Title: Skylark of Valeron
Author: Smith, E. E. (Edward Elmer)
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Skylark of Valeron" ***


                        The SKYLARK of VALERON

                       by EDWARD E. SMITH, Ph.D.

                     _Illustrated by Elliot Dold_

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
            Astounding Stories August, September, October,
           November, December 1934, January, February 1935.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]



                               PROLOGUE


"Mother-r-r!" A sturdy, auburn-haired urchin of twelve--Richard
Ballinger Seaton the fourteen hundred and seventy-first--turned to the
queenly young matron who was his mother as the viewing area before them
went blank. "You said that as soon as I was old enough you would let
me see the rest of the 'Exploits of Seaton One.' Now grandfather's the
chief of the Galactic Council, and I'm twelve, and I'm old enough."

"Perhaps you are, son." Into the beautiful eyes of the young woman
came that indefinable, indescribable something; the knowledge that her
oldest was no longer a baby. "Tell me the story as it is run for the
holiday, and I shall see."

"Richard Ballinger Seaton the First was a Ph. D. in chemistry," the boy
began. "He lived in the city of Washington, in what was then the United
States of America. He was born--"

"Never mind dates and such things, sonny. It would take too long
to give all the details. I just want to make sure that you really
understand the story--conditions were _so_ different then from what
they are now."

"Well, Seaton One discovered Rovolon, which he called 'X' metal at
first. He found out that it would turn copper into energy, and he and
Martin Reynolds Crane One built the very first space ship that was ever
known. But the World Steel Corporation wanted all the Rovolon that
Seaton had found; so Dr. DuQuesne, a chemist of theirs, and a kind of a
spy named Perkins, tried to steal it away from him. They got a little
of it, but it exploded some copper and killed a lot of people.

"When Seaton heard about the explosion he found out that some of his
Rovolon was gone, and they hired some detectives and had an awful
time. A lot more people were killed, and a Japanese assistant of
Crane's, named Shiro, was almost killed, too. Then they went to work
and invented a lot of new instruments, such as a compass that pointed
at any one thing forever; and attractors and repellers and rays and
screens and explosives and lots of things that are good yet.

"This DuQuesne tried for a long time to get the Rovolon and couldn't,
so they built a space ship from Seaton's plans that they stole, and
he carried off Dorothy Vaneman and Margaret Spencer, the girls that
Seaton One and Crane One were going to marry--and they did marry them,
afterward, too. Well, Dorothy kicked Perkins in the stomach, and the
space ship ran away and kept on going until it got caught by the
attraction of the Dark Mass that the First of Energy has always had so
much trouble with, and while they were falling toward it that Perkins
went crazy and tried to kill Margaret, but DuQuesne killed him instead,
and then Seaton One caught up with them and rescued them and--"

"Just a minute, son; there is no great hurry. How did Seaton One get
way out there?"

"Well, they had their big new space ship, the _Skylark of Space_, all
built by then, and Seaton One had an object-compass set on DuQuesne,
because he'd been watching him a long time since he'd been making
lots of trouble for him. So Seaton One and Crane One followed the
object-compass and found them and rescued them all but Perkins, because
he was dead already.

"They had an awful time getting away from the Dark Mass, but they
did it, but they were about out of copper, so they had to hunt up a
planet that had some. They landed on one that dinosaurs and things
like that lived on, and got a lot more Rovolon, but didn't find any
copper, so they hunted up more planets. One had poison gas instead of
air, and another had people that were pure intellectuals, so that they
had bodies whenever they wanted to, but not all the time. They pretty
nearly dematerialized Seaton One and all the rest of them, and we're
awfully glad they didn't.

"Well, anyway, they got away, but they had an awful time, and after a
while they saw the green suns of the Central System. There's lots of
copper there, you know; so much that Grandfather Seaton wouldn't let me
swim in the ocean last year when we were there because it was copper
solution and it would have made me sick. They went to Osnome first, one
of the inside worlds, and landed in a country named Mardonale.

"They were bad people and wanted to kill Seaton One and steal his
ship, and they had already captured Dunark, the Kofedix or crown prince
of the other nation, Kondal. Then Dunark helped Seaton One get away,
and they all went home with Dunark. But the _Skylark_ was pretty nearly
ruined in the battle they had getting away from Mardonale, so Seaton
One and Dunark built it over out of arenak, which was much better than
the funny, soft steel they used to use in the old days. Of course,
arenak doesn't amount to much beside the inoson we have now, but even
Seaton One didn't know anything about inoson then.

"Then they got married. Seaton married Dorothy, and they're our
great-great--fourteen hundred and seventy times--grandparents. Crane
married Margaret, and they're awfully famous, too. And Shiro is, too,
especially in Asiatica. Well, anyway, after they got married they had a
fight with a monster Karlon, and were just going to start back here for
Tellus when the whole Mardonalian fleet attacked Kondal. The _Skylark
Two_ beat them all, and DuQuesne helped, too, and then of course
Dunark's father was Karfedix or emperor of the whole planet of Osnome,
and he made Seaton One the overlord. Then they came back home. Seaton
One and Crane One didn't know just what to do with DuQuesne, but he
jumped out of _Skylark Two_ in a parachute and got away.

       *       *       *       *       *

"They hadn't been back on Tellus very long when Dunark came to visit
them, from Osnome, after some salt which they needed to make arenak,
and some more Rovolon. He was going to blow up another planet of the
Central Sun because they were having a war. But Seaton One didn't
have enough Rovolon, so both _Skylark Two_ and the _Kondal_ started
out to go to the 'X' planet after some, and on the way there they
were attacked by a space ship of the Fenachrone, who were a race
of terrible men who were going to conquer the whole universe. The
Fenachrone blew up the _Kondal_, and pretty nearly destroyed the
_Skylark_, too, but Seaton One could use zones of force as well as
they could--I don't know much about zones of force because they're in
advanced physics, but they're barriers in the ether and space ships
use them yet because nothing above the fifth level can get through
them--and finally Seaton One cut the Fenachrone ship all up into little
pieces. Then he rescued Dunark, and one of his wives named Sitar, but
one of the bad men got away without being killed and DuQuesne picked
him up--"

"But you haven't said anything about DuQuesne being out there, sonny."

"Well, he was. He kept on trying to get the Rovolon away from Seaton
One, but couldn't, so he took his own space ship and went to Osnome.
You see, while he was there he had found out something about the
Fenachrone and was going to join them. Well, he got to Osnome and stole
a better space ship than the one he had and started out to go to the
Fenachrone System, but on the way he passed close to where _Skylark
Two_ was fighting the big Fenachrone ship, which was the flagship
_Y427W_. The chief engineer of the ship got away, and DuQuesne rescued
him, and he showed DuQuesne how to get to the Fenachrone world, and
he installed his own super-drive on the _Violet_, which was the name
of DuQuesne's ship. But when they got there something funny happened.
A Fenachrone patrol ship apparently captured the _Violet_, and they
burned up what they thought were DuQuesne and Loring--this Loring was
DuQuesne's helper--and the engineer reported over the visirecorder
everything that had happened to the flagship, and Seaton and Crane were
listening in on their projector. Now's the funny part. Some of the
visirecorder report was right, but some of it didn't really happen that
way at all, because Dr. DuQuesne knew all the time what was going--"

"You are getting ahead of the story, sonny. You have heard that part,
of course, but you haven't actually seen the record of it yet."

"Well, anyway, Seaton One found out the Fenachrone's plans by reading
their brains with a mechanical educator, and he made Dunark's people
make peace with the other planet, the one that they were going to
blow up. He knew from some old legends that there was a race of green
men somewhere in the Central System that knew everything, so he went
hunting for them. They went to Dasor first, where those funny porpoise
men live, and a Dasorian named Sacner Carfon was councilor then. A
Sacner Carfon is councilor there yet, too, and I beat his boy shooting
a ray, but he beat me all hollow swimming, because he's got web feet
and hands. The Dasorians told Seaton One where to go, and that's how
they found Norlamin, where the oldest and wisest men in the whole
Galaxy live. Rovol, the First of Rays, and Drasnik, the First of
Psychology, and Caslor, the First of Mechanism, and lots of the other
Firsts of Norlamin helped them build things.

"Oh, yes; I almost forgot about the way the Norlaminian scientists
learn things. When one of them gets old he makes a record of his brain
on a tape, and when his son takes his place he just transfers all his
knowledge to the son's brain with a mechanical educator, and then
he--the son, I mean--knows everything that every specialist in that
line ever did find out, and he goes on from there. Rovol and Drasnik
and some of the others gave Seaton One and Crane One copies of their
own brains that way, and that's why they knew so much. And then they
built a projector that would take images of themselves clear across
the Galaxy in a couple of seconds on fifth-order rays, and into the
middle of suns and anywhere else they wanted to be or work, and then
they built _Skylark Three_, a space ship about five kilometers long.
Not so much these days, of course, but she was the biggest thing in the
ether then.

"But by that time the Fenachrone fleet had started out to conquer the
Galaxy, and Seaton One and Crane One and all the other Ones and the
Firsts of Norlamin hunted them up with the projector and blew them
up by exploding their power bars, which were made of copper instead
of uranium, like _Three_ used. And then Dunark blew up the whole
Fenachrone planet, so that they'd never make any more trouble, but one
Fenachrone ship got away and started out for another Galaxy, 'way out
of range of the projector. So Seaton One chased it and caught it out
in space, halfway to the other Galaxy. They had a terrible battle, but
Seaton One blew it up and the picture stopped, and I want to see some
more of the 'Exploits,' mother, please!"

"Very well told, son--I believe that you are old enough to follow
One and his friends of ancient times. You will have them next year,
anyway, in your history classes, and you might as well see them now;
particularly since it is our own family history as well as that of
civilization." The young woman pressed a contact in the arm of her
chair and spoke:

"Central Library of History, please.... Mrs. R. B. Seaton fourteen
seventy. Please put on reel three of the 'Exploits.' Wave point one
nine four six.... Thank you."



                                  I.


Day after day a spherical space ship of arenak tore through the
illimitable reaches of the interstellar void. She had once been a war
vessel of Osnome; now, rechristened the _Violet_, she was bearing two
Terrestrials and a Fenachrone--Dr. Marc C. DuQuesne of World Steel,
"Baby Doll" Loring, his versatile and accomplished assistant, and the
squat and monstrous engineer of the flagship _Y427W_--from the Green
System toward the Solar System of the Fenachrone. The mid-point of the
stupendous flight had long since been passed; the _Violet_ had long
been "braking down" with a negative acceleration of five times the
velocity of light.

Much to the surprise of both DuQuesne and Loring, their prisoner
had not made the slightest move against them. He had thrown all the
strength of his supernaturally powerful body and all the resources of
his gigantic brain into the task of converting the atomic motors of the
_Violet_ into the space-annihilating drive of his own race. This drive,
affecting alike as it does every atom of substance within the radius of
action of the power bar, entirely nullifies the effect of acceleration,
so that the passengers feel no motion whatever, even when the craft
is accelerating at maximum--and that maximum is almost three times as
great as the absolutely unbearable full power of the _Skylark of Space_.

The engineer had not shirked a single task, however arduous. And,
once under way, he had nursed those motors along with every artifice
known to his knowing clan; he had performed such prodigies of
adjustment and tuning as to raise by a full two per cent their already
inconceivable maximum acceleration. And this was not all. After the
first moment of rebellion, he did not even once attempt to bring to
bear the almost irresistible hypnotic power of his eyes; the immense,
cold, ruby-lighted projectors of mental energy which, both men knew,
were awful weapons indeed. Nor did he even once protest against the
attractors which were set upon his giant limbs.

Immaterial bands, these, whose slight force could not be felt unless
the captor so willed. But let the prisoner make one false move,
and those tiny beams of force would instantly become copper-driven
tornadoes of pure energy, hurling the luckless body against the wall of
the control room and holding him motionless there, in spite of the most
terrific exertions of his mighty body.

DuQuesne lay at ease in his seat; rather, scarcely touching the
seat, he floated at ease in the air above it. His black brows were
drawn together, his black eyes were hard as he studied frowningly
the Fenachrone engineer. As usual, that worthy was half inside the
power plant, coaxing those mighty motors to do even better than their
prodigious best.

Feeling his companion's eyes upon him, the doctor turned his
inscrutable stare upon Loring, who had been studying his chief even as
DuQuesne had been studying the outlander. Loring's cherubic countenance
was as pinkly innocent as ever, his guileless blue eyes as calm and
untroubled; but DuQuesne, knowing the man as he did, perceived an
almost imperceptible tension and knew that the killer also was worried.

"What's the matter, Doll?" The saturnine scientist smiled mirthlessly.
"Afraid I'm going to let that ape slip one over on us?"

"Not exactly." Loring's slight tenseness, however, disappeared. "It's
your party, and anything that's all right with you tickles me half
to death. I have known all along you knew that that bird there isn't
working under compulsion. You know as well as I do that nobody works
that way because they're made to. He's working for himself, not for us,
and I had just begun to wonder if you weren't getting a little late in
clamping down on him."

"Not at all--there are good and sufficient reasons for this apparent
delay. I am going to clamp down on him in exactly"--DuQuesne glanced
at his wrist watch--"fourteen minutes. But you're keen--you've got a
brain that really works--maybe I'd better give you the whole picture."

DuQuesne, approving thoroughly of his iron-nerved, cold-blooded
assistant, voiced again the thought he had expressed once before, a few
hours out from Earth; and Loring answered as he had then, in almost the
same words--words which revealed truly the nature of the man:

"Just as you like. Usually I don't want to know anything about
anything, because what a man doesn't know he can't be accused of
spilling. Out here, though, maybe I should know enough about things to
act intelligently in case of a jam. But you're the doctor--if you'd
rather keep it under your hat, that's all right with me, too. As I've
said before, it's your party."

"Yes; he certainly is working for himself." DuQuesne scowled blackly.
"Or, rather, he thinks he is. You know I read his mind back there,
while he was unconscious. I didn't get all I wanted to, by any
means--he woke up too soon--but I got a lot more than he thinks I did.

"They have detector zones, 'way out in space, all around their world,
that nothing can get past without being spotted; and patrolling
those zones there are scout ships, carrying armament to stagger the
imagination. I intend to take over one of those patrol ships and by
means of it to capture one of their first-class battleships. As a first
step I'm going to hypnotize that ape and find out absolutely everything
that he knows. When I get done with him, he'll do exactly what I tell
him to, and nothing else."

"Hypnotize him?" Curiosity was awakened in even Loring's incurious mind
at this unexpected development. "I didn't know that was one of your
specialties."

"It wasn't until recently, but the Fenachrone are all past masters,
and I learned about it from his brain. Hypnosis is a wonderful science.
The only drawback is that his mind is a lot stronger than mine.
However, I have in my kit, among other things, a tube of something that
will cut him down to my size."

"Oh, I see--pentabarb." With this hint, Loring's agile mind grasped
instantly the essentials of DuQuesne's plan. "That's why you had to
wait so long, then, to take steps. Pentabarb kills in twenty-four
hours, and he can't help us steal the ship after he's dead."

"Right! One milligram, you know, will make a gibbering idiot out of any
human being; but I imagine that it will take three or four times that
much to soften _him_ down to the point where I can work on him the way
I want to. As I don't know the effects of such heavy dosages, since
he's not really human, and since he must be alive when we go through
their screens, I decided to give him the works exactly six hours before
we are due to hit their outermost detector. That's about all I can tell
you right now; I'll have to work out the details of seizing the ship
after I have studied his brain more thoroughly."

       *       *       *       *       *

Precisely at the expiration of the fourteen allotted minutes, DuQuesne
tightened the attractor beams, which had never been entirely released
from their prisoner; thus pinning him helplessly, immovably, against
the wall of the control room. He then filled a hypodermic syringe and
moved the mechanical educator nearer the motionless, although violently
struggling, creature. Then, avoiding carefully the baleful outpourings
of those flame-shot volcanoes of hatred that were the eyes of the
Fenachrone, he set the dials of the educator, placed the headsets, and
drove home the needle's hollow point. One milligram of the diabolical
compound was absorbed, without appreciable lessening of the blazing
defiance being hurled along the educator's wires. One and one half--two
milligrams--three--four--five--

That inhumanly powerful mind at last began to weaken, but it became
entirely quiescent only after the administration of the seventh
milligram of that direly potent drug.

"Just as well that I allowed only six hours." DuQuesne sighed in relief
as he began to explore the labyrinthine intricacies of the frightful
brain now open to his gaze. "I don't see how any possible form of life
can hold together long under seven milligrams of that stuff."

He fell silent and for more than an hour he studied the brain of the
engineer, concentrating upon the several small portions which contained
knowledge of most immediate concern. Then he removed the headsets.

"His plans were all made," he informed Loring coldly, "and so are mine,
now. Bring out two full outfits of clothing--one of yours and one
of mine. Two guns, belts, and so on. Break out a bale of waste, the
emergency candles, and all that sort of stuff you can find."

DuQuesne turned to the Fenachrone, who stood utterly lax, inanimate,
and stared deep into those now dull and expressionless eyes.

"You," he directed crisply, "will build at once, as quickly as you can,
two dummies which will look exactly like Loring and myself. They must
be lifelike in every particular, with faces capable of expressing the
emotions of surprise and of anger, and with right arms able to draw
weapons upon signal--_my_ signal. Also upon signal their heads and
bodies will turn, they will leap toward the center of the room, and
they will make certain noises and utter certain words, the records of
which I shall prepare. Go to it!"

"Don't you need to control him through the headsets?" asked Loring
curiously.

"I may have to control him in detail when we come to the really fine
work, later on," DuQuesne replied absently. "This is more or less in
the nature of an experiment, to find out whether I have him thoroughly
under control. During the last act he'll have to do exactly what I
shall have told him to do, without supervision, and I want to be
absolutely certain that he will do it without a slip."

"What's the plan--or maybe it's something that is none of my business?"

"No; you ought to know it, and I've got time to tell you about it now.
Nothing material can possibly approach the planet of the Fenachrone
without being seen, as it is completely surrounded by never less than
two full-sphere detector screens; and to make assurance doubly sure
our engineer there has installed a mechanism which, at the first touch
of the outer screen, will shoot a warning along at tight communicator
beam, directly into the receiver of the nearest Fenachrone scout ship.
As you already know, the smallest of those scouts can burn this ship
out of the ether in less than a second."

