beep doing?” “Pullin’ an oar, most of the time. I’ve been around quite a bit — just like you and me used to talk about. Seen the mainland and most of the islands.” “I just got into town/’ Ilinsie said. “Where are the Skylord s ?” “They put their ship down on the old imperial parade grounds. It’s an awful big thing — I’ve seen it. A big ball made out o’ metal, as big across as the mouth o’ the river. I couldn’t hardly believe m' eyes.” “Did you see any of the Sky- lords:?” “•No. But I’ve heard that they’re things about the size of a man, with red bodies.” Suddenly it seemed to Hinsie that he just bad to go see all this for himself — now ! “I think I’ll go over to the parade grounds and look the thing over,” he said. “0-K, if I come along?” “Sure.” So Hinsie and Thad MacArdle set out across the city. It was strange, Hinsie thought, to see Restou again after so long. The decayed old capital had scarcely 82 changed. Walking along, he remem- bered scenes he had forgotten - — a house where a friend had lived, a widening of the street where the children of the neighbor- hood had played. Those days were gone. They seemed like ancient history. They climbed a ramp to the top of the city wall. From there they looked out across the weed-grown parade ground to the vessel of the Skylords. MacArdle’s description had prepared Hinsie for the sight to a certain extent. It was still tremendously impressive. The ship was a sphere of bright metal, mountainlike in its bulk. It rose far above their fifty- foot vantage point on the wall. Clustered around the point where it rested on the ground, was a ring of metal legs, each as thick through as a man is tall, bracing it on every side. “Gosh,” Hinsie said. “This is worth it.” “Worth what?” Hinsie hesitated, then decided that he could not trust the seaman with the secret of his escape from Breck. At least not yet. “Coming all this way to see it,” he said. “I don’t know about all this,” MacArdle said. “It sure has ruined bus’ness. Hardly anyone’s doin’ anything in the whole city. No- body’s shippin’ anything out of the harbor. Just a few ships cornin’ in, that’s all that’s goiiT on at the docks.” “What do most of the people in the city think about it?” Hinsie asked. “They were scared, at first. A STOCXDIX G SC IEXCE-FICT ION

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There was a regular riot when that thing came floatin’ down out of the sky. I saw it. I was scared, too. But now — well, some think one way, others another. Some of ’em are all excited about gain’ to heaven. Most of ’em are still scared, or at least don’t like it.” A man came into view walking around from the far side of the metal sphere. He was dfessed in close-fitting orange clothes. As he stood looking toward the city, the realization burned through Hinsie that this must be one of the Sky* lords. “Look there!” MacArdle said. Hinsie nodded silently and strained his eyes. His first impres- sion had been right. The Skylord did look extraordinarily like a human being. Except for those clothes — The manlike creature in the orange clothing kept staring toward ihe city. All of a sudden Hinsie had the dizzy thought that he was a religious -rebel, a heretical skep- tic, and was standing there only a few hundred feet from a god who might be paying personal attention to him . A scared feeling drained th^ strength from his arms and legs. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. They hurried down the ramp and into the streets of the city. “What’s, the matter?” MacArdle asked. “You get scared?” “Yes,” Hinsie said. MacArdle helped Hinsie get a job at the docks. The first eve- ning he was so utterly exhausted, so aching in joint and muscle, that he did not even think of continuing his search -for facts. The next day was even worse. Hinsie wondered whether he could hold the job long enough to get the money lie needed. After that, his body rose to the emergency, and he started to think about what he would do next. He still wasn’t fully over the scare he’d had. He felt sick each time he thought about going back to the ship of the Skylords. So he waited, and went on working. The representatives from the different parts of Llorda had been arriving in the city for several days. Now' the conference the Skylords had ordered took place. It tuiyied out to be a short affair, over in one morning. Although there was a great crowd of people from the city gathered around the parade grounds to watch what was going on, Hinsie did not go. He was afraid. He had got himself into a fine mess. Probably by now the High Superior considered him hopelessly bad. He couldn’t hope to keep his life if he w^re recaptured. Besides having run away, he was known to be a skeptic, possibly an atheist. Eleven hundreddays earlier, Hin- sie had been present at the execu- tion of Athred the Apostate. He could still remember die monothe- ist’s face, white but calm, as he was thrown alive into his grave, and the sight of the High Superior gloatingly supervising the men who shoveled dirt into it. He himself was not important enough to de- serve a -public execution to which ADVENT

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all of Llorda was invited, but his actions to date might earn him the punishment of burial alive just the same. Another thought was that the Skylords had a notorious hatred for infidels. True. Hinsic thought that halt at l.easL of the things people said of the god> was the product of human imagination. Just the same, the story might be trtiC; AH things considered, it might be best if he were to he on board the first ship to leave Besion hart tor after the visit of the Skylords. Around noon, H aisle was lying in bed in the flophouse Mac.Yi'dle had shown him to, resting drowsily. It was .the midday rest ^period. The intenm'Ueut sound of a crier’s whistle aroused him. He went over to the window and looked out. The crier came down the' street. Tweeeet! “The: raettiug of the Skylords with the people of Llofda is over!” Tzceeect! "’Tire meeting with the Skylords is over ! listen all ! The Skylords have finally come to restore us to our divine heritage. But the restoration will not 1 c at once. The Lords of the uni erse have given us a while to close up our affairs in this world. When an- other generation has passed, thirty or forty hundred-days from now, they’ll come hack and once and for all restore us to heaven/' Tzieceel! “Listen all 1"” Hinsic ran downstairs and pushed his war through the crowd that was following the crier. He got close enough, to hear what the man was saying. . . . return to heaven, the.v will take with them one hundred mor- tals! Any of us has a chance to be chosen. If you want to go, and if your soul is free from evil-doing just go to the imperial parade grounds. The Skylords will take a hundred mortals. Yon may be one I If you want to be, go to the imperial parade grounds.” Ticeecctl “Listen aflT’ lTinsie stood in the . street, excitement blazing through him. ’What a chance ! He had dreamed of some day finding for certain what that ancient harrier to human understanding, the sky, really was. But be had never hoped for a chance like this.' A hundred generations of men ’ had lived and died under that perpetual gray barrier, never knowing what lay above it. Proba- bly no living mortal knew. And this- — ! - ' - He- brushed aside the possibility that he was heading into trouble. This was worth life itself. Re hurried across the city. There were crowds of people hurrying in the same direction. He thought in agonv that one hundred was a terribly small number compared to the hordes who were going to apply. He was surprised, as he went through the city gate, at the small number of people actually Out on the field. There were masses of them standing outside the walls watching, but comparatively few out on the parade grounds where the Skylords and their metal ship were. A metallic maze surrounded the loot of the ship. a st or x t> txu s c n;X(! h - v icn ox

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He paused uncertainly. “Say,” he said to a man who was. standing near the gate, watching, “what's going on out there?” “They’ve got some stuff put up,” the man said. “The people that want to go to heaven go in there. Some Skylords are there, but I haven’t been able to see what they’re doing.” ‘‘Are you going to try to get in ?” Hinsie asked. “Me? No! I’m not going off into the sky to Tuyl knows where in that thing. Not me!” Hinsie shrugged and started across the field toward the sphere of metal. Suddenly he was knocked flat on the ground by the impact of several bodies. In a moment, he was totally helpless, with at least two men sitting on his back and others standing around him. “Well, Mr. Hinsie,” said the voice of the High Superior of Breck, “I guess we’ve finally found you. Another few minutes and you’d have really turned things up- side down. To think that I was actually deceived by your pretense of reform.” He sighed. Then: “Let him up, but hold his -arms. We’ll find a guard station in the city where we can leave him, and then we’ll come back here and see about getting into heaven.” It was red-headed Osier who had hold of Hinsie’s right arm, as the novices of the High Superior hustled him back through the gate into the city, “I told you you'd .ADVENT

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get yourself into trouble,” he said, and twisted Hinsie’s arm further. “There’s a guard station just down this street.” another of the novices said: Hinsie felt sick clear through. Here was the end of his hopes. The end of his chance to find the answers to the old questions. Probably the end of his life. These people wouldn’t let him escape a second time, Gh, why had he ever joined that monastery. Suddenly furious, he jerked his arms loose and knocked, the High Superior in front of him flat on the pavement. Surprised to find him- self momentarily free, he broke into a run, the novices at his heels. Bv * the time he had reached the next corner, his thoughts had cleared. He went around the corner and down the street toward the water- front, Everyone along the way stared at the . chase, but no one interfered. If it had been two blocks far- ther, he wouldn’t have made it. As it was, he trotted panting down a dock, only one of the novices in close pursuit.' At the end of the dock, without pausing, he dove into the water and started swimming. After a few strokes, he looked back and saw the novices standing on the end of the dock, helpless with rage and exhaustion. From inland, they probably didn’t know how to swim, . Then he noticed that one of them was in the water, coming after him. He saw a wet mass of red hair moving through the water. That jinx, Osier! Hinsie started s* stroking again. He got a mouth- ful of water and choked. That tiring run hadn’t left him in any condition to swim half a mile across this neck of the harbor. He man- aged to make slow progress. Suddenly he noticed a bireme coming down the harbor toward him. ife swam to intersect its path. For an instant there were creaking sounds and flashing wef oar blades over his head. Then he caught hold of the rudder post and held on with every bit of strength he had. He looked hack and saw' Osier floundering in open water. He' had another chance. Hirflie didn’t waste any time. He hurried back to the parade grounds as fast as he could walk, his ‘tunic still dripping wet. At that, the people from Breck got there before him. They were waiting by the gate, waiting for him to try again, He intended to ! But not directly. He couldn’t force liis way past them. But he knew the city better than they did. He went half a mile across town and left the city through another gate, then made a Circuit outside the wall back to the parade ground. There was a tremendous crowd of people there, watching what was going on. But still, there were not so many actually our on the field, under the bulk of that great metal sphere. Maybe he still had a chance. If he didn’t, there would be mo- nastic blood splattered on the pave- ment before nightfall, Hinsie walked out onto the field. Around the ship, there was a pattern ASTOUNDING SCTENCE-TTICTIGN

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of enclosures walled by cunningly woven metal wire. Two orange- painted posts about ten feet high plainly marked the gate. A couple of Skylords were standing there, watching the people who came in. At a distance, of a few feet, they looked extraordinarily like ordinary human beings dressed in orange clothes. There were a lot of people wait- ing in the first section of the enclo- sure. More than a hundred. Sky- lords kept coming to the gate that led to the next section and taking people out of this one. There was considerable jostling for positions near the gate. After what seemed a horribly long time, Hinsie got through the gate, under the charge of a Skylord. “Come this way,” he told Hinsie in a voice that sounded strange, an un- familiar accent. Hinsie felt weak. The muscles of his arms were quiv- ering. “Can you read?” the. Skylord asked. Hinsie felt stunned. That line of questioning would lead to his con- nection with the monastery. And he dared not lie — not to a Skylord. “I can read,” Hinsie said. “Where did you learn?” Well, there it was. “In Breck Monastery, a few miles from here,” he said. The Skylord showed no sign of surprise. He simply asked. “What have you read?” “All sorts of things. Theology, of course, and history and philos- ophy.” “So you’ve read history. Tell me what was happening on this island, uh . . . five hundred hundreddays ago.” Hinsie told him, in considerable detail and talking freely once he had warmed to the subject, of the civil wars and foreign battles and de- praved emperors which had led to the collapse of the Llordan empire. As he went on, the Skylord began to look pleased. He finally held up his hand to stop. “That’s enough,” he said. “You seem to be a rather well-informed young man.” Hinsie felt his cheeks warm. Another Skylord came up and said something in a strange language to the first one. There was a brief exchange, and then the Skylord who had interrupted pointed back in the crowd. Hinsie looked that way. The High Superior of Breck and his cbmpanions were standing in the first section of the wire enclosure, looking at him. It didn’t affect him. He had been- running away from those people and fearing them for so long that this final piece of bad luck didn’t arouse him emotionally at all. He just turned wearily to the two Sky- lords and waited. The one whp had been question- ing him before said, “Your name is Hinsie?” “Yes,” he sighed. “You seem to have got into a lit- tle trouble with those people over there.” Hinsie nodded. It was mildly in- teresting to speculate as to what they would do with him. They ADVENT •7

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might turn him over to the monas- tics, or they might dispose of him themselves. Probably it would be the latter. “You've been a skeptic and have doubted the truth of what they told you r” Hinsie nodded again. “In that case.” the Skylord said, “you’re just the kind of person we want. Come along !” They stopped beneath the door that led up into the ship. Light was pouring down from within the ship, bright in the gloom of the ship’s shadow. The Skylord looked at Hinsie and suddenly laughed. “Stop looking so sick,’’ he said. “You’re not going to get hurt. No ! I mean it! You’ve been accepted as one of the hundred, that’s all.” “But . . . what about the High Superior ? The people from Breek ?" Hinsie was confused. “We don’t want their kind,” the Skylord said. “They wouldn’t be able to grasp the reality of the uni- verse outside this world’s air enve- lope. We want people like you, who will adapt easily to new knowledge, and who also know enough about this world to give us the information we’ll need in our plan of reciviliza- tion. We don’t intend to plant a base here blind — with no knowledge of the cultural forces that are in action.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, boy,” he said. “You'll be all right. Now just go up that ramp. They’ll take care of you inside the ship.” A day later, Hinsie saw the stars. THE END. THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY With short space available this month — it's a crowded issue this time— the Lab will simply report: October 1947 Issue Place Story Author Points 1. Ole Doc Methuselah Rene Lafayette 23,2 2. ■ The End Is Not Yet (3) L. Ron Hubbard 2.58 3. Target Peter Cartur 3.04 4. Problem In Solid George 0. Smith 3.2 5. Collector's Item Frank B. Long 3.6 “Ole Doc” I’d classify as fun rather 'than cerebral science-fiction — and its position testifies that any type of science-fiction, well done, will take a first place! The Ediior. St ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

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Perhaps the second greatest advance science made dur- ing the war was the full-scale development of servo- mechanisms. A simple machine , a bow, a waterwheel or a locomotive, has to be controlled. A second-stage machine controls itself, as a radar gun-lager will seek it’s target and then hold itself pointed on that moving target. This is a basic advance comparable in importance to the atomic bomb itself. SERVOMECHANISMS BY LORNE MACLAUGHLAN A great many widely different devices may be classified as servo- mechanisms — devices as different in design and purpose as the automatic pilot, the thermostatically controlled house-heating system, . and the atomic pile. Until recently no sin- gle name had been agreed upon, and few people even realized that all these devices belonged in a single class. Vet, once an example of a servomechanism' is given and the principle explained, any modern machine-minded mortal nods his head and says yes, of course — he knew what it was all along ! Perhaps the reason we all feel so quickly familiar with the servo- mechanism is because our bodies incorporate many such devices, such as the ones which are continually in operation to hold our temperature and blood balance constant. Man is essentially a walking servomechan- ism, or he would fall flat on his face. Then, too, the human agency may form a part of a servomechanism. The driver and his car, the pilot plus aircraft, or the juggler and his knives • are all servomeehani sms . Thus one mathematician, in writing on this subject, opens his highly mathematical treatise by suggesting that Adam plus a well-balanced club SERVOMECHANISMS

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may well have formed part of a se rvomechan i cal control which kept the vocal output of Eve within a certain range. In modern engineering practice we find that the art of analysis and more particularly of synthesis of servomechanisms is horribly compli- cated. the more so because the ap- plications are so many and varied. The simplest man-made servo — short for servomechanism — may have differential equations which only a million dollar differential ana- lyzer or electromechanical brain can solve. The man}' different techniques and individual components used by servo engineers are highly complex and ingenious. All this should serve to dispel any notion one might have that the servo is just an important bit of gadgetry. It is important, but it is not a specific gadget or even, as the name might imply, a mechanism. It is a way of doing things. Usu- ally an engineer wants to control something, such as the speed of a motor, the frequency of a radio transmitter, or the rate of chemical reaction in a solution. Even if he builds a static structure, such as a* bridge, he wants it to stay put. If his control device is to be automatic, there are just two possible general methods. One method is the open-cycle type of control. A house-heating system would have this type of control if the furnace were turned on regu- larly for ten minutes out of every hour by some time-operated switch. The traffic lights at intersections are often on open-cycle control, turning relentlessly red as impatient drivers honk and fume. The other method is the dosed * cycle or servomechanical type o( control. Applied to a house-heating system it requires some measuring device which compares the temper- ature of the air with the tempera- ture the thermostat is set for. As soon as the room temperature drops a fraction of a degree below the de- sired temperature an electric circuit is closed and the furnace is operated- until the loss of heat is corrected. The same principle applied to traffic control requires vehicle "detectors, which may be electromagnetic, to lengthen the green period in the di- rection of heaviest traffic. Little reflection is needed to see that the second method of control is far superior. The first method, in the case of the furnace controller, makes no allowance for irregular losses of heat, or changes in the B.T.U. content of the fuel, sq that we have no guarantee that it will give even a reasonable range of tem- perature variation. With the servo type of control a more or less con- tinuous check is made to see that the results of the furnace operation are satisfactory. In other words, the output affects the input — we have a feedback system. Further- more, we can change the thermostat setting, and the servo will at once set about maintaining the new tem- perature. If we add the human element to the open-cycle controller, we can close the cycle. If our f ufnace does not have automatic thermostatic con- trol, we can trot downstairs and ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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Many different kinds of circuit elements occur in servos, and we have already mentioned electrical, mechanical and thermal elements. To this list we must add hydraulic, sonic, and, finally, atomic elements. For the atomic pile is not a stable device — it definitely needs control- ling. To be self-sustaining it must be held in the delicate balance be- tween the condition where not quite enough extra neutrons are released by fission to make up for those which are lost, and the slightly more active condition where — THAT’S •Aid., BROTHER. In order to hold the atomic pile in a steady condition where its neu- tron output is at some desired level a servo incorporating a radiation detector, a motor arid some cadmium rods is used. The voltage out of the radiation detector is compared with the voltage of a standard cell, and their difference is used to control the motor, which in turn. pushes the cadmium rods into the pile, if the activity is too high, or withdraws them if it is too low. Other cad- mium rods will drop into the pile when an electromagnet which holds them in place is de-energized, a nec- essary precaution in case of a power failure. The human agency is re- served for a last resort. We can safely say that without the servomechanism the atomic pile would be impractical. True, the time-constant is greater than the re- action time of the average human. A trained operator might conceiv- ably stand with one eye on a Geiger counter meter, and his hand on the control rheostat of the motor driv- 92 ing the cadmium rods — he might — but he would probably be all alone at his task. No one would trust such an arrangement for any length of time. The servo, really a single- minded robot, is faster and safer. One reason for the greater trust- worthiness of the servo lies in its simplicity. It is designed to do just one thing. Since it is incapable of sneezing at the wrong time, or of suffering from a hangover caused by nonessential activities wc can be pretty sure that it will continue to perform its task as long as it has its food — usually in the form of elec- trical energy — and sufficient oil on its bearings. The servo may also have an advantage in speed over- a human being. This is a matter of design in the case of the servo. I-Iuinans are not subject to much re- design, and their time-constants and range of power output are fixed by evolutionary processes in which the. machine age has only begun to play a part. The essential parts which go to make up a servomechanism might he better understood if we consider the gun positioning servo shown in Figure 1. Here we have a simpli- fied version of the servo-controlled antiaircraft gun, with only the azi- muth control shown. In it we have two electrical position-indicating de- vices, one of them a hand-controlled potentiometer, and the other a load- controlled potentiometer. The load which is to be positioned is, of course, the gun. The potentiometer is a meclianico-electrical transducer — it converts mechanical position ASTOUNDING SCIKNCF.-FICTIOX

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into electrical voltage by means of a slider and a resistor to which this slider makes contact. If the two potentiometers are in the same an- gular position, then the two wires leading from their sliders to the vacuum tube amplifier will be at the same electrical potential. Should their positions be different, there will be a potential difference, or voltage, which when fed into the vacuum tube amplifier will give an output current which will drive 'the motor so as to readjust the position of the gun to agree with the position of the manual control. When this is accomplished, the signal voltage fed into the amplifier drops to zero, and the motor stops. To be more pre- cise, we should point out that as the gun is moved into position the volt- age difference steadily decreases, so that the motor tends to slow down as it approaches its final position. In other words, the servo is linear. One important feature in this, and in all servos, is that the energy used to move the load does not come from the input signal > but from some other source. In this case the en- ergy is supplied, not from the hand- controlled potentiometer, but from the electrical power mains which feed the motor,, and the amplifier power pmsk. Another important feature in most servos is the use of transducers to convert one type of signal, which may be mechanical, hydraulic, “neu- tronic ” or what-not, into another. Usually the conversion is to and from the electrical form. Electrical circuit theory is no more highly de- veloped than mechanical circuit the- ory, for example, but the technique is easier. It is usually simpler to transmit a signal on a wire than on a rotating shaft, or by flow of gas in a pipe. In most cases then, trans- ducers, such as tachometers, selsyns, or potentiometers — familiarly called "pots” by electrical engineers— are used in servos. Vacuum tube am- plifiers amplify the electrical signal voltage, and circuits made of coils, condensers and resistors modify and shape it. Then, as in Figure 1 the signal may be converted into me- chanical power by some such device as an electric motor. This gun-positioning servo is a "follow-up” servo, or “power- booster” servo. A heavy load is positioned by the motion of a small potentiometer — there is a boost in power. In fact, this servo acts as a mechanical amplifier, with a feed- back connection to insure accurate "following.” In practice, the input signal, rather than being derived from a hand-controlled pot, may be the output signal of a fire-control radar. The radar might have a lo- bing antenna, pointing its beam now to the left, now to the right of the target, with its own servo to move its antenna so as to keep the target centered. This antenna movement, rather than the human hand, is used to move the input potentiometer, and thus keep the gun on the target. Since the reflected ultra-high-fre- quency power which returns to the radar antenna may be measured in micro-microwatts — millionths of a millionth of a watt, the total ampli- fication from this power level to the point in the circuit where the gun- gERVOJIECHAXISMS *3

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positioning motor puts out kilowatts of power in mechanical form, is about 101B times — a million billion times. Another type of servo is the “zeroing” servo. Suppose that the- load to be moved in Figure 1 is a directional radio antenna. Some- times we may want to move the an- tenna so that it is beamed in a de- sired azimuthal direction, and then we have the “follow-up” type of servo discussed above. If the an- tenna must be held in a fixed posi- tion, despite gusts of wind and other disturbing influences, our servo is a “zeroing” servo. From Figure 1 it may be seen that an undesired motion of the load will put a signal into the amplifier, which will move the load back to its original position. Another zeroing servo is the fixed temperature bath used by biochem- ists to duplicate some of the condi- tions found in the human body when they experiment with en- zymes, serums, and antibiotics. Here the servo must zero the temperature on 98.6° F. A popular method to achieve this is to use the mercury in the capillary tube of a special thermometer to make an electrical connection when, the temperature of the bath drops due to heat loss. This connection, acting perhaps through relays or vacuum tubes, causes an electric heating element immersed in the bath to heat up and correct for the loss in heat. So far, the operation of these servos seems simple and foolproof. This photograph shows a servo-motor with a tachometer attached. More accurate control in a servo result's if feedback from a tachom- eter generator is used as a sort of imitation electronic friction. KoUsman Instrument Division of Square D Caatpanj. *4 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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A' closer examination of the se- quence of operations around the servo feedback loop, or better yet, a few experiments in servo design will bring some disillusionment. A primary source of' trouble is the inertia of the load. A load such as the antiaircraft gun of Figure 1 has considerable mass. Inertia of a body with respect to an axis is a property which is dependent upon the mass of each part of the body, and the square of the distance of each part from the axis. It is the property of a flywheel which deter- mines how long it. will spin. The gun of Figure 1, if the servo loop gain or amplification is high enough, may be accelerated to such a veloc- ity that its inertia, or flywheel effect, will carry it past the desired point when a correction is being made. After some initial overshoot, the gun may settle into the desired posi- tion— mechanical -^friction in the bearings will help us here. Then again, it may not. • For, once it has gone past the right position, servo action reverses, or tries to reverse the motor. When this action suc- ceeds in returning the motor to- wards the right position, enough velocity may be again attained to cajise overshoot in the other direc- tion. These overshoots may grad- ually die away, or they may con- tinue. This last condition is called “hunt- ing,” and the problem of avoiding such instability, or even excessive overshoots is the designer’s chief problem. Let us examine some of the obvious solutions to this prob- lem. If the use of too much gain iii the amplifier, or too sensitive a motor is found to get the load up to speed too quickly, we might reduce this gain or sensitivity. This will cure the instability and overshoot troubles, but it will leave us with a servo which is sluggish and weak. Thus not only will errors in the load position be corrected slowly, but any extra friction in the bearings may halt the movement, leaving the load in the wrong angular position altogether. Another cure for overshoot -has been hinted at — we may increase the friction, and leave the amplifier gain at a high level. This must be paid for in the form of a larger motor to supply the extra energy which is converted into heat by the friction. A larger motor means more inertia — and more expense. More inertia means overshoot again, unless we add still more friction — need we go on? As a matter of fact some im- provement may often be obtained by this method, but unless we call on the research engineer to design a more powerful motor with a smaller inertia, it is a rather crude method. One of the servo designer’s- favor- ite tricks in a motor control servo is to use a kind of imitation friction —a kind of friction which slows down the load just like mechanical friction, but doesn’t convert any en- ergy into unwanted heat. Ordinary garden variety friction gives a back torque which is proportional to the speed of rotation. The imitation friction is supplied by a tachometer —really a tiny generator connected •e SERVOMECHANISMS

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to the motor shaft—-' which produces a voltage proportional to the speed. This voltage is fed back into the input to the motor, or of the ampli- fier driving the motor, and is so con- nected as to subtract from the volt- age which is already there, and thus decrease the torque of the motor. Thus motor torque is not' used up by this friction, hut is canceled out, in part, before it really appeared. Since the amount of canceling-out is proportional to the speed, a re- duction of overshoot can be ob- tained, but no increase in the size of the motor is needed. This tachometer feedback is only One of the: simplest of the many cir- cuit devices used to improve servo designs,. Shots in the arm will only give SO much improvement in the human servo, and so it is here. The servo designer must get a pretty firm grip on the whole underlying theory if he wants to jazz his servo right up to the theoretical limit. If he is going* to intelligently use the maximum possible amount of elec- tromechanical benzedrine, he will get deeply into the study of circuit synthesis-—- the building up of cir- cuits. This is intrinsically much more difficult than circuit analysis, for it is one thing to analyze a cir- cuit, and quite another to sav just how much better a circuit may be synthesized. Fortunately for the progress of servo design in World War II a method of analysis which was also applicable to problems of synthesis was already on the shelf. This method was one developed by Bell Telephone Laboratories engi- neers and mathematicians to enable •s them to deal with an important type of communication circuit which they had invented back in the thir- ties— the negative feedback ampli- fier. Now the negative feedback am- plifier is really a kind of all-elec- tronic servo. Tile theory developed by Nyquist and others was based on the branch of mathematics known by the rather formidable title of “The Mathematics of the Complex Variable. This theory,- carried over into the field of servo design dur- ing the war, gave fine results in the design of such devices as radar- controlled searchlights and anti- aircraft guns. ' But, Nature being what she is, even this method was found to have its limitations, be-, cause it only applies to linear sys- tems. Thus if any of the tubes or motors in a servo are overloaded, the signal at one place in the loop will not be linearly related to: that in. another, and predictions as to accuracy and speed of response will not hold true. Of course designers try to avoid such difficulties by using the right size of motors and vacuum tubes in the T right places. This can be a tricky business, because any element known to man will overload at some power level. After getting rid of all possibili- ties ot overload, we find that we can still have a meaner type of non- linearity which appears at low sig- nal amplitudes, if we have any me- chanically moving parts in our servo. Backlash in gears belongs in this class, as well as “sfiction” or static friction in bearings. Run- A STOT; NHI NT, SC CRN CE-lfl CTION

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ning friction is usually linear, that is, it demands a torque proportional to the velocity to maintain steady motion. The friction should be zero at zero velocity in keeping with , this relation if we are to have linear- ity. But there is an added amount of friction — or stiction — which ap- pears at very low speeds. Stiction is fine stuff to have between your car tires' and the, road — it is the added friction that you lose when your wheels begin., to spin — but in a servo it is poison. At very low speeds, when the servo-motor has almost reduced the error to the zero value which is theoretically possible, stiction will stop the shaft. If ordinary linear friction can be added to override stiction, fairly good linearity can be achieved. Tachometer feedback is just the ticket here. Since feedback loops of this kind are really servos them- selves, we find the designer using servos within a servo to get the linearity which will ‘enable him to correctly predict the results lie will get. Even this technique may leave the designer with a lot of work to do. Linear response of all the elements in a servo means linear differential equations, which are easier to han- dle than most kinds, but still diffi- cult enough ill many cases to tie up The differential analyzer, invented by Dr. Vannevar Bush of M.I.T. played an important part in servomechanism research. This photo shows G. E.’s version, with three operators at the input tables. General Electric Co. SKK VO MECHANISMS »7

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an expert mathematician for a long time. Suppose, however, we have an element in the system which is “essentially” nonlinear, that is, one which is nonlinear over its whole range. An example might be a valve in a hydraulic servo, in which the relation between valve position and flow just isn’t .linear, and can- not be made linear. Add such an element to the servo, and you may tie up your mathematician for good — unless you let him use a differ • ential analyser. It must be realized that the dif- ferential analyzer, which is rightly termed an electromechanical brain, can do nothing that the human braiu cannot — it merely works faster. It can outwork several hundred ex- perts, and is not prone to make slide-rule errors just before lunch- time. Included among the most im- portant parts of its innards are The servo-motors of the A-12 Gyropilot are normally used to move the controls in response to signals from the automatic pilot, but they may also be used to assist the human pilot in flying manually. Sperry Gyroscope Co., Inc.

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servomechanisms. This fact, that a machine full of servos is the best device for solving servo problems indicates as well as anything the universal importance of this class of devices. Even with the differential ana- lyzer highly trained men are needed to set the problems tip and interpret the results. The machine itself is ^an interconnected system of shafts, motors, and gears, using mechanical elements for addition, subtraction, . multiplication and division, and elec- tromechanical elements for more complex functions. Removable gears and couplings must be ire-arranged for each new problem. Linearly varying quantities can be fed in on an input shaft by varying its angular position in steady fashion. Non- linear quantities must be plotted up as a curve, which is followed by an operator at an input table, or by a servo-controlled photoelectric de- vice. The result automatically ap- pears as«a curve, or series of curves, drawn by a mechanically operated pen. Hewer machines are almost completely electronic, and are there- fore faster and more compact. One of the most important pres- ent and future uses of servomech- anisms is in the automatic piloting of aircraft. As speeds are pushed up and up man’s reaction time be- comes inadequate, and as places get bigger his strength is insufficient. In fact it became obvious toward the end of the last war that man might well be eliminated as a wholly inadequate encumbrance in military aircraft. Even the single-minded SERVOMECHANISMS Kamikaze pilot was inferior to the radar-controlled Hying bomb known as the “bat.” The last months of the air war in Europe saw valiant but ineffectual attempts by piloted air- craft to handle V-ls. Not even the attempt could be made in the case of the V-2. The automatically piloted plane must maintain a predetermined air speed and attitude. The former is simple enough unless the air speed is to be that which gives greatest fuel economy, in which case it must be regularly varied. The attitude of a plane refers to the angular rela- tion of the major geometrical axes of the plane to that of the earth. This is more complicated, even over short distances where great circle paths need not be considered, be- cause there are three axes to con- sider. The plane must be equipped with three zeroing servos to remain in steady flight. One must adjust the elevators to prevent pitching, an- other adjusts the rudder to prevent, yawing, and a third prevents rolling by adjustment of the ailerons. There must be some interconnection be- tween the last two to give the proper amount of banking on the turns. In Sperry’s A-12 Gyropilot, for example, any deviation in attitude is detected by either of two gyro- scopes. One, the Gyrosyn, compass, has -its own axis horizontal. It re- sponds to a change in azimuth by trying to tilt up or down. This sig- nal operates the rudder servo-motor and the plane is swung back on the proper bearing. Another gyroscope has its axis vertical, and is used for both a pitch and a roll reference. AST— 4F» m

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Two servos operate ‘elevator and ailerons in accordance with signals from this gyro. The necessary co- ordination between the rudder and aileron servos to insure that the bank angle and rate of turn are in the ratio determined by the air speed is accomplished in the elec- trical circuits of these servos. Still another sefvo is used to ad- just the elevator trim tab. This servo operates when the main ele- vator servo is forced off-center by shifts in the center of gravity of the plane as fuel is consumed, or as passengers move about. Its con- tinual automatic adjustment insures that the aircraft is ready for hands- off flight if the control should be switched from automatic to manual. Furthermore, trim-tab adjustment does for the elevator servo just what it does for the human pilot — leaves it centered and at ease, so that it can operate at maximum efficiency when suddenly called upon. We will still find more servos such as the follow-ups used to send compass indications to different parts of the ship. Turbo-super- chargers are servo-controlled — in fact a large modern plane may have as many as a dozen different servos. One of the main advantages of the automatic pilot, its greater speed of control, shows up when the air is rough. A plane with a lot of*in- herent aerodynamic stability may be given its nose even in rough weather. The passengers will probably give their all. If the pilot works the con- trols> he may reduce irregular mo- tions considerably, but it is hard work. The servo pilot, fast and 100 tireless, will do a better job. Some graphs of yaw angle of a plane in rough air have been included here to show the superiority of the Sperry A- 12 automatic pilot over a highly competent human pilot. Dr. I -ouis N. Ridenour, writing in the Atlantic, tells a story of an au- tomatic pilot that included a pigeon in the servo loop. Among the many weird ideas for more accurate bomb- ing during the war was one in which a pigeon was trained to peck at the image of a bomb target and thus direct the bomb. When the bird pecked at an image which was off-center on the screen, electrical contacts were closed. The circuits, which were completed controlled motors which in ; turn operated the rudder and elevator of the flying bomb in which the bird was carried, kept it zeroed on the target. Now such a servo as this, though fantastic to the point of absurdity, is possessed of all the usual 'compo- nents. The load to be controlled is the bomb. It Is a zeroing type of servo, as we have already pointed out. It may be classed as biologic- electromechanical, and it seems like- ly that some of the transfer impe- dances involving the pigeon would be a bit hard to nail down. The error-measuring device is the poor pigeon, who rides for a fall, while pecking away at an image that he associates with the bird seed used to train him. The servo designer in this case even had to overcome the^ usual troubles due to hunting. The pig- eon just didn’t peck fast enough to ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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Some of the main components of the A-12 Gyropilot are shown here. However, interconnections, such as those between the vertical gyro, the servo-amplifier, and the elevator servo-motor are not shown. Sperry Gyroscope Go.. Inc. make a sufficiently fine-grained to fall asleep, and open the servo signal. Initial experimehts with loop. The lack of high frequency marihuana were promising, but this components in the signal from a method of time-constant reduction single pigeon was finally overcome sometimes caused the error-detector by simply using several pigeons, all 8EEVOXIBCH-\ NISMS

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pecking away at once at separate images. Dr. Ridenour has no data on the final, outcome of all this research. He tliinks, however, that this servo was brought to the stage where oper- ational problems were being consid- ered, when the atomic bomb ren- dered unnecessary such striving after increased accuracy. Let us return to the ordinary pilot and ordinary types of aircraft. The modern aircraft design is pretty well threaded through by servo prob- lems. We have spoken of the au- tomatic pilot, so useful for steady flight. But what about the critical take-off and landing operations — are they not problems which can be solved by servo control? Of 'one thing we can be sure — human con- trol is not sufficient. A very few cubic centimeters of water spread- around an airport in the forth of fog can render the most skillful pilot helpless. Of course, this problem brings us smack up against one of the hottest controversies of modem aviation — G.C.A. (Ground Controlled Ap- proach) versus I.L.S. (Instrument Landing System). In view of this controversy, it might be well to back off and take a long look at the situ- ation. keeping well in mind what has been said about servomechan- isms. The basic fact about the servo to be kept in mind in the discussion of this and other applications is that it can be made to do a better job than a man on the specific task for which it was designed. No servo has yet been contemplated which approaches the human and his net of built-in servos in complexity of design and purpose. Thus we can expect that for some time to come we will be glad to have the human hand and brain ready to take over the controls when something unforeseen hap- pens in any automatically piloted plane, whether landing or in steady flight. The I.L.S. system is not a servo until it is tied into an automatic pilot, such as the A- 12 Gyropilot. It is merely a path, or beam of radio waves, which the special equipment in a plane can detect and enable the pilot to fly down the beam as though he were flying into a searchlight. Range markers et cetera are other necessary details. In the past some criticism has been leveled at this system because the beam was too broad in the old V.H.F. — very-high-frequency — systems, and misleading reflections could be obtained from buildings et cetera. This criticism .can now- be disregarded, since microwave I.L.S. is available. For a given size of antenna, the beam width gets narrower, as frequency is increased, whether radar — as in G.C.A. — or point-to-point communication — as in I.L.S. — is used. Using micro- waves, or ultra-high-frequencies, Jhe beam widths are narrow enough to be satisfactory in either system. Now the G.C.A. system is not a servo either, unless tied in to an automatic pilot. In this system a ground radar locates the plane, and the pilot is informed of his position with respect to a glide-path by ra- 103 ASTOUNDING SCIBNCB-FICTION

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dio. Although G.C.A. is not a servo, ity memory, to move the “gates” irf this simple form, it may contain during any period when the signal several servos — namely automatic cannot be distinguished from inter- azimuth, elevation and range track- ference or “clutter.” ers in the radar indicator. We might note in passing that in Gil- So far it is not easy to do more Allan Bros, new G.C.A. radars these than list a few points of superiority trackers are tricky affairs, incorpo- of one system or the other. Thus rating electronic “gates” which move I.L.S. requires a bit more air-borne along with the signal to help insure equipment, and G.C.A. quite a bit that the tracker will not shift to more equipment on the ground, some other plane than the desired -I.L.S. does not provide as much in- one. The trackers even have veloc- surance against collision in the air Automatic recordings give a comparison between manual and auto- matic rudder control on a B-17F Syihg in turbulent air. The upper portion shows the record for a competent pilot, the lower for an A-f2 Gyropilot. The faster-acting gyropilot gives less yaw angle variation by moving the rudder sooner, but less violently. SERVOMECHANISMS SpenT fijrowope To.. Inc. 103

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with other ships trying to land at the same time, as does G.C.A. Further comparisons could be added in great number, particularly if economic and psychological con- siderations are to be included. This is an argument for experts — experts who know last week’s latest techni- cal developments in each field. Since we are primarily interested in ser- vos, let us consider the two systems for the case where each is tied in with an automatic pilot, by listing the equipment required in each sys- tem. We will find : (1) An automatic pilot — both systems. • (2) Special air-borne receivers tied into the automatic pilot — both systems. (3) A source of ' microwave power, on the landing field — both systems. (4) *A narrow microwave beam — fixed in I.L.S., scanned in G.C.A. (5) A radar receiver on the ground — G.C.A. only. (6) A transmitter on the ground to send messages to the receiver in the plane — G.C.A. only. Broken down in this way, it would seem that the extra equipment need- ed in the G.C.A. system would mean that it would lose out in the com- pletely automatic form. However, it gives the advantage that it could be used to talk down' a plane equipped with only a simple re- ceiver. Also, collisions over the field, as mentioned above, might be more easily avoided. The whole situation begins to take a familiar pattern. Two good sys- tems, each with undeniable advan- tages, have appeared in other fields of engineering. Thus we have the radio link versus coaxial cable con- troversy in communications. The result is usually that each system will live, and fit into its proper place as determined by economic and hard technical facts. But even if an air-borne radar landing system — using special land- ing field reflectors — should replace both of the above systems, the future of the servomechanism is secure. Greater speed and size will call for more and more automatic control features. The air transport of the future will fly as though guided by steel rails, and land automatically, as though it tlvere coasting down hill. This will be done with servos, and many of these servos will be de- signed with the aid of electrome- chanical brains with servos for sy- napses. This is what the future — and not the too distant future — should bring. The last twenty years have seen more improvement in the speed and accuracy of servos than evolution has accomplished in the human in twenty thousand years. Twenty more years, barring accidents — par- ticularly the kind of ‘accidents en- gendered in servo-controlled atomic piles, and carried in servo-controlled devices moving at supersonic speeds — should bring that kind of expo- nential improvement in servos that we have seen in other electronic and mechanical devices. 9 THE END. 1*4 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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CHILDREN OF THE LENS Third of Four Farts. In the last analysis, it is never simply power of metals and machines that counts— but power of mind against mind! BY E. E. SMITH Illustrated by Rogers When the inertialess drive was perfected and commerce throughout the Galaxy became commonplace, crime became so rampant as to threaten Civilisatioh. Then came into being the Galactic Patrol, an - organisation whose highest mem- bers, the Unattached^ or "Gray” Lensmcn, are of unlimited authority and range. Each Lensman is iden- CHIEDREN OP THE EKNS tified by his Lens, a pseiuioliving, telepathic jewel matched to the ego of its owner by the Arisians, a race of beings of unthinkable age and of corresponding power of mind. The Lens glows with color while worn by its owner, but kills any other who attempts to xoear it. Of all the eighteen-year-old boys of Earth, only a few each year win 103

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through the five-year period of elimination and become Lensmen. Kimball Kinnison graduated Num- ber One in his class and plunged immediately into the war with Bos - konia, an abhorrent, dictatorial cul- ture diametrically opposed to every ideal of Civilisation. He and War- scl of lelantia, a winged, some- what serpentlike reptilian Lensman, overcame the Ozferlords of Delgon. These creatures natives of the world nearest Velantia, had been preying upon the Velantians for ages, tor- turing them to death and feasting upon their life-forces. Wounded and sent to Base Hospital, Kinnison met and loved Sector Chief Nurse Clarrissa MacDougall, an auburn- haired beauty with unusual powers of mind. Kinnison and Worse l guided the Grand Fleet of the Galactic Patrol in crushing the military strength of Boskonia, but the real heads of the enemy remained hidden. Kinnison went to Arista for advanced train- ing, acquiring the sense of percep- tion and a superhypnotic ability to control the minds of others; which ability, however, could not zvor\ through a thought-screen. He be- came acquainted with Tregonsee of Rigel IV, a Lensman having the sense of perception instead of sight, an oil-drumlike body, and tentacu- lar arms; also with Lensman Nad - reck of Palain VII, a frigid-blooded potson-breather. These four, Kinni- son, W or sel, Tregonsee, and Nad- reck, were called Second-Stage Lensmen because they were the only ones then able to assimilate the 104 extraordinary powers conferred by advanced Arisian training. They found that Boskone’s high command was in the Second Galaxy , and scouted it. Kinnison was cap- tured, blinded and tortured. His companions rescued him. His hands and feet had to be - amputated, but Phillips, a Poscnian surgeon, hazing completed his researches in hormon- ial neurology , caused tyew members to grozv in place of those lost. Civilisation’s Grand Fleet' in- vaded the Second Galaxy and de- stroyed two headquarters planets ; one with a negative-matter bomb of planetary antimass, the other by collision with planets placed in the inertialess - condition, then inerted. Boskonia counterattacked; Telltts being saved by the “ sunbeam ”, a concentration of all the energy of the sun into one beam. One nameless Arisian, whom Kin- nison spoke of as “Mentor”, took an inexplicable interest in him. He never interfered, but zvould some- times give the Lensman advice when asked via Lens. Kinnison and Clar- rissa, thinking that the zvar was over, decided to marry; but were stopped by Mentor. They had more work to do first. Boskonia was again attacking, zvith an entirely different technique. The Big Four discovered that Ty- rone II, a planet of matriarchs, was a key. Since the matriarchs would not co-operate zvith any males or with nonhuman entities, Kinnison obtained Mentor’s permission and assistance in making Clarrissa d Second-S tdffe Lensman. A cavern of Overlords upon Lyrane II was ASTOUNDING SCI^NCfe-PICTION