"That's a cheerful picture. You still think we can get away?"

"I'm coming to that. We can't possibly get through the detectors
without being challenged, even if I tear out all his apparatus, so
we're going to use his whole plan, but for our benefit instead of his.
Therefore his present hypnotic state and the dummies. When we touch
that screen you and I are going to be hidden--well hidden. The dummies
will be in sole charge, and our prisoner will be playing the part I
have laid out for him.

"The scout ship that he calls will come up to investigate. They will
bring apparatus and attractors to bear to liberate the prisoner, and
the dummies will try to fight. They will be blown up or burned to
cinders almost instantly, and our little playmate will put on his space
suit and be taken across to the capturing vessel. Once there, he will
report to the commander.

"That officer will think the affair sufficiently serious to report it
directly to headquarters. If he doesn't, this ape here will insist upon
reporting it to general headquarters himself. As soon as that report is
in, we, working through our prisoner here, will proceed to wipe out the
crew of the ship and take it over."

"And do you think he'll really do it?" Loring's guileless face showed
doubt, his tone was faintly skeptical.

"I _know_ he'll do it!" The chemist's voice was hard. "He won't
take any active part--I'm not psychologist enough to know whether I
could drive him that far, even drugged, against an unhypnotizable
subconscious or not--but he'll be carrying something along that will
enable me to do it, easily and safely. But that's about enough of this
chin music--we'd better start doing something."

       *       *       *       *       *

While Loring brought space clothing and weapons, and rummaged through
the vessel in search of material suitable for the dummies' fabrication,
the Fenachrone engineer worked rapidly at his task. And not only did
he work rapidly, he worked skillfully and artistically as well. This
artistry should not be surprising, for to such a mentality as must
necessarily be possessed by the chief engineer of a first-line vessel
of the Fenachrone, the faithful reproduction of anything capable of
movement was not a question of art--it was merely an elementary matter
of line, form, and mechanism.

Cotton waste was molded into shape, reënforced, and wrapped in leather
under pressure. To the bodies thus formed were attached the heads,
cunningly constructed of masticated fiber, plastic, and wax. Tiny
motors and many small pieces of apparatus were installed, and the
completed effigies were dressed and armed.

DuQuesne's keen eyes studied every detail of the startlingly lifelike,
almost microscopically perfect, replicas of himself and his traveling
companion.

"A good job," he commented briefly.

"Good?" exclaimed Loring. "It's perfect! Why, that dummy would fool my
own wife, if I had one--it almost fools me!"

"At least, they're good enough to pass a more critical test than any
they are apt to get during this coming incident."

Satisfied, DuQuesne turned from his scrutiny of the dummies and went
to the closet in which had been stored the space suit of the captive.
To the inside of its front protector flap he attached a small and
inconspicuous flat-sided case. He then measured carefully, with a filar
micrometer, the apparent diameter of the planet now looming so large
beneath them.

"All right, Doll; our time's getting short. Break out our suits and
test them, will you, while I give the big boy his final instructions?"

Rapidly those commands flowed over the wires of the mechanical
educator, from DuQuesne's hard, keen brain into the now-docile mind of
the captive. The Earthly scientist explained to the Fenachrone, coldly,
precisely, and in minute detail, exactly what he was to do and exactly
what he was to say from the moment of encountering the detector screens
of his native planet until after he had reported to his superior
officers.

Then the two Terrestrials donned their own armor of space and made
their way into an adjoining room, a small armory in which were hung
several similar suits and which was a veritable arsenal of weapons.

"We'll hang ourselves up on a couple of these hooks, like the rest
of the suits," DuQuesne explained. "This is the only part of the
performance that may be even slightly risky, but there is no real
danger that they will spot us. That fellow's message to the scout ship
will tell them that there are only two of us, and we'll be out there
with him, right in plain sight.

"If by any chance they should send a party aboard us they would
probably not bother to search the _Violet_ at all carefully, since they
will already know that we haven't got a thing worthy of attention; and
they would of course suppose us to be empty space suits. Therefore
keep your lens shields down, except perhaps for the merest crack to
see through, and, above all, don't move a millimeter, no matter what
happens."

"But how can you manipulate your controls without moving your hands?"

"I can't; but my hands will not be in the sleeves, but inside the body
of the suit--shut up! Hold everything--there's the flash!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The flying vessel had gone through the zone of feeble radiations which
comprised the outer detector screen of the Fenachrone. But though
tenuous, that screen was highly efficient, and at its touch there burst
into frenzied activity the communicator built by the captive to be
actuated by that very impulse. It had been built during the long flight
through space, and its builder had thought that its presence would be
unnoticed and would remain unsuspected by the Terrestrials.

Now automatically put into action, it laid a beam to the nearest scout
ship of the Fenachrone and into that vessel's receptors it passed
the entire story of the _Violet_ and her occupants. But DuQuesne had
not been caught napping. Reading the engineer's brain and absorbing
knowledge from it, he had installed a relay which would flash to his
eyes an inconspicuous but unmistakable warning of the first touch of
the screen of the enemy. The flash had come--they had penetrated the
outer lines of the monstrous civilization of the dread and dreaded
Fenachrone.

In the armory DuQuesne's hands moved slightly inside his shielding
armor, and out in the control room the dummy that was also, to all
outward seeming, DuQuesne moved and spoke. It tightened the controls
of the attractors, which had never been entirely released from their
prisoner, thus again pinning the Fenachrone helplessly against the wall.

"Just to be sure you don't try to start anything," it explained coldly,
in DuQuesne's own voice and tone. "You have done well so far, but I'll
run things myself from now on, so that you can't steer us into a trap.
Now tell me exactly how to go about getting one of your vessels. After
we get it I'll see about letting you go."

"Fools, you are too late!" the prisoner roared exultantly. "You would
have been too late, even had you killed me out there in space and had
fled at your utmost acceleration. Did you but know it you are as dead,
even now--our patrol is upon you!"

The dummy that was DuQuesne whirled, snarling, and its automatic
pistol and that of its fellow dummy were leaping out when an awful
acceleration threw them flat upon the floor, a magnetic force snatched
away their weapons, and a heat ray of prodigious power reduced the
effigies to two small piles of gray ash. Immediately thereafter a beam
of force from the patrolling cruiser neutralized the attractors bearing
upon the captive and, after donning his space suit, he was transferred
to the Fenachrone vessel.

[Illustration: _The dummy that was DuQuesne whirled, snarling, and its
automatic pistol and that of its fellow dummy were leaping out when a
magnetic force snatched away their weapons and a heat ray of prodigious
power reduced the effigies to two small piles of gray ashes. And
DuQuesne, motionless inside his space suit, waited_--]

Motionless inside his space suit, DuQuesne waited until the airlocks
of the Fenachrone vessel had closed behind his erstwhile prisoner;
waited until the engineer had told his story to Fenal, his emperor,
and to Fenimal, his general in command; waited until the communicator
circuit had been broken and the hypnotized, drugged, and already dying
creature had turned as though to engage his fellows in conversation.
Then only did the saturnine scientist act. His finger closed a circuit,
and in the Fenachrone vessel, inside the front protector flap of the
discarded space suit, the flat case fell apart noiselessly and from it
there gushed forth volume upon volume of colorless and odorless, but
intensely lethal, vapor.

"Just like killing goldfish in a bowl." Callous, hard, and cold,
DuQuesne exhibited no emotion whatever; neither pity for the vanquished
foe nor elation at the perfect working out of his plans. "Just in case
some of them might have been wearing suits, for emergencies, I had some
explosive copper ready to detonate, but this makes it much better--the
explosion might have damaged something we want."

And aboard the vessel of the Fenachrone, DuQuesne's deadly gas diffused
with extreme rapidity, and as it diffused, the hellish crew to the last
man dropped in their tracks. They died not knowing what had happened
to them; died with no thought of even attempting to send out an alarm;
died not even knowing that they died.



                                  II.


"Can you open the airlocks of that scout ship from the outside,
doctor?" asked Loring, as the two adventurers came out of the armory
into the control room where DuQuesne, by means of the attractors, began
to bring the two vessels together.

"Yes. I know everything that that engineer of a first-class battleship
knew. To him, one of these little scouts was almost beneath notice,
but he did know that much about them--the outside controls of all
Fenachrone ships work the same way."

Under the urge of the attractions, the two ships of space were soon
door to door. DuQuesne set the mighty beams to lock the craft
immovably together and both men stepped into the _Violet's_ airlock.
Pumping back the air, DuQuesne opened the outer door, then opened both
outer and inner doors of the scout.

As he opened the inner door the poisoned atmosphere of the vessel
screamed out into space, and as soon as the frigid gale had subsided
the raiders entered the control room of the enemy craft. Hardened and
conscienceless killer though Loring was, the four bloated, ghastly
objects that had once been men gave him momentary pause.

"Maybe we shouldn't have let the air out so fast," he suggested,
tearing his gaze away from the grisly sight.

"The brains aren't hurt, and that's all I care about." Unmoved,
DuQuesne opened the air valves wide, and not until the roaring blast
had scoured every trace of the noxious vapor from the whole ship did
he close the airlock doors and allow the atmosphere to come again to
normal pressure and temperature.

"Which ship are you going to use--theirs or our own?" asked Loring, as
he began to remove his cumbersome armor.

"I don't know yet. That depends largely upon what I find out from the
brain of the lieutenant in charge of this patrol boat. There are two
methods by which we can capture a battleship; one requiring the use of
the _Violet_, the other the use of this scout. The information which I
am about to acquire will enable me to determine which of the two plans
entails the lesser amount of risk.

"There is a third method of procedure, of course; that is, to go back
to Earth and duplicate one of their battleships ourselves, from the
knowledge I shall have gained from their various brains concerning the
apparatus, mechanisms, materials, and weapons of the Fenachrone. But
that would take a long time and would be far from certain of success,
because there would almost certainly be some essential facts that I
would not have secured. Besides, I came out here to get one of their
first-line space ships, and I intend to do it."

With no sign of distaste DuQuesne coupled his brain to that of the
dead lieutenant of the Fenachrone through the mechanical educator,
and quite as casually as though he were merely giving Loring another
lesson in Fenachrone matters did he begin systematically to explore
the intricate convolutions of that fearsome brain. But after only ten
minutes' study he was interrupted by the brazen clang of the emergency
alarm. He flipped off the power of the educator, discarded his headset,
acknowledged the call, and watched the recorder as it rapped out its
short, insistent message.

"Something is going on here that was not on my program," he announced
to the alert but quiescent Loring. "One should always be prepared
for the unexpected, but this may run into something cataclysmic. The
Fenachrone are being attacked from space, and all armed forces have
been called into a defensive formation--Invasion Plan XB218, whatever
that is. I'll have to look it up in the code."

       *       *       *       *       *

The desk of the commanding officer was a low, heavily built cabinet
of solid metal. DuQuesne strode over to it, operated rapidly the
levers and dials of its combination lock, and took from one of the
compartments the "Code"--a polygonal framework of engraved metal bars
and sliders, resembling somewhat an Earthly multiplex squirrel-cage
slide rule.

"X--B--Two--One--Eight." Although DuQuesne had never before seen such
an instrument, the knowledge taken from the brains of the dead officers
rendered him perfectly familiar with it, and his long and powerful
fingers set up the indicated defense plan as rapidly and as surely as
those of any Fenachrone could have done. He revolved the mechanism
in his hands, studying every plane surface, scowling blackly in
concentration.

"Munition plants--shall--so-and-so--We don't care about that.
Reserves--zones--ordnance--commissary--defensive screens--Oh, here we
are! Scout ships. Instead of patrolling a certain volume of space, each
scout ship takes up a fixed post just inside the outer detector zone.
Twenty times as many on duty, too--enough so that they will be only
about ten thousand miles apart--and each ship is to lock high-power
detector screens and visiplate and recorder beams with all its
neighbors.

"Also, there is to be a first-class battleship acting as mother ship,
protector, and reserve for each twenty-five scouts. The nearest one is
to be--Let's see, from here that would be only about twenty thousand
miles over that way and about a hundred thousand miles down."

"Does that change your plans, chief?"

"Since my plans were not made, I cannot say that it does--it changes
the background, however, and introduces an element of danger that did
not previously exist. It makes it impossible to go out through the
detector zone--but it was practically impossible before, and we have
no intention of going out, anyway, until we possess a vessel powerful
enough to go through any barrage they can lay down. On the other hand,
there is bound to be a certain amount of confusion in placing so
many vessels, and that fact will operate to make the capture of our
battleship much easier than it would have been otherwise."

"What danger exists that wasn't there before?" demanded Loring.

"The danger that the whole planet may be blown up," DuQuesne returned
bluntly. "Any nation or race attacking from space would of course have
atomic power, and any one with that power could volatilize any planet
by simply dropping a bomb on it from open space. They might want to
colonize it, of course, in which case they wouldn't destroy it, but it
is always safest to plan for the worst possible contingencies."

"How do you figure on doing us any good if the whole world explodes?"
Loring lighted a cigarette, his hand steady and his face pinkly
unruffled. "If she goes up, it looks as if we go out, like that--puff!"
And he blew out the match.

"Not at all, Doll," DuQuesne reassured him. "An atomic explosion
starting on the surface and propagating downward would hardly develop
enough power to drive anything material much, if any, faster than
light, and no explosion wave, however violent, can exceed that
velocity. The _Violet_, as you know, although not to be compared with
even this scout as a fighter, has an acceleration of five times that,
so that we could outrun the explosion in her. However, if we stay in
our own ship, we shall certainly be found and blown out of space as
soon as this defensive formation is completed.

"On the other hand, this ship carries full Fenachrone power of offense
and defense, and we should be safe enough from detection in it, at
least for as long a time as we shall need it. Since these small
ships are designed for purely local scout work, though, they are
comparatively slow and would certainly be destroyed in any such cosmic
explosion as is manifestly a possibility. That possibility is very
remote, it is true, but it should be taken into consideration."

"So what? You're talking yourself around a circle, right back to where
you started from."

"Only considering the thing from all angles." DuQuesne was unruffled.
"We have lots of time, since it will take them quite a while to perfect
this formation. To finish the summing up--we want to use this vessel,
but is it safe? It is. Why? Because the Fenachrone, having had atomic
energy themselves for a long time, are thoroughly familiar with its
possibilities and have undoubtedly perfected screens through which no
such bomb could penetrate.

"Furthermore, we can install the high-speed drive in this ship in a few
days--I gave you all the dope on it over the educator, you know--so
that we'll be safe, whatever happens. That's the safest plan, and it
will work. So you move the stores and our most necessary personal
belongings in here while I'm figuring out an orbit for the _Violet_.
We don't want her anywhere near us, and yet we want her to be within
reaching distance while we are piloting this scout ship of ours to the
place where she is supposed to be in Plan XB218."

"What are you going to do that for--to give them a chance to knock us
off?"

"No. I need a few days to study these brains, and it will take a few
days for that battleship mother ship of ours to get into her assigned
position, where we can steal her most easily." DuQuesne, however, did
not at once remove his headset, but remained standing in place, silent
and thoughtful.

"Uh-huh," agreed Loring. "I'm thinking the same thing you are. Suppose
that it _is_ Seaton that's got them all hot and bothered this way?"

"The thought has occurred to me several times, and I have considered it
at some length," DuQuesne admitted at last. "However, I have concluded
that it is not Seaton. For if it is, he must have a lot more stuff than
I think he has. I do not believe that he can possibly have learned
that much in the short time he has had to work in. I may be wrong, of
course; but the immediately necessary steps toward the seizure of that
battleship remain unchanged whether I am right or wrong; or whether
Seaton was the cause of this disturbance."

       *       *       *       *       *

When the conversation was thus definitely at an end, Loring again
incased himself in his space suit and set to work. For hours he
labored, silently and efficiently, at transferring enough of their
Earthly possessions and stores to render possible an extended period of
living aboard the vessel of the Fenachrone.

He had completed that task and was assembling the apparatus and
equipment necessary for the rebuilding of the power plant before
DuQuesne finished the long and complex computations involved in
determining the direction and magnitude of the force required to give
the _Violet_ the exact trajectory he desired. The problem was finally
solved and checked, however, and DuQuesne rose to his feet, closing his
book of nine-place logarithms with a snap.

"All done with _Violet_, Doll?" he asked, donning his armor.

"Yes."

"Fine! I'll go aboard and push her off, after we do a little
stage-setting here. Take that body there--I don't need it any more,
since he didn't know much of anything, anyway--and toss it into the
nose compartment. Then shut that bulkhead door, tight. I'm going to
drill a couple of holes through there from the _Violet_ before I give
her the gun."

"I see--going to make us _look_ disabled, whether we are or not, huh?"

"Exactly! We've got to have a good excuse for our visirays being out
of order. I can make reports all right on the communicator, and send
and receive code messages and orders, but we certainly couldn't stand a
close-up inspection on a visiplate. Also, we've got to have some kind
of an excuse for signaling to and approaching our mother battleship. We
will have been hit and punctured by a meteorite. Pretty thin excuse,
but it probably will serve for as long a time as we will need."

After DuQuesne had made sure that the small compartment in the prow
of the vessel contained nothing of use to them, the body of one of the
Fenachrone was thrown carelessly into it, the air-tight bulkhead was
closed and securely locked, and the chief marauder stepped into the
airlock.

"As soon as I get her exactly on course and velocity, I'll step out
into space and you can pick me up," he directed briefly, and was gone.

In the _Violet's_ engine room DuQuesne released the anchoring attractor
beams and backed off to a few hundred yards' distance. He spun a couple
of wheels briefly, pressed a switch, and from the _Violet's_ heaviest
needle-ray projector there flashed out against the prow of the scout
patrol a pencil of incredibly condensed destruction.

Dunark, the crown prince of Kondal, had developed that stabbing ray
as the culminating ultimate weapon of ten thousand years of Osnomian
warfare; and, driven by even the comparatively feeble energies known
to the denizens of the Green System before Seaton's advent, no
known substance had been able to resist for more than a moment its
corrosively, annihilatingly poignant thrust.

And now this furious stiletto of pure energy, driven by the full
power of four hundred pounds of disintegrating atomic copper, at this
point-blank range, was hurled against the mere inch of transparent
material which comprised the skin of the tiny cruiser. DuQuesne
expected no opposition, for with a beam less potent by far he had
consumed utterly a vessel built of arenak--arenak, that Osnomian
synthetic which is five hundred times as strong, tough, and hard as
Earth's strongest, toughest, or hardest alloy steel.

Yet that annihilating needle of force struck that transparent surface
and rebounded from it in scintillating torrents of fire. Struck and
rebounded, struck and clung; boring in almost imperceptibly as its
irresistible energy tore apart, electron by electron, the surprisingly
obdurate substance of the cruiser's wall. For that substance was
the ultimate synthetic--the one limiting material possessing the
utmost measure of strength, hardness, tenacity, and rigidity
theoretically possible to any substance built up from the building
blocks of ether-borne electrons. This substance, developed by the
master scientists of the Fenachrone, was in fact identical with the
Norlaminian synthetic metal, inoson, from which Rovol and his aids had
constructed for Seaton his gigantic ship of space--_Skylark Three_.

       *       *       *       *       *

For five long minutes DuQuesne held that terrific beam against the
point of attack, then shut it off; for it had consumed less than half
the thickness of the scout patrol's outer skin. True, the focal area of
the energy was an almost invisibly violet glare of incandescence, so
intensely hot that the concentric shading off through blinding white,
yellow, and bright-red heat brought the zone of dull red far down the
side of the vessel; but that awful force had had practically no effect
upon the spaceworthiness of the stanch little craft.

"No use, Loring!" DuQuesne spoke calmly into the transmitter inside
his face plate. True scientist that he was, he neither expressed nor
felt anger or bafflement when an idea failed to work, but abandoned
it promptly and completely, without rancor or repining. "No possible
meteorite could puncture that shell. Stand by!"

He inspected the power meters briefly, made several readings through
the filar micrometer of number six visiplate and checked the vernier
readings of the great circles of the gyroscopes against the figures in
his notebook. Then, assured that the _Violet_ was following precisely
the predetermined course, he entered the airlock, waved a bloated arm
at the watchful Loring, and coolly stepped off into space. The heavy
outer door clanged shut behind him, and the globular ship of space
rocketed onward; while DuQuesne fell with a sickening acceleration
toward the mighty planet of the Fenachrone, so many thousands of miles
below.

That fall did not long endure. Loring, now a space pilot second to
none, had held his vessel dead even with the _Violet_; matching exactly
her course, pace, and acceleration at a distance of barely a hundred
feet. He had cut off all his power as DuQuesne's right foot left the
Osnomian vessel, and now falling man and plunging scout ship plummeted
downward together at the same mad pace; the man drifting slowly toward
the ship because of the slight energy of his step into space from
the _Violet's_ side and beginning slowly to turn over as he fell. So
consummate had been Loring's spacemanship that the scout did not even
roll; DuQuesne was still opposite her starboard airlock when Loring
stood in its portal and tossed a space line to his superior. This
line--a small, tightly stranded cable of fiber capable of retaining its
strength and pliability in the heatless depths of space--snapped out
and curled around DuQuesne's bulging space suit.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I thought you'd use an attractor, but this is probably better, at
that," DuQuesne commented, as he seized the line in a mailed fist.

"Yeah. I haven't had much practice with them on delicate and accurate
work. If I had missed you with this line I could have thrown it again;
but if I missed this opening with you on a beam and shaved your suit
off on this sharp edge, I figured it'd be just too bad."

The two men again in the control room and the vessel once more leveled
out in headlong flight, Loring broke the silence:

"That idea of being punctured by a meteorite didn't pan out so heavy.
How would it be to have one of the crew go space-crazy and wreck the
boat from the inside? They do that sometimes, don't they?"

"Yes, they do. That's an idea--thanks. I'll study up on the symptoms.
I have a lot more studying to do, anyway--there's a lot of stuff I
haven't got yet. This metal, for instance--we couldn't possibly build
a Fenachrone battleship on Earth. I had no idea that any possible
substance could be so resistant as the shell of this ship is. Of
course, there are many unexplored areas in these brains here, and quite
a few high-class brains aboard our mother ship that I haven't even seen
yet. The secret of the composition of this metal must be in some of
them."

"Well, while you're getting their stuff, I suppose I'd better fly at
that job of rebuilding our drive. I'll have time enough all right, you
think?"

"Certain of it. I have learned that their system is ample--automatic
and foolproof. They have warning long before anything can possibly
happen. They can, and do, spot trouble over a light-week away, so their
plans allow one week to perfect their defenses. You can change the
power plant over in four days, so we're well in the clear on that. I
may not be done with my studies by that time, but I shall have learned
enough to take effective action. You work on the drive and keep house.
I will study Fenachrone science and so on, answer calls, make reports,
and arrange the details of what is to happen when we come within the
volume of space assigned to our mother ship."

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus for days each man devoted himself to his task. Loring rebuilt
the power plant of the short-ranging scout patrol into the terrific
open-space drive of the first-line battleships and performed the simple
routines of their Spartan housekeeping. DuQuesne cut himself short on
sleep and spent every possible hour in transferring to his own brain
every worth-while bit of knowledge which had been possessed by the
commander and crew of the patrol ship which he had captured.

Periodically, however, he would close the sending circuit and
report the position and progress of his vessel, precisely on time
and observing strictly all the military minutiae called for by the
manual--the while watching appreciatively and with undisguised
admiration the flawless execution of that stupendous plan of defense.

The change-over finished, Loring went in search of DuQuesne, whom he
found performing a strenuous setting-up exercise. The scientist's face
was pale, haggard, and drawn.

"What's the matter, chief?" Loring asked. "You look kind of peaked."

"Peaked is good--I'm just about bushed. This thing of getting a hundred
and ninety years of solid education in a few days would hardly come
under the heading of light amusement. Are you done?"

"Done and checked--O.K."

"Good! I am, too. It won't take us long to get to our destination now;
our mother ship should be just about at her post by this time."

Now that the vessel was approaching the location assigned to it in the
plan, and since DuQuesne had already taken from the brains of the dead
Fenachrone all that he wanted of their knowledge, he threw their bodies
into space and rayed them out of existence. The other corpse he left
lying, a bloated and ghastly mass, in the forward compartment as he
prepared to send in what was to be his last flight report to the office
of the general in command of the plan of defense.

"His high-mightiness doesn't know it, but that is the last call he is
going to get from this unit," DuQuesne remarked, leaving the sender and
stepping over to the control board. "Now we can leave our prescribed
course and go where we can do ourselves some good. First, we'll find
the _Violet_. I haven't heard of her being spotted and destroyed as a
menace to navigation, so we'll look her up and start her off for home."

"Why?" asked the henchman. "Thought we were all done with her."

"We probably are, but if it should turn out that Seaton is back of all
this excitement, our having her may save us a trip back to the Earth.
Ah, there she is, right on schedule! I'll bring her alongside and set
her controls on a distance-squared decrement, so that when she gets out
into space she'll have a constant velocity."

"Think she'll get out into free space through those screens?"

"They will detect her, of course, but when they see that she is an
abandoned derelict and headed out of their system they'll probably let
her go. It will be no great loss, of course, if they do burn her."

Thus it came about that the spherical cruiser of the void shot away
from the then feeble gravitation of the vast but distant planet of
the Fenachrone at a frightful but constant speed. Through the outer
detector screens she tore. Searching beams explored her instantly and
thoroughly; but since she was so evidently a deserted hulk and since
the Fenachrone cared nothing now for impediments to navigation beyond
their screens, she was not pursued.

On and on she sped, her automatic controls reducing her power in exact
ratio to the square of the distance attained; on and on, her automatic
deflecting detectors swinging her around suns and solar systems and
back upon her original right line; on and on toward the Green System,
the central system of this the First Galaxy--our own native island
universe.



                                 III.


"Now we'll get ready to take that battleship." DuQuesne turned to his
aid as the _Violet_ disappeared from their sight. "Your suggestion that
one of the crew of this ship could have gone space-crazy was sound, and
I have planned our approach to the mother ship on that basis.

"We must wear Fenachrone space suits for three reasons: First, because
it is the only possible way to make us look even remotely like them,
and we shall have to stand a casual inspection. Second, because it
is general orders that all Fenachrone soldiers must wear suits while
at their posts in space. Third, because we shall have lost most of
our air. You can wear one of their suits without any difficulty--the
surplus circumference will not trouble you very much. I, on the
contrary, cannot even get into one, since they're almost a foot too
short.

"I must have a suit on, though, before we board the battleship; so I
shall wear my own, with one of theirs over it--with the feet cut off
so that I can get it on. Since I shall not be able to stand up or to
move around without giving everything away because of my length, I'll
have to be unconscious and folded up so that my height will not be too
apparent, and you will have to be the star performer during the first
act.

"But this detailed instruction by word of mouth takes altogether too
much time. Put on this headset and I'll shoot you the whole scheme,
together with whatever additional Fenachrone knowledge you will need to
put the act across."

A brief exchange of thoughts and of ideas followed. Then, every detail
made clear, the two Terrestrials donned the space suits of the very
short, but enormously wide and thick, monstrosities in semihuman form
who were so bigotedly working toward their day of universal conquest.

DuQuesne picked up in his doubly mailed hands a massive bar of metal.
"Ready, Doll? When I swing this we cross the Rubicon."

"It's all right by me. All or nothing--shoot the works!"

DuQuesne swung his mighty bludgeon aloft, and as it descended the
telemental recorder sprang into a shower of shattered tubes, flying
coils, and broken insulation. The visiray apparatus went next, followed
in swift succession by the superficial air controls, the map cases, and
practically everything else that was breakable; until it was clear to
even the most casual observer that a madman had in truth wrought his
frenzied will throughout the room. One final swing wrecked the controls
of the airlocks, and the atmosphere within the vessel began to whistle
out into the vacuum of space through the broken bleeder tubes.

"All right, Doll, do your stuff!" DuQuesne directed crisply, and threw
himself headlong into a corner, falling into an inert, grotesque huddle.

Loring, now impersonating the dead commanding officer of the scout
ship, sat down at the manual sender, which had not been seriously
damaged, and in true Fenachrone fashion laid a beam to the mother ship.

"Scout ship _K3296_, Sublieutenant Grenimar commanding, sending
emergency distress message," he tapped out fluently. "Am not using
telemental recorder, as required by regulations, because nearly all
instruments wrecked. Private 244C14, on watch, suddenly seized with
space insanity, smashed air valves, instruments, and controls. Opened
lock and leaped out into space. I was awake and got into suit before
my room lost pressure. My other man, 397B42, was unconscious when I
reached him, but believe I got him into his suit soon enough so that
his life can be saved by prompt aid. 244C14 of course dead, but I
recovered his body as per general orders and am saving it so that
brain lesions may be studied by College of Science. Repaired this
manual sender and have ship under partial control. Am coming toward
you, decelerating to stop in fifteen minutes. Suggest you handle this
ship with beam when approach as I have no fine controls. Signing
off--_K3296_."

"Superdreadnought _Z12Q_, acknowledging emergency distress message of
scout ship _K3296_," came almost instant answer. "Will meet you and
handle you as suggested. Signing off--_Z12Q_."

Rapidly the two ships of space drew together; the patrol boat now
stationary with respect to the planet, the huge battleship decelerating
at maximum. Three enormous beams reached out and, held at prow,
mid-section, and stern, the tiny flier was drawn rapidly but carefully
against the towering side of her mother ship. The double suction seals
engaged and locked; the massive doors began to open.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now came the most crucial point of DuQuesne's whole scheme. For that
warship carried a complement of nearly a hundred men, and ten or a
dozen of them--the lock commander, surgeons and orderlies certainly,
and possibly a corps of mechanics as well--would be massed in the
airlock room behind those slowly opening barriers. But in that scheme's
very audacity lay its great strength--its almost complete assurance
of success. For what Fenachrone, with the inborn superiority complex
that was his heritage, would even dream that two members of any alien
race would have the sheer, brazen effrontery to dare to attack,
empty-handed, a full-manned Class Z superdreadnought, one of the most
formidable structures that had ever lifted its stupendous mass into the
ether?

But DuQuesne so dared. Direct action had always been his forte.
Apparently impossible odds had never daunted him. He had always planned
his coups carefully, then followed those plans coldly and ruthlessly
to their logical and successful conclusions. Two men could do this job
very nicely, and would so do it. DuQuesne had chosen Loring with care.
Therefore he lay at ease in his armor in front of the slowly opening
portal, calmly certain that the iron nerves of his assassin aid would
not weaken for even the instant necessary to disrupt his carefully laid
plan.

As soon as the doors had opened sufficiently to permit ingress, Loring
went through them slowly, carrying the supposedly unconscious man
with care. But once inside the opaque walls of the lock room, that
slowness became activity incarnate. DuQuesne sprang instantly to his
full height, and before the clustered officers could even perceive that
anything was amiss, four sure hands had trained upon them the deadliest
hand weapons known to the superlative science of their own race.

Since DuQuesne was overlooking no opportunity of acquiring knowledge,
the heads were spared; but as the four furious blasts of vibratory
energy tore through those massive bodies, making of their every
internal organ a mass of disorganized protoplasmic pulp, every
Fenachrone in the room fell lifeless to the floor before he could move
a hand in self-defense.

Dropping his weapons, DuQuesne wrenched off his helmet, while Loring
with deft hands bared the head of the senior officer of the group upon
the floor. Headsets flashed out--were clamped into place--dials were
set--the scientist shot power into the tubes, transferring to his own
brain an entire section of the dead brain before him.

[Illustration: _DuQuesne clamped the headset into place, shot power
into it and transferred to his own brain an entire section of the brain
of the dead Fenachrone._]

His senses reeled under the shock, but he recovered quickly, and even
as he threw off the phones Loring slammed down over his head the helmet
of the Fenachrone. DuQuesne was now commander of the airlocks, and the
break in communication had been of such short duration that not the
slightest suspicion had been aroused. He snapped out mental orders to
the distant power room, the side of the vessel opened, and the scout
ship was drawn within.

"All tight, sir," he reported to the captain, and the _Z12Q_ began to
retrace her path in space.

DuQuesne's first objective had been attained without untoward incident.
The second objective, the control room, might present more difficulty,
since its occupants would be scattered. However, to neutralize this
difficulty, the Earthly attackers could work with bare hands and thus
with the weapons with which both were thoroughly familiar. Removing
their gauntlets, the two men ran lightly toward that holy of Fenachrone
holies, the control room. Its door was guarded, but DuQuesne had known
that it would be--wherefore the guards went down before they could
voice a challenge. The door crashed open and four heavy, long-barreled
automatics began to vomit forth a leaden storm of death. Those pistols
were gripped in accustomed and steady hands; those hands in turn were
actuated by the ruthless brains of heartless, conscienceless, and
merciless killers.

       *       *       *       *       *

His second and major objective gained, DuQuesne proceeded at once to
consolidate his position. Pausing only to learn from the brain of the
dead captain the exact technique of procedure, he summoned into the
sanctum, one at a time, every member of the gigantic vessel's crew. Man
after man they came, in answer to the summons of their all-powerful
captain--and man after man they died.

"Take the educator and get some of their surgeon's skill," DuQuesne
directed curtly, after the last member of the crew had been accounted
for. "Take off the heads and put them where they'll keep. Throw the
rest of the rubbish out. Never mind about this captain--I want to study
him."

Then, while Loring busied himself at his grisly task, DuQuesne sat at
the captain's bench, read the captain's brains, and sent in to general
headquarters the regular routine reports of the vessel.

"All cleaned up. Now what?" Loring was as spick-and-span, as calmly
unruffled, as though he were reporting in one of the private rooms of
the Perkins Café. "Start back to the Earth?"

"Not yet." Even though DuQuesne had captured his battleship, thereby
performing the almost impossible, he was not yet content. "There are a
lot of things to learn here yet, and I think that we had better stay
here as long as possible and learn them; provided we can do so without
incurring any extra risks. As far as actual flight goes, two men can
handle this ship as well as a hundred, since her machinery is all
automatic. Therefore we can run away any time.

"We could not fight, however, as it takes about thirty men to handle
her weapons. But fighting would do no good, anyway, because they could
outnumber us a hundred to one in a few hours. All of which means that
if we go out beyond the detector screens we will not be able to come
back--we had better stay here, so as to be able to take advantage of
any favorable developments."

He fell silent, frowningly concentrated upon some problem obscure to
his companion. At last he went to the main control panel and busied
himself with a device of photo cells, coils, and kino bulbs; whereupon
Loring set about preparing a long-delayed meal.

"It's all hot, chief--come and get it," the aid invited, when he saw
that his superior's immediate task was done. "What's the idea? Didn't
they have enough controls there already?"

"The idea is, Doll, not to take any unnecessary chances. Ah, this
goulash hits the spot!" DuQuesne ate appreciatively for a few minutes
in silence, then went on: "Three things may happen to interfere
with the continuation of our search for knowledge. First, since we
are now in command of a Fenachrone mother ship, I have to report to
headquarters on the telemental recorder, and they may catch me in a
slip any minute, which will mean a massed attack. Second, the enemy
may break through the Fenachrone defenses and precipitate a general
engagement. Third, there is still the bare possibility of that cosmic
explosion I told you about.

"In that connection, it is quite obvious that an atomic explosion
wave of that type would be propagated with the velocity of light.
Therefore, even though our ship could run away from it, since we have
an acceleration of five times that velocity, yet we could not see
that such an explosion had occurred until the wave-front reached us.
Then, of course, it would be too late to do anything about it, because
what an atomic explosion wave would do to the dense material of this
battleship would be simply nobody's business.

"We might get away if one of us had his hands actually on the controls
and had his eyes and his brain right on the job, but that is altogether
too much to expect of flesh and blood. No brain can be maintained at
its highest pitch for any length of time."

"So what?" Loring said laconically. If the chief was not worried about
these things, the henchman would not be worried, either.

"So I rigged up a detector that is both automatic and instantaneous.
At the first touch of any unusual vibration it will throw in the full
space drive and will shoot us directly away from the point of the
disturbance. Now we shall be absolutely safe, no matter what happens.

"We are safe from any possible attack; neither the Fenachrone nor our
common enemy, whoever they are, can harm us. We are safe even from the
atomic explosion of the entire planet. We shall stay here until we get
everything that we want. Then we shall go back to the Green System. We
shall find Seaton."