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found and destroyed; and upon Lyrane VUl a base of the Etch, a race of frigid-blooded, poison- breathing, pseudo - fourth - dimen- sional monsters — somewehat akin to the Palainians — who developed and regularly used the hyperspatial tube. By capturing some of the Overlords and Rich and reading their minds , they learned that the Boskonian cozwnanders were Kan- dron of Onlo, an Eich-Hke creature, and the human-type Alcon, the Ty- rant of Thrale. Kinnison, took the personality of Traska Gannel, an officer of Alcon’s guard, enforcing his imposture by power of mind. He killed Alcon and usurped his place; then killed one Fossten, , ostensibly Ale on’s Prime Minister-— aided, without his knowledge, by Mentor of Arisia. Apparently human, because of his immense hypnotic powers, Fossten was actually an Arisian-likc crea- ture. Mentor made Kinnison believe that Fossten was an Arisian who had gone mad in Iti* youth. Now the Tyrant of Thrale, Kin- nison turned the planet over to the Patrol. Nadreck penetrated Qnlo’s defenses by stealth and skill, and by hypnotic and psychological means forced the defenders to kill each other. Peace came. Kinnison mar- ried Clarrissa. Twenty-odd years passed. The Kinnisoiis had five children : one son, Christopher, and two pairs of identical-twin daughters one year apart — Kathryn, Karen, Camilla, and Constance.' These children were prodigies of a new and startling kind; the Ultimates of Civilisation. CHILDREN OF THE LENS Mental ills spread abroad. The Second-Stage Lensmen deduced that Boskonia was still trying to destroy Civilisation; this time by the direct use of superpowerful minds. They went back to work, each in his ozvn way. W or sel hunted Overlords; Tregonsee and Camilla sought the UX” that was perpetrat- ing a certain type of crime; Nadreck lay in zvait for Kandron, ex-ruler of Onlo. Kinnison was abducted via hyper- spatial tube. Kathryn follozved along the tube and, zvithout revealing her- self, helped her father zi*in. Kinni- son learned, from a' broken-down meteor miner named Eddie, that the Boskomans also had Lensmen, and that the matriarchs of Lyrane were in some zcay involved. He set out to find a Boskonian Lensman, Kathryn had a minor engagement with a summer-form Plooran. fVor - sel and Constance conquered an out- post of the Rich, but encountered a thought-zveapon that they could not trace or define. Nadreck set another trap for Kandron; and Karen could not interest him in the winter form of Plooran life. Mentor gave Kit his final treat- ment. Clarrissa zvent to Lyrane 11 to find out what the matriarchs zvere doing. Kinnison became Bradlow Thyron, an outlaw drug-runner, and visited the office of Harkleroy, a drug baron on the planet Phlestyn II. Harkleroy attacked him, and in the battle zvas killed by his own men. At Kinnison’ s signal the Dauntless had landed; and as the Gray Lens- man begins to fight his way out of Harkleroy’s fortress , Major Peter 107

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VoiiBuskirk and a battalion of Valerian ax men begin to fight their way in. Part 3 XV. Inch by inch, foot by foot, Kin- nison fought his way back along the corpse-littered corridor. Under the ravening force of the, attacker’s beams his defensive screens flared into pyrotechnic splendor, but they did not go down. Fierce-driven metallic slugs spanged and whanged against the unyielding dureum of bis armor, but that, too, held. Dureum is incredibly massive, un- believably tough, unimaginably hard —against these qualities arid against the thousands of horsepower driv- ing that veritable tank and energiz- ing its screens the zwilniks might just as well have been shining flash- lights at him and throwing confetti. His immediate opponents could not touch him, but the Boskonians were bringing up' reserves that he didn’t like a little bit; mobile projectors with whose energies even his screens could not cope. He had, however, one great ad- vantage over his enemies. He had the sense of perception; they did not. He could see them, but they could not see. him. All he had to do was to keep at least one opaque wall between them until he was securely behind the mobile screens, powered by the stupendous generators of the Dauntless, which VanBuskirk and his Valerians were so earnestly urg- ing toward him. If a door was 10ft handy in the moment of need, he used it. If not, he went through a wall. The Valerians were fighting furi- ously and were coming fast. Those two words, when applied to mem- bers of that race, mean something starkly incredible to anyone who has never seen Valerians in action. They average little less than seven feet in height ; something over four hun- dred pounds in weight; and are muscled, boned, and sinewed against a normal gravitational force of al- most three times that of Earth. VanBuskirk’s weakest warrior could do, in full armor, a standing high jump of fourteen feet against one Tellurian gravity; he could handle himself and the thirty-pound mon- strosity which was his space-ax with a blinding speed and a devastat- ing efficiency literally appalling to contemplate. They are the deadli- est hand-to-hand fighters ever known : and, unbelievable as it may seem to any really highly advanced intelligence, they did and still do fairly revel in that form of combat. The Valerian tide reached the battling Gray Lensman— closed around him. “Hi . . . you little . . . Tellurian . . , wart !” Major Peter Van- Buskirk boomed this friendly thought, a yell of pure joy, in ca- dence with the blows of hts utterly irresistible weapon. His • rhythm broke — his frightful ax was stuck. Not even dureum-inlaid armor could bar the inward course of those furi- ously driven beaks; but sometimes it made it fairly difficult, to get them out. The giant pulled, twisted A STOUNDING SC IE.VCE-F ICTI OH

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—put one red-splashed boot on the battered breastplate — bent his mighty back — heaved viciously. The weapon eaine free with a snap that would have broken any ordinary man’s arms, but the Valerian’s thought rolled smoothly on: "Ain't we got fun?” “Ho, Bus, you big Valerian ba- boon!” Kinnison thought back in kind. “Thought maybe we would need you and your gang — thanks for the ride. But back, now, and fast !” Although the Valerians did not like to retreat, after even a success- ful operation, they knew how to do it. Hence in a matter of minutes all the survivors — and their losses had been surprisingly small— were back inside the Dauntless, “You picked up my speedster, Frank.” It was a statement, not a (piestion, directed at the young Lensmaii standing beside the Chief Pilot’s board. “Of course, sir. They’re massing fast, and without any hostile dem- onstration, as you said they would.” He nodded unconcernedly at the plate, which showed the sky dotted with warlike shapes. “No maulers?” “None detectable as yet.” “QX. Original orders stand. At detection of one mauler, execute Operation Able without further in- structions. Tell everybody that, while the announcement of Opera- tion Able will put me out of control instantly and automatically, until such announcement I will give in- structions, What they will be like I haven’t the foggiest notion. It CHir,DREN 03? TEE LENS depends on what His Nibs upstairs decides to do — it’s his move next” As though the last phrase were a cue, a burst of noise rattled from the speaker — of which only the words “Bradlow Thyron” were in- telligible to the im-Lensed members of the crew. That name, however, explained why they were not being attacked — yet. . Kalonia had heard much of that intransigent and ob- durate pirate and of the fabulous prowess' of his ship; and Kinnison was pretty sure that they were much more interested in his ship than in him.-" “I can’t understand you!”' The Gray Lensman barked, in the poly- glot language he had so lately learned. “Talk pidgin!” ■“Very well. I see that you are indeed Bradlow Thyron, as we were informed. What do you mean by this outrageous attack? Surren- der! Disarm your men, take off their armor, and march them out of your vessel, or we will blast you as you lie there— Mendonai, vice admiral, speaking !” “I abase myself.” Kinmson-Thy- ron did not sneer — exactly — and he did incline his stubborn head per- haps- one millimeter ; but- he made no move to comply with tile orders so summarily issued. Instead: “What kind of planet is this, any- way ?” he demanded, hotly. “I come here to see this louse Harkle- roy because a friend of mine tells me that he’s a big shot, and so in- terested in my line that we can do a lot of business with each other. T give the lug fair warning, too — tell 10!)

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him plain that I’ve beeri around plenty and that if he tries to give me the works I’ll rub him out like a pencil mark. So what happens?, In spite of what I just tell him he tries dirty work on me, and I go to work on him — which he certainly has got coming to him. Then you and your flock of little tin boats come barging in as though I’d busted a law or something. Who do you think you are, anyway ? What license you got to be butting into a private business deal?” “Ah, I had not heard that ver- sion.” Vision came on; the face upon the plate was typically Kalo- nian — blue, cold, cruel, and keen. “Harkleroy was warned, you say? Definitely?” “I warned him plenty definitely. Ask any of the zwilniks in that pri- vate office of his. Most of them are Still alive, and they all must of heard it” The plate fogged, the speaker again gave out gibberish. The Lensmen knew, however, that the commander of the cruisers above them was indeed questioning the dead zwilnik’s guards. They knew that Kinni Son’s story was being corroborated in full, “You interest me,” The Bos- konian’s language again became ‘in- telligible to the group at large, “We will forget Harkleroy — stupidity brings its own reward and the prop- erty damage is of no present con- cern. From what I have been able to learn of you, you have never be- longed to that so-called Civilization. I know for a fact that you are not, and never have been, one of us. no How have you been able to sur- vive? And why do you work alone ?” “ ‘How' is easy enough — by keep- ing one jump ahead of the other guy, like I did with your pal here, and by being smart enough to have good engineers put into my ship everything that any other one ever had and everything they could dream up besides. As to ‘why,’ that’s simple, top, I don’t trug anybody except myself. If nobody except myself ever knows what I’m going to do; or when, nobody ex- cept myself Is ever going to be able to stick a knife into me when I ain’t looking— see ? So far, it’s paid off big. I’m still around, and still healthy, while them that trusted other guys ain’t.” “I see. Crude, but graphic. The more I study you, the more con- vinced I become that you would be a worth-while addition to our force-—” “No deal, . Mendonai,” Kinnison interrupted, shaking his unkempt head positively. “I never yet took Orders from no boss, and I ain't going to, never,” “You misunderstand me, Thv- ron,” The zwilnik was queerly pa- tient and much too forbearing. Kinnison’s insulting omission of his title should have touched him off like a rocket. “1 was not thinking of you in any minor capacity, but as an ally. An entirely independent ally, working with us in certain mu- tually advantageous undertakings.” “Such as?” Kinnison allowed himself to betray his first sign of interest. “You may be talking ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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sense now, brother, but what's in it for me? Believe me, there’s got to be plenty.” ■' i i«.re will be plenty. With the ability you have already shown, and with our vast resources back of you, you will tal^s more every week than you have been taking in a year.” “Yeali ? People like you just love to do things like that for people like me. What do you figure on getting out of it?” Kinnison wondered, and Leiised a sharp thought to his junior at the board. “On your toes, Frank. He’s stall- ing for something, and I’m betting it’s maulers.” “None detectable yet, sir.” “We stand to gain, of course,” the pirate admitted, smoothly. “For instance, there are certain features of your vessel which might — just possibly, you will observe, and speaking only to mention an exam- ple— -be of some interest to our naval designers. Also, we have heard that you have an unusually hot battery of primary beams. You might tell me about some of those things now ; or at least refocus your plate so that , I can see something* besides your not unattractive face.” “I might not, too. What I’ve got here is my own business, and stays mine.”* “Is that what we are to expect from von in the way of co-opera- tion ?” The commander’s voice was still low and level, but now bore a chill of deadly menace. “Co-operation 1” The cutthroat chief was unimpressed. “I’ll maybe tell you a thing or two — eat out of your dish— after I get good and sold on your proposition, whatever it is, but not one second sooner !” The commander glared. “I weary of this. You probably are not worth the trouble, after all. I might as well blast _ you out now as later. You know that I can, of course, as well as I do.” “Do I ?” Kinnison did sneer, this time. “Act your age, pal. As I told that fool Harkleroy, this ain’t the first planet I ever sat down on, and it won’t be the last. And don’t call no maulers,” as the Bos- konian officer’s hand moved almost imperceptibly toward a row of but- tons. “If you do, 1 start blasting as soon as we spot one on our plates — and they’re full out right now.” “ You would start blasting?” The zwilnik’s surprise — almost amaze- ment— was plain, but the hand stopped its motion. “Yeah — me. Them heaps of scrap metal you got up there don’t bother me a bit, but maulers X can’t handle,' and I ain’t afraid to tell you so because you probably know it already. I can’t stop you from calling ’em, if you want to, but bend both ears to this — I can outrun ’em, and I’ll guarantee that you person- ally won’t be alive to see me run. Why? Because your ship will be the first one I’ll whiff on the way out. And if the rest of your heaps stick around long enough to try to stop me, I’ll whiff twenty-five or thirty more of them before your maulers can get close enough so that I’ll have to flit. Now, if your brains are made out of the same CHILDREN OF THE LENS m

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kijid of thick, blue mud that Harkle- roy’s was, start something!” This was an impasse. Kinnison knew what he wanted the other to do, but he could not give him a suggestion, or even a hint, without tipping his hand. The officer, quite evidently, was in a quandary. He did not want to open fire upon this tremendous, this fabulous ship. Even if he could destroy it, such a course would be unthinkable — un- less, indeed, the very act of de- struction would brand as false ru- mor the tales of invincibility and invulnerability which had heralded its coming, and thus would operate in his favor at the court-martial so sure to be called. He was very much afraid, however, that those rumors were not false — a view which was supported very strongly both by Thy ron's undisguised con- tempt for the Boskonian warships threatening him and by his equally frank declaration of his intention to avoid engagement with craft of really superior force. Finally, how- ever, the Boskonian perceived one thing that did not quite fit. “If you are as good as you claim to be, why aren't you doing a flit right now ?” Mendonai asked, smoothly. “If you could get away, I should think that you’d be doing it. We've got stuff, you know, that’s both heavy and fast.” “Because I don't want to flit, that’s why. Use your head, pal.” This was better. Mendonai had shifted the conversation into a line upon which the Lensman could do a bit of steering. “I had to leave 112 the First Galaxy because it got too hot for me, and I got no connections at all, yet, here in the Second. You folks need certain kinds of stuff that I’ve got, and I need other kinds, that you’ve got. So we could do a nice business, if you wanted to. That was what. I had in mind with Harkleroy, but he got greedy. I don’t mind saying that I’d like to do business with you, but I just got bit pretty bad, and I’ll have to have some kind of solid guarantee that you mean business, and not monkey business, before I take a chance again. See ?” “I see. The idea is good, but its execution may prove difficult. I could give you my word, which 1 assure you has never been broken.” “Don’t make me laugh.” Kinni- son snorted. “Would you take mine ?” “The case is different. I would not. Your point, however, is well taken. How about the protection of a high court of law ? I will bring you an unalterable writ from any court you name.” “Uh-huh,” the Gray Lensman dissented. “There never was no court yet that didn’t take orders from the big shots who kept the fat cats fat, and lawyers are the crook- edest crooks in the whole Universe. You’ll have to do better than that, pal.” “Well, then, how about a Lens- man? You know about Lensmen, don’t you?” “A Lensman !” Kinnison gasped. He shook his head violently. “Are you completely nuts, or do you think I am? I do know Lensmen — a ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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I.c-sman chased me from Alsakan to Vandemar once, and if I hadn’t had a dose of Hell’s own luck, he’d have got me. Lensmen chased me out of the First Galaxy — why else do you think I’m here? Use your brain, mister, use your brain !” '‘You’re thinking of Civilization’s lensmen — particularly of Gray Lensmen.” The officer was mani- festly enjoying Thyron’s passion. "Ours — the Black Lensmen — are different — entirely different. They have as much power, or more, but they use it as it should be used. They work with us right along. In fact, they have been bumping Gray Lensmen off right and left lately.” “You mean that he could open up,, for instance, your mind and mine, so that we could see that the other guy wasn’t figuring on ram tiing in no stacked decks? And that he’d stain 1 by and sort of ref- eree this business deal we got on the lire? And do you know one vour- sel f — personally : ” . “He could, and would, do all that.. Yes, 1 know one personally. His name is Melasnikov, and his office is on Kalonia III, not an hour’s flit from here. He may not be there at the moment, but he will come in if I call. How about it — shall I call him now?” “Don’t work up a sweat. Sounds like it might work, if we can figure out an approach. I don’t suppose that you and him would come out to me in space?” “Hardly. After the way you have acted, you wouldn’t expect us to, would you?” “It wouldn’t be very bright of you. And since I want to do busi- ness, I guess I got to meet you part way. How would this be? You pull your ships away, out of range. My ship takes station right above this here Lensman’s 'office. I go down in my speedster, like I did here, and go inside to meet him and you. I’ll wear my armor — and when I say it’s real armor I. ain’t just snapping my choppers, neither.” “I can see only one slight flaw.” The Boskonian was really trying to work out a mutually satisfactory solution. “The Lensman will open our minds to you in proof, however, that we will have no intention of bringing up our maulers or other heavy stuff while we are in confer- ence.” “Right then lie'll show you . that you hadn’t better, too.” Kinnison grinned, wolfishly. “What do you mean?” The officer demanded. “I mean that I’ve got enough good big superatomic bombs aboard to blow the planet apart, and that the boys’ll drop ’em all if you start playing dirt}'. I’ve got to take a little chance, of course, to start do- ing business, but it's a small one. If you ain’t smart enough to know that what would happen would be mighty poor business, your Lens- man will be — especially when it won’t get you any dope on what makes this ship of mine tick the way she docs. And the clincher is that even if you bring up every- thing you’ve got, I never did fig- ure on living forever, and going out in an atomic blast of that size, to- gether with your fleet and half your CHILDKBX OP THE LENS ns

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planet and you and your Lensman and seven hundred million other people, is as good a way as I can think of.” “If the Lensman's examination bears that out, it will constitute an absolute guarantee,” the officer agreed. Hard as he was, he could not conceal the fact that he had been shaken: "Everything, then, is satisfactory ?” “On the green. Are you ready to flit ?” “We are ready.” “Call your Lensman, then, and lead the way. Boys, take her up- stairs 1” XVI. Karen Kinnison was worried. She, who had always been so steady, so sure of herself, had for weeks been conscious of a gradu- 1*4 ally increasing . . . what \tras it, anyway ? Not exactly a loss of con- trol ... a change ... a something that manifested itself in increas- ingly numerous fits of senseless — sheerly idiotic — stubbornness. And always and only it was directed at — of all the people in the universe— her brother. She got along witli her sisters perfectly; their tiny tiffs barely rippled the surface of any of their minds. But any time her path of action crossed Kit’s, it seemed, the prOfoundest depths of her being flared into opposition like explod- ing duodec. Worse than senseless and idiotic, it was inexplicable, for the feeling which the Five had for each other was much deeper than that felt by ordinary brothers and sisters. * She didn’t want to fight with Kit. She liked him! She liked to feel his mind en rapport with liers, just as she liked to dance with him ; their bodies as completely in accord as were their minds. No change of step or motion, however suddenly conceived and executed or however bizarre, had ever succeeded in tak- ing the other by surprise or in mar- ring by a millimeter the effortless precision of their performance. She could do things with Kit that would tie any other man into knots and break half of his bones. All other men were lumps. Kit was so far ahead of any other man in exist- ence that there was simply no com- parison. If she were Kit she would give her a going-over that would ... or could even he — At the thought she turned cold inside. He could not. Even Kit, ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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with all his tremendous power, would hit that solid wall and bounce. Well, there was one — not a man, but an entity — who could. He might kill her, but even that would be better than to allow the continued growth within her mind of this monstrosity which she could neither control nor understand. Where was she, and where was Lyrane, and where was Arisia? Good — not too far off line. She would stop off at Arisia en route.' She did so, and made her way to Mentor’s quiet office on the hospital grounds. She told her story. “Fighting with Kit was bad enough,” she concluded, “but when I start defying you, Mentor, .it’s high time that something was done about it. Why didn’t Kit ever knock me into a spiral ? Why didn’t you work me over? You called Kit in, with the distinct implication that he needed more education — why didn’t you pull me in here, too, and pound some intelligence into me ?” “Concerning you, Christopher had definite instructions, which he obeyed. 1 did not touch you for the same reason that I did not ask you to come to me; neither course would have been of any use. , Your mind, daughter Karen, is unique. One of its prime characteristics — the one, in fact, which is to make you an all-important player in the drama which is to come — is a yield- lessness very nearly absolute. Your mind might, just conceivably, be broken ; but it cannot be bent by any imaginable external force, how- ever applied. Thus it was inevitable CHILDREN OF THE LEWS from the first that nothing could be done about the untoward mani- festations of this characteristic un- til you yourself should recognize the fact that your development was not complete.. It would be idle- for me to say that during adolescence you have not been more than a trifle trying. I was not speaking idly when I said that the develop- ment of you has been a tre- mendous task. It is with equal seri- ousness, however, that I now . tell you that the reward is commen- surate with the magnitude of the undertaking. It is impossible to express the satisfaction I feel — the fulfillment,’ the completion, the jus- tification—as you children come, one by one, each in his proper time, for final instruction.” “Oh — you mean, then, that there’s nothing really the matter with me ?” Hard as Karen was, she trembled as her awful tension eased. “That I was supposed to act that way? And can I tell Kit, right away?” “No need. Your brother now knows that it was a passing phase ; he shall know very shortly that it has passed. It is not that you were ‘supposed’ to act as you acted. You could hot help it. Nor could your brother, nor I. From now oh, how- ever, you shall be completely the mistress of your own mind. Come fully, daughter Karen, into mine.” She did so, and in a matter of time her “formal education” was complete. “There is one thing that I don’t quite understand — ” she began, be- fore she boarded her speedster. w

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%' onsider it, and 1 am sure that von will,” Mentor assured her. “1 Explain it, whatever it is, to me.” “QX — I’ll try. It’s about Foss- ten and Dad.” Karen cogitated. "Foss ten was, of course, an Ed- dorian — your making Dad believe him to be an insane Arisian was a masterpiece. I see, of course, how you did that — principally by making Foss ten’s ‘real’ shape exactly like the one he saw of you in Arisia. Hut his physical actions as Foss- ten — ” ’"Go on, daughter. I am sure that your visualization will be sound.” “While acting as Fossten he had to act as a Thralian would have acted,” Kay decided with a rush. "He was watched everywhere he went, and knew it. To display his real power would have been disas- trous. Just like you Arisians, they have to keep in the background to avoid setting up an inferiority complex that will ruin- everything for them. Fossten’s actions, then, were constrained. Just as they were when he was Gray Roger, so long ago — except that then he did make a point of unhuman longevity, de- liberately to put an insoluble prob- lem up to First-Lensman Samms and his men. Just as you — you must have . . . you did coach Virgil Samms, Mentor, and some of you Arisians were there, as men!” “We were. We wrought briefly as men, and died as men. Up to the present moment, no one has ever been the wiser.” “But yon weren’t Virgil Samms, lit please!” Kay almost begged. "Not that it would break me if you were, but even I would much rather you hadn’t been.” "No, none of us was Samms/' Mentor assured her. “Nor Cleve- land, nor Rodehush, nor Costigan, nor even Clio Marsden. We worked with— ‘coached,’ as you ex- press it — those persons and others from time to time in certain small matters, but we were at no time integral with any of them. One of us was,' however, Dr. Kergenholm. The full inertialess space-drive be- came necessary at that time, and it would have been poor technique to have had either Rodebush or Cleve- land develop so suddenly the ability to perfect the device as Bcrgeiiholni did perfect it.” ' “QX. Bergenholm isn't impor- tant— he was just an inventor. To get back onto the subject of Foss- ten: When he was there on the flagship with Dad, and in position to throw liis full weight around, it was too late — you Arisians were on the job. You’ll have to lake it from there, though ; I’m out beyond my depth.” “Because you lack data. Know, then, daughter, that the planet Fd- dore is screened as heavily as is our own Arisia ; by screens which can be extended at will to any desired point in space. In those last min- utes the Eddorian knew that Kim- ball Kinnison was neither alone nor unprotected. He called instanta- neously for help, but help did not come. It could not. Eddore’s screens were being attacked at every ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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point by every force generable by the massed intellect of Arisia; they were compressed almost to the planet’s surface. If the Eddorians had weakened those screens suffi- ciently to have sent through them a helping thought, every one of them would in that instant have perished. Nor could Fossten escape from the form of flesh he was then energizing/ I myself saw to that.” Karen had never before felt the Arisian display emotion, but his thought was grim and cold. “From that form*' which your father never did perceive, he passed into the next plane of ex- istence.” Karen shivered. “It served him right. That clears everything up, I think. But are you sure. Mentor, that you can’t — or rather, shouldn't — teach me any more than you have: It’s just about time for me to go, and I feel . . well, ‘incompe- tent’ is putting it very mildly in- deed.” “To a mind of such power and scope as yours, in its present state of development, such a feeling is in- evitable. Nor can anyone except yourself do anything about it. Cold comfort, perhaps, but it is the stark truth that from now on your devel- opment is your own task. Yours alone. As I have already told Christopher and Kathryn, and will very shortly tell Camilla and Con- stance, you have had your last Arisian treatment. I will be on call * to any of you at any instant of any day, to aid you or to guide you or to reinforce you at need; but of formal instruction there can be no more.” CHILDBEN or THE LENS Karen left Arisia and drove for Lyrane, her thoughts in a turmoil. The time was too short by far ; she deliberately' cut her vessel’s speed and took a long detour so that the vast and chaotic library of her mind could be reduced to some semblance of order before she landed. She reached Lyrane II, and there, again to all outward seeming a happy, carefree girl, she hugged her mother rapturously. Nor was this part of it acting in any sense — as has been said, those four girls loved each other and their mother and their father and their brother with a depth and fervor impossible to portray intelligibly in words.- “You’re the most wonderful thing, Mums!” Karen exclaimed. “It’s simply marvelous, seeing you again in the flesh.” “Now why bring that up?” Clar- rissa had — just barely — become ifc- customed to working undraped, in the Lyranian fashion. , “I didn’t mean it that way at all. and you know I didn’t.” Kay snick- ered. “Shame on you — fishing for compliments, and at your age, too!” Ignoring the older woman’s attempt at protest she went on : “All kidding aside, Mums, you’re a mighty smart- looking hunk of woman. I approve of you exceedingly much. In fact, we’re a keen pair, and I like both of us. I’ve got one advantage over you, of course, in that I never did care a particle whether I ever had a stitch of clothes on or not, any- where, and you still do, a little. But what I was going to ask, though, was how are you doing?” “Not so well — of course, though, 117

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I haven’t been here very long/’ Clarrissa, forgetting her undressed- ness, frowned. “I haven’t found Helen, and I haven’t found out yet why she retired. - I can't quite de- cide whether to put pressure on - now, or wait a while longer. La- dora, the new Elder Person, is . . . that is, I don’t know — Oh, here she comes now. I’m glad' — I want you to meet her.’’ If Ladora was glad to meet Karen, however, she did not show it. Instead, for an inappreciable in- stant of time which was neverthe- less sufficient for the acquirement of full information, each studied the other. Like Helen — the former Queen of the matriarchy of Lyrane li, — Ladora was tall, beautifully proportioned, flawless of skin and feature, hard and fine. But so, and in most respects even more so, to Isadora’s astonishment and quickly- mounting wrath, was this pink- tanned stranger. Practically instan- taneously, therefore, she hurled a vicious mental bolt— only to get the surprise of her life. She had not yet crossed wills in a serious enough, way with this strange person, Clar- rissa, to find out what she had in the way of equipment, but it certainly couldn’t be much. She had never tried to do her harm, nor ever seemed to resent her studied and arrogant aloofness; and therefore her daughter, younger and less ex- perienced, of course, would be easy enough prey. But Ladora’s bolt, the heaviest she could send, did not pierce even the outermost fringes of her in- tended victim’s defenses, and so vi- lla. - - . cious was the almost simultaneous counterthrust that it went through the Lyranian’s hard-held block in nothing flat. Inside her brain, it wrought such hellishly poignant punishment that the matriarch, for- getting everything, tried only and madly to scream. She could not. She could .not move a muscle of her face or of her body. She could not even fall. And the one brief glimpse she had into the stranger’s mind showed it to be such a blaze of in- candescent fury that she, who had never feared in the slightest any living creature, knew now in full measure what fear was. “I’d like to give that alleged brain of yours a real massage, just for fun.” Karen forced her emotion to subside to a. mere seething rage, and Ladora watched her do it "But since this whole stinking planet is my mother’s dish, not mine, she’d blast me to .a cinder — she’s done it before- — if I dip in.” She cooled further — visibly.: “At that, I don’t suppose you’re too bad an egg, in your own poisonous way— you just don’t know any better. So maybe I’d better warn you, you poor fool, since you haven’t got sense enough to see it, that you’re playing with a live fuse when you push my mother around like you’ve been doing. About one more millimeter of it and she’ll get mad- — like I did a second ago except more so — and you’ll wish ?o Klono you had never been born. She’ll never make a sign until she blows up. but I’m telling you that she’s as much harder and tougher than I am as she is older, and what she always does to people who cross ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION,

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her I wouldn't want to watch hap- pen again, even to a snake. Want to know what she’ll do to you first? She’ll pick, you up, curl you into a perfect circle, pull off your arms, shove both your legs down your throat to the knees, and roll you down that chute there into the ocean. After that I don’t know what she'll do — depends on how much pressure she develops before she blows up. One thing, though, she’s always sorry afterward — why, she even at- tends the funeral, sometimes, and insists on paying the expenses!’’ With which outrageous thought she kissed Clarrissa an enthusiastic good-by. “Told you I couldn’t stay a minute. Got to do a flit — ‘see a man about a dog.’ Came a million parsecs to squeeze you, Mums, but it was worth it. Clear ether !” She was gone ; and it was a dewy- eyed and rapt mother, not a I.ens- man, who turned to the still com- pletely disorganized Lyranian. Clar- rissa had perceived nothing what- ever of what had happened — Karen had very carefully seen to that. “My daughter,” Clarrissa mused, as much to herself as to Ladora. “One of four. The four dearest, finest, sweetest girls that ever lived. I often wonder how a woman of my limitations, of my faults, could pos- sibly have borne such children.” And Ladora of Lyrane, humor- less and literal as all Lyranians are, took those thoughts at their face value and correlated their every con- notation and implication with what she herself had perceived in that “dear, sweet” daughter’s mind ; with what that daughter had done and had said. The nature and quality of this hellish person’s “limitations” and “faults” became eminently clear, and as she perceived what she thought was the truth, the Lyranian literally cringed. “As you know, I have been in doubt as to whether or not to sup- port you actively, as you wish,” Ladora offered, as the two walked together across the field, toward the line of ground-cars. “On the one hand, the certainty that the safety, and perhaps the very existence, of my race will be at hazard ; on the other the possibility that you are right in saying that the situation will continue to deteriorate if we do nothing. The decision has not been an easy one to make.” Ladora was no longer aloof. She was just plain scared. She had been talking against time, and hoping that the help for which she had long since called v would arrive in time. “I have touched only the outer surfaces of your mind. Will you allow me, without offense, to test its inner quality before deciding definitely?” she asked, and in the instant of ask- ing sent out an exploratory tentacle of thought which was in actuality a full-driven probe. “I will not.” Isadora’s beam struck a harrier which seemed to her ex- actly like the daughter’s. None of her race had developed anything like it. She had never seen . . . yes, she had, too — years ago, when she was a child, that time in the assembly hall — that utterly hated male, Kinnison of Tellus! This visitor, then, was not a real person CHILDREN OF THE LENS ne

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ill all, but a female — Kinnison’s fe- male— the- Red Lcnsman, of whom even Lyrane had heard — and that jiers . . . that thing was their off- spring! But behind that impene-. trable block there might very well be - -there probably was — exactly the kind of mind that the offspring had described. A creature who was physically a person, but mentally that inconceivable monstrosity, a female, might be anything and might do anything. Ladora tem- porized. ‘‘Excuse me; I did not mean to intrude against your will,” she apol- ogized, smoothly enough. “Since your attitude makes it extremely difficult for me to co-operate with you, 1 can make no promises as yet. What is it that you wish to know first?” “I wish to interview your prede- cessor Elder Person, the one wc called Helen.” Strangely refreshed, in a sense galvanized by the brief personal visit with her dynamic daughter, it was no longer Mrs. Kimball Kinuison who faced the Lyranian Queen. Instead, it was the Red Lensman; a full-powered 'Second-Stage Lensman who had finally decided that, since appeals to reason, logic, and common sense had no perceptible effect upon this stiff-necked near-woman, the time had come to bear down. “Further- more, I intend to interview her now, and not at some such indefinite fu- ture time as your whim may see fit to allow." T..adora sent out a final desperate call for help and mustered her every 130 force against the interloper. Fast and strong as her mind was, how- ever, the Red Lensman’s was faster and stronger. The Lyranian s de- fensive structure was wrecked in the instant of its building, the franti- cally struggling mind was taken over in toto. Help arrived — use- lessly; since, although Clarrissa’s newly enlarged mind had not been put to warlike use, it was brilliantly keen and ultimately sure. Nor, in times of stress, did the softer side of her nature operate to stay mind or hand. While carrying T.xmsman’s Load she contained no more of ruth for Civilization’s 1'ocs than did abysmally frigid Xadreek himself. Head thrown back, taut and tense, gold-flecked tawny eyes flash- ing, she stood there for a moment and took on her shield everything that , those belligerent persons could send. More, she returned it in kind, plus : and under those withering blasts of force more than oiie of her attackers ceased to live. Then, still holding her block, she and her un- willing captive raced across the field toward the line of peculiar little fabric-and-wire machines which were still the last word in Lyranian air transport. Clarrissa knew that the Lyranians had no modern offensive or defen- sive weapons. They did, however, have some fairly good artillery at that airport; and she hoped fer- vently as she ran that she could put but jets enough to spoil the aim and fusing —luckily, they hadn’t devel- oped proximity fuses yet ! — of what ack-ac.k they could bring to bear on her crate during the few minutes ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

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she would have to use it Fortu- nately, there was no artillery at the small, unimportant airport on which her speedster lay. “Here we are. We’ll take this tripe — it’s the fastest thing here !” Clarrissa could operate the tri- plane, of course — any knowledge or ability that Ladora had ever had was now and permanently the Lens- man’s. She started the queer en- gines; and as the powerful little plane screamed into the air, hanging from its props, she devoted what of her mind she could spare to the problem of antiaircraft fire. She could not handle all the guncrews; but she could and did command the most important members of most of them. Thus, nearly all of the shells either went wide or exploded too soon. Since she knew every point of aim of the few guns with whose operations she could not interfere, she avoided their missiles by not being at any one of those points at the predetermined instant of func- tioning. Thus plane and passengers es- caped unscathed and in a matter of minutes arrived at their destination. The Lyranians there had been alerted, of course; but they were few in number and they had not been informed that it would take physical force, not mental, to keep that red-headed pseudoperson from boarding her outlandish ship of space. In a few more minutes, then, Clarrissa and her captive, safe in the speedster, were high in the stratosphere. Clarrissa sat Ladora CHILPRFS or THE LENS down — hard — in a seat and fastened the safety straps. “Stay in that seat and keep your thoughts to yourself,” she directed, curtly. “If you don’t, you’ll never again either move or think in this life.” She opened a sliding door, put on a couple of wisps of Manar- kan glamourette, reached for a dress, and paused. Eyes glowing, she gazed hungrily at a suit of plain gray leather; a costume which she had not as yet so much as tried on. Should she wear it, or not? She could work efficiently— at service maximum, really — in ordi- nary clothes. Ditto, although she didn’t like to, unclothed. In Gray, though, she could hit absolute max if she had to. Nor had there ever been any question of right involved ; the only barrier had been her own hypersensitivity. For over twenty years she herself had been the only one to deny her right. What license, she was wont to ask, did an imitation or synthetic or amateur or “Red” Lensman have to wear the garb which meant so much to so many ? Over those years, however, it had become in- creasingly widely known that hers was one of the five finest and most powerful minds in the entire Gray Legion; and when Co-ordinator Kinnison recalled her to active duty in Unattached status, that Legion passed by unanimous vote a resolu- tion asking her to join them in Gray. Psychics all, they knew that nothing less would suffice; that if there was any trace of resentment or of antagonism or of feeling that she did not intrinsically belong, she ' 121

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would never don the uniform which every adherent of Civilization so revered and for which, deep down, she had always so intensely longed. The Legion had sent her these Grays. Kit had convinced her that she did actually deserve them. She really should wear them. She would. She put them on, thrilling to the core as she did so, and made the quick little gesture she liad seen Kim make so many times. Lens- man’s Seal. No one, however ac- customed, has ever donned or ever will don unmoved the plain gray leather of the Unattached Lcnsman of the Galactic Patrol. Hands on hips, she studied her- self minutely and approvingly, both in the mirror and by means of her vastly more efficient sense of per- ception. She wriggled a little, and giggled inwardly as she remembered deploring as “exhibitionistic” this same conduct in her oldest daughter. . The Grays fitted her perfectly. A bit revealing, perhaps, but her fig- ure was still good — very good, as a matter of fact. Not a speck of dirt or tarnish. . Her DeLameters were fully charged. Her tremendous Lens flamed brilliantly upon her wrist. She looked — and felt — ready. She could hit absolute max in a fraction of a microsecond. If she had to get really tough,- she would. She sent out a call. “Helen of Lyrane ! I know they’ve got you around here somewhere, and, if any of your guards try to screen out this thought, I'll burn their brains out. Clarrissa of Sol III calling. Come in, Helen 1” 122 “Clarrissa !” This time there was no interference. A world of wel- come was in every nuance of the thought. “Where are you?” “High up, at — ” Clarrissa gave her position. “I’m in my speedster, so can get to anywhere on the planet in minutes. More important, where are you? And why?” “In jail, in my own — the Elder Person’s — office.” Queens should have palaces, but Lyranc’s ruler did not. Everything was strictly utili- tarian. “The tower on the corner, remember? On the top floor. ‘Wily’ is too long to discuss now — ■ I’d better tell you as much as pos- sible of what you should know, while there is time.” “Time? Are you in danger?” “Yes. Ladora would have killed me long ago if it had dared. My following grows less daily, the Bos- konians stronger. The guards have already summoned help. They are coming now, to take me.” “That's what they think!” Clar- rissa had already reached the scene. She had exactly the velocity she wanted. She slanted downward in a screaming dive. “Can you tell whether they're limbering up any of' that ack-ack around the office, or not ?’•’ “I don’t believe so — I don’t feel any such thoughts.” “QX. Get away from the win-, dow.” If they hadn’t started al- ready. they never would start, the Red Lensman was deadly sure of that. She came within range — her range — of the guns. She was in ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICT ION

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time. Several gunners were run- ning toward their stations. None of them arrived. The speedster lev- eled off and stuck its hard nose into and almost through the indicated room ; reinforced concrete, steel bars, and glass showering abroad as it did so. The port snapped open. As Helen leaped in, Clarrissa prac- tically threw Ladora out. “Bring Ladora back!” Helen de- manded. “I shall have its life!” “Nix!” Clarrissa snapped. “I know everything that she does. We’ve other fish to fry, my dear.” The massive door clanged shut. The speedster darted forward, straight through the solid concrete wall. That small vessel, solidly built of beryllium alloys, had been de- signed to take brutal punishment. She took it. Out in open space, Clarrissa' went free, leaving the artificial gravity at normal, Helen stood up, took Clar- rissa’s hand, and shook it gravely and strongly; a gesture at which the Red Lensman almost choked. Helen of Lyrane had changed even less than had the Earth- woman. She was still six feet tall ; erect, taut, springy, and poised. She didn’t weigh a pound more than the one-eighty she had scaled twenty-odd years ago. Her vivid auburn hair showed not one strand of gray. Her eyes were as clear and as proud ; her skin almost as fine and firm. “You are, then, alone?” In spite of her control, Helen’s thought showed relief. “Yes. My hus . . . Kimball Kinnison is very busy elsewhere.” chu/dren of the letcb Clarrissa understood perfectly. Helen, after twenty years of think- ing things over, really liked her; but she still simply couldn’t stand a male, not even Kim ; any more than Clarrissa could ever adapt herself to the Lyranian habit of using the neuter pronoun “it” when referring to one of themselves. She couldn’t. Anybody who ever got a glimpse of Helen wouldjmve to think of her as she ”! But enough of this wool- gathering— which had taken per- haps one millisecond of time. "There’s nothing to keep us from working together perfectly,” Clar- rissa’s thought flashed on. “Ladora didn't know much, and you do. So tell me all about things, so that we can decide where to begin!” XVII. When Kandron called his minion in that small and nameless base to learn whether or not he had suc- ceeded in trapping the Palainian Lensman, Nadreck’s relay station functioned so perfectly, and Na- dreck was so completely in charge of his captive’s mind, that the caller could feel nothing out of the ordi- nary. Ultra-suspicious though Kan- dron was, there was nothing what- ever to indicate that anything had changed at, or pertaining to, that base since He had last called its com- mander. That individual’s subcon- scious mind reacted properly to the key stimulus. The conscious mind took over, remembered, and an- swered properly a series of trick questions. These things occurred because the 113

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Base Commander was still alive. Ilis ego, the pattern and matrix of •iris personality, was still in existence and had not been changed. What Kandron did not and could not sus- pect was that that ego was no longer in control of the commander’s mind, brain, or body; that it was utterly unable of its own volition, either to think any iota of independent thought or to stimulate any single physical cell. The Onlonian’s ego was present — just barely present — but that was all. It was Nadreck who, using that ego as a guide and, in a sense, as a helplessly impotent transformer, received the call. Na- dreck made those exactly correct replies. Nadreck was now ready to render a detailed and fully doc- umented— and completely menda- cious— report upon his own de- struction ! Xadreck’s special tracers were already out, determining line and intensity. Strippers and analyzers were busily at work on the fringes of the l>eam, dissecting out, isolat- ing, and identifying each of the many scraps of gxf raucous thought accompanying the main beam. These side-thoughts, in fact, were Xadreck’s prune concern. The Second*- Stage Lensmen had learned that no being- — except possibly an Arisian — could narrow a beam of thought down to one single, pure se- quence. Only Nadreck, however, recognized in those side-bands a rich field ; only he had designed and developed mechanisms with which to work that field. The stronger and clearer the mind, the fewer and less complete 124 were the extraneous fragments of thought : but Xadreck knew that even Kandron's brain would carry quite a few such noiigemmne ac- companiments, and from each of those bits he could reconstruct an entire sequence as accurately as a competent paleontologist recon- structs a prehistoric animal from one fossilized piece of bone. Thus Xadreck was completely ready when the harshly domineer- ing Kandron asked his first real question. “I do not suppose that you have succeeded in killing the Lensman ?” "Yes, Your Supremacy, I have.” Xadreck could feel Kandron’s start of surprise; could perceive without his instruments Kandron's fleeting thoughts of the hundreds of unsuc- cessful previous attempts upon his life. It was clear that the Onlonian was not at all credulous. "Report in detail!” Kandron or- dered. Xadreck did so. adhering rigidly to the truth up to the moment in which his probes of force had touched off the Boskonian alarms. Then ; "Spy-ray photographs taken at the instant of alarm show an inde- tectable speedster, with one, and only one occupant, as Your Su- premacy anticipated. A careful study of all the pictures taken of that occupant shows: first, that he was definitely alive at that time, and was neither a projection nor an artificial mechanism; and second, that his physical measurements agree in every particular with the ASTOTTNDIXG S C CR-FI C T I O X