His entire being grew grim and implacable, his voice became harder and
colder even than its hard and cold wont. "We shall blow him clear out
of the ether. The world--yes, whatever I want of the Galaxy--shall be
_mine_!"



                                  IV.


Only a few days were required for the completion of DuQuesne's
Fenachrone education, since not many of the former officers of the
battleship had added greatly to the already vast knowledge possessed by
the Terrestrial scientists. Therefore the time soon came when he had
nothing to occupy either his vigorous body or his voracious mind, and
the self-imposed idleness irked his active spirit sorely.

"If nothing is going to happen out here we might as well get started
back; this present situation is intolerable," he declared to Loring
one morning, and proceeded to lay spy rays to various strategic points
of the enormous shell of defense, and even to the sacred precincts of
headquarters itself.

"They will probably catch me at this, and when they do it will blow the
lid off; but since we are all ready for the break we don't care now how
soon it comes. There's something gone sour somewhere, and it may do us
some good to know something about it."

"Sour? Along what line?"

"The mobilization has slowed down. The first phase went off
beautifully, you know, right on schedule; but lately things have
slowed down. That doesn't seem just right, since their plans are all
dynamic, not static. Of course general headquarters isn't advertising
it to us outlying captains, but I think I can sense an undertone of
uneasiness. That's why I am doing this little job of spying, to get
the low-down--Ah, I thought so! Look here, Doll! See those gaps on the
defense map? Over half of their big ships are not in position--look at
those tracer reports--not a battleship that was out in space has come
back, and a lot of them are more than a week overdue. I'll say that's
something we ought to know about--"

"Observation Officer of the _Z12Q_, attention!" snapped from the
tight-beam headquarters communicator. "Cut off those spy rays and
report yourself under arrest for treason!"

"Not to-day," DuQuesne drawled. "Besides, I can't--I am in command here
now."

"Open your visiplate to full aperture!" The staff officer's voice
was choked with fury; never in his long life had he been so grossly
insulted by a mere captain of the line.

DuQuesne opened the plate, remarking to Loring as he did so; "This is
the blow-off, all right. No possible way of stalling him off now, even
if I wanted to; and I really want to tell them a few things before we
shove off."

"Where are the men who should be at stations?" the furious voice
demanded.

"Dead," DuQuesne replied laconically.

"Dead! And you have reported nothing amiss?" He turned from his own
microphone, but DuQuesne and Loring could hear his savage commands:

"_X1427_--Order the twelfth squadron to bring in the _Z12Q_!"

He spoke again to the rebellious and treasonable observer: "And you
have made your helmet opaque to the rays of this plate, another
violation of the code. Take it off!" The speaker fairly rattled
under the bellowing voice of the outraged general. "If you live
long enough to get here, you will pay the full penalty for treason,
insubordination, and conduct unbecom--"

"Oh, shut up, you yapping nincompoop!" snapped DuQuesne.

Wrenching off his helmet, he thrust his blackly forbidding face
directly before the visiplate; so that the raging officer stared, from
a distance of only eighteen inches, not into the cowed and frightened
face of a guiltily groveling subordinate, but into the proud and
sneering visage of Marc C. DuQuesne, of Earth.

And DuQuesne's whole being radiated open and supreme contempt, the
most gallingly nauseous dose possible to inflict upon any member of
that race of self-styled supermen, the Fenachrone. As he stared at the
Earthman the general's tirade broke off in the middle of a word and he
fell back speechless--robbed, it seemed, almost of consciousness by the
shock.

"You asked for it--you got it--now just what are you going to do with
it or about it?" DuQuesne spoke aloud, to render even more trenchantly
cutting the crackling mental comments as they leaped across space, each
thought lashing the officer like the biting, tearing tip of a bull whip.

"Better men than you have been beaten by overconfidence," he went
on, "and better plans than yours have come to nought through
underestimating the resources in brain and power of the opposition.
You are not the first race in the history of the universe to go down
because of false pride, and you will not be the last. You thought that
my comrade and I had been taken and killed. You thought so because _I_
wanted you so to think. In reality we took that scout ship, and when we
wanted it we took this battleship as easily.

"We have been here, in the very heart of your defense system, for ten
days. We have obtained everything that we set out to get; we have
learned everything that we set out to learn. If we wished to take it,
your entire planet could offer us no more resistance than did these
vessels, but we do not want it.

"Also, after due deliberation, we have decided that the universe would
be much better off without any Fenachrone in it. Therefore your race
will of course soon disappear; and since we do not want your planet,
we will see to it that no one else will want it, at least for some few
eons of time to come. Think _that_ over, as long as you are able to
think. Good-by!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Duquesne cut off the visiray with a vicious twist and turned to Loring.
"Pure boloney, of course!" he sneered. "But as long as they don't know
that fact it'll probably hold them for a while."

"Better start drifting for home, hadn't we? They're coming out after
us."

"We certainly had." DuQuesne strolled leisurely across the room toward
the controls. "We hit them hard, in a mighty tender spot, and they will
make it highly unpleasant for us if we linger around here much longer.
But we are in no danger. There is no tracer ray on this ship--they use
them only on long-distance cruises--so they'll have no idea where to
look for us. Also, I don't believe that they'll even try to chase us,
because I gave them a lot to think about for some time to come, even if
it wasn't true."

But DuQuesne had spoken far more truly than he knew--his "boloney" was
in fact a coldly precise statement of an awful truth even then about to
be made manifest. For at that very moment Dunark of Osnome was reaching
for the switch whose closing would send a detonating current through
the thousands of tons of sensitized atomic copper already placed by
Seaton in their deep-buried emplantments upon the noisome planet of the
Fenachrone.

DuQuesne knew that the outlying vessels of the monsters had not
returned to base, but he did not know that Seaton had destroyed them,
one and all, in free space; he did not know that his arch-foe was the
being who was responsible for the failure of the Fenachrone space ships
to come back from their horrible voyages.

Upon the other hand, while Seaton knew that there were battleships
afloat in the ether within the protecting screens of the planet, he
had no inkling that one of those very battleships was manned by his
two bitterest and most vindictive enemies, the official and completely
circumstantial report of whose death by cremation he had witnessed such
a few days before.

DuQuesne strolled across the floor of the control room, and in
mid-step became weightless, floating freely in the air. The planet had
exploded, and the outermost fringe of the wave-front of the atomic
disintegration, propagated outwardly into spherical space with the
velocity of light, had impinged upon the all-seeing and ever-watchful
mechanical eye which DuQuesne had so carefully installed. But only
that outermost fringe, composed solely of light and ultra-light, had
touched that eye. The relay--an electronic beam--had been deflected
instantaneously, demanding of the governors their terrific maximum of
power, away from the doomed world. The governors had responded in a
space of time to be measured only in fractional millionths of a second,
and the vessel leaped effortlessly and almost instantaneously into an
acceleration of five light-velocities, urged onward by the full power
of the space-annihilating drive of the Fenachrone.

The eyes of DuQuesne and Loring had had time really to see nothing
whatever. There was the barest perceptible flash of the intolerable
brilliance of an exploding universe, succeeded in the very instant of
its perception--yes, even before its real perception--by the utter
blackness of the complete absence of all light whatever as the space
drive automatically went into action and hurled the great vessel away
from the all-destroying wave-front of the atomic explosion.

As has been said, there were many battleships within the screens of the
distant planet, supporting a horde of scout ships according to Invasion
Plan XB218; but of all these vessels and of all things Fenachrone,
only two escaped the incredible violence of the holocaust. One was the
immense space traveler of Ravindau the scientist which had for days
been hurtling through space upon its way to a far-distant Galaxy; the
other was the first-line battleship carrying DuQuesne and his killer
aid, which had been snatched from the very teeth of that indescribable
cosmic cataclysm only by the instantaneous operation of DuQuesne's
automatic relays.

Everything on or near the planet had of course been destroyed
instantly, and even the fastest battleship, farthest removed from the
disintegrating world, was overwhelmed without the slightest possibility
of escape. For to human eyes, staring however attentively into
ordinary visiplates, these had practically no warning at all, since
the wave-front of atomic disruption was propagated with the velocity
of light and therefore followed very closely indeed behind the narrow
fringe of visible light which heralded its coming.

Even if one of the dazed commanders had known the meaning of the
coruscant blaze of brilliance which was the immediate forerunner of
destruction, he would have been helpless to avert it, for no hands
of flesh and blood, human or Fenachrone, could possibly have thrown
switches rapidly enough to have escaped from the advancing wave-front
of disruption; and at the touch of that frightful wave every atom of
substance, alike of vessel, contents, and hellish crew, became resolved
into its component electrons and added its contribution of energy to
the stupendous cosmic catastrophe.

       *       *       *       *       *

Even before his foot had left the floor in free motion, however,
DuQuesne realized exactly what had happened. His keen eyes saw the
flash of blinding incandescence announcing a world's ending and sent to
his keen brain a picture; and in the instant of perception that brain
had analyzed that picture and understood its every implication and
connotation. Therefore he only grinned sardonically at the phenomena
which left the slower-minded Loring dazed and breathless.

He continued to grin as the battleship hurtled onward through the void
at a pace beside which that of any ether-borne wave, even that of such
a Titanic disturbance as the atomic explosion of an entire planet, was
the veriest crawl.

At last, however, Loring comprehended what had happened. "Oh, it
exploded, huh?" he ejaculated.

"It most certainly did." The scientist's grin grew diabolical. "My
statements to them came true, even though I did not have anything to
do with their fruition. However, these events prove that caution is
all right in its place--it pays big dividends at times. I'm very glad,
of course, that the Fenachrone have been definitely taken out of the
picture."

Utterly callous, DuQuesne neither felt nor expressed the slightest
sign of pity for the race of beings so suddenly snuffed out of
existence. "Their removal at this time will undoubtedly save me a lot
of trouble later on," he added, "but the whole thing certainly gives me
furiously to think, as the French say. It was done with a sensitized
atomic copper bomb, of course; but I should like very much to know
who did it, and why; and, above all, how they were able to make the
approach."

"Personally, I still think it was Seaton," the baby-faced murderer put
in calmly. "No reason for thinking so, except that whenever anything
impossible has been pulled off anywhere that I ever heard of, he was
the guy that did it. Call it a hunch, if you want to."

"It may have been Seaton, of course, even though I can't really think
so." DuQuesne frowned blackly in concentration. "It may have been
accidental--started by the explosion of an ammunition dump or something
of the kind--but I believe that even less than I do the other. It
couldn't have been any race of beings from any other planet of this
system, since they are all bare of life, the Fenachrone having killed
off all the other races ages ago and not caring to live on the other
planets themselves. No; I still think that it was some enemy from
outer space; although my belief that it could not have been Seaton is
weakening.

"However, with this ship we can probably find out in short order who
it was, whether it was Seaton or any possible outside race. We are far
enough away now to be out of danger from that explosion, so we'll slow
down, circle around, and find out whoever it was that touched it off."

He slowed the mad pace of the cruiser until the firmament behind them
once more became visible, to see that the system of the Fenachrone was
now illuminated by a splendid double sun. Sending out a full series
of ultra-powered detector screens, DuQuesne scanned the instruments
narrowly. Every meter remained dead, its needle upon zero; not a sign
of radiation could be detected upon any of the known communicator or
power bands; the ether was empty for millions upon untold millions
of miles. He then put on power and cruised at higher and higher
velocities, describing a series of enormous looping circles throughout
the space surrounding that entire solar system.

Around and around the flaming double sun, rapidly becoming first a
double star and then merely a faint point of light, DuQuesne urged the
Fenachrone battleship, but his screens remained cold and unresponsive.
No ship of the void was operating in all that vast volume of ether; no
sign of man or of any of his works was to be found throughout it.

DuQuesne then extended his detectors to the terrific maximum of their
unthinkable range, increased his already frightful acceleration to
its absolute limit, and cruised madly onward in already vast and
ever-widening spirals until a grim conclusion forced itself upon his
consciousness. Unwilling though he was to believe it, he was forced
finally to recognize an appalling fact. The enemy, whoever he might
have been, must have been operating from a distance immeasurably
greater than any that even DuQuesne's newfound knowledge could believe
possible; abounding though it was in astounding data concerning
superscientific weapons of destruction.

He again cut their acceleration down to a touring rate, adjusted his
automatic alarms and signals, and turned to Loring, his face grim and
hard.

"They must have been farther away than even any of the Fenachrone
physicists would have believed possible," he stated flatly. "It looks
more and more like Seaton--he probably found some more high-class help
somewhere. Temporarily, at least, I am stumped--but I do not stay
stumped long. I shall find him if I have to comb the Galaxy, star by
star!"

Thus DuQuesne, not even dreaming what an incredibly inconceivable
distance from this Galaxy Seaton was to attain; nor what depths of
extradimensional space Seaton was to traverse before they were again
to stand face to face--cold black eyes staring straight into hard and
level eyes of gray.



                                  V.


_Skylark Three_, the mightiest space ship that had ever lifted her
stupendous mass from any planet known to the humanity of this, the
First Galaxy, was hurtling onward through the absolute vacuum of
intergalactic space. Around her there was nothing--no stars, no suns,
no meteorites, no smallest particle of cosmic dust. The First Galaxy
lay so far behind her that even its vast lens showed only as a dimly
perceptible point of light in the visiplates.

The Fenachrone space chart placed other Galaxies to right of and
to left of, above and below, the flying cruiser; but they were so
infinitely distant that their light could scarcely reach the eyes of
the Terrestrial wanderers. Equally far from them, or farther, but in
their line of flight, lay the distant Galaxy which was their goal.

So prodigious had been the velocity of the _Skylark_, when the last
vessel of the Fenachrone had been destroyed, that she could not
possibly have been halted until she had covered more than half the
distance separating that Galaxy from our own; and Seaton and Crane
had agreed that this chance to visit it was altogether too good to
be missed. Therefore the velocity of their vessel had been augmented
rather than lessened, and for uneventful days and weeks she had bored
her terrific way through the incomprehensible nothingness of the
interuniversal void.

After a few days of impatient waiting and of eager anticipation,
Seaton had settled down into the friendly and companionable routine
of the flight. But inaction palled upon his vigorous nature and,
physical outlet denied, he began to delve deeper and deeper into the
almost-unknown, scarcely plumbed recesses of his new mind--a mind
stored with the accumulated knowledge of thousands of generations of
the Rovol and of the Drasnik; generations of specialists in research in
two widely separated fields of knowledge.

Thus it was that one morning Seaton prowled about aimlessly in brown
abstraction, hands jammed deep into pockets, the while there rolled
from his villainously reeking pipe blue clouds of fumes that might have
taxed sorely a less efficient air-purifier than that boasted by the
_Skylark_; prowled, suddenly to dash across the control room to the
immense keyboards of his fifth-order projector.

There he sat, hour after hour; hands setting up incredibly complex
integrals upon its inexhaustible supply of keys and stops; gray eyes
staring unseeingly into infinity; he sat there, deaf, dumb, and blind
to everything except the fascinatingly fathomless problem upon which he
was so diligently at work.

Dinner time came and went, then supper time, then bedtime; and Dorothy
strode purposefully toward the console, only to be led away, silently
and quietly, by the watchful Crane.

"But he hasn't come up for air once to-day, Martin!" she protested,
when they were in Crane's private sitting room. "And didn't you tell
me yourself, that time back in Washington, to make him snap out of it
whenever he started to pull off one of his wild marathon splurges of
overwork?"

"Yes; I did," Crane replied thoughtfully; "but circumstances here
and now are somewhat different from what they were there and then. I
have no idea of what he is working out, but it is a problem of such
complexity that in one process he used more than seven hundred factors,
and it may well be that if he were to be interrupted now he could never
recover that particular line of thought. Then, too, you must remember
that he is now in such excellent physical condition that he is in no
present danger. I would say to let him alone, for a while longer, at
least."

"All right, Martin, that's fine! I hated to disturb him, really--I
would hate most awfully to derail an important train of thought."

"Yes; let him concentrate a while," urged Margaret. "He hasn't indulged
in one of those fits for weeks--Rovol wouldn't let him. I think it's a
shame, too, because when he dives in like that after something he comes
up with it in his teeth--when he really thinks, he does things. I don't
see how those Norlaminians ever got anything done, when they always did
their thinking by the clock and quit promptly at quitting time, even if
it was right in the middle of an idea."

"Dick can do more in an hour, the way he is working now, than Rovol of
Rays could ever do in ten years!" Dorothy exclaimed with conviction.
"I'm going in to keep him company--he's more apt to be disturbed by my
being gone than by having me there. Better come along, too, you two,
just as though nothing was going on. We'll give him an hour or so yet,
anyway."

The trio then strolled back into the control room.

But Seaton finished his computations without interruption. Some time
after midnight he transferred his integrated and assembled forces to an
anchoring plunger, arose from his irksome chair, stretched mightily,
and turned to the others, tired but triumphant.

"Folks, I think I've got something!" he cried. "Kinda late, but it'll
take only a couple of minutes to test it out. I'll put these nets over
your heads, and then you all look into that viewing cabinet over there."

       *       *       *       *       *

Over his own head and shoulders Seaton draped a finely woven screen
of silvery metal, connected by a stranded cable to a plug in his
board; and after he had similarly invested his companions he began to
manipulate dials and knobs.

As he did so the dark space of the cabinet became filled with a soft
glow of light--a glow which resolved itself into color and form, a
three-dimensional picture. In the background towered a snow-capped,
beautifully symmetrical volcanic mountain; in the foreground were to
be seen cherry trees in full bloom surrounding a small structure of
unmistakable architecture; and through their minds swept fleeting
flashes of poignant longing, amounting almost to nostalgia.

"Good heavens, Dick, what have you done now?" Dorothy broke out. "I
feel so homesick that I want to cry--and I don't care a bit whether I
ever see Japan again or not!"

"These nets aren't perfect insulators, of course, even though I've got
them grounded. There's some leakage. They'd have to be solid to stop
all radiation. Leaks both ways, of course, so we're interfering with
the picture a little, too; but there's some outside interference that I
can't discover yet."

Seaton thought aloud, rather than explained, as he shut off the power.

"Folks, we _have_ got something! That's the sixth-order pattern, and
_thought_ is in that level! Those were _thoughts_--Shiro's thoughts."