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specifications furnished by Your Supremacy as being those of Na- dreck of Palain VII. “Since Your Supremacy person- ally computed and supervised the placement of those projectors/’ Na- dreck went smoothly on, "you know that the possibility is vanishingly small that any material thing, free or inert, could have escaped destruc- tion. As a check, I caused to be taken seven hundred twenty-nine — three to the sixth power — samples of the circumambient space, statis- tically at random, for analysis. After appropriate allowances for the exactly-observed elapsed times of sampling, diffusion of droplets and molecular and atomic aggregates, temperatures, pressures, and all other factors known or assumed to he operating, I determined that there had been presen Win the center of action of our beams a mass of approximately four thousand six hundred seventy-eight point o one metric tons. This value, Your Supremacy will note, is in close agreement with the most efficient mass of an indetectable speedster designed* for long-distance work.” That figure was in fact closer than close. It was an almost exact state- ment of the actual mass of Na- rireek’s ship. “Exact composition r ' Kandron demanded. Nad reck recited a rapid-fire string of elements and figures. They, too, were correct within the experimen- tal error of a very good analyst. The Base Commander could not possibly have known them ; but it was well within the bounds of pos- sibility that the insidious Kandron would. He did. He was now prac- tically certain that his ablest and bit- terest enemy had been destroyed at last, but there were still a few lin- gering shreds of^loubt. “Let me look over your work,” Kandron directed. “Yes, Your Supremacy.” Na- dreck the Thorough was ready for even that extreme test. Through the eyes of the ultimately enslaved Base Commander Kandron checked and rechecked Nadreck’s pictures, Nadreck’s charts and diagrams, Na- dreck's more than four , hundred pages of mathematical, physical, and chemical notes and determinations; all without finding a single flaw. In the end Kandron was ready to believe that Nadreck had in fact ceased to exist. However, he him- self had not done the work. There was no corpse, If he himself had killed the . Palainian, if he himself had actually felt the Lensman’s life depart in the grasp of his own ten- tacles, then, and only then, would he have known that Nadreck was dead. As it was, even though the work had been done in exact accordance with his own instructions, there re- mained an infinitesimal uncertainty. Wherefore : “Shift your field of operations to cover X-174, Y-240, Z-16. Do not relax your vigilance in the slightest because of what has happened.” He considered briefly the idea of allow- ing his minion to call him. in case anything happened, but decided against it. “Are the men standing up?” CHILDREN OF THE LENS 125

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"Yes, Your Supremacy, they are in very good shape indeed.” And so on. “Yes, Your Suprem- acy, the psychologist is doing a very fine job. Yes, Your Supremacy . . . yes . . . yes . ... yes — ” Very shortly after the character- istically Kandronesque ending of that interview, Nadreck had learned everything he needed to know. He knew where Kandron was and what he was doing. He knew much of what Kandron had done during the preceding twenty years; and, since he himself figured prominently m many of those sequences, they con- stituted invaluable checks upon the validity of his other reconstructions. He knew the construction, the arm- ament, and the various ingenious mechanisms, including the locks, of Kandron ’s vessel; he knew more than any other outsider had even known of Kandron’s private life. He knew where Kandron was go- ing next, and what he was going to do there. He knew in broad what Kandron intended to do during the coming century. Thus well informed, Nadreck set his speedster into a course toward the planet of Civilization which was Kandron's next objective. He did not hurry; it was no part of his plan to interfere in any way in- the horrible program of planet-wide madness and slaughter which Kan- dron had in mind. It simply did not occur to him to try to save the planet as well as to kill the Onlon- ian; Nadreck, being Nadreck, took without doubt or question the safest and surest course. 12* Nadreck knew that Kandron would set his vessel into an orbit around the planet, and that he would take a small boat — a flitter — for the one personal visit necessary to es- tablish his lines of communication and control. Vessel and flitter would be alike indetectable, of course; but Nadreck found the one easily enough and knew when the other left its motlier-ship. Then, using his lightest, stealthiest spy rays, the Palainian set about the ex- ceedingly delicate business of board- ing the Boskonian craft. That undertaking could be made a story in its own right, for Kandron did not leave his ship unguarded. However, merely by thinking about his own safety, Kandron had all un- wittingly given away the keys to his supposedly impregnable fortress. While Kandron . was wondering whether or not the Lensman was really dead, and especially after he had been convinced that he most probably was, the Onlonian’s thoughts had touched fleetingly upon a multitude of closely-related subjects. Would it be safe to aban- don some of the more onerous pre- cautions he had always taken, and which had served him so well for so many years ? And as he thought of them,. each one of his safeguards flashed at least partially into view; and for -Nadreck, any significant part was practically as good as the whole. Kandron’s protective de- vices, therefore, did not protect. Projectors, designed to flame out against intruders, remained cold. Ports opened ; and as Nadreck touched sundry buttons, various in- ASTOUNDIKO 8CIENCE-FICTIOH

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MENTOR- visible beams, whose breaking would have produced unpleasant results, ceased to exist. In short, Nadreck knew all the answers. If he had not been coldly certain that his information was complete, he would not have acted at all. After entry, his first care was to send out spotting devices which would give ample warning in case the Onloniah should return unex- pectedly soon. Then, working in the service-spaces behind instrument boards and panels, in junction boxes, and in various other out-of-the-way places, he cut into lead after lead, ran wire after wire, and installed item after item of apparatus and equipment upon which lie had been at work for weeks. He finished his work undisturbed. He checked and rechecked the circuits, making ab- solutely certain that every major one of the vessel’s controlling leads ran to or through at least one of the things he had just installed. With CHILDREN OF THE LENS painstaking nicety he obliterated every visible sign of his visit. He departed as carefully as he had come ; restoring to full efficiency as he went each one of Kandrori’s burglar -alarms. - Kandron returned, entered his ship as usual, stored his flitter, and extended a tentacular member to- ward the row of switches on his panel. “Don’t touch anything, Kandron,” he was advised by a thought as cold and as deadly as any one of his own ; and upon the Onlonian equivalent of a visiplate there appeared the one likeness which he least ex- pected and least desired to perceive. “Nadreck of Palain VII — Star A Star — THE Lensman!” The On- lonian was physically and emotion- ally incapable of gasping, but the idea is' appropriate. “You have, then, wired and mined this ship.” There was a subdued clicking of

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relays. The iJergenholm came up i sjieed, the speedster spun about and darted straight away from the planet under a couple of kilodynes of drive. **X am Nadreck of Palain VII, yes. One of the group of Lensmen whose collective activities you have ascribed' to Star- A- Star and the Lensman. Your ship is, as you have deduced, mined. The only reason you did not die as you entered it is that I wish to be absolutely certain; and not merely statistically so, that it is actually Kandron of Onlo, and not someone else, who dies.’' “That unutterable fool!” Kan- dron quivered in helpless rage. “Oh, that I had taken the time and killed you myself !” “If you had done your own work, the techniques I used here could not have been employed, and you might liave been in no danger at the pres- ent moment,” Nadreck admitted, equably enough. “My powers are small, my intellect feeble, and what might have been has no present hearing. I am inclined, however, to question the validity of your con- clusions, due to the known fact that you have been directing a campaign against me for over twenty years without success; whereas I have succeeded against you in less than half a year. My analysis is now complete. You may now touch any control you please. By the way, you do not deny that you are Ivandron of Onlo, do you?” Neither of those monstrous be- ings asked, suggested, or even thought oi mercy. In neither of t3* their languages was there any word for or concept of such a thing. “That would be idle. You have a record of my life pattern, of course, -just as I have one of yours. But I cannot understand how you got through- that — ” “It is not necessary that you should. Do you wish to close one of those switches or shall I?” Kandron had been thinking for minutes, studying every aspect of his predicament. Knowing Xa-- drcck, he knew just how desperate the situation was. However, there was one very small chance — just one. The way he had come was clear. He knew that that was the only clear way. Wherefore, to gain an extra instant of time, he reached out toward a switch ; but even while lie was reaching he put every ounce of his tremendous strength into a leap which hurled him across the room toward his flitter. No luck. One of Nadreck's mi- nor tentacles was already curled around a switch, tensed and ready. Kandron had not moved a foot when a relay snapped shut and four canisters of duodec detonated as one. Duodecaplylatomate, that frightful detonant whose violence is exceeded only by that of nuclear dis- integration itself! There was an appalling flash of viciously white light, which ex- panded in microseconds into an enormous globe of incandescent gas. Cooling and darkening as it expand- ed rapidly into the near-vacuum of interplanetary space, the gases and vapors soon became invisible. Through and throughout the entire ASTOCNDTXG SCTUXOR-FJOTION

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volume of volatilization Nadreck drove analyzers and detectors, until it was a mathematical certainty that no particle of material substance larger in diameter than five microns remained of either Kandron or his spaceship. He then called the Gray Lens man. “Kinnison. Nadreck of Palain VII calling, to report that my as- signment has been completed. I have destroyed Kandron of Onlo.” “Good ! Fine business, ace ! What kind of a picture did you get ? He must have known something about the higher echelons — or did he? Was he just another dead end ?” “I did not go into that.” “Huh ? Why not ?” Kinnison de- manded, exasperation in every line of his thought. “Because it was not included in the project,”. Nadreck explained, patiently. “You already know that one must concentrate in order to work efficiently. To secure the req- uisite minimum of information it was necessary to steer his thoughts into one, and only one, set of chan- nels. There were some foreign side-bands, of course, and it may be that some of them’ touched upon this new subject which you have now, too late, introduced . . . no, there were no such.” “Damnation !” Kinnison exploded ; then by main strength shut himself up. “QX, ace; skip it. But listen, my spiny and murderous friend. Get this— engrave it in big type right on the top-side inside of your thick skull — what we want is IXFOR- CHILDKEN OF THE LENS MATION, not mere liquidation. Next time you get hold of such a big shot as Kandron must have been, don't kill him until either : first, you get some leads as to who or what the real head of the outfit is; or, second, you make sure that he doesn’t know. Then kill him all you want to, but FIND OUT WHAT HE KNOWS FIRST. Have I made myself clear this time?” “You have, and as Co-ordinator your instructions should and will govern. I point out, however, that the introduction of a multi- plicity of objectives into a problem not only destroys its unity, but also increases markedly both the time necessary for, and the actual per- sonal danger involved in, its solu- tion.” “So what?” Kinnison countered, as evenly as he could. “That way, we may be able to get the answer some day. Your way, we never will. But the thing’s done — there’s no use yapping and yowling about it now. Have you any ideas as to what you should do next?” “No. Whatever you wish, that I shall try to do.” “I’ll check with the others.” He did so, receiving no helpful ideas un- til he consulted his wife. “Hi, Kim, my dear!” came Clar- rissa’s buoyant thought; and, after a brief but intense greeting: “Glad you called. Nothing definite enough yet to report to you officially, but there are indications that Lyrane J.X may be an important — ” “Nine ?” Kinnison interrupted. “Not Eight again?” “Nine,” she confirmed. “A new 129

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item. * So X may be doing a flit over there one of these days.” “Ub-uh,” he denied. “Lyrane IX would be none of your business. Stay away from it.” "Says who?” she demanded. “We went into this once lie fore, Kim, about you telling me what I could and couldn't do.” “Yeah, and I came out second best.” Kinnison grinned. “Bu.t now, as the Co-ordinator, I make sugges- tions to even Second- Stage Lens- men, and they follow them — or else. I, therefore, suggest officially that you stay away from Lyrane IX on the grounds that since it is colder than a Palainian’s heart, it is defi- nitely not your problem, but Na- dreck’s. And personally, I. am adding that if you' don’t behave yourself I’ll come over there -and administer appropriate physical suasion.” “Come on over — that would be tun!” Clarrissa giggled, then so- bered quickly. “But seriously, you win, 1 guess — this time. You'll keep me informed?” “I’ll do that. Clear ether, Chris !” and he turned back to the Palainian. **. . . so you see this is your problem. Go to it, little chum.” "I go, Kinnison.” XVIII. For hours Camilla Kinnison and Tregonsee wrestled separately and fruitlessly with the problem of the elusive “X.” .Then, after she had studied the Rigellian’s mind in a fashion which he could neither de- 130 tect nor employ, Camilla broke the mental silence. “Uncle Trig, my conclusions frighten me. Gan you conceive of the possibility that it was contact with my mind, not yours, that made *X’ run away ?” “That is the only tenable conclu- sion. I know the limitations of my own mind, but I have never been able to guess at the capabilities of yours. I fear that I, at least, under- estimated our opponent.” “I know tliat I did, and I was ter- ribly w-rong. I shouldn’t have tried to fool you, either, even a little bit. There are some things about me that I just can’t show to most peo- ple. but you are different — you’re such a wonderful person !” “Thanks, Camilla, for your trust.” Understandingly, he did not go on to say that he would keep on being worthy of it. “I accept the fact that you Five, being children of two Second-Stage Lensmen, are basi- cally beyond my comprehension. TJiere arc indications tliat you do not as yet thoroughly understand yourself. You have, however, de- cided upon a course of action.” “Oh — I’m so relieved! Yes, I have. But before we go into that, I haven’t been able to solve the prob- lem of ’X.* More, I have proved that I cannot solve it without more data. Therefore, you can’t, either. Check?” “I had not yet reached that con- clusion, but I accept your statement as truth.” “One of those uncommon powers of mine, to which you referred a while ago, is a wide range of per- ASTODN'DING SeiBNCE-FICTION

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ception, from large masses down to extremely tipy components. An- other, or perhaps a part of the same one, is that, after resolving and ana- lyzing these fine details, 1 can build up a logical and coherent whole by processes of interpolation and extra- polation.” “I can believe that such things would be possible to such a mind as yours must be. Go on.” ‘'Well, that is how I know that I underestimated Mr. ‘X.’ Whoever or whatever he is, I am completely unable to resolve the structure of his thought. 1 gave you all I got of it. Look at it again, please — hard. What can you make of it now?” “It is exactly the same as it was before; a fragment of a simple and plain introductory thought to an audience. That is all.” “That’s all I can see, too, and that’s what surprises me so.” The hitherto imperturbable and serene Camilla got up and began To pace the floor. “That thought is appar- ently absolutely solid ; and since that is a definitely impossible condition, the truth is that its structure is so fine that I cannot resolve it into its component units. This fact shows that I am not nearly so competent as I thought I was. When you and Dad and the others reached that point, you each went to Arisia. I have decided to do the same thing.” “That decision seems eminently sound.” “Thanks, Uncle Trig — that was what I hoped you would say. I have never been there, you know, and the idea scared me a little. Clear ether !” There is no need to go into detail as to Camilla's bout with Mentor. Her mind, like Karen’s, had had to mature of itself before any treat- ment could be really effective; but once mature, she took as much in one session as Kathryn had taken in all her many. She had not sug- gested that the Rigellian accompany her to Arisia; they both knew tliat he had already received all that he could take. Upon her return she greeted him as casually as though she had been gone only a matter of hours. “What Mentor did to me, Uncle Trig, shouldn't have been done to ■ a Delgonian catlat. It doesn’t show too much, thoijgh, I hope — does it;” “Not at all,” He scanned her narrowly, both physically and men- tally. “I can perceive no chaijge in detail. In general, however, you have changed. Von have devel- oped.” “Yes, more than I would have be- lieved possible. I can't do much with my present very poor tran- scription of that thought, since the all-important fine detail is missing. We’ll have to intercept another one. I’ll get it all,' this time, and it will tell us -a lot.” “But you did something with this one, 1 am sure. There must have been some developable features — a sort of latent-image effect?” “A little. Practically infinitesimal compared to what was really there. Physically, his classification to four places is TUUV; quite a bit like the Nevians, you notice. His home planet is big, and practically covered with liquid. No real cities, just CHILDREN OF THE LESS AST— 5P lftl

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groups oi half-submerged, tempo- rary structures. Mentality very high, hut we knew that already. Normally, he thinks upon a very short wave, so short that he was then working at the very bottom of his range. »His sun is a fairly hot main-sequence-star, ot spectral class somewhere around I*', and it’s prob- ably more or less variable, because there was quite a distinct implica- tion of change. But that’s normal enough, isn't it ?” Within the limits imposed by the amount and kind of data available, Camilla's observations and analyses had been, perfect, her reconstruction flawless. She did not then have any idea, however, that “X” was m tact a spring- form Plooran. More, she did not even know that such a planet* as Floor existed, except for Mentors one mention of it. ‘‘Of course. Peoples of planets of variable suns think that such suns are the only kind fit to have planets. You cannot reconstruct the nature of the changer” “No. Worse, I can’t find ^ven a hint of where his planet is in space — but then, I probably couldn't, anyway, even with a whole, fresh thought to study.” “Probably not. ‘Rigel Four’ would be an utterly meaningless thought to anyone ignorant of Rigel ; and, except when making a conscious ef- fort, as in directing strangers, I never think of its location in terms of galactic co-ordinates. I suppose that the location of a home planet is always taken for granted. That would seem to leave us just about where we were, before in our search 132 for ‘X/ except for your implied ability to intercept another of his thoughts, almost at will. Explain, please.” “Not my ability — ours.” Camilla smiled, confidently. I couldn't do it alone, neither could you, but be- tween us 1 don’t believe that it will be too difficult. You, with your ut- terly calm, utterly unshakable cer- tainty, cat] drive a thought to any corner of the universe. You can fix and hold it steady on any indicated atom. I can’t do that.- or anything like it, but with my present ability to detect and to analyze, I am not afraid of missing ‘X’ if wc can come within parsecs of him. So my idea is a sort of piggy-liack hunting trip: you to take me for a ride, mentally, very much as Worsel takes Con. physically. That would work, don't you think?” “Perfectly. I am sure.” The stolid Rigellian was immensely pleased. “Link your mind with mine, then, and we will set out. If you have no better plan of action mapped out, I would suggest start- ing at the point where we lost him and working outward, covering an expanding sphere.” “You know best. I will stick to you wherever you go. I am ready." Tregonsee launched his thought: a thought which, at a velocity not to be measured even in multiples of that of light, generated the surface of a continuously enlarging, sphere of space. And with that thought, a very part of it, sped Camilla’s in- comprehensibly delicate, instanta- neously reactive detector web. The ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

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Rigellian, with his unhuman perse- verance, would have surveyed total space had it been neces^ry ; and the now adult Camilla would have stayed with him. However, the pa- tient pair did not have to comb all of space. In a matter of hours the girl’s almost infinitely tenuous de- tector touched, with infinitesimal power and for an inappreciable in- stant of time, the exact thought- structure to which it had been so carefully attuned. “Halt!” she hashed, and Tregon- see’s mighty superdreadnought shot away along the indicated line at maximum blast. "You are not now thinking at him, of course, but how sure are you that he did not feel your detec- tor?” Tregonsee asked. "Positive,” the girl replied. "I couldn’t even feel it myself until after a million-fold amplification. It was just a web, you know., not nearly solid enough for an analyzer or a recorder. I didn’t touch his mind at all. However, when we get close enough to work efficiently, which will be in about five days, we will have to touch him. Assuming that he is as sensitive as we are, he will feel us; hence \vc will have to work fast and according to some definite plan. What are your ideas as to technique?” * “l may offer a suggestion or two, later, but I resign leadership to you. You alreadj' have made plans, have you not?” “Only a framework, 1 could not go into detail without consulting you. Since we agree that it was my CIKIT.nJlKN Or THK LESS mind that he did not like, you will have to make the first contact.” "Of course. But since the action of thought is so nearly instantane- ous, are you sure that you will be able to protect yourself in case he overcomes me at that first contact ?” If the Rigellian gave any thought at all to his own fate in such a case, no trace of it was evident. "My screens arc good. I am fair- ly certain that I could protect both of us, but it might slow me down a trifle; and even an instant’s delay might keep me from getting the in- formation we‘ want. It would be letter, I think, to call Kit in. Or, l>etter vel, Kay. She can stop a superatomic 1x>mb. With Kay cov- ering us both, we will be tree to put our full power into the offense.” “And that offense is to be — ?” “I have no idea. We will work that out together.” Again they went into a union of minds; considering, weighing, ana- lyzing, rejecting, and — a few times — accepting. And finally, well within the five-day time limit, they had drawn up a completely detailed plan of battle. How uselessly that time was spent! For that battle, instead of progressing according to their care- fully worked-out plan, was ended almost in the instant of its begin- ning. According to plan, Tregonsee tuned his mind to “XV’ pattern as soon as they had come within working range. He reached out as delicately as he could; and his best was very fine work indeed. • m

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He might just as well have, struck with all his power, for at the first touch of the fringe, extremely light and entirely innocuous though it was, the stranger’s barriers flared into being and there came back instantly a mental bolt of such vicious intensity that it would have gone through Tregonsee’s hardest- held block as though no barrier had been there. But that bolt did not strike Tregonsee’s shield; lie did not even know, until much later, that it had been sent. Instead, it struck Karen Kinnison’s, which has already been described. It did not exactly bounce, nor did it cling, nor did it linger, even for a microsecond, to do battle as expected. It simply vanished; as though that minute interval of time had been sufficient for the enemy to have recovered from the shock of encountering a completely un- expected resistance, to have ana- lyzed the texture of the shield, to have deduced from that analysis the full capabilities of its owner and operator, to have decided that he did not care to have any deal- ings with the entity so deduced, and finally, as he no doubt sup- posed. to have begun to retreat in good order. His retreat, however, was not in good order. He did not escape, this time. This time, as she had declared that she would be, Camilla ' was ready for anything — literally anything. Everything she had — and she had plenty — was on the trips ; tense, taut, and poised. Knowing that Karen, the Ultimate of Defense, was on guard, she was 134 wholly free to hurl her every force in the instant of perceiving the enemy’s poignant thrust. Scafcely had the* leading element of her attack touched the stranger’s screens, however, wliep those screens, “X” himself, his vessel and any others that might have been accompanying it, and everything tangible in nearby space, all dis- appeared at once in the in- conceivably violent, the ultimately cataclysmic detonation of a super- atomic bomb. It may not, perhaps, be gener- ally known that the “completely liberating” or “superatomic” bomb liberates one hundred percent of the total component energy of two or more subcritical masses of an un- stable isotope, in a space of time estimated to be sixty-nine hun- dredths of one microsecond. Its violence and desructiveness thus differ, both in degree and in kind, from. those of the earlier type, which liberated only the energy of nu- clear fission, very much as the radiation of S-Doradus differs from that of Earth’s moon. . Its mass attains, and holds for an appre- ciable length of time, a temperature to be measured only in millions of Centigrade degrees; which fact ac- counts in large part for its utterly incredible vehemence. Nothing inert in its entire sphere of primary action can even begin to move out of the way before being reduced to its subatomic constituents and thus contributing . in some measure to the cataclysm. Nothing is or becomes visible until the secondary stage begins; until ASTOUNDING •SCIBN.CBr.FICT.lON

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the frightful globe has expanded to a diameter of some hundreds of miles and by this expansion has cooled clown to a point at which some of its radiation lies in the visible violet. And as for lethal radiation — there are radiations and they are lethal. The battle with “X” had occu- pied approximately two milliseconds of actual time. The expansion had been progressing for a second or t<vo when Ivarcn lowered her shield. ‘‘Well, that finishes that,” she commented. “I’d better get back on the job. Did you find out what you want to know, Cam, or not ?” “I got a little in the moment be- fore the explosion. Not much.” Camilla was deep in study. “It is going to be quite* a job of re- construction. One thing of inter- est to you, though, is that this *X* had quit sabotage temporarily and ivas on his way to Lyrane IX, where ‘he had some kind of important — ” “Nine?” Karen asked, sharply. “Not Eight? Eve been watching Eight, you know— I "haven't even thought of' Nine.” “Nine, definitely. The thought was clear. You might give it .a scan once in a while. How is mother doing?” “She's doing a grand job, and that Helen is quite an operator, too. Fm not doing much — just a touch here and there — I’ll see what I can sec on Nine. I’m not the scanner or detector that you are, though, you know— maybe you'd Cnir/DREX OF THE LENS better come over here too, in person. Suppose ?” “I think so — don’t you. Uncle 3?rig?” Tregonsee did. “We can do some exploring as wel come, but since I have no definite patterns for web work, we may not be a^le to do much until we gel close. Clear ether, Kay!” “The fine structure is there, and I can resolve it and analyze it,” Camilla informed Tregonsee, after a few hours of intense concentra- tion. “There arc quite a few dear extraneous sequences, instead of the blurred latent images we had before, but there is still no indica- tion whatever of the location of his home planet. I can see his physi- cal classification to ten places in- stead of four, more detail as to the sun’s variation, the seasods, . their habits, and so on. Things that seem mostly to be of very little impor- tance, as far as we are concerned. I found one fact, though, that is new and important. According to my reconstruction, his business on Lyrane IX was the induction of Boskonian Lensmen — Black Lens- men, Tregonsee, just as father suspected !” “In that case, he must have been the Boskonian counterpart of an Arisian, and lienee one of the highest echelon. I am very glad indeed that yon and Karen relieved me of the necessity of trying to handle him myself. Kinnison will lie very glad to know that we have at last and in fact reached the top — ” Camilla was paying attention to is**

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the Rigellian’s. cogitations with only a fraction of' her mind; most of it i>eing engaged in a private conversation with her brother. . . st? you see. Kit, he was under a subconscious compulsion. } Itv/aid to- destroy himself, his ship, and ■ everything in it, in the very instant of attack by any mind definitely superior to his own.*' (Therefore he couldn’t have been an Eddorian, possibly, but merely an- other intermediate, and I haven’t been of much help.” “Sure you have. Cam! You got a lot of information, and some mighty good leads to .Lyrane IX and what goes On there. I’m on my way to Eddore now ; and by Working down from there and up from’ Lyrane IX we can’t go wrong. Clear ether. Sis!” XIX. Constance Rirmison did not waste much time in idle recrimina- tions, even at herself. Realizing at last that she was still not fully competent, and being able to de- fine exactly What she lacked, she went to Arisia for final treatment. She took that treatment and emerged from it. as her brother and sisters had emerged, a. completely integrated personality. She had something of everything the Others had, of course, as did they all: but her dominants, the characteristics which had operated to make Worse! her favorite Second-Stage Len smaii, were much like those of the Velantian. Her mind, like his, was quick and facile, 186 yet of extraordinary power and range. She did not have much of her father’s flat, driving urge or of his indomitable will to do ; she was the: least able of all the Five to exert long-sustained extreme effort. Her top, however, was vastly higher than theirs. Like Worsel’s, her armament was almost entirely offensive — she was far and away the deadliest fighter of them all.. She only of them all had more than a trace of pure killer instinct ; and when roused to full fighting pitch her mental bolts were wea- pons of as starkly incomprehensible an effectiveness as the sphere of primary action of, a superatomic bomb. As soon as Constance had left the V elan, remarking that she was going to Arisia to take her medi- cine, Worsel called a staff meeting to discuss in detail the matter of the ‘'Hell Hole in Space.” That conference was neither long nor heated; it was unanimously agreed that that phenomenon was — must be — simply another undiscovered cavern of Overlords. In view of the fact that Worsel and his crew had been hunting down and kilting Overlords for more than twenty years, the only logical course of action was for them to deal similarly with one more, perhaps the only remaining large group of their hereditary foes. Nor did any doubt of their ability to do so enter any one of the Vejantians’ minds. How wrong they were ! They did not have to search for the “Hell Hole,” Long since, to ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

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stop its dreadful toll, *a spherical cordon of robot guard ships had been posted to warn all traffic away from the outer fringes of its influence. Since • they merely warned against, hut could not physically prohibit, entry into the dangerous space, VVorsel did not pay any attention to the guard ships or to their signals as the Fcla'tt went through the warning web. His plans were, he thought, well laid. His ship was free. Its speed, by Velantian standards, was very low. Each member of his crew wore a full-coverage thought- screen; a similar and vastly more powerful screen would surround the whole vessel if one of Worsel’s minor members ^ wore either to tighten or to relax its grip upon a spring-mounted control. Worsel was, he thought, ready for any- thing. Hut the '‘Hell Hole in Space” was not a cavern of Overlords. No sun, no planet, nothing material existed within that spherical volume of space. That something was there, however, there ^vas no doubt. Slow as was the V elan’s pace, it was still too fast by far; for in a matter of minutes, through the supposedly impervious thought- screens, there came an attack of utterly malignant ferocity; an as- sault which tore at Worsel’s mind in a fashion he had never imagined possible; a poignant, rending, un- bearably crescendo force whose violence seemed to double with every mile of advance. The V elan’s all-encompassing screen snapped on — uselessly. Its CHILDREN' OF TUB I.KSS tremendous power was as un- opposed as were the lesser powers of the personal shields — that highly inimical thought was coming past, not tli rough, the barriers. An Arisian, or one of the Children of the Lens, would have been able to perceive and to block that band; no one of lesser mental stature could. Strong and fast as Worsel was, mentally and physically, he got his vessel turned around just barely in time. All his resistance and all his strength had to be called into play to maintain his minds control over liis body; to enable him to spin his ship end for end and to kick her drive up to maximum blast. To his surprise, his agony decreased with distance as rapidly as it had built up; disappearing entirely well before the Velan reached the web she had crossed such a short time before. Groggy, sick, and shaken, liang- ing slackly -from his bars, the Velan- tian Lensman was roused to action by the mental and physical frenzy of his crew, 'fen of them had died in the Hell Hole; six more were torn to bits before their com- mander could muster enough force to stop their insane . rioting. Then Master Therapist Worsel went to work; and one by one he brought the survivors back. They remem- bered ; but he made those memories bearable. He then called Iv i n n i s o n. . . but there didn’t seem to be anything personal about it, as one would expect from an Overlord,” he concluded his brief report. 1S7

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“It did’ not concentrate on us, reach for us, or follow us as we left. Its intensity seemed to vary only with distant . . . perhaps inversely as distance squared — - it might very well have been radiated from a center. While it ‘was nothing like anything I ever felt before, I still think that it must be an Overlord — maybe a sort of Second-Stage Overlord, just as you and I are Second-Stage Lensmen. He is too strong for me now, just as they used to be too strong for us before we met you. By the same reasoning, however, I am pretty sure that if you can come over here, you and I together could figure out a way of taking him. How about it?” “Mighty interesting, and I'd like to, but I’m right in the middle of a job,” Kinnison replied, and .went on to explain rapidly what he, as Bradlow Thyron, had done and what he still had to do. -“As soon as I can get away I’ll come over. In the meantime, fellow old snake, keep away from there. Do a flit — find something else to keep you amused until I can join you.” Worsel set out, and after a few days ... or weeks— idle time means practically nothing to a Velantian — a sharply-Lensed thought drove in. “Help ! A Lensman calling help! Line this thought and come at speed to System—” The mes- sage ended as sharply as it had begun ; in a flare of agony which, Worsel knew, meant that that 2?>S Lensman, ‘whoever he was, had died. Since the thought, although broadcast, had come in strong and clear, Worsel* knew that its sender had been close by. While the time had been very short indeed, he had been able to get a line of sorts. Into that line he whirled the V elan's sharp prow and along it she hurtled at the literally in- conceivable pace of her ' absolute- maximum drive. As the Gray Lensman had often remarked:, the Velantian superdfeadnought had more legs than a centipede, and now she was using them all. In minutes, then, the scene of battle grew large upon her plates. The Patrol ship, hopelessly out- classed, could last only seconds longer. Her screens were down; her very wall shield was dead. Red pockmarks sprang into being along her sides as the Boskonian needle- beamers wiped out her few remain- ing controls. Then, as the help- lessly raging Worsel looked on, his brain seething with unutterable Velantian profanity, the enemy prepared to board — a course of action which, Worsel could see, was changed abruptly by the fact —and perhaps as well by the terrific velocity- — of his own "un- swerving approach. The conquered Patrol cruiser disappeared in a blaze of detonating duodec ; the conqueror devoted bis every jet to the task of running away ; strewing his path as he did so with sundry items of solid and explosive destruction. Such things, how- ever, whether dirigible or not, ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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whether inert or- tree, were old and simple stuff to the V elan's war- wise crew. Their spotters and detectors were full out, as was also a practically solid forefan of annihilating and disintegrating beams. Thus none of the Boskonian's missiles touched the V elan, nor, with all his speed, could he es- cape. Few indeed were the ships of space able to step it, parsec for parsec, with Worsel’s mighty craft, and this luckless pirate vessel was not one of them. Up and up the pursuer rushed; second by second the intervening distance lessened. •Tractors shot out, locked on, and pulled briefly with all the force of their stupendous generators. Briefly, but long enough. As Worsel had anticipated, that sav- age yank had, in the fraction of a second required for the Bosko- niatt commander to recognize and to cut the tractors, been enough to bring the two inertialess war craft practically screen to screen. "Primaries! Blast!" Worse! hurled the thought even before his tractors snapped. He was in no mood for a long-drawn-out engage- ment. He might be able to win with his secondaries, his needles, his tremendously powerful short- range stuff and his other ordinary offensive weapons, but he was taking no chances. Besides, the Boskonians might very well have primaries oi their own by this time, and if they did his only chance was to use them first. His men knew what to do and would do it with- out further orders. A dozen or so OHILDREX OF THE LENS of those hellishly iaresistible projectors o*f sheer destruction lashed out as one. One! Two! Three! The three courses of Boskonian defensive screen scarcely winked as each, locally overloaded, flared- through the visible into the black and went down. . Crash! The stubborn fabric of the wall shield offered little more resistance before it, too, went down, exposing the bare metal • of the Boskonian’s hull — and, as is well known, any conceivable material substance simply vanishes, trace- lessly, at the merest touch of such fields of force as those. Driving projectors carved away and main batteries silenced, Wor- sens needle-beamers proceeded systematically to riddle every control panel and every lifeboat, to make of the immense space rover, a completely helpless hulk. “Hold !” An observer flashed the thought, “dumber Eight slip is empty — Number Eight lifeboat got away!" “Damnation !” Worsel, at the head of his armed and armored storming party, as furiously eager as they to come to grips with the enemy, paused briefly. "Trace it — or can you?” “I did. My tracers can hold it for fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty. No longer than twenty.” Worsel thought intensely. Which had first call, ship or lifeboat? The ship, he decided almost instantly. Its resources were vastly greater; most of its personnel were proba- bly practically unharmed. Given ' 139

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any time at all, they might very well be able to jury-rig a primary, and that would be bad — very bad. Besides, there were more people here ; and even if, as' was distinctly possible, the Boskonian big shot had abandoned his vessel and his crew in an attempt to save his own life, Worsel had plenty of time. • “Hold that lifeboat,” he in- structed the observer. “Ten minutes is all we need here.” And it was. The Boskonians — barrel-bodied, blocky-limbed mon- strosities resembling human beings about as much as they did *the Vclantians — wore armor, . possessed hand- weapons of power, and fought viciously. They had even man- aged to rig a few semiportable projectors, but none of these were allowed a single blast. Spv-rav observers were alert, and needle- beam operators; hence the fighting was all at. hand to hand, with hand- weapons only. For. while the Velantians to a man lusted to' kill, they had had it drilled into them for twenty years that the search for information came first; the pleasure of killing, second. Worse! himself went straight for the Boskonian captain, his pre- selected prey. , That wight had a couple of guards with him, but they did not matter — needle-ray men took care of them. . He also had a pair of heavy beam guns, which he held steadily on the Velantian.. Worsel paused momen- tarily: then, finding that his 140 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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.screens were adequate, he slammed the control room door shut with 'a flick of his tail and launched him- self, straight and level at his foe, with an acceleration of seven gravities. The captain tried to dodge but could not. The fright- ful impact did not kill him, but it hurt him, badly. Worsel, on the other hand, was scarcely jarred. Hard, tough, and durable, Yelan- tians are accustomed from birth to knockings-about which would pul- verize human bones. Worsel batted the Boskonian’s guns away with two terrific blows of an armored paw, noting as he did so that violent contact with a steel wall did not do their interior mechanisms a bit of good. Then, after cutting off both his enemy's screens and his own, he batted the Boskonian’s helmet ; at first experimentally, then with- all his power. Unfortunately, however, it held. So did the thought-screen, and there were no external con- trols. That armor was good stuff! Leaping to the ceiling, he blasted his whole mass straight down' upon the breastplate, striking it so hard this time that he hurt his head. Still no use. He wedged himself l>etween two heavy braces, flipped a loop of tail around the Bosko- nian’s feet, and heaved. The ar- mored form flew across the room, struck the heavy steel wall, bounced, and dropped. The bulges of the armor were flattened by the force of the collision, the wall was dented— but the thought-screen still Held ! Worsel was running, out of time, fast. Pie, couldn’t treat the thing very much rougher without killing him, if he wasn’t dead already. He couldn’t take him aboard ; he had to cut that screen here and now! He could see how the armor was put together; but, armored as he was, he could not take it apart. And, since the whole ship was empty of air, he could not open liis own. Or could he? He could. He could breathe space long enough to do what had to be done. He cut off his air, loosened a plate enough to release tour or five gnarled hands, and, paying no atten- tion to his involuntarily laboring lungs, set furiously to work. He tore open the Boskonian’s armor, snapped off his thought-screen. The creature was not quite dead yet — good! He, didn’t know a thing, though, nor did any member of his crew, except . . . yes, one man — a big shot — had got away. Who> or what, was he? ‘‘Tell me!” Worsel demanded, with the full power of mind and Lens, even while he was exploring with all his skill and. speed. “TELL ME!” But the Boskonian was dying fast. The ungentle treatment, and now the lack of air, were taking toll. His patterns were dis- integrating by the second, faster and • faster. Meaningless blurs, which, under Worsel’s vicious probing, condensed into something which seemed to. be a Lens. A Len s man ? Impossible — . starkly unthinkable! But jet back CJIlT.r»RKX OF THE F.ESS 141

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—hadn’t - Kim intimated a while back that there might be such things as Black Lensmen ? But Worsel himself wasn’t feel- ing so good. He was only half conscious. Red, black, and purple spots were dancing in front of every one of his eyes. He sealed his suit, turned on his air, gasped, and staggered. Two of the near- est Velantians, all of whom had, of course, been en rapport with him throughout, came rushing to his aid ; arriving just as he recovered full control. “Back to the Velan, everybody !” ' he ordered. “No time for any more fun — we’ve got to get that lifeboat I” Then, as soon as he had been obeyed : “Bomb that hulk . . . good. Flit!” Overtaking the lifeboat did not take long. Spearing it with a trac- tor and yanking it alongside re- quired only seconds. For all his haste, Worsel found in it only something that looked as though it once might have been a Detgo- nian Lensman. It had blown it- self apart with a grenade. Be- cause of its reptilian tenacity of life, however, it was not quite dead ; its Lens still showed an occasional flicker of light and its shattered mind was not yet entirely devoid of patterns. Worsel studied that mind until all trace of life had vanished, then again reported to the Co-ordinator. " , . so you see I guessed wrong. The Lens was too dim to read, but he. must have been a Black Lens- man, The only readable thought in his mind was an extremely fuzzy one ot the planet Lyrane IX. I hate to have hashed the job up so — especially since I had one chance in two of guessing right.” “Well, no use in squawking now.” . Kinnison paused in thought. “Be- sides, he could have done it anyway, and would have. You haven’t done so badly, at that. You found a Black Lensman who is hot a Kalonian, and you’ve got confirmation of Boskonian interest in Lyrane IXV What more do you want? Stick around fairly close to the Hell Hole, Slim, and as soon as I can make it, I’ll join you there.” XX. “Boys, take her, upstairs,” Kinnison-Thyron ordered, and the tremendous raider — actually the Dauntless in disguise — floated se- renely upward -to a station imme- diately astern of the vice admiral’s flagship. All three ' courses of multi-ply defensive screen were out, as were full-coverage spy- ray blocks and thought-screens. As the fleet- blasted in tight formation for, Kalonia III, Vice Admiral Mendonai tested the Dauntless’ defenses thoroughly, and found them bottle-tight. No intru- sion was possible. The only open channel was that one plate-to-plate, the other end of which was so villainously fogged that nothing could be seen except Bradlow Thy- ron’s face. Convinced at last of that fact, Mendonai sat back and seethed quietly, his pervasive Kalo- nian blueness pointing up his grim and vicious mood. 142 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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He had never, in all his long life, been insulted so outrageously. Was there anything — anything! — he could do about it? There was not. Thyron, personally, he could not touch — yet — and the fact that the outlaw had so brazenly and so nonchalantly placed his vessel in the exact center of the Boskonian fleet made it pellucidly clear to any Boskonian mind that he had nothing whatever to fear from that fleet. Wherefore the Kalonian seethed, and his minions stepped ever more softly and followed with ever- increasing punctilio the rigid Bosko- nian code. For the grapevine car- ries news swiftly ; by this time the whole fleet knew that His Nibs had been taking a God-awful kicking around,' and that the first guy who gave him an excuse to blow off steam would be lucky if he only got boiled in oil. As the fleet spread out for inert maneuvering above the Kalonian stratosphere, Kinnison turned again to the young Lensman. “One last word, Frank. I am as sure as I can be that I am fully covered — a lot of smart people worked on this problem. Never- theless, something may happen, so I will send you the data as fast as I get it. Remember what I told you before — if I get the dope we need. I’m expandable and it’ll be your job to get it back to Base. No heroics. Is lliat clear?” "Yes, -sir.” The young Lensman gulped. ‘T hope, though, that it doesn’t—” "So do I,” Kinnison grinned as he climbed into his. highly special CHILDREN OF THE LENS dureum armor, “and the chances are a million to .one that it won’t. That’s why I’m going down there.” In their respective speedsters Kinnison and Mendonai made the long drop to the ground, and side by side they went into the office of Black Lensman Melasnikov. That worthy, too, wore heavy armor ; but he did not have a mechanical thought-screen. Arro- gantly conscious of his tremendous power of mind, what did any Black Lensman need of mechani- cal shields? Thyron, of course, did; a fact of which Melasnikov became instantly aware. “Release your screen,” he di- rected, brusquely. “Not yet, pal — don't be so hasty,” Thyron advised. “There’ re some things about this here hookup that I don’t exactly like. We go* quite a bit of talking .to do before I open up.” “No talk, worm. . Talk, es- pecially your talk, is entirely mean- ingless. From you I want, and will have, the truth, and not talk. CUT THOSE SCREENS!” And lovely Kathryn, in her speedster not too far away, straight- ened* up and sent out a call. “Kit . . . Kay . . . Cam . . . Con — are you free?” They were, for the moment. “Stand by, please, all of you. I’m pretty sure something is going to happen. Dad can handle this Melasnikov easily enough, if none of the higher-ups step in, but they probably will. Their Lens- 143