"But he's asleep, surely, by this time," Dorothy protested.

"Sure he is, or he wouldn't be thinking that kind of thoughts. It's his
subconscious--he's contented enough when he's awake."

"How did you work it out?" asked Crane. "You said, yourself, that it
might well take lifetimes of research."

"It would, ordinarily. Partly a hunch, partly dumb luck, but mostly a
combination of two brains that upon Norlamin would ordinarily never
touch the same subject anywhere. Rovol, who knows everything there is
to be known about rays, and Drasnik, probably the greatest authority
upon the mind that ever lived, both gave me a good share of their
knowledge; and the combination turned out to be hot stuff, particularly
in connection with this fifth-order keyboard. Now we can really do
something!"

"But you had a sixth-order detector before," Margaret put in. "Why
didn't we touch it off by thinking?"

"Too coarse--I see that, now. It wouldn't react to the extremely
slight power of a thought-wave; only to the powerful impulses from a
bar or from cosmic radiation. But I can build one now that will react
to thought, and I'm going to; particularly since there was a little
interference on that picture that I couldn't quite account for." He
turned back to the projector.

"You're coming to bed," declared Dorothy with finality. "You've done
enough for one day."

She had her way, but early the next morning Seaton was again at the
keyboard, wearing a complex headset and driving a tenuous fabric of
force far out into the void. After an hour or so he tensed suddenly,
every sense concentrated upon something vaguely perceptible; something
which became less and less nebulous as his steady fingers rotated
micrometric dials in infinitesimal arcs.

"Come get a load of this, folks!" he called at last. "Mart, what would
a planet--an inhabited planet, at that--be doing 'way out here, Heaven
only knows how many light-centuries away from the nearest Galaxy?"

       *       *       *       *       *

The three donned headsets and seated themselves in their chairs in
the base of the great projector. Instantly they felt projections of
themselves hurled an incomprehensible distance out into empty space.
But that weird sensation was not new; each was thoroughly accustomed to
the feeling of duality incident to being in the _Skylark_ in body, yet
with a duplicate mentality carried by the projection to a point many
light-years distant from his corporeal substance. Their mentalities,
thus projected, felt a fleeting instant of unthinkable velocity, then
hung poised above the surface of a small but dense planet, a planet
utterly alone in that dreadful void.

[Illustration: _Dorothy, Margaret and Crane donned headsets and seated
themselves in the base of the great projector._]

But it was like no other planet with which the Terrestrial wanderers
were familiar. It possessed neither air nor water, and it was entirely
devoid of topographical features. It was merely a bare, mountainless,
depthless sphere of rock and metal. Though sunless, it was not dark; it
glowed with a strong, white light which emanated from the rocky soil
itself. Nothing animate was visible, nor was there a sign that any form
of life, animal or vegetable, had ever existed there.

"You can talk if you want to," Seaton observed, noticing that Dorothy
was holding back by main strength a torrent of words. "They can't hear
us--there's no audio in the circuit."

"What do you mean by 'they,' Dick?" she demanded. "You said it was an
inhabited planet. That one isn't inhabited. It never was, and it can't
possibly be, _ever!_"

"When I spoke I thought that it was inhabited, in the ordinary sense
of the word, but I see now that it isn't," he replied, quietly and
thoughtfully. "But they were there a minute ago, and they'll probably
be back. Don't kid yourself, Dimples. It's inhabited, all right, and
by somebody we don't know much--or rather, by something that we knew
once--altogether too well."

"The pure intellectuals," Crane stated, rather than asked.

"Yes; and that accounts for the impossible location of the planet, too.
They probably materialized it out there, just for the exercise. There,
they're coming back. Feel 'em?"

Vivid thoughts, for the most part incomprehensible, flashed from the
headsets into their minds; and instantly the surroundings of their
projections changed. With the speed of thought a building materialized
upon that barren ground, and they found themselves looking into a
brilliantly lighted and spacious hall. Walls of alabaster, giving
forth a living, almost a fluid light. Tapestries, whose fantastically
intricate designs changed from moment to moment into ever new and
ever more amazingly complex delineations. Gem-studded fountains,
whose plumes and gorgeous sprays of dancing liquid obeyed no Earthly
laws of mechanics. Chairs and benches, writhing, changing in form
constantly and with no understandable rhythm. And in that hall were the
intellectuals--the entities who had materialized those objects from the
ultimately elemental radiant energy of intergalactic space.

Their number could not even be guessed. Sometimes only one was
visible, sometimes it seemed that the great hall was crowded with
them--ever-changing shapes varying in texture from the tenuousness of a
wraith to a density greater than that of any Earthly metal.

So bewilderingly rapid were the changes in form that no one appearance
could be intelligently grasped. Before one outlandish and unearthly
shape could really be perceived it had vanished--had melted and
flowed into one entirely different in form and in sense, but one
equally monstrous to Terrestrial eyes. Even if grasped mentally, no
one of those grotesque shapes could have been described in language,
so utterly foreign were they to all human knowledge, history, and
experience.

And now, the sixth-order projections in perfect synchronism, the
thoughts of the Outlanders came clearly into the minds of the four
watchers--thoughts cold, hard, and clear, diamondlike in polish and in
definition; thoughts with the perfection of finish and detail possible
only to the fleshless mentalities who for countless millions of years
had done little save perfect themselves in the technique of pure and
absolute thinking.

The four sat tense and strained as the awful import of those thoughts
struck home; then, at another thought of horribly unmistakable meaning,
Seaton snapped off his power and drove lightning fingers over his
keyboard, while the two women slumped back, white-faced and trembling,
into their seats.

"I thought it was funny, back there that time, that that fellow
couldn't integrate in the ninety-seven dimensions necessary to
dematerialize us, and I didn't know anything then." Seaton, his
preparations complete, leaned back in his operator's seat at the
console. "He was just kidding us--playing with us, just to see what
we'd do, and as for not being able to think his way back--phooie!
He can think his way through ninety-seven universes if he wants to.
They're certainly extragalactic, and very probably extrauniversal, and
the one that played with us could have dematerialized us instantly if
he had felt like it."

"That is apparent, now," Crane conceded. "They are quite evidently
patterns of sixth-order forces, and as such have a velocity of anything
they want to use. They absorb force from the radiations in free space,
and are capable of diverting and of utilizing those forces in any
fashion they may choose. They would of course be eternal, and, so far
as I can see, they would be indestructible. What are we going to do
about it, Dick? What _can_ we do about it?"

"We'll do _something_!" Seaton gritted. "We're not as helpless as they
think we are. I've got out five courses of six-ply screen, with full
interliners of zones of force. I've got everything blocked, clear down
to the sixth order. If they can think their way through those screens
they're better than I think they are, and if they try anything else
we'll do our darnedest to block that, too--and with this Norlaminian
keyboard and all the uranium we've got that'll be a mighty lot, believe
me! After that last crack of theirs they'll hunt for us, of course,
and I'm pretty sure they'll find us. I thought so--here they are!
Materialization, huh? I told him once that if he'd stick to matter that
I could understand, I'd give him a run for his money, and I wasn't
kidding him, either."



                                  VI.


Far out in the depths of the intergalactic void there sped along upon
its strange course the newly materialized planet of the intellectuals.
Desolate and barren it was, and apparently destitute of life; but
life was there--eternal, disembodied life, unaffected by any possible
extreme of heat or cold, requiring for its continuance neither water
nor air, nor, for that matter, any material substance whatsoever. And
from somewhere in the vacuum above that planet's forbidding surface
there emanated a thought--a thought coldly clear, abysmally hopeless.

"I have but one remaining aim in this life. While I have failed again,
as I have failed innumerable times in the past, I shall keep on trying
until I succeed in assembling in sufficient strength the exact forces
necessary to disrupt this sixth-order pattern which is I."

"You speak foolishly, Eight, as does each of us now and again," came
instant response. "There is much more to see, much more to do, much
more to learn. Why be discouraged or disheartened? An infinity of time
is necessary in which to explore infinite space and to acquire infinite
knowledge."

"Foolish I may be, but this is no simple recurrent outburst of
melancholia. I am definitely weary of this cycle of existence, and
I wish to pass on to the next, whatever of experience or of sheer
oblivion it may bring. In fact, I wish that you, One, had never worked
out the particular pattern of forces that liberated our eleven minds
from the so-called shackles of our material bodies. For we cannot die.
We are simply patterns of force eternal, marking the passage of time
only by the life cycles of the suns of the Galaxies.

"Why, I envy even the creatures inhabiting the planets throughout
the Galaxy we visited but a moment ago. Partially intelligent though
they are, struggling and groping, each individual dying after only a
fleeting instant of life; born, growing old, and passing on in a minute
fraction of a millionth of one cycle--yet I envy even them."

"That was the reason you did not dematerialize those you accompanied
briefly while they were flitting about in their crude space ship?"

"Yes. Being alive for such an infinitesimal period of time, they value
life highly. Why hurry them into the future that is so soon to be
theirs?"

"Do not dwell upon such thoughts, Eight," advised One. "They lead only
to greater and greater depths of despondency. Consider instead what we
have done and what we shall do."

"I have considered everything, at length," the entity known as Eight
thought back stubbornly. "What benefit or satisfaction do we get out
of this continuous sojourn in the cycle of existence from which we
should have departed æons ago? We have power, it is true, but what of
it? It is barren. We create for ourselves bodies and their material
surroundings, like this"--the great hall came into being, and so vast
was the mentality creating it that the flow of thought continued
without a break--"but what of it? We do not enjoy them as lesser beings
enjoy the bodies which to them are synonymous with life.

"We have traveled endlessly, we have seen much, we have studied much;
but what of it? Fundamentally we have accomplished nothing and we know
nothing. We know but little more than we knew countless thousands of
cycles ago, when our home planet was still substance. We know nothing
of time; we know nothing of space; we know nothing even of the fourth
dimension save that the three of us who rotated themselves into it have
never returned. And until one of us succeeds in building a neutralizing
pattern we can never die--we must face a drab and cheerless eternity of
existence as we now are."

"An eternity, yes, but an eternity neither drab nor cheerless. We know
but little, as you have said, but in that fact lies a stimulus; we can
and shall go on forever, learning more and ever more. Think of it! But
hold--what is that? I feel a foreign thought. It must emanate from a
mind powerful indeed to have come so far."

"I have felt them. There are four foreign minds, but they are
unimportant."

"Have you analyzed them?"

"Yes. They are the people of the space ship which we just mentioned;
projecting their mentalities to us here."

"Projecting mentalities? Such a low form of life? They must have
learned much from you, Eight."

"Perhaps I did give them one or two hints," Eight returned, utterly
indifferent, "but they are of no importance to us."

"I am not so sure of that," One mused. "We found no others in that
Galaxy capable of so projecting themselves, nor did we find any beings
possessing minds sufficiently strong to be capable of existence without
the support of a material body. It may be that they are sufficiently
advanced to join us. Even if they are not, if their minds should prove
too weak for our company, they are undoubtedly strong enough to be of
use in one of my researches."

       *       *       *       *       *

At this point Seaton cut off the projections and began to muster his
sixth-order defenses, therefore he did not "hear" Eight's outburst
against the proposal of his leader.

"I will not allow it, One!" the disembodied intelligence protested
intensely. "Rather than have you inflict upon them the eternity of
life that we have suffered I shall myself dematerialize them. Much as
they love life, it would be infinitely better for them to spare a few
minutes of it than to live forever."

But there was no reply. One had vanished; had darted at utmost speed
toward the _Skylark_. Eight followed him instantly. Light-centuries of
distance meant no more to them than to Seaton's own projector, and they
soon reached the hurtling space ship; a space ship moving with all its
unthinkable velocity, yet to them motionless--what is velocity when
there are no reference points by which to measure it?

"Back, Eight!" commanded One abruptly. "They are inclosed in a
nullifying wall of the sixth order. They are indeed advanced in
mentality."

"A complete stasis in the sub-ether?" Eight marveled, "That will do as
well as the pattern--"

"Greetings, strangers!" Seaton's thought interrupted. Thoughts as
clear as those require no interpretation of language. "My projection
is here, outside the wall, but I might caution you that one touch
of your patterns will cut it off and stiffen that wall to absolute
impenetrability. I assume that your visit is friendly?"

"Eminently so," replied One. "I offer you the opportunity of joining
us; or, at least, the opportunity of being of assistance to science in
the attempt at joining us."

"They want us to join them as pure intellectuals, folks." Seaton turned
from the projector, toward his friends. "How about it, Dottie? We've
got quite a few things to do yet in the flesh, haven't we?"

"I'll say we have, Dickie--don't be an idiot!" She chuckled.

"Sorry, One!" Seaton thought again into space. "Your invitation is
appreciated to the full, and we thank you for it, but we have too many
things to do in our own lives and upon our own world to accept it at
this time. Later on, perhaps, we could do so with profit."

"You will accept it _now_," One declared coldly. "Do you imagine that
your puny wills can withstand _mine_ for a single instant?"

"I don't know; but, aided by certain mechanical devices of ours, I do
know that they'll do a terrific job of trying!" Seaton blazed back.

"There is one thing that I believe you can do," Eight put in. "Your
barrier wall should be able to free me from this intolerable condition
of eternal life!" And he hurled himself forward with all his
prodigious force against that nullifying wall.

Instantly the screen flamed into incandescence; converters and
generators whined and shrieked as hundreds of pounds of power uranium
disappeared under that awful load. But the screens held, and in an
instant it was over. Eight was gone, disrupted into the future life for
which he had so longed, and the impregnable wall was once more merely
a tenuous veil of sixth-order vibrations. Through that veil Seaton's
projection crept warily; but the inhuman, monstrous mentality poised
just beyond it made no demonstration.

"Eight committed suicide, as he has so often tried to do," One
commented coldly, "but, after all, his loss will be felt with relief,
if at all. His dissatisfaction was an actual impediment to the
advancement of our entire group. And now, feeble intellect, I will let
you know what is in store for you, before I direct against you forces
which will render your screens inoperative and therefore make further
interchange of thought impossible. You shall be dematerialized; and,
whether your minds are strong enough to exist in the free state, your
entities shall be of some small assistance to me before you pass on to
the next cycle of existence. What substance do you disintegrate for
power?"

"That is none of your business, and since you cannot drive a ray
through this screen you will never find out!" Seaton snapped.

"It matters little," One rejoined, unmoved. "Were you employing pure
neutronium and were your vessel entirely filled with it, yet in a
short time it would be exhausted. For, know you, I have summoned the
other members of our group. We are able to direct cosmic forces which,
although not infinite in magnitude, are to all intents and purposes
inexhaustible. In a brief time your power will be gone, and I shall
then confer with you again."

       *       *       *       *       *

The other mentalities flashed up in response to the call of their
leader, and at his direction arranged themselves all about the
far-flung outer screen of the _Skylark_. Then from all space, directed
inward, there converged upon the space ship gigantic streamers of
force. Invisible streamers, and impalpable, but under their fierce
impacts the defensive screens of the Terrestrial vessel flared into
even more frenzied displays of pyrotechnic incandescence than they
had exhibited under the heaviest beams of the superdreadnought of the
Fenachrone. For thousands of miles space became filled with coruscantly
luminous discharges as the uranium-driven screens of the _Skylark_
dissipated the awful force of the attack.

"I don't see how they can keep that up for very long." Seaton frowned
as he read his meters and saw at what an appalling rate their store
of metal was decreasing. "But he talked as though he knew his stuff.
I wonder if--um--um--" He fell silent, thinking intensely, while the
others watched his face in strained attention; then went on: "Uh-huh, I
see--he _can_ do it--he wasn't kidding us."

"How?" asked Crane tensely.

"But how can he, possibly, Dick?" cried Dorothy. "Why, they aren't
_anything_, really!"

"They can't store up power in themselves, of course, but we know
that all space is pervaded by radiation--theoretically a source of
power that outclasses us as much as we outclass mule power. Nobody
that I know of ever tapped it before, and I can't tap it yet; but
they've tapped it and can direct it. The directing is easy enough to
understand--just like a kid shooting a high-power rifle. He doesn't
have to furnish energy for the bullet, you know--he merely touches off
the powder and tells the bullet where to go.

"But we're not quite sunk yet. I see one chance; and even though it's
pretty slim, I'd take it before I would knuckle down to his nibs out
there. Eight said something a while ago, remember, about 'rotating'
into the fourth dimension? I've been mulling the idea around in my
mind. I'd say that as a last resort we might give it a whirl and take a
chance on coming through. See anything else that looks at all feasible,
Mart?"

"Not at the present moment," Crane replied calmly. "How much time have
we?"

"About forty hours at the present rate of dissipation. It's constant,
so they've probably focused everything they can bring to bear on us."

"You cannot attack them in any way? Apparently the sixth-order zone of
force kills them?"

"Not a chance. If I open a slit one kilocycle wide anywhere in the band
they'll find it instantly and it'll be curtains for us. And even if I
could fight them off and work through that slit I couldn't drive a zone
into them--their velocity is the same as that of the zone, you know,
and they'd simply bounce back with it. If I could pen them up into a
spherical--um--um--no use, can't do it with this equipment. If we had
Rovol and Caslor and a few others of the Firsts of Norlamin here, and
had a month or so of time, maybe we could work out something, but I
couldn't even start it alone in the time we've got."

"But even if we decide to try the fourth dimension, how could you do
it? Surely that dimension is merely a mathematical concept, with no
actual existence in nature?"

"No; it's actual enough, I think--nature's a big field, you know, and
contains a lot of unexplored territory. Remember how casually that
Eight thing out there discussed it? It isn't how to get there that's
biting me; it's only that those intellectuals can stand a lot more
grief than we can, and conditions in the region of the fourth dimension
probably wouldn't suit us any too well.

"However, we wouldn't have to be there for more than a hundred
thousandth of a second to dodge this gang, and we could stand almost
anything that long, I imagine. As to how to do it--rotation. Three
pairs of rotating, high-amperage currents, at mutual right angles,
converging upon a point. Remembering that any rotating current exerts
its force at a right angle, what would happen?"

"It might, at that," Crane conceded, after minutes of narrow-eyed
concentration; then, Crane-wise, began to muster objections. "But it
would not so affect this vessel. She is altogether too large, is of the
wrong shape, and--"

"And you can't pull yourself up by your own boot straps," Seaton
interrupted. "Right--you've got to have something to work from,
something to anchor your forces to. We'd make the trip in little old
_Skylark Two_. She's small, she's spherical, and she has so little mass
compared to _Three_ that rotating her out of space would be a lead-pipe
cinch--it wouldn't even shift _Three's_ reference planes."

"It might prove successful," Crane admitted at last, "and, if so,
it could not help but be a very interesting and highly informative
experience. However, the chance of success seems to be none too great,
as you have said, and we must exhaust every other possibility before we
decide to attempt it."

       *       *       *       *       *

For hours then the two scientists went over every detail of their
situation, but could evolve no other plan which held out even the
slightest gleam of hope for a successful outcome; and Seaton seated
himself before the banked and tiered keyboards of his projector.

There he worked for perhaps half an hour, then called to Crane: "I've
got everything set to spin _Two_ out to where we're going, Mart. Now if
you and Shiro"--for Crane's former "man" and the _Skylark's_ factotum
was now quite as thoroughly familiar with Norlaminian forces as he had
formerly been with Terrestrial tools--"will put some forces onto the
job of getting her ready for anything you think we may meet up with,
I'll put in the rest of the time trying to figure out a way of taking a
good stiff poke at those jaspers out there."

He knew that the zones of force surrounding his vessel were absolutely
impenetrable to any wave propagated through the ether, and to any
possible form of material substance. He knew also that the sub-ether
was blocked, through the fifth and sixth orders. He knew that it was
hopeless to attempt to solve the problem of the seventh order in the
time at his disposal.

If he were to open any of his zones, even for an instant, in order to
launch a direct attack, he knew that the immense mentalities to which
he was opposed would perceive the opening and through it would wreak
the Terrestrials' dematerialization before he could send out a single
beam.

Last and worst, he knew that not even his vast console afforded any
combination of forces which could possibly destroy the besieging
intellectuals. What _could_ he do?

For hours he labored with all the power of his wonderful brain, now
stored with all the accumulated knowledge of thousands upon thousands
of years of Norlaminian research. He stopped occasionally to eat, and
once, at his wife's insistence, he snatched a little troubled and
uneasy sleep; but his mind drove him back to his board and at that
board he worked. Worked--while the hands of the chronometer approached
more and ever more nearly the zero hour. Worked--while the _Skylark's_
immense stores of uranium dwindled visibly away in the giving up
of their inconceivable amounts of intra-atomic energy to brace the
screens which were dissipating the inexhaustible flood of cosmic force
being directed against them. Worked--in vain. At last he glanced at
the chronometer and stood up. "Twenty minutes now--time to go," he
announced. "Dot, come here a minute!"

"Sweetheart!" Tall though Dorothy was, the top of her auburn head
came scarcely higher than Seaton's chin. Tightly but tenderly held in
his mighty arms she tipped her head back, and her violet eyes held no
trace of fear as they met his. "It's all right, lover. I don't know
whether it's because I think we're going to get away, or because we're
together; but I'm not the least bit afraid of whatever it is that's
going to happen to us."

"Neither am I, dear. Some way, I simply can't believe that we're
passing out; I've got a hunch that we're going to come through. We've
got a lot to live for yet, you and I, together. But I want to tell you
what you already know--that, whatever happens, I love you."

"Hurry it up, Seatons!"

Margaret's voice recalled them to reality, and all five were wafted
upon beams of force into the spherical launching space of the craft in
which they were to venture into the unknown.

That vessel was _Skylark Two_, the forty-foot globe of arenak which
from Earth to Norlamin had served them so well and which had been
carried, life-boatlike, well inside the two-mile-long torpedo which was
_Skylark Three_. The massive doors were clamped and sealed, and the
five human beings strapped themselves into their seats against they
knew not what emergency.

"All ready, folks?" Seaton grasped the ebonite handle of his master
switch. "I'm not going to tell you Cranes good-by, Mart--you know my
hunch. You got one, too?"

"I cannot say that I have. However, I have always had a great deal of
confidence in your ability. Then, too, I have always been something of
a fatalist; and, most important of all, like you and Dorothy, Margaret
and I are together. You may start any time now, Dick."

"All right--hang on. On your marks! Get set! _Go!_"

As the master switch was thrown a set of gigantic plungers drove
home, actuating the tremendous generators in the holds of the massive
cruiser of space above and around them; generators which, bursting into
instantaneous and furious activity, directed upon the spherical hull
of their vessel three opposed pairs of currents of electricity; madly
spinning currents, of a potential and of a density never before brought
into being by human devices.



                                 VII.


DuQuesne did not find Seaton, nor did he quite comb the Galaxy star
by star, as he had declared that he would do in that event. He did,
however, try; he prolonged the vain search to distances of so many
light-years and through so many weeks of time that even the usually
complacent Loring was moved to protest.

"Pretty much like hunting the proverbial needle in the haystack, isn't
it, chief?" that worthy asked at last. "They could be clear back home
by this time, whoever they are. It looks as though maybe we could do
ourselves more good by doing something else."

"Yes; I probably am wasting time now, but I hate to give it up," the
scientist replied. "We have pretty well covered this section of the
Galaxy. I wonder if it really was Seaton, after all? If he could blow
up that planet through those screens he must have a lot more stuff than
I have ever thought possible--certainly a lot more than I have, even
now--and I would like very much to know how he did it. I couldn't have
done it, nor could the Fenachrone, and if he did it without coming
closer to it than a thousand light-years--"

"He may have been a lot closer than that," Loring interrupted. "He has
had lots of time to make his get-away, you know."

"Not so much as you think, unless he has an acceleration of the same
order of magnitude as ours, which I doubt," DuQuesne countered.
"Although it is of course possible, in the light of what we know must
have happened, that he may have an acceleration as large as ours, or
even larger. But the most vital question now is, where did he get his
dope? We'll have to consider the probabilities and make our own plans
accordingly."

"All right! That's your dish--you're the doctor."

"We shall have to assume that it was Seaton who did it, because if it
was any one else, we have nothing whatever to work on. Assuming Seaton,
we have four very definite leads. Our first lead is that it must have
been Seaton in the _Skylark_ and Dunark in the _Kondal_ that destroyed
the Fenachrone ship from the wreck of which he rescued the engineer. I
couldn't learn anything about the actual battle from his brains, since
he didn't know much except that it was a zone of force that did the
real damage, and that the two strange ships were small and spherical.

"The _Skylark_ and the _Kondal_ answer that description and, while
the evidence is far from conclusive, we shall assume as a working
hypothesis that the _Skylark_ and the _Kondal_ did in fact attack and
cut up a Fenachrone battleship fully as powerful as the one we are now
in. That, as I do not have to tell you, is a disquieting thought.

"If it is true, however, Seaton must have left the Earth shortly after
we did. That idea squares up, because he could very well have had an
object-compass on me--whose tracer, by the way, would have been cut by
the Fenachrone screens, so we needn't worry about it, even if he did
have it once.

"Our second lead lies in the fact that he must have got the dope on the
zone of force sometime between the time when we left the Earth and the
time when he cut up the battleship. He either worked it out himself on
Earth, got it en route, or else got it on Osnome, or at least somewhere
in the Green System. If my theory is correct, he worked it out by
himself, before he left the Earth. He certainly did not get it on
Osnome, because they did not have it.

"The third lead is the shortness of the period of time that elapsed
between his battle with the Fenachrone warship and the destruction of
their planet.

"The fourth lead is the great advancement in ability shown; going as he
did from the use of a zone of force as an offensive weapon, up to the
use of some weapon as yet unknown to us that works _through_ defensive
screens fully as powerful as any possible zone of force.

"Now, from the above hypotheses, we are justified in concluding that
Seaton succeeded in enlisting the help of some ultrapowerful allies in
the Green System, on some planet other than Osnome--"

"Why? I don't quite follow you there," put in Loring.

"He didn't have this new stuff, whatever it is, when he met the
battleship, or he would have used it instead of the dangerous, almost
hand-to-hand fighting entailed by the use of a zone of force," DuQuesne
declared flatly. "Therefore he got it some time after that, but before
the big explosion; and you can take it from me that no one man worked
out a thing that big in such a short space of time. It can't be done.
He had help, and high-class help at that.

"The time factor is also an argument in favor of the idea that he got
it somewhere in the Green System--he didn't have time to go anywhere
else. Also, the logical thing for him to do would be to explore the
Green System first, since it has a very large number of planets, many
of which undoubtedly are inhabited by highly advanced races. Does that
make it clearer?"

"I've got it straight so far," assented the aid.

       *       *       *       *       *

"We must plan our course of action in detail before we leave this
spot," DuQuesne decided. "Then we will be ready to start back for the
Green System, to find out who Seaton's friends were and to persuade
them to give us all the dope they gave him. Now pin your ears back and
listen to this, every word of it.

"We are not nearly as ready nor as well equipped as I thought we
were--Seaton is about three laps ahead of us yet. Also, there is a lot
more to psychology than I ever thought there was before I read those
brains back there. Both of us had better get in training mentally to
meet Seaton's friends, whoever they may be, or else we probably will
not be able to get away with a thing.

"Both of us, you especially, want to clear our minds of every thought
inimical to Seaton in any way or in even the slightest degree. You and
I are, and always have been, two of the best friends Seaton ever had
on Earth--or anywhere else, for that matter. And of course I cannot
be Marc DuQuesne, for reasons that are self-evident. From now on I am
Stewart Vaneman, Dorothy's brother--No; forget all that--too dangerous.
They may know all about Seaton's friends and Mrs. Seaton's family.
Our best line is to be humble cogs in Seaton's great machine. We
worship him from afar as the world's greatest hero, but we are not of
sufficient importance for him to know personally."

"Isn't that carrying caution to extremes?"

"It is not. The only thing that we are certain of concerning these
postulated beings is that they know immensely more than we do;
therefore our story cannot have even the slightest flaw in it--it must
be bottle-tight. So I will be Stewart Donovan--fortunately I haven't
my name, initials, or monogram on anything I own--and I am one of
the engineers of the Seaton-Crane Co., working on the power-plant
installation.

"Seaton may have given them a mental picture of DuQuesne, but I will
grow a mustache and beard, and with this story they will never think
of connecting Donovan with DuQuesne. You can keep your own name, since
neither Seaton nor any of his crowd ever saw or heard of you. You are
also an engineer--my technical assistant at the works--and my buddy.

"We struck some highly technical stuff that nobody but Seaton could
handle, and nobody had heard anything from him for a long time, so we
came out to hunt him up and ask him some questions. You and I came
together because we are just like Damon and Pythias. That story will
hold water, I believe--do you see any flaws in it?"

"Perhaps not flaws, but one or two things you forgot to mention. How
about this ship? I suppose you could call her an improved model, but
suppose they are familiar with Fenachrone space-ship construction?"

"We shall not be in this ship. If, as we are assuming, Seaton and his
new friends were the star actors in the late drama, those friends
certainly have mentalities and apparatus of high caliber and they would
equally certainly recognize this vessel. I had that in mind when I
shoved the _Violet_ off."

"Then you will have the _Violet_ to explain--an Osnomian ship. However,
the company could have imported a few of them, for runabout work, since
Seaton left. It would be quicker than building them, at that, since
they already have all the special tools and stuff on Osnome."

"You're getting the idea. Anything else?"

"All this is built around the supposition that he will not be there
when we arrive. Suppose he _is_ there?"

"The chances are a thousand to one that he will be gone somewhere,
exploring--he never did like to stick around in any one place. And even
in the remote possibility that he should be on the planet, he certainly
will not be at the dock when we land, so the story is still good. If he
should be there, we shall simply have to arrange matters so that our
meeting him face to face is delayed until after we have got what we
want; that's all."

"All right; I've got it down solid."

"Be sure that you have. Above all, remember the mental attitude toward
Seaton--hero worship. He is not only the greatest man that Earth ever
produced; he is the king-pin of the entire Galaxy, and we rate him
just a hair below the Almighty. Think that thought with every cell
of your brain. Concentrate on it with all your mind. Feel it--act
it--really believe it until I tell you to quit."

"I'll do that. Now what?"

"Now we hunt up the _Violet_, transfer to her, and set this cruiser
adrift on a course toward Earth. And while I think of it, we want to be
sure not to use any more power than the _Skylark_ could, anywhere near
the Green System, and cover up anything that looks peculiar about the
power plant. We're not supposed to know anything about the five-light
drive of the Fenachrone, you know."

"But suppose that you can't find the _Violet_, or that she has been
destroyed?"

"In that case we'll go to Osnome and steal another one just like her.
But I'll find her--I know her exact course and velocity, we have
ultrarange detectors, and her automatic instruments and machinery make
her destructionproof."

       *       *       *       *       *

DuQuesne's chronometers were accurate, his computations were sound,
and his detectors were sensitive enough to have revealed the presence
of a smaller body than the _Violet_ at a distance vastly greater than
the few millions of miles which constituted the unavoidable error.
Therefore the Osnomian cruiser was found without trouble and the
transfer was effected without untoward incident.

Then for days the _Violet_ was hurled at full acceleration toward
the center of the Galaxy. Long before the Green System was reached,
however, the globular cruiser was swung off her course and, mad
acceleration reversed, was put into a great circle, so that she would
approach her destination from the direction of our own solar system.
Slower and slower she drove onward, the bright green star about which
she was circling resolving itself first into a group of bright-green
points and finally into widely spaced, tiny green suns.

Although facing the completely unknown and about to do battle, with
their wits certainly, and with their every weapon possibly, against
overwhelming odds, neither man showed or felt either nervousness or
disorganization. Loring was a fatalist. It was DuQuesne's party; he was
merely the hired help. He would do his best when the time came to do
something; until that time came there was nothing to worry about.

DuQuesne, on the other hand, was the repose of conscious power. He had
laid his plans as best he could with the information then at hand. If
conditions changed he would change those plans; otherwise he would
drive through with them ruthlessly, as was his wont. In the meantime he
awaited he knew not what, poised, cool, and confident.

Since both men were really expecting the unexpected, neither betrayed
surprise when something that was apparently a man materialized
before them in the air of the control room. His skin was green, as
was that of all the inhabitants of the Green System. He was tall and
well-proportioned, according to Earthly standards, except for his
head, which was overlarge and particularly massive above the eyes and
backward from the ears. He was evidently of advanced years, for his
face was seamed and wrinkled, and both his long, heavy hair and his
yard-long, square-cut beard were a snowy white, only faintly tinged
with green.

The Norlaminian projection thickened instantly, with none of the
oscillation and "hunting" which had been so noticeable in the one
which had visited _Skylark Two_ a few months earlier, for at that
comparatively short range the fifth-order keyboard handling it
could hold a point, however moving, as accurately as a Terrestrial
photographic telescope holds a star. And in the moment of
materialization of his projection the aged Norlaminian spoke.

[Illustration: _"I welcome you to Norlamin, Terrestrials," spoke the
projection. "I suppose that you are close friends of Seaton and Crane,
and that you come to learn why they have not communicated with you?"_]

"I welcome you to Norlamin, Terrestrials," he greeted the two marauders
with the untroubled serenity and calm courtesy of his race. "Since you
are quite evidently of the same racial stock as our very good friends
the doctors Seaton and Crane, and since you are traveling in a ship
built by the Osnomians, I assume that you speak and understand the
English language which I am employing. I suppose that you are close
friends of Seaton and Crane and that you have come to learn why they
have not communicated with you of late?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Self-contained as DuQuesne was, this statement almost took his breath
away, squaring almost perfectly as it did with the tale he had so
carefully prepared. He did not show his amazed gratification, however,
but spoke as gravely and as courteously as the other had done:

"We are very glad indeed to see you, sir; particularly since we know
neither the name nor the location of the planet for which we are
searching. Your assumptions are correct in every particular save one--"

[Illustration: _Self-contained as DuQuesne was, this statement almost
took his breath away, squaring almost perfectly as it did with the tale
he had so carefully prepared._]

"You do not know even the name of Norlamin?" the Green scientist
interrupted. "How can that be? Did not Dr. Seaton send the projections
of all his party to you upon Earth, and did he not discuss matters with
you?"

"I was about to explain that." DuQuesne lied instantly, boldly, and
convincingly. "We heard that he had sent a talking, three-dimensional
picture of his group to Earth, but after it had vanished all the real
information that any one seemed to have obtained was that they were
here in the Green System somewhere, but not upon Osnome, and that they
had been taught much of science. Mrs. Seaton did most of the talking,
I gather, which may account for the dearth of pertinent details.

"Neither my friend Loring, here, nor I--I am Stewart Donovan, by the
way--saw the picture, or rather, projection. You assumed that we are
Seaton's close friends. We are engineers in his company, but we have
not the honor of his personal acquaintance. His scientific knowledge
was needed so urgently that it was decided that we should come out here
after him, since the chief of construction had heard nothing from him
for so long."

"I see." A shadow passed over the seamed green face. "I am very sorry
indeed at what I have to tell you. We did not report anything of it to
Earth because of the panic that would have ensued. We shall of course
send the whole story as soon as we can learn what actually did take
place and can deduce therefrom the probable sequence of events yet to
occur."

"What's that--an accident? Something happened to Seaton?" DuQuesne
snapped. His heart leaped in joy and relief, but his face showed only
strained anxiety and deep concern. "He isn't here now? Surely nothing
serious could have happened to him."

"Alas, young friend, none of us knows yet what really occurred. It
is highly probable, however, that their vessel was destroyed in
intergalactic space by forces about which we have as yet been able
to learn nothing; forces directed by some intelligence as yet to us
unknown. There is a possibility that Seaton and his companions escaped
in the vessel you knew as _Skylark Two_, but so far we have not been
able to find them.

"But enough of talking; you are strained and weary and you must rest.
As soon as your vessel was detected the beam was transferred to me--the
student Rovol, perhaps the closest to Seaton of any of my race--so that
I could give you this assurance. With your permission I shall direct
upon your controls certain forces which shall so govern your flight
that you shall alight safely upon the grounds of my laboratory in a
few minutes more than twelve hours of your time, without any further
attention or effort upon your part.

"Further explanations can wait until we meet in the flesh. Until that
time, my friends, do nothing save rest. Eat and sleep without care
or fear, for your flight and your landing shall be controlled with
precision. Farewell!"