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men are probably important enough to rate protection. Check ?" “Check.” “So, as soon as Dad begins to get the best of the argument, the protector will step in,” Kathryn continued, “and whether I can handle him alone or not depends on how high a higher-up they send in. So I'd like to have you all stand by for a minute or two, just in case.” How different was Kathryn’s attitude now than it had been in the hyperspatial tube! And how well for Civilization that it was! "Hold it, kids. I’ve got a thought,” Kit suggested. “We’ve never done any teamwork since you became able to handle heavy stuff, and we’ll have to get in some practice before the big blow-off. What say we link up now, on lilts ?” *Oh, yes!" "Let's do!” “Take over. Kit!" Three approvals came as one, and : “QX,” came Kathryn’s less enthusiastic concurrence, a moment later. Naturally enough, she would rather do it alone if she could ; but she had to admit that her brother's plan was the better. Kit laid out the matrix and the four girls came in. There was a brief moment of snuggling and fit- ting; then each of the Five caught his breath in awe. This was new —brand new. Each had thought himself complete and full ; each had supposed that much practice and at least some give-and-take would be necessary before they could work efficiently as a group. But 144 this! This was the supposedly unattainable — perfection itself ! This was UNITY— full; round; complete. No practice was or ever would be necessary. Not one micro-microsecohd of doubt or erf uncertainty would or ever could exist. This was the UNIT, a tiling for which there are no words in any written or spoken language ; a thing theretofore undreamed-of save as a purely theoretical concept in an unthinkably ancient, four-ply Arisian brain. “U.m.n.g.n.k,” Kit swallowed a lump as big as his fist before he could think. "This, kids, is really some — ” "Ah, children, you have done it.” Mentor’s thought rolled smoothly in. "You now understand why I could not attempt to describe <he Unit to any one of you. This is the culminating moment of my life — of our lives, we may now say. For the first time in more years than you can understand, we are at last sure that our lives have not been lived in vain. But attend — that for which you are waiting will soon be here.” "What is it?” “Who?” “Tel! us how to — " ■ “We cannot.” Four separate Arisiatis. smiled as one — a wash of ineffable blessing and benediction suffused the Five. “We, who made the Unit possible, are almost com- pletely ignorant of the details of its higher functions. But that it will need no help from our lesser minds is certain; it is the most powerful and the most nearly per- ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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feet creation this Universe has ever seen.” The Arisians vanished ; and, even before Kimball Kinnison had released his screen, a cryptic, utterly untraceable and all-pervasive foreign thought came in. To aid the Black Lensmau? To study this disturbing new clement? Or merely to observe? Or what? 'Hie only certainty \Vas that tliat thought was coldly, clearly, and highly inimical to all Civilization. Again everything happened at once. Karen’s impenetrable block- flared into being — lfOt instantly, but instantaneously. Constance assem- bled and hurled, in . the same lack' of time, a mental bolt of whose size and power she had never dreamed herself capable. Camilla, the detector-scanner, synchronized her- self with the attacking thought and steered. And Kathryn and Kit, with all the force, all the will, and all the drive of human heredity, got behind it and pushed. Nor was this, any of it, con- scious individual effort. The chil- dren of the I^ens were not now five, but one. This was the Unit at work; doing its first job. It is literally impossible to describe what happened; but each of the Five knew that one would-be Protector, wherever he had been in space or whenever in time, would never think again. Seconds passed. The Unit held tense, awaiting the riposte. No riposte came. “Fine work, kids!” Ivit broke the linkage and each girl felt hard, brotherly pats on her back. ‘‘That’s CHIJ.DRKX OF TITK I.J5NS all there is to this one, . I guess — must have been only one guard on duty. You’re good eggs, and I like you. How we can operate now !” “But it was too easy, Kit !” Kathryn protested. “Too easy by far for it to have been an Eddo-r rian. We aren’t that good. Why, I could have handled him alone . . . I think,” she added, hastily, as she realized that she, although an essential part of the Unit, had as yet no real understanding of what that Unit really was. “You hope, you mean!” Con- stance jeered. “If that bolt was as big and as hot as I’m afraid it was, anything it hit would have looked easy. Why didn’t you slow us down, Kit? You’re supposed to be the Big Brain, you know. As it was, we haven’t the faintest idea of what, happened. Who was he, anyway?” “Didn’t have time,” Kit grinned. “Everything got out of hand. All of us were sort of inebriated by the exuberance of our own enthu- siasm, I guess. Now that we know what our speed is, though, we can slow down next time — if we want to. As for your last question, Con, you’re asking the wrong guy. Was it an Eddorian, Cam, or not?” “What difference does it make?” Karen asked. “On the practical side, none. For the completion of the picture, maybe a lot. Come in, Cam.” “It was not an Eddorian,” Camilla decided. “It was not of Arisian, or even near-Arisian, grade. Sorry to say it, Kit, but J4S

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it was another member of that high-thinking race that you’ve al- ready got down on Page One of your little black book." “I thought it might be. The missing link between Kalonia and Eddore. Credits to millos it’s that dopey planet Ploor that Mentor was' yowling about." “Let's link up and let the Unit find it,” Constance suggested, brightly. “That’d be fun.” “Act your age, baby,:'.’ Kit ad- vised. “Ploor is taboo — you know that as well as I do. Mentor told us all not to try to investigate it — that we’d learn of it in time, so we probably will. I told him a while back that I was going to hunt it up myself, and he told, me ■that if 1 did he’d tie both my legs around my neck in a lovers’ knot, or words to that effect. Sometimes I'd like to half-brain the old buz- zard, but everything he has said so far has dead-centered the beam. We’ll just have to take it, and try to like it.” Kinnison was eminently willing to cut his thought-screen, since he could not work through it to do what had to be done here. Nor was he over-confident. He knew that he could handle the Black •Lensman — any Black Lensman — but he also knew enough of mental phenomena- in general and of Lensmanship in particular to realize that Melasnikov might very well have within call reserves about whom he, Kinnison, could know nothing. He knew .that he had lied outrageously to young 14« Frank in regard to the odds appli- cable to this enterprise; that instead of a million to one, the actuality was one to one, or even less. Nevertheless, he was well con- tent. He had neither lied nor exaggerated in saying that he him- self was expendable. That was why Frank and the Dauntless were upstairs now. Getting the dope and getting it back to Base were what mattered. Nothing else did. He was coldly certain that he could get all. the information that Melasnikov had, once he had en- gaged the Kalowian Lensman mind to mind. No Boskonian power or thing, he was convinced, could treat him rough enough to kill him fast enough to keep him from doing that. And he could and would shoot the stuff along to Frank as fast as he got it; And he stood an even — almost even, anyway — chance of getting away afterward. If he could, QX. If he couldn't , . . well, that would have to be QX, too. Kinnison flipped his switch and there ensued a conflict of wills that made the subether boil. The Kalo- nian was one of the strongest, hardest, and ablest individuals of his hellishly capable race; and the fact that, he believed implicitly in his own complete invulnerability operated to double and to quadruple his naturally tremendous strength. On the other hand, Kimball Kinnison was a Second-Stage Lens- man of the Galactic Patrol. Back and back, then, inch by inch and foot by foot, the Black ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-PICTION

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Lensman's defensive zone was forced; back to and down into his own mind. And there, appallingly enough, Kinnison found almost nothing of value. knowledge of the higher reaches of the Boskonian organiza- tion ; no hint that any real organiza- tion of Black Lensmen existed; only the peculiarly disturbing fact that he had picked up his Lens on Lyrane IX. And “picked up” was literal. He had not seen, nor heard, nor had any dealings of any kind with anyone while he was there. Since both armored figures stood motionless, no sign of the tremen- dous actuality of their mental battle was evident. Thus the Boskonians were not surprised to hear their Black Lensman speak. “Very well, Thyron, you have passed this preliminary examina- tion. I know all that 1 now need to know. I will accompany you to your vessel, to complete my investigation there. Lead the way.” Kinnison did so, and as the speedster came to rest inside the Dauntless the Black Lensman ad- dressed Vice Admiral Mendonai via plate. “I am taking Bradlow Thyron and his ship to the space yards on Four, where a really comprehensive study of it can be made. Return to and complete your original assignment.” “I abase myself, Your Supre- macy, but . . . but I ... I discovered that ship!” Mendonai protested. CHILDREN OF THE LENS "Granted,” the Black Lensman sneered. “You will be given full credit in the report for what you have done. The fact of discovery, however, does not excuse your present conduct. Go — and consider yourself fortunate that, because of that service, I forbear from disciplining* you for your intolerable insubordination.” "I abase myself, Your Supre- macy. I go.” He really did abase himself, this time, and the fleet disappeared. Then, the mighty Dauntless safely away from Kalonia and on her course to rendezvous with the Velan, Kinnison again went over his captive’s mind ; line by line and almost cell by cell. It was still the same. It was still Lyrane IX and it still didn’t make any kind of sense. Since Boskonians were certainly not supermen, and hence could not possibly have developed their own Lenses, it followed that they must have obtained them from the Boskonian counterpart of Arisia. Hence, Lyrane IX must be IT — a conclusion which was cer- tainly fallacious — r i d i c u 1 o u s — preposterous — utterly untenable. Lyrane IX never had been, was not, and never would be the home of any Boskonian super-race. Nevertheless, it was a definite fact that Melasnikov had got his Lens there. Also, if he had ever had any special training, such .as any Lensman must have had, he didn’t have any memory- of it. Nor did he carry any scars of surgery. What a hash ! How could any- .147

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body make any sense out of such a mess as that? Ever-watchful Kathryn, eyes nar- rowed now in concentration, could have told him, but she did not. Her visualization was beginning to clear up. Lyrane was out. So was Ploor. The Lenses originated on Eddore ; that was certain. The fact that their training was sub- conscious weakened the Black Lens- men in precisely the characteristics requisite for ultimate strength — although probably neither the Eddorians nor the Ploorans, with their warped, Boskonian sense of values, realized it. The Black Lensmen would never constitute a serious problem. QX. The time of rendezvous ap- proached. Kinnison, having at- tended to the unpleasant but neces- sary job of resolving Belasnikov into his component atoms, . turned to his Lensman-aide. “Hold everything, Frank, until X get back. This won’t take long.” Nor did it, although the out- come was not at all what the Gray Lensman had expected. Kinnison and Worsel, in an inert 'speedster, crossed the Hell Hole’s barrier web at a speed of only miles per hour, and then slowed down. The ship was backing in on her brakes, with everything set to hurl her forward under lull drive should either Lensman flick a linger. Kinnison could feel nothing, even though, being en rapport with Worsel, ho knew that his friend was soon suffering intensely. “Lei’s flit,” the Gray Lensman suggested, and threw on the drive. “I probed my limit, and couldn't touch or feel a thing. Had enough, didn’t you?” “More than enough — I couldn't have taken much more.” ^ ICach boarded his ship; and as the Dauntless and the Velan tore through space toward far Lyrane, Kinnison paced his room, scowling in black . abstraction. Nor would a mind reader have found his thoughts either cogent or informa- tive. “Lyrane IX . . . LYRANE IX . . . Lyrane IX . . . LYRANE IX . . . and something that I can’t even feel or perceive, but that kills any- body and everybody else . . . KLONO’S tungsten TEETH and CURVING GARB ALLOY CLAWS! ! !” XXI. Helen’s story was short and bit- ter. Human or near-human Bosko- uians came to Lyrane II and spread insidious propaganda all over the planet. Lyranian matriarchy should abandon its policy of isolationism. Matriarchs were the highest type of life. Matriarchy was the most perfect of all existing forms of government — why keep on con- fining it to one small planet, when it should by right be ruling the entire -Galaxy? The way things were, there was only one Elder Person; all other Lvranians, even though better qualified than the then incumbent, were nothing — and so on. Whereas, i f things were as they should be, each ASTonxmxo sr.rBxcrc-FirrroN

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individual Lyranian person could be and would ber the Elder Person of a planet at least, and per- haps of an entire solar system — and so on. And the visitors, who, they insisted, were no more males than the Lyranian persons were females, would teach them. They would be amazed at how easily, under Boskonian guidance, this program could be put into effect. Helen fought the intruders with every jet she had. She despised the males of her own race; she detested those of all others. Believing that hers was the only existing matriarchal race, especially since neither Kinnison nor the Boskonians seemed to. know of any other, she was sure that any pro- longed contact 'with other cultures would result, not in the triumph of matriarchy’, but in its fall. She not only voiced these beliefs as she held them — violently— hut also acted upon them in the same fashion. Because of the ingrained matriarchally conservative habit of Lyranian thought, particularly among the older persons, Helen found it comparatively easy to stamp out the visible manifesta- tions; and. being in no sense a sophisticate, she thought that the whole matter was settled. Instead, she merely drove the movement underground, where it grew tremen- dously. The young, of course, rebellious as always against the hide-bound, mossbacked, and re- actionary' older generation, joined the subterranean New Deal in droves. Nor was the older genera- CHILDREN OF THE LENS tion solid. In fact, it was riddled by the defection of many thousands who could not expect to attain any outstanding place in the world as it was and who believed that the Boskonians’ glittering forecasts would come true. Disaffection spread, then, rapidly and unobserved; culminating in the carefully - planned uprising which made Helen an. Ex-Chief Person and put her into the tower room to await a farcical trial and death. “I see.” Clarrissa caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Very unfunny. , I noticed that you didn’t mention or think of any of your persons as ringleader's . , . peculiar that you couldn’t catch them, with your telepathy ... no, natural enough, at that . . . but there’s one I want very much to get hold of. Don’t know whether she was* really a leader, or not, but she was mixed up in some way with a Boskonian Lensman. I never did know her name. She was the worn . . , the person who managed your airport here when Kim and I were-7” “Cleonie ? Why, I never thought . . . but it might have, at that . . . yes, as I look back—” , “Yes, hindsight is a lot more accurate than foresight,” the Red Lensman grinned. “I’ve noticed ■ that myself, lots of times.” “It did! ' It was a leader !” Helen declared, furiously. “I shall have its life, too, the jealous cat — the blood-sucking, back-biting louse!” “She’s all of that, in more ways than .you know,” Clarrissa agreed, grimly, and spread in the Lyranian’s 14ft

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mind the story of Eddie the dere- lict. “So you see that Cleonie has got to be our starting-point. Have vou any idea of where we can find her?” “I haven't seen or heard anything of Cleonie lately.” Helen paused in thought. “If, though, as I am how practically certain, it was one of the prime movers behind this brainless brat Ladora, it wouldn’t dare leave the planet for very long at a time. As to how to find it, I don’t quite know. Anybody would be apt to shoot me on sight. Would you dare fly this funny plane of yours down close to a few of our cities?” - “Certainly. I don’t know of anything around here that my screens and fields can’t stop. Why?” “Because I know of several places where Cleonie might be, and if I can get fairly close to them, I can find it in spite of anything it can do to hide itself from me. But I don’t want to get you into too much trouble, and I don’t want to get killed myself, either, now that you have rescued me — at least, until after I have killed Cleonie and Ladora.” “QX. What are we waiting for? Which way, Helen?” “Back to the city first, for several reasons. Cleonie probably is not there, but we must make sure. Also, I want my guns — ” “Guns? No. DeLameters are better. . I have several spares.” In one fleeting mental contact Clairissa . taught the Lyranian all there was to know about DeLameters. And that feat impressed Helen even more than did the nature and power of the weapon. “What a mind!” she exclaimed. “You didn’t have any such equip- ment as that, the last time I saw you. Or were you ... no. you weren’t hiding it.” “You’re right; I have developed considerably since then. But about guns — what do you want of one?” “To kill that nitwit Ladora on sight, and that snake Cleonie, too, -as soon as you get done with it.” “But why guns? Why not the mental force you always used?” “Except by surprise, I couldn’t,” Helen admitted, frankly. “All adult persons are of practically equal mental strength. But speak- ing of strength, I marvel that a craft as small as this should be able to ward off the attack of one of those tremendous Boskooian ships of space.” “But she can’t! What made you think she could?” “Your own statement — or were you thinking of purely Lyranian dangers, not realizing that Ladora, of course, called Cleonie as soon as you showed your teeth, and that Cleonie as surely called the Lens- man or some other Boskonian ? And that they must have ships of war not too far away?” “Heavens, no ! It never occurred to me!” Qarrissa thought briefly. It wouldn’t do any good to call Kim. Both the Dauntless and the Velan were coming, as fast as they could come, but it would be a day or so ICO ASTOUNDING 8CIKNCB-FICTIOX

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yet before they arrived. Besides, he would tell her to lay off, which was exactly what she was not going to do. She turned her thought back to the matriarch. “Two of our best ships are coming, and I hope they get here first. In the meantime, we'll just have to work fast and keep our detectors full out. Anyway, Cleo- nie won’t know that I’m looking for her — I haven’t eyen mentioned her to anyone except you.” “No ?” pessimistically. “Cleonie knows that / am looking for it, and since it knows by now that I am with you, it would think that both of us were hunting it even if we weren’t. But we are nearly close enough noyr; I must concen- trate. Fly around quite low* over the city, please.” “QX. I’ll tune in with you, too. ‘Two heads,’ you know.” Clarrissa learned Cleonie’s pattern, tuned to it, and combed the city while Helen was getting ready. “She isn’t here, unless she’s behind one of those thought- screens,” the Red Lensman re- marked. “Can you tell?” “Thought-screens 1 The Bosko- nians had a few of them, but none of us ever did. How can you find them? Where are they?” “One there — two over there. They stick out like big black spots on a white screen. Can’t you see them? I supposed that your scan- ners were the same as mine, but apparently they aren’t. Take a quick peek at them with the spy — you work it like so. If they’ve got CHILDREN OF THE LENS spy-ray blocks up, too, we’ll have to go down there and blast.” -“Politicians only,” Helen re- ported, after a moment’s manipu- lation of the suddenly familiar in- strument. “They need killing, of course, on general principles, but perhaps we shouldn’t take time for that now. The next place to look is a few degrees east of north of . here.” Cleonie was not, however, in that . city. Nor in the next, nor the next. But the speedster’s detector screens remained blank and the two allies, so much alike physically, so differ- ent mentally, continued their, hunt. There was opposition, of course — all that the planet afforded — but Clarrissa’s second-stage mind took care of the few items of offense which her speedster’s defenses could not handle. Finally two things happened al- most at once. Clarrissa found Cle- onie, and Helen saw a dim and fuzzy white spot upon the lower left-hand corner of the detector plate. “Can’t be ours,” the Red Lens: man decided instantly. “Almost ex- actly the wrong direction. Bos- konians. Ten minutes — twelve at most — before we have to flit. Time enough — I hope — if we work fast.” She shot downward, going inert and matching intrinsics at a lack of altitude which would have been suicidal for any ordinary pilot. She rammed her beryllium-bronze tor- pedo through the first-floor wall of a forbidding, almost windowless building— its many stories of mas- Ul

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sivc construction, she knew, would help no end against the heavy stuff so sure to come. Then, while every hitherto-hidden offensive arm of the Boskone-coached Lyranians con- verged, screaming through the air and crashing and clanking along the city's streets, Clarrissa probed and probed and probed. Cleonie had locked herself into a veritable dun- geon cell in the deepest sub-base- ment of the structure. She was wearing a thought-screen, too, but she had been releasing it, for an instant at a time, to see what was going on. One of those instants was enough — that screen would never work again. She had been prepared to kill herself at need; but her full- charged weapons emptied them- selves futilely against a massive lock and she threw her vial of poison across the corridor and into an empty cell. So far, so good; but how to get her out of there? Physical ap- proach was out of the question. There must be somebody around, somewhere, with keys, or hacksaws, or sledge-hammers, or something. 11a — oxyacetylene torches! Very much against their wills, two Ly- ranian mechanics trundled a dolly along a corridor, into an elevator. The elevator went down four lev- els. The artisans began to burn away a barrier of thick steel bars. By this time the whole building was rocking to the detonation of high explosive. Much more of that kind of stuff and she would be trapped by the sheer mass of the rubble. She was handling six jack- ass-stubborn people already and to that Boskonian warship was coming fast; she did not quite know whether she was going to get away with this or not. BA somehow, from .the un- plumbed and unplumbable depths which made her wliat she so uniquely was, the Red Lensman drew more and ever more power. Kinnison, who had once made heavy going of handling two-and-a- fraction Lens- men, guessed, but never did learn from her, what his beloved wife really did that day. Even Helen, only a few feet away, could not understand what was happening. Left parsecs be- hind long since, the Lyranian could not help in any particular, but could only stand and wonder. She knew that this queerly powerful Lens- bearing Earth-person — white-faced, sweating, strung to the very snap- ping-point as she sat motionless at her board — was exerting some ter- rible, some tremendous force. She knew that the heaviest of the cir- cling 'bombers sheered away and crashed. She knew that certain mobile projectors, a few blocks away, did not come any closer. She knew that Cleonie, against every iota of her mulish Lyranian will, was coming toward the speedster. She knew that many persons, who wished intensely to bar Cleonie’s progress or to shoot her down, were physically unable to act. She had no faint idea, however, of how such work could possibly be done. Cleonie came aboard and Clar- rissa snapped out of her trance. The speedster nudged and blasted ASTOUNDING SCIKNCK-PICTION

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its way out of the wrecked strong- hold, then tore a hole through pro- testing air into open space. Clar- rissa shook her head, wiped her face, studied a tiny double dot in the corner of the plate opposite the one now showing clearly the Bos- konian warship, and set her controls. prising answer. “I liked it, so I adopted it — officially/’ “Oh. That’s a compliment, really, to both Kim and me> Thanks.’’ The Red .Lensman then turned her attention to her captive, and as mind fitted itself precisely to mind her eyes began to gleam in gratified “We’ll make it — I think,” she announced, “Even though we’re indetectable, they, of course', know our line, and they’re so much faster tliat they’ll he able to find us, even on their visuals, before long. On the other hand, they must be detect- ing our ships now, and my guess is that they won’t dare follow us long enough to do us any harm. Keep an eye on things, Helen, while I find out what Cleonie really knows. And while I think of it, what’s your real name? It isn’t polite to keep* on calling you by a name that you never even heard of until you met us.” “Helen,” the Lvranian made sur- CHILDREN- OF THE LENS delight. Cleonie was a real find ; this seemingly unimportant Ly- ranian knew a lot — an immense lot — about things that no adherent of the Patrol had ever heard before. And she, Clarrissa Kinnison, would be the first of all the Gray Lens- men to learn of them! Therefore, taking her time now, she allowed every detail of the queer but fas- cinating picture-story to imprint it- self upon her mind. And Karen and Camilla, to- gether in Tregonsee’s ship, glanced at each other and exchanged flash- ing thoughts. Should they inter- fere? They hadn’t had to so far.