The projection vanished instantaneously, and Loring expelled his
pent-up breath in an explosive sigh.

"Whew! But what a break, chief, what a--"

He was interrupted by DuQuesne, who spoke calmly and quietly, yet
insistently: "Yes, it is a singularly fortunate circumstance that the
Norlaminians detected us and recognized us; it probably would have
required weeks for us to have found their planet unaided." DuQuesne's
lightning mind found a way of covering up his companion's betraying
exclamation and sought some way of warning him that could not be
overheard. "Our visitor was right in saying that we need food and rest
badly, but before we eat let us put on the headsets and bring the
record of our flight up to date--it will take only a minute or two."

"What's biting you, chief?" thought Loring as soon as the power was on.
"We didn't have any--"

"Plenty!" DuQuesne interrupted him viciously. "Don't you realize that
they can probably hear every word we say, and that they can see every
move we make, even in the dark? In fact, they may be able to read
thoughts, for all I know; so _think straight_ from now on, if you never
did before! Now let's finish up this record."

He then impressed upon a tape the record of everything that had
just happened. They ate. Then they slept soundly--the first really
untroubled sleep they had enjoyed for weeks. And at last, exactly as
the projection had foretold, the _Violet_ landed without a jar upon the
spacious grounds beside the laboratory of Rovol, the foremost physicist
of Norlamin.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the door of the space ship opened, Rovol in person was standing
before it, waiting to welcome the voyagers and to escort them to
his dwelling. But DuQuesne, pretending a vast impatience, would not
be dissuaded from the object of his search merely to satisfy the
Norlaminian amenities of hospitality and courtesy. He poured forth his
prepared story in a breath, concluding with a flat demand that Rovol
tell him everything he knew about Seaton, and that he tell it at once.

"It would take far too long to tell you anything in words," the ancient
scientist replied placidly. "In the laboratory, however, I can and
will inform you fully in a few minutes concerning everything that has
happened."

Utter stranger himself to deception in any form, as was his whole race,
Rovol was easily and completely deceived by the consummate acting, both
physical and mental, of DuQuesne and Loring. Therefore, as soon as the
three had donned the headsets of the wonderfully efficient Norlaminian
educator, Rovol gave to the Terrestrial adventurers without reserve his
every mental image and his every stored fact concerning Seaton and his
supposedly ill-fated last voyage.

Even more clearly than as if he himself had seen them all happen,
DuQuesne beheld and understood Seaton's visit to Norlamin, the story
of the Fenachrone peril, the building of the fifth-order projector,
the demolition of Fenor's space fleet, the revenge-purposed flight
of Ravindau the scientist, and the complete volatilization of the
Fenachrone planet.

He saw Seaton's gigantic space cruiser _Skylark Three_ come into being
and, uranium-driven, speed out into the awesome void of intergalactic
space in pursuit of the last survivors of the Fenachrone race. He
watched the mighty _Three_ overtake the fleeing vessel, and understood
every detail of the epic engagement that ensued, clear to its
cataclysmic end. He watched the victorious battleship speed on and
on, deeper and deeper into the intergalactic void, until she began
to approach the limiting range of even the stupendous fifty-order
projector by means of which he knew the watching had been done.

Then, at the tantalizing limit of visibility, something began to
happen; something at the very incomprehensibility of which DuQuesne
strained both mind and eye, exactly as had Rovol when it had taken
place so long before. The immense bulk of the _Skylark_ disappeared
behind zone after impenetrable zone of force, and it became
increasingly evident that from behind those supposedly impervious and
impregnable shields Seaton was waging a terrific battle against some
unknown opponent, some foe invisible even to fifth-order vision.

For nothing was visible--nothing, that is, save the released energies
which, leaping through level after level, reached at last even to the
visible spectrum. Yet forces of such unthinkable magnitude were warring
there that space itself was being deformed visibly, moment by moment.
For a long time the space strains grew more and more intense, then
they disappeared instantly. Simultaneously the _Skylark's_ screens of
force went down and she was for an instant starkly visible before she
exploded into a vast ball of appallingly radiant, flaming vapor.

       *       *       *       *       *

In that instant of clear visibility, however, Rovol's mighty mind had
photographed every salient visible feature of the great cruiser of the
void. Being almost at the limit of range of the projector, details were
of course none too plain; but certain things were evident. The human
beings were no longer aboard; the little lifeboat that was _Skylark
Two_ was no longer in her spherical berth; and there were unmistakable
signs of a purposeful and deliberate departure.

"And," Rovol spoke aloud as he removed the headset, "although we
searched minutely and most carefully all the surrounding space we could
find nothing tangible. From these observations it is all too plain that
Seaton was attacked by some intelligence wielding dirigible forces of
the sixth order; that he was able to set up a defensive pattern; that
his supply of power-uranium was insufficient to cope with the attacking
forces; and that he took the last desperate means of escaping from his
foes by rotating _Skylark Two_ into the unknown region of the fourth
dimension."

DuQuesne's stunned mind groped for a moment in an amazement akin to
stupefaction, but he recovered quickly and decided upon his course.

"Well, what are you doing about it?" he snapped.

"We have done and are doing everything possible for us, in our present
state of knowledge and advancement, to do," Rovol replied placidly. "We
sent out forces, as I told you, which obtained and recorded all the
phenomena to which they were sensitive. It is true that a great deal of
data escaped them, because the primary impulses originated in a level
beyond our present knowledge, but the fact that we cannot understand it
has only intensified our interest in the problem. It shall be solved.
After its solution we shall know what steps to take and those steps
shall then be taken."

"Have you any idea how long it will take to solve the problem?"

"Not the slightest. Perhaps one lifetime, perhaps many--who knows?
However, rest assured that it shall be solved, and that the condition
shall be dealt with in the manner which shall best serve the interest
of humanity as a whole."

"But good heavens!" exclaimed DuQuesne. "In the meantime, what of
Seaton and Crane?" He was now speaking his true thoughts. Upon this,
his first encounter, he could in nowise understand the deep, calm,
timeless trend of mind of the Norlaminians; not even dimly could he
grasp or appreciate the seemingly slow but inexorably certain method
in which they pursued relentlessly any given line of research to its
ultimate conclusion.

"If it should be graven upon the sphere that they shall pass they
may--and will--pass in all tranquility, for they know full well that it
was not in idle gesture that the massed intellect of Norlamin assured
them that their passing should not be in vain. You, however, youths of
an unusually youthful and turbulent race, could not be expected to view
the passing of such a one as Seaton from our own mature viewpoint."

"I'll tell the universe that I don't look at things the way you do!"
barked DuQuesne scathingly. "When I go back to Earth--if I go--I shall
at least have tried. I've got a life-sized picture of myself standing
idly by while some one else tries for seven hundred years to decipher
the indecipherable!"

"There speaks the impetuousness of youth," the old man chided. "I have
told you that we have proved that at present we can do nothing whatever
for the occupants of _Skylark Two_. Be warned, my rash young friend; do
not tamper with powers entirely beyond your comprehension."

"Warning be damned!" DuQuesne snorted. "We're shoving off. Come on,
Loring--the quicker we get started the better our chance of getting
something done. You'll be willing to give me the exact bearing and the
distance, won't you, Rovol?"

"We shall do more than that, son," the Green patriarch replied, while
a shadow came over his wrinkled visage. "Your life is your own, to do
with as you see fit. You have chosen to go in search of your friends,
scorning the odds against you. But before I tell you what I have in
mind, I must try once more to make you see that the courage which
dictates the useless sacrifice of a life ceases to be courage at all,
but becomes sheerest folly.

"Since we have had sufficient power several of our youths have been
studying the fourth dimension. They rotated many inanimate objects into
that region, but could recover none of them. Instead of waiting until
they had derived the fundamental equations governing such phenomena
they rashly visited that region in person, in a vain attempt to achieve
a short cut to knowledge. Not one of them has come back.

"Now I declare to you in all solemnity that the quest you wish to
undertake, involving as it does not only that entirely unknown region
but also the equally unknown sixth order of vibrations, is to you at
present utterly impossible. Do you still insist upon going?"

"We certainly do. You may as well save your breath."

"Very well; so be it. Frankly, I had but little hope of swerving you
from your purpose by reason. But before you go we shall supply you
with every resource at our command which may in any way operate to
increase your infinitesimal chance of success. We shall build for you a
duplicate of Seaton's own _Skylark Three_, equipped with every device
known to our science, and we shall instruct you fully in the use of
those devices before you set out."

"But the time--" DuQuesne began to object.

"A matter of hours only," Rovol silenced him. "True, it took us some
little time to build _Skylark Three_, but that was because it had
not been done before. Every force employed in her construction was
of course recorded, and to reproduce her in every detail, without
attention or supervision, it is necessary only to thread this
tape, thus, into the integrator of my master keyboard. The actual
construction will of course take place in the area of experiment, but
you may watch it, if you wish, in this visiplate. I must make a short
series of observations at this time. I will return in ample time to
instruct you in the operation of the vessel and of everything in it."

In stunned amazement the two men stared into the visiplate, so
engrossed in what they saw there that they scarcely noticed the
departure of the aged scientist. For before their eyes there had
already sprung into being an enormous structure of laced and latticed
members of purple metal, stretching over two miles of level plain.
While it was very narrow for its length, yet its fifteen hundred feet
of diameter dwarfed into insignificance the many outlandish structures
near by, and under their staring eyes the vessel continued to take
form with unbelievable rapidity. Gigantic girders appeared in place as
though by magic; skin after skin of thick, purple inoson was welded
on; all without the touch of a hand, without the thought of a brain,
without the application of any visible force.

"Now you can say it, Doll; there's no spy ray on us here. What a
break--what a break!" exulted DuQuesne. "The old fossil swallowed it
bodily, hook, line, and sinker!"

"It may not be so good, though, at that, chief, in one way. He's
going to watch us, to help us out if we get into a jam, and with that
infernal telescope, or whatever it is, the Earth is right under his
nose."

"Simpler than taking milk away from a blind kitten," the saturnine
chemist gloated. "We'll go out to where Seaton went, only farther--out
beyond the reach of his projector. There, completely out of touch with
him, we'll circle around the Galaxy back to Earth and do our stuff.
Easier than dynamiting fish in a bucket--the old sap's handing me
everything I want, right on a silver platter!"



                                 VIII.


Six mighty rotating currents of electricity impinged simultaneously
upon the spherical hull of _Skylark Two_ and she disappeared utterly.
No exit had been opened and the walls remained solid, but where the
forty-foot globe of arenak had rested in her cradle an instant before
there was nothing. Pushed against by six balancing and gigantic
forces, twisted cruelly by six couples of angular force of unthinkable
magnitude, the immensely strong arenak shell of the vessel had held
and, following the path of least resistance--the only path in which
she could escape from those irresistible forces--she had shot out of
space as we know it and into the impossible reality of that hyperspace
which Seaton's vast mathematical knowledge had enabled him so dimly to
perceive.

As those forces smote his vessel, Seaton felt himself compressed. He
was being driven together irresistibly in all three dimensions, and
in those dimensions and at the same time he was as irresistibly being
twisted--was being corkscrewed in a monstrously obscure fashion which
permitted him neither to move from his place nor to remain in it. He
hung poised there for interminable hours, even though he knew that the
time required for that current to build up to its inconceivable value
was to be measured only in fractional millionths of a single second.

Yet he waited strainingly while that force increased at an all but
imperceptible rate, until at last the vessel and all its contents were
squeezed out of space, in a manner somewhat comparable to that in which
an orange pip is forced out from between pressing thumb and resisting
finger.

At the same time Seaton felt a painless, but unutterably horrible,
transformation of his entire body--a rearrangement, a writhing,
crawling distortion; a hideously revolting and incomprehensibly
impossible extrusion of his bodily substance as every molecule, every
atom, every ultimate particle of his physical structure was compelled
to extend itself into that unknown new dimension.

He could not move his eyes, yet he saw every detail of the grotesquely
altered space ship. His Earthly mentality could not understand anything
he saw, yet to his transformed brain everything was as usual and quite
in order. Thus the four-dimensional physique that was Richard Seaton
perceived, recognized, and admired as of yore his beloved Dorothy, in
spite of the fact that her normally solid body was now quite plainly
nothing but a three-dimensional surface, solid only in that logically
impossible new dimension which his now four-dimensional brain accepted
as a matter of course, but which his thinking mentality could neither
really perceive nor even dimly comprehend.

He could not move a muscle, yet in some obscure and impossible way
he leaped toward his wife. Immobile though tongue and jaws were, yet
he spoke to her reassuringly, remonstratingly, as he gathered up her
trembling form and silenced her hysterical outbursts.

"Steady on, dear, it's all right--everything's jake. Hold everything,
dear. Pipe down, I tell you! This is nothing to let get your goat. Snap
out of it, Red-Top!"

"But, Dick, it's--it's just--"

"Hold it!" he commanded. "You're going off the deep end again. I can't
say that I expected anything like this, either, but when you think
about things it's natural enough that they should be this way. You
see, while we've apparently got four-dimensional bodies and brains
now, our intellects are still three-dimensional, which complicates
things considerably. We can handle things and recognize them, but we
can't think about our physical forms, understand them, or express them
either in words or in thoughts. Peculiar, and nerve-wracking enough,
especially for you girls, but quite normal--see?"

"Well, maybe--after a fashion. I was afraid that I had really gone
crazy back there, at first, but if you feel that way, too, I know
it's all right. But you said that we'd be gone only a skillionth of a
second, and we've been here a week already, at the very least."

"All wrong, dear--at least, partly wrong. Time does go faster here,
apparently, so that we seem to have been here quite a while; but as
far as our own time is concerned we haven't been here anywhere near a
millionth of a second yet. See that plunger? It's still moving in--it
has barely made contact. Time is purely relative, you know, and it
moves so fast here that that plunger switch, traveling so fast that the
eye cannot follow it at all ordinarily, seems to us to be perfectly
stationary."

"But it _must_ have been longer than that, Dick! Look at all the
talking we've done. I'm a fast talker, I know, but even I can't talk
that fast!"

"You aren't talking--haven't you discovered that yet? You are thinking,
and we are getting your thoughts as speech; that's all. Don't believe
it? All right; there's your tongue, right there--or better, take your
heart. It's that funny-looking object right there--see it? It isn't
beating--that is, it would seem to us to take weeks, or possibly
months, to beat. Take hold of it--feel it for yourself."

"Take _hold_ of it! My own heart? Why, it's inside me, between my
ribs--I couldn't, possibly!"

"Sure you can! That's your intellect talking now, not your brain.
You're four-dimensional now, remember, and what you used to call your
body is nothing but the three-dimensional hypersurface of your new
hyperbody. You can take hold of your heart or your gizzard just as
easily as you used to pat yourself on the nose with a powder puff."

"Well, I won't, then--why, I wouldn't touch that thing for a million
dollars!"

"All right; watch me feel mine, then. See, it's perfectly motionless,
and my tongue is, too. And there's something else that I never
expected to look at--my appendix. Good thing you're in good shape, old
vermiform, or I'd take a pair of scissors and snick you off while I've
got such a good chance to do it without--"

"Dick!" shrieked Dorothy. "For the love of Heaven--"

"Calm down, Dottie, calm down. I'm just trying to get you used to this
mess--I'll try something else. Here, you know what this is--a new can
of tobacco, with the lid soldered on tight. In three dimensions there's
no way of getting into it without breaking metal--you've opened lots
of them. But out here I simply reach _past_ the metal of the container,
like this, see, in the fourth dimension? Then I take out a pinch of the
tobacco, so, and put it into my pipe, thus. The can is still soldered
tight, no holes in it anywhere, but the tobacco is out, nevertheless.
Inexplicable in three-dimensional space, impossible for us really to
understand mentally, but physically perfectly simple and perfectly
natural after you get used to it. That'll straighten you out some,
perhaps."

"Well, maybe--I guess I won't get frantic again, Dickie--but just the
same, it's altogether too perfectly darn weird to suit me. Why don't
you pull that switch back out and stop us?"

"Wouldn't do any good--wouldn't stop us, because we have already had
the impulse and are simply traveling on momentum now. When that is used
up--in some extremely small fraction of a second of our time--we'll
snap back into our ordinary space, but we can't do a thing about it
until then."

       *       *       *       *       *

"But how can we move around so fast?" asked Margaret from the
protecting embrace of the monstrosity that they knew to be Martin
Crane. "How about inertia? I should think we'd break our bones all to
pieces."

"You can't move a three-dimensional body that fast, as we found out
when the force was coming on," Seaton replied. "But I don't think that
we are ordinary matter any more, and apparently our three-dimensional
laws no longer govern, now that we are in hyperspace. Inertia is based
upon time, of course, so our motion might be all right, even at that.
Mechanics seem to be different here, though, and, while we seem solid
enough, we certainly aren't matter at all in the three-dimensional
sense of the term, as we used it back where we came from. But it's all
over my head like a circus tent--I don't know any more about most of
this stuff than you do. I thought, of course--if I thought at all,
which I doubt--that we'd go _through_ hyperspace in an instant of time,
without seeing it or feeling it in any way, since a three-dimensional
body cannot exist, of course, in four-dimensional space. How did we get
this way, Mart? Is this space coexistent with ours or not?"

"I believe that it is." Crane, the methodical, had been thinking
deeply, considering every phase of their peculiar predicament.
"Coexistent, but different in all its attributes and properties.
Since we may be said to be experiencing two different time rates
simultaneously, we cannot even guess at what our velocity relation is,
in either system of coördinates. As to what happened, that is now quite
clear. Since a three-dimensional object cannot exist in hyperspace, it
of course cannot be thrown or forced through hyperspace.

"In order to enter this region, our vessel and everything in it had to
acquire the property of extension in another dimension. Your forces,
calculated to rotate us here, in reality forced us to assume that extra
extension, which process automatically moved us from the space in which
we could no longer exist into the only one in which it is possible for
us to exist. When that force is no longer operative, our extension into
the fourth dimension will vanish and we shall as automatically return
to our customary three-dimensional space, but probably not to our
original location in that space. Is that the way you understand it?"

"That's a lot better than I understood it, and it's absolutely right,
too. Thanks, old thinker! And I certainly hope we don't land back there
where we took off from--that's why we left, because we wanted to get
away from there. The farther the better," Seaton laughed. "Just so we
don't get so far away that the whole Galaxy is out of range of the
object-compasses we've got focused on it. We'd be lost for fair, then."