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but it began to look as though they would have to, now— it would wreck their mother’s mind, if she could understand. She probably could not understand it, any more than ( Iconic could — but even if she could, she had so much more in- herent stability, even than Dad, that she might lx* able to take it, at that. Nor would she ever leak, even to Dad — and Dad, bless his tremen- dous boots, was not the type to pry. Maybe, though, just to be on the safe side, it would be better to screen the stuff, and to edit, if • necessary, anything about Eddore. 'the two girls synchronized their minds all imperceptibly with their mother’s and Helen’s, and learned. The time was in the unthinkably distant past; the location was un- thinkably remote in space. A huge planet circled slowly about a cool- ing sun. Its atmosphere was not t air; its liquid was not water-, Doth were noxious; composed in large part of compounds even yet un- known to man. Yet life was there; a race which was even then ancient. „ Not sexual, this race. Not androgynous, nor hermaphroditic, blit absolutely sex- less. Except for the many who died by physical or by mental vio- lence, its members lived endlessly. .After many hundreds of thousands of years each being, having reached his capacity to live and to learn, . divided into two individuals; each of which, although possessing in toto the parents’ memories, knowl- edges, skills, and powers, had also a renewed and increased capacity. And, since life was, there had been competition. Competition for power. Knowledge was desirable only insofar as it contributed to power. Power for the individual — the group — the city. Wars raged — what wars! — and internecine strifes which lasted while planets came iuto being, grew old, and died. And linally, to the tew survivors, there came peace. Since they could not kill each other, they combined their powers and hurled them outward — together they would dominate and rule solar systems- — regions — the Galaxy itself — the entire macrocos- mic Universe. Amorphous, amoeboid, each could assume at will any imaginable form, could call into being members to handle any possible tool. Never- theless, as time went on they used their bodies less and less. More and more they used their minds, to bryig across gulfs of space and to enslave other races, to labor under their direction. By nature and by choice they were bound to their own planet; few indeed were the planets upon which their race could possibly live. Also, it was easier to rejuvenate their own world, or to move it to a younger sun, than to enforce and to supervise the myri- ads of man-hours of slave labor necessary to rebuild any planet to their needs. Thus, then, they lived and ruled by proxy an ever-increas- ing number of worlds. Although they had long since learned that their asexuality was practically unique, that bisexual life dominated the universe, this knowl- edge served only to stiffen their de- ist ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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termination to rule, and finally to change to their own better stand- ards, that universe. They were still seeking a better proxy race; the more nearly asexual a race, the bet- ter. One race, the denizens of a planet of a variable sun, approached that idea closely. So did the Ka- lonians, whose women had only one function in life — the production of men. Now these creatures had learned of the matriarchs of Lyrane. That they were physically females meant nothing; to the Eddorians one sex was just as good — or as bad — as the other. The Lyranians were strong; not tainted by the weaknesses which seemed to characterize all races believing in even near-equality of the sexes. Lyranian science had been trying for centuries to do away with the necessity for males; in a few more generations, with some help, that goal could be achieved and the perfect proxy race would have been developed. It is not to be supposed that this story was obtained in such straight- forward fashion as it is presented here. It was dim, murky, confused. Cleonie never had understood it. ClarriSsa understood it better, but less accurately; for in the version the Red Lensman received, one minor change was made — in it the Ploorans and the Eddorians were one and the same race 1 She under- stood, however, that that actually unnamed and to her unknown race was the highest of Boskone, and the place of the Kalonians in the Boskonian scheme was plain enough. CHILDREN OF THE LENS "I am giving you this story/' the Kalonian Lensman told Cleonte coldly, “not of my own free will but because I must. I hate you as much as you hate me. What I would like to do to you, you may imagine. Nevertheless, so that your race may have its chance, I am to take you on a trip and, if possible, make a Lensman out of you. Come with me.” And, urged by her jeal- ousy of Helen, her seething ambi- tion, and probably, if the truth were to be known, by an Eddorian mind, Cleonie went. There is no need to dwell at length upon the horrors, the atroci- ties, of that trip ; of which the mat- ter of Eddie the meteor miner was only a very minor episode: It will suffice to say that Cleonie was very good Boskonian material; that" she learned fast and passed all tests successfully. “That's all,” the Black Lensman informed iier then, “and I’m glad to see the last of you. You’ll get a message when to hop over to Nine, and pick up your Lens. Flit — and I hope that the first Gray Lensman you meet will ram his Lens down your throat and turn -you inside out.” “The same to you, brother, and many of them,” 'Cleonie sneered. “Or, better, when my race supplants yours as Proxies of Power, I shall give myself the pleasure of doing just that to you.” “Clarrissa! Clarrissa! Pay at- tention, please 1” The Red Lens- man came to herself with a start — Helen had been thinking at her, 265

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with increasing power, for seconds. The V elan’s blunt nose iilled half the plate. In minutes, then Clarrissa and her party were in Kinnison's private quarters in the Dauntless. There had been warm mental greetings; physical demonstrations would come later. Worse! broke in. “Excuse it, Kim, but seconds count. Better we split, don’t you think ? You find out what the ’score around here is, from Clarrissa, and take steps, and I’ll chase that Bos- konian. He’s flitting — fast” “OX, Slim,” and the Vclan dis- appeared. “You remember Helen, of course, Kim.” Kiimison bent bis head, flip- ping a quick grin at his wife, who had spoken aloud. The’ Lyranian, trying to unbend, half-offered her hand, hut when he did not take it she withdrew it as enthusiastically as she had twenty years before. “And this is Cleonie, the . . . the wench I’ve been telling you about. You knew her before.” “Yeah. She hasn’t changed much — still as unbarbered a mess as ever. If you’ve got what you want, Chris, we’d better--” “Kimball Kinnison, I demand Cleonie’s life!” came Helen’s vi- brant thought. She had snatched one of Clarrissa’s DeLameters and was swinging it into line when she was caught and held as though in a vise. “Sorry, Toots,” the Gray Lens- man’s thought was more than a lit- tle grim. “Nice little girls don’t play so rough. ’Scuse me. Chris, for dip- ping into your dish. Take over.” 15f “Do you really mean that; Kim?” “Yes. It's your meat — slice it as thick or as thin as you please.” “Even to letting her go?” “Check. What else could you do ? In a lifeboat — I’ll even show the jade how to run it.” “Oh, Kim—” “Quartermaster! Kinnison. Please check Number Twelve lifeboat and break it out. I am loaning it to Cleonia of Lvrane II.” XXII. Kit had decided long since that it was his job to scout the planet Ed- dore. His alone. He had told sev- eral people that he was .en route there, and in a sense he had been, but he was not hurrying. Once he started that job, he knew that lie would have to see it through with absolutely undisturbed attention, and there had been altogether too many other things popping up. Now, however, his visualization showed a couple of weeks of free time, and that would be enough. He wasn’t sure whether he was grown-up enough yet to do a man's job of work or not, and Mentor wouldn't tell him. This was the best way to find out. If so, QX. It not, he would back off, wait, and try again later. The kids had wanted to go along, of course. “Come on, Kit, don’t be a pig!” Constance started what developed into the last violent argument of their long lives. “Let’s gang up on ASTOii.vmxo s c 1 1: x c k - r r r t i o n

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it — think what a grand work-out that would be for the Unit!” “Uh-uh, Con. Sorry, but it isn’t in the cards, any more than it was the last time we discussed it,” he began, reasonably enough. “We didn’t agree to it then,” Kay cut-in, stormily, “and I for one am not going to agree to it now. You don’t have to do it today. In fact, later on would be better. Anyway, Kit; I’m telling you right now that if you go in, ive all go, as indi- viduals if not as the Unit” “Act your age, Kay,” he advised. “Get conscious. This is one of the two places in the Universe that can’t be worked from a distance, and by the time you could get here I’ll have the job done. So what difference does it make whether you agree or not? I’m going in now and I’m going in alone. Pick that- one out of your pearly teeth!” That stopped Karen, cold — they all knew that even she would not endanger the enterprise by staging a useless demonstration against Eddore’s defensive screens — but there were other arguments. Later, he was to come to see that his sisters had some right upon their side, but he could not see it then. None of their ideas would hold air, he de- clared, and his temper wore thinner and thinner. “No, Cam — NO! You know as well as I do that we can’t all be spared at once, either now or at any time in the near-enough future. Kay’s full of pickles, and you all know it. Right now is the best time I’ll ever have. “Seal it, Kat — you can’t be -that dumb! Taking the Unit in would blow things wide open. There isn’t a chance that I can get in, even alone, without touching something off. I, alone, won’t .be giving too much away, but the Unit would be a flare-lit tip-off and all hell would be out for noon. Or are you ac- tually nitwitted enough > to think that, all Arisia to the contrary, we are ready for the grand showdown : “Hold it, all o f you ! Pipe down !” he snorted, finally. “Have I got to bash in your skulls to make you understand that I c&n’t co-ordinate an attack against something without even the foggiest idea of what its’ actual physical setup is? Use your brains, kids — please use your brains!” He finally won them over, even Karen; and while his speedster covered the last leg of the flight he completed his ‘analysis. He had all the information he could get — in fact, all that was avail- able— and it was pitifully meager and confusingly contradictory in de- tail. He knew the Arisians, each of them, personally; and had studied, jointly and severally, the Arisian visualizations of the ultimate foe. He knew the Lyranian impression of the Plooran version of the story of Eddore. Ploor! Merely a name. A symbol which Mentor had al- ways kept rigorously apart from any Boskonian actuality. Ploor must 'be the missing link between Kalonia and Eddore. And he knew practically everything about it ex- cept the two really important facts — whether or not it really was that link, and where, within eleven thou- CHILDREN OP THE LENS 157

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sand million parsecs, it was in space! He and his sisters had done their best. So had many librarians ; who had found, not at all to his surprise, that no scrap of information or con- jecture concerning Eddorc or the Eddorians was to be found in any library, however comprehensive or exclusive. Thus he had guesses, hypotheses, theories, and visualizations galore; but none of them agreed and not one of them was convincing. He had no real facts whatever. Mentor had ih formed him, equably enough, that such a state of affairs was inevitable because of the known power of the Eddorian mind. That state, however, did not make Kit Kinnison any too happy as he ap-v proached dread and dreaded Ed- dore. He was in altogether too much of a dither as to what, actually, to expect. As he neared the boundary of the star cluster within which Eddore lay, he cut his velocity to a crawl. An outer screen, he knew, sur- rounded the whole duster. How many intermediate protective layers existed, where they were, or what they were like, nobody knew. That information was only a small part of what he had to have. His > far-flung detector web, at practically zero power, touched the barrier without giving alarm and stopped. His speedster stopped. Everything stopped. Christopher Kinnison, the matrix and the key element of the Unit, had tools and equipment about which even Mentor of Arisia knew noth- ing in detail; about which, it was hoped and believed, the Eddorians were completely in ignorance. He reached deep into the storehouse toolbox of his mind, arranged liis selections in order, and went to work. He built up his detector web, one infinitesimal increment at a time, until he could .just perceive the 'structure of the barrier. He made no attempt to analyze it, knowing that any fabric or structure solid enough to perform such an opera- tion would certainly touch off an alarm. Analysis could come later, after he had found out whether the generator of this outer screen was a machine or a living brain. He felt his way along the barrier — slowly- — carefully.: He complete- ly outlined one section, studying the fashion in which the joints were made and how it must be supported and operated. With the utmost nicety of which he was capable he synchronized a probe with the. al- most impossibly complex structure of the thing and slid it along a feeder beam Into the generator sta- tion. A mechanism — they didn’t waste live Eddorians, then, any more than the Arisians did, on outer defenses. QX. A precisely tuned blanket sur- rounded his speedster — a blanket which merged imperceptibly into, and in effect became an integral part- of, the barrier itself. The blanket thinned over half of the speedster. The speedster crept for- ward. The barrier — unchanged, un- affected—was behind the speedster. Man and vessel were through! 158 ASTOUNDING SCIENCB-FTCTION

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Kit breathed deeply in relief and rested. This didn't prow much, df course. . Nadreck had done practi- cally the same thing- in getting Kandron — except that the Palainian would never be able to analyze or to synthesize such screens as these. The real test would come later ; but this had been mighty good practice. The real test fame with the fifth, the innermost screen. The others; while of ever-increasing sensitivity, complexity, and power, were all gen- erated mechanically, and hence posed problems differing only in degree, and not in kind, from that of the first. The fifth problem, how- ever, involving a living and highly capable brain, differed in both de- gree and kind from all the others. The Eddorian would be sensitive to form and to shape, as well as to interference. Bulges were out, un- less he could do something about the Eddorian — and the speedster couldn't go through a screen with- out making a bulge. Furthermore, this zone had visual and electromagnetic detectors, so spaced as not to let a microbe through. There were fortresses, maulers, battleships, and their at- tendant lesser craft. There were projectors, an%d mines, and automatic torpedoes with atomic .warheads, and other such things. Were these things completely dependent upon the Eddorian guardian, or not? They were not. The officers — Kalonians for the most part — would go into action at the guardian’s sig- nal, of* course ; but they would at need act without instructions. A CBlIiDREN OF THE LENS nice setup— a mighty hard nut to, crack ! He would have to use zones of compulsion. Nothing else would do. Picking out the biggest fortress in the neighborhood, with its corre- spondingly large field of coverage, he insinuated his mind into that of one observing officer after another. When he left, a few minutes later, he knew that none of those officers would initiate any action in response to the. alarms which he would so soon set off. They were alive, fully conscious, alert, and would have re- sented bitterly any suggestion that they were not completely normal in every respect. Nevertheless,’ what- ever colors the lights flashed, what- ever pictures the plates revealed, whatever noises blared from the speakers, in their consciousnesses would be only blankness and silence. Nor would recorder tapes reveal later what had occurred. An instru- ment cannot register fluctuations when its movable member is con- trolled by a couple of steady fingers. Then the Eddorian. To take over his whole mind was, Kit knew, be- yond his present power. A partial z*ce, though, could be set up — and young Kinnison’s mind had been developed specifically to perform the theretofore impossible. Thus the guardian, without suspecting it, suf- fered an attack of partial blindness which lasted for the fraction of a second necessary for the speedster to flash through the screen. And there was no recorder to worry about. Eddorians, never sleeping and never relaxing their vigilance, had no doubt whatever of their own 169

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capabilities and needed no checks upon their own performances. Christopher Kinnison, Child of the Lens, was inside Eddore’s inner- most defensive sphere. For count- less cycles of time the Arisians had been working toward and looking forward to the chain of events of which this was the first link. Nor would he have much time here: he would have known that even if Men- tor had not so stressed the point. As long as he did nothing, he was safe; but as soon as he started snif- fing around he would be open to detection and some Eddorian would climb his frame in mighty short order! Then blast and lock on — he might get something, or a lot, or nothing at all. Then — win, lose, or draw — he had to get away. Strictly under his own power, against an unknown number of the most pow- erful and the most ruthless entities ever to live. The Arisian couldn’t get in here to help him, and neither could the kids. Nobody could. It was strictly and solely up to him. For more than a moment his spirit failed. The odds against him were far too long. The load was too heavy ; he didn’t liave Mf enough jets to swing it. Just how did a guy as smart as Mentor figure it that he, a dumb, green kid, stood a chance against all Eddore? He was seared; scared to the core of his being; scared as he had never been before and never would be again. His mouth felt dry, his tongue cottony. His fingers shook, even as he doubled them into fists to steady them. To the very end of his long life he remembered the mo fabric and the texture of that tear; remembered how it made him de- cide to turn back, before it was too late to retrace his way as unobserved as he had come. Well, why not? Who would care, and what matter? The Arisians? Nuts! It was all their fault, send- ing him in half-ready. His parents ? They wouldn't know what the score was and wouldn’t .care. They would lie on his side, anyway, no matter what happened. The kids? The kids! Klono’s Holy Claws! They had tried to talk him out of coming in alone. They had fought like wildcats to make him take them along. He had refused. Now, if lie sneaked back with his tail be- tween his legs, how would they take it? ’ What would they do? What would they think? Then, later, after lie had, loused up the big job and let the Arisians and the Patrol and all Civilization get knocked out — thdfi what? The kids would know ex- actly how and why it had happened. He couldn’t defend himself, even if be tried, and he wouldn’t try. Did he have any idea how much sheer, vitriolic, corrosive contempt those four red-headed hellions could gen- erate? Or, even if they didn’t— or as a follow-up — their condescend- ing, sisterly pity would be a thou- sand million times worse. And what would he think of himself ? No soap. It was out. Definitely. The Eddorians could kill him only once. OX. He drove straight downward, noting as he did so that his senses were clear, his hands steady, his ASTOUXDtXO SCIBXCR-FrCTION

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tongue normally moist. He was still scared, but he was no longer paralyzed. Low enough, he let his every per- ceptive sense roam abroad — and be- came instantly too busy to worn' about anything. There ;vas an im- mense amount of new stuff here — ■ if he only could be granted time enough to get it all t He wasn’t. In a second or so, it seemed, his interference was de- tected and an Eddorian came in to investigate. Kit threw every- thing he had, and in the brief mo- ment before the completely sur- prised denizen died, the young Klo- vian learned more of the real truth of Eddore and of the whole Bosko- nian Empire than all the Arisians had ever found out. In that one flash of ultimately intimate fusion, he knew Eddorian history, practi- cally in toto. He knew the enemies' culture ; he kqew how they behaved, and why. He knew their ideals and their ideologies. He knew a great deal about their organization; their systems of offense and of defense. He knew their strengths and, more important, their weaknesses. He knew exactly how,’’ if Civilization were, to triumph at all, its victory must be achieved. This seems — or rather, it is— in- credible. It is, however, simple truth. Under such ^tresses as those, an Eddorian mind can yield, and the min'd of such a one as Chris- topher Kinnison can absorb, an in- credible amount of knowledge in an incredibly brief interval of time. Are you losing out on romance, business success, good looks by a "hair- . breadth"? If you're troubled by dandruff and falling hair, have a bald spot, or even if you're completely bald, you owe it to yourself to find out whot HAIREVER can do for you. ^ you-re , Skeptic? HAIREVER Convinced HAIREVER Contains Sulfanilamide, the Others! HAIREVER is covered by a triple guarantee We rider Drug Yes that's rieht One of the insre- and backed by signed testimonials of men who were fimm UTBg vet, Out s ngne. un« or in, in,™ skeplic>l 0( so ca|ied hlif Ie3torcrs..-uli,il they tried dients m the thoroughly-proved, scientific HAIREVER HAIREVER! And we're not asking you to send any method is miracle-working sulfanilamide. HAIREVER money, just invest a three cent stamp . . . mail the ^»dn.«.d,.«titrt,r,o«^n.imilin, hair and revive normal scalp health. Not to be com- yOU confidentially in a plain envelope. pared with fake treatments or pomades. — — — — — — FDECI mail coupon now ! i rn to me. Mail my free cop; lUL! EUGENE BURT CO. J 1028 State Street, Kansas City, Kansas I • The Eugene Burt Company I 1928 State St., Kansas City, Kansas i You bet I want to know what HAIREVER can do for > me. Mail my free copy of the HAIREVER booklet in a CHILDREN OF THE LENS 161

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Kit, already seated at his controls, cut in his every course of thought- screen. They would help a little in what was coming, but; not much — no mechanical screen then known to Civilization could block third-level thought. He kicked in full drive toward the one small area in which he and his speedster would not en- counter either beams or bombs — the fortress whose observers would not perceive that anything was amiss. He did not fear physical pursuit, since his speedster was the fastest thing ill space. For a second or so it was not so bad. Another Eddorian came in,, suspicious and on guard. Kit- blasted him down — learning still more in the process — but he could not pre- vent him from radiating a frantic and highly revealing call for help. And although the other Eddorians could scarcely realize that such an astonishing thing as a physical inva- sion had actually happened, that fact neither slowed them down nor made their anger less violent. When Kit flashed past his friend- ly fortress he was taking about all that he could handle, and more and more Eddorians were piling on. At the fourth screen it was worse; at the third he readied what he was sure was his absolute ceiling. Nev- ertheless, from sonic hitherto un- suspected profundity of .his being, he managed to draw enough reserve force to endure that hellish punish- ment for a little while longer. Hang on, Kit, hang on ! Only two more screens to go. Maybe only one. Maybe less. Living Eddorian brains, and not medianical gener- ators, are now handling all the screens, of course; but if Mentor’s visualization is worth a tinker’s damn, he must have that first screen knocked down by this time and must be working on thfe second. Hang on. Kit, and keep on slug- ging ! And grimly— doggedly— toward the end sheerly desperately — Chris- topher Kinnison, eldest Child of the Lens, hung on and slugged. ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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MERRY CHRISTMAS

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