"That is a possibility, of course." Crane took the light utterance far
more seriously than did Seaton. "Indeed, if the two time rates are
sufficiently different, it becomes a probability. However, there is
another matter which I think is of more immediate concern. It occurred
to me, when I saw you take that pinch of tobacco without opening the
tin, that everywhere we have gone, even in intergalactic space, we have
found life, some friendly, some inimical. There is no real reason to
suppose that hyperspace is devoid of animate and intelligent life."

"Oh, Martin!" Margaret shuddered. "Life! Here? In this horrible, this
utterly impossible place?"

"Certainly, dearest," he replied gravely. "It all goes back to
the conversation we had long ago, during the first trip of the
old _Skylark_. Remember? Life need not be comprehensible to us to
exist--compared to what we do not know and what we can never either
know or understand, our knowledge is infinitesimal."

She did not reply and he spoke again to Seaton:

"It would seem to be almost a certainty that four-dimensional life
does in fact exist. Postulating its existence, the possibility of an
encounter cannot be denied. Such beings could of course enter this
vessel as easily as your fingers entered that tobacco can. The point
of these remarks is this--would we not be at a serious disadvantage?
Would they not have fourth-dimensional shields or walls about which we
three-dimensional intelligences would know nothing?"

"Sweet spirits of niter!" Seaton exclaimed. "Never thought of that at
all, Mart. Don't see how they could--and yet it does stand to reason
that they'd have some way of locking up their horses so they couldn't
run away, or so that nobody else could steal them. We'll have to do a
job of thinking on that, big fellow, and we'd better start right now.
Come on--let's get busy!"

Then for what seemed hours the two scientists devoted the power
of their combined intellects to the problem of an adequate
fourth-dimensional defense, only and endlessly to find themselves
butting helplessly against a blank wall.

Baffled, they drifted on through the unknowable reaches of hyperspace.
All they knew of time was that it was hopelessly distorted; of space
that it was hideously unrecognizable; of matter that it obeyed no
familiar laws. They drifted, and drifted--futilely, timelessly,
aimlessly, endlessly--



                                  IX.


When _Skylark Three_ left Norlamin in pursuit of the fleeing vessel of
Ravindau, the Fenachrone scientist, the occasion had been made an event
of world-wide interest. From their tasks everywhere had come the mental
laborers to that stupendous event. To it had come also, practically en
masse, the "youngsters" from the Country of Youth; and even those who,
their life work done, had betaken themselves to the placid Nirvana of
the Country of Age returned briefly to the Country of Study to speed
upon its epoch-making way that stupendous messenger of civilization.

But in sharp contrast to the throngs of Norlaminians who had witnessed
the take-off of _Three_, Rovol alone was present when DuQuesne and
Loring wafted themselves into the control room of its gigantic
counterpart. DuQuesne had been in a hurry, and in the driving urge
of his haste to go to the rescue of his "friend" Seaton he had so
completely occupied the mind of Rovol that that aged scientist had had
no time to do anything except transfer to the brain of the Terrestrial
pirate the knowledge which he would so soon require.

Of the real reason for this overweening haste, however, Rovol
had not had the slightest inkling. DuQuesne well knew what the
ancient physicist did not even suspect--that if any one of several
Norlaminians, particularly one Drasnik, First of Psychology, should
become informed of the proposed flight, that flight would not
take place. For Drasnik, that profound student of the mind, would
not be satisfied with DuQuesne's story without a thorough mental
examination--an examination which, DuQuesne well knew, he could not
pass. Therefore Rovol alone saw them off, but what he lacked in numbers
he made up in sincerity.

"I am very sorry that the exigencies of the situation did not permit a
more seemly leave-taking," he said in parting, "but I can assure you of
the coöperation of every one of us whose brain can be of any use. We
shall watch you, and shall aid you in any way we can."

"Farewell to you, Rovol, my friend and my benefactor, and to all
Norlamin," DuQuesne replied solemnly. "I thank you from the bottom of
my heart for everything you have done for us and for Seaton, and for
what you may yet be called upon to do for all of us."

He touched a stud and in each of the many skins of the great cruiser a
heavy door drove silently shut, establishing a manifold seal.

His hand moved over the controls, and the gigantic vessel tilted
slowly upward until her narrow prow pointed almost directly into the
zenith. Then, easily as a wafted feather, the unimaginable mass of
the immense cruiser of space floated upward with gradually increasing
velocity. Faster and faster she flew, out beyond measurable atmospheric
pressure, out beyond the outermost limits of the Green System, swinging
slowly into a right line toward the point in space where Seaton, his
companions, and both their space ships had disappeared.

On and on she drove, now at high acceleration; the stars, so widely
spaced at first, crowding closer and closer together as her speed, long
since incomprehensible to any finite mind, mounted to a value almost
incalculable. Past the system of the Fenachrone she hurtled; past
the last outlying fringe of stars of our Galaxy; on and on into the
unexplored, awesome depths of free and absolute space.

Behind her the vast assemblage of stars comprising our island universe
dwindled to a huge, flaming lens, to a small but bright lenticular
nebula, and finally to a mere point of luminosity.

For days communication with Rovol had been difficult, since as the
limit of projection was approached it became impossible for the most
powerful forces at Rovol's command to hold a projection upon the flying
vessel. In order to communicate, Rovol had to send out a transmitting
and receiving projection.

As the distance grew still greater, DuQuesne had done the same thing.
Now it was becoming evident, by the wavering and fading of the signals,
that even the two projections, reaching out toward each other though
they were, would soon be out of touch, and DuQuesne sent out his last
message:

"There is no use in trying to keep in communication any longer, as our
beams are falling apart fast. I am on negative acceleration now, of an
amount calculated to bring us down to maneuvering velocity at the point
to which the inertia of _Skylark Two_ would have carried her, without
power, at the time when we shall arrive there. Please keep a listening
post established out this way as far as you can, and I will try to
reach it if I find out anything. If I fail--good-by!"

"The poor, dumb cluck!" DuQuesne sneered as he shut off his sender and
turned to Loring. "That was so easy that it was a shame to take it, but
we're certainly set to go now."

"I'll say so!" Loring agreed enthusiastically. "That was a nice touch,
chief, telling him to keep a lookout out here. He'll do it with forces,
of course, not in person; but at that it'll keep him from thinking
about the Earth until you're all set."

"You've got the idea, Doll. If they had any suspicion at all that we
were heading back for the Earth they could block us yet, easily enough;
but if we can get back inside the Solar System before they smell a rat
it will be too late for them to do anything."

He rotated his ship through an angle of ninety degrees upon her
longitudinal axis and applied enough downward acceleration to swing her
around in such an immense circle that she would approach the Galaxy
from the side opposite to that from which she had left it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, during days that lengthened into weeks and months of dull and
monotonous flight, the two men occupied themselves, each in his
own individual fashion. There was no piloting to do and no need of
vigilance, for space to a distance of untold billions of miles was
absolutely and utterly empty.

Loring, unemotional and incurious, performed what simple routine
housekeeping there was to do, ate, slept, and smoked. During the
remainder of the time he simply sat still, stolidly doing nothing
whatever until the time should come when DuQuesne would tell him to
perform some specific act.

DuQuesne, on the other hand, dynamic and energetic to his ultimate
fiber, found not a single idle moment. His newly acquired knowledge
was so vast that he needs must explore and catalogue his own brain,
to be sure that he would be able instantly to call upon whatever
infinitesimal portion of it might be needed in some emergency.

The fifth-order projector, with its almost infinitely complicated
keyboard, must needs be studied until its every possible resource of
integration, permutation, and combination held from him no more secrets
than does his console from a master of the pipe organ. Thus it was that
the Galaxy loomed ahead, a stupendous lens of flame, before DuQuesne
had really realized that the long voyage was almost over.

To his present mentality, working with his newly acquired fifth-order
projector, the task of locating our Solar System was but the work of a
moment; and to the power and speed of his new space ship the distance
from the Galaxy's edge to the Earth was merely a longish jaunt.

When they approached the Earth it appeared as a softly shining,
greenish half moon. With fleecy wisps of cloud obscuring its surface
here and there, with gleaming ice caps making of its poles two
brilliant areas of white, it presented an arrestingly beautiful
spectacle indeed; but DuQuesne was not interested in beauty. Driving
down from the empty reaches of space north of the ecliptic, he observed
that Washington was in the morning zone, and soon his great vessel was
poised motionless, invisibly high above the city.

His first act was to throw out an ultra-powered detector screen, with
automatic trips and tighteners, around the entire Solar System; out
far beyond the outermost point of the orbit of Pluto. Its every part
remained unresponsive. No foreign radiation was present in all that
vast volume of space, and DuQuesne turned to his henchman with cold
satisfaction stamped upon his every hard lineament.

"No interference at all, Doll. No ships, no projections, no spy rays,
nothing," he said. "I can really get to work now. I won't be needing
you for a while, and I imagine that, after being out in space so long,
you would like to circulate around with the boys and girls for a couple
of weeks or so. How are you fixed for money?"

"Well, chief, I could do with a small binge and a few nights out among
'em, if it's all right with you," Loring admitted. "As for money,
I've got only a couple of hundred on me, but I can get some at the
office--we're quite a few pay days behind, you know."

"Never mind about going to the office. I don't know exactly how well
Brookings is going to like some of the things I'm going to tell him,
and you're working for _me_, you know, not for the office. I've got
plenty. Here's five thousand, and you can have three weeks to spend it
in. Three weeks from to-day I'll call you on your wireless phone and
tell you what to do. Until then, do as you please. Where do you want me
to set you down? Perhaps the Perkins roof will be clear at this hour."

"Good as any. Thanks, chief," and without even a glance to assure
himself that DuQuesne was at the controls Loring made his way through
the manifold airlocks and calmly stepped out into ten thousand feet of
empty air.

       *       *       *       *       *

DuQuesne caught the falling man neatly with an attractor beam and
lowered him gently to the now-deserted roof of the Perkins Café--that
famous restaurant which had been planned and was maintained by the
World Steel Corporation as a blind for its underground activities.
He then seated himself at his console and drove his projection down
into the innermost private office of World Steel. He did not at first
thicken the pattern into visibility, but remained invisible, studying
Brookings, now president of that industrial octopus, the World Steel
Corporation.

The magnate was seated as of yore in a comfortably padded chair at his
massive and ornate desk, the focus and the center of a maze of secret
private communication bands and even more secret private wires. For
Steel was a growing octopus and its voraciously insatiable maw must be
fed.

Brookings had but one motto, one tenet--get it. By fair play at times,
although this method was employed but seldom; by bribery, corruption,
and sabotage as the usual thing; by murder, arson, mayhem, and all
other known forces of foul play if necessary or desirable--Steel got it.

To be found out was the only sin, and that was usually only venial
instead of cardinal; for it was because of that sometimes unavoidable
contingency that Steel not only retained the shrewdest legal minds in
the world, but also wielded certain subterranean forces sufficiently
powerful to sway even supposedly incorruptible courts of justice.

Occasionally, of course, the sin was cardinal; the transgression
irremediable: the court unreachable. In that case the octopus lost a
very minor tentacle; but the men really guilty had never been brought
to book.

Into the center of this web, then, DuQuesne drove his projection and
listened. For a whole long week he kept at Brookings' elbow, day and
night. He listened and spied, studied and planned, until his now
gigantic mentality not only had grasped every detail of everything that
had developed during his long absence and of everything that was then
going on, but also had planned meticulously the course which he would
pursue. Then, late one afternoon, he cut in his audio and spoke.

"I knew of course that you would try to double-cross me, Brookings, but
even I had no idea that you would make such an utter fool of yourself
as you have."

As he heard the sneering, cutting tone of the scientist's
well-remembered voice, the magnate seemed to shrink visibly; his face
turning a pasty gray as the blood receded from it.

"DuQuesne!" he gasped. "Where--are you?"

"I'm right beside you, and I have been for over a week." DuQuesne
thickened his image to full visibility and grinned sardonically as
the man at the desk reached hesitantly toward a button. "Go ahead and
push it--and see what happens. Surely even you are not dumb enough to
suppose that a man with my brain--even the brain I had when I left
here--would take any chances with such a rat as you have always shown
yourself to be?"

Brookings sank back into his chair, shaking visibly. "What are you,
anyway? You look like DuQuesne, and yet--" His voice died away.

"That's better, Brookings. Don't ever start anything that you can't
finish. You are and always were a physical coward. You're one of the
world's best at bossing dirty work from a distance, but as soon as it
gets close to you you fold up like an accordion.

"As to what this is that I am talking and seeing from, it is
technically known as a projection. You don't know enough to understand
it even if I should try to explain it to you, which I have no intention
of doing. It's enough for you to know that it is something that
has all the advantages of an appearance in person, and none of the
disadvantages. None of them--remember that word.

"Now I'll get down to business. When I left here I told you to hold
your cockeyed ideas in check--that I would be back in less than five
years, with enough stuff to do things in a big way. You didn't wait
five days, but started right in with your pussyfooting and gumshoeing
around, with the usual result--instead of cleaning up the mess, you
made it messier than ever. You see, I've got all the dope on you--I
even know that you were going to try to gyp me out of my back pay."

"Oh, no, doctor; you are mistaken, really," Brookings assured him. He
was fast regaining his usual poise, and his mind was again functioning
in its wonted devious fashion. "We have really been trying to carry on
until you got back, exactly as you told us to. And your salary has been
continued in full, of course--you can draw it all at any time."

"I know I can, in spite of you. However, I am no longer interested
in money. I never cared for it except for the power it gave, and I
have brought back with me power far beyond that of money. Also I have
learned that knowledge is even greater than power. I have also learned,
too, however, that in order to increase my present knowledge--yes, even
to protect that which I already have--I shall soon need a supply of
energy a million times greater than the present peak output of all the
generators of Earth. As a first step in my project I am taking control
of Steel right now, and I am going to do things the way they should be
done."

"But you can't do that, doctor!" protested Brookings volubly. "We will
give you anything you ask, of course, but--"

"But nothing!" interrupted DuQuesne. "I'm not asking a thing of you,
Brookings--I'm _telling_ you!"

"You think you are!" Brookings, goaded to action at last, pressed a
button savagely, while DuQuesne looked on in calm contempt.

       *       *       *       *       *

Behind the desk, ports flashed open and rifles roared thunderously in
the confined space. Heavy bullets tore through the peculiar substance
of the projection and smashed into the plastered wall behind it, but
DuQuesne's contemptuous grin did not change. He moved slowly forward,
hands outthrust. Brookings screamed once--a scream that died away to a
gurgle as fingers of tremendous strength closed about his flabby neck.

There had been four riflemen on guard. Two of them threw down their
guns and fled in panic, amazed and terrified at the failure of their
bullets to take effect. Those guards died in their tracks as they ran.
The other two rushed upon DuQuesne with weapons clubbed. But steel
barrel and wooden stock alike rebounded harmlessly from that pattern of
force, fiercely driven knives penetrated it but left no wound, and the
utmost strength of the two brawny men could not even shift the position
of the weird being's inhumanly powerful fingers upon the throat of
their employer. Therefore they stopped their fruitless attempts at a
rescue and stood, dumfounded.

"Good work, boys," DuQuesne commended. "You've got nerve--that's
why I didn't bump you off. You can keep on guarding this idiot here
after I get done teaching him a thing or two. As for you, Brookings,"
he continued, loosening his grip sufficiently so that his victim
could retain consciousness, "I let you try that to show you the real
meaning of futility. I told you particularly to remember that this
projection has _none_ of the disadvantages of a personal appearance,
but apparently you didn't have enough brain power to grasp the thought.
Now, are you going to work with me the way I want you to or not?"

"Yes, yes--I'll do anything you say," Brookings promised.

"All right, then." DuQuesne resumed his former position in front of
the desk. "You are wondering why I didn't finish choking you to death,
since you know that I am not at all squeamish about such things. I'll
tell you. I didn't kill you because I may be able to use you. I am
going to make World Steel the real government of the Earth, and its
president will therefore be dictator of the world. I do not want the
job myself because I will be too busy extending and consolidating
my authority, and with other things, to bother about the details of
governing the planet. As I have said before, you are probably the best
manager alive to-day; but when it comes to formulating policies you're
a complete bust. I am giving you the job of world dictator under one
condition--that you run it _exactly_ as I tell you to."

"Ah, a wonderful opportunity, doctor! I assure you that--"

"Just a minute, Brookings! I can read your mind like an open book. You
are still thinking that you can slip one over on me. Know now, once
and for all, that it can't be done. I am keeping on you continuously
automatic devices that are recording every order that you give, every
message that you receive or send, and every thought that you think.
The first time that you try any more of your funny work on me I will
come back here and finish up the job I started a few minutes ago. Play
along with me and you can run the Earth as you please, subject only to
my direction in broad matters of policy; try to double-cross me and you
pass out of the picture. Get me?"

"I understand you thoroughly." Brookings' agile mind flashed over
the possibilities of DuQuesne's stupendous plan. His eyes sparkled
as he thought of his own place in that plan, and he became his usual
blandly alert self. "As world dictator, I would of course be in a
higher place than any that World Steel, as at present organized, could
possibly offer. Therefore I will be glad to accept your offer, without
reservations. Now, if you will go ahead and give me an outline of what
you propose. I will admit that I did harbor a few mental reservations
at first, but you have convinced me that you actually can deliver the
goods."

"That's better. I will show you very shortly whether I can deliver.
I have prepared full plans for the rebuilding of all our stations
and Seaton's into my new type of power plant for the erection of a
new plant at every strategic point throughout the world, and for
interlocking all these stations into one system. Here they are." A
bound volume of data and a mass of blue prints materialized in the air
and dropped upon the desk. "As soon as I have gone you can call in the
chiefs of the engineering staff and put them to work."

"I perceive what seem to me to be obstacles," Brookings remarked, after
his practiced eye had run over the salient points of the project and
he had leafed over the pile of blue prints. "We have not been able to
do anything with Seaton's plants because of their enormous reserves of
power, and his number one plant is to be the key station of our new
network. Also, there simply are not men enough to do this work. These
are slack times, I know, but even if we could get every unemployed man
we still would not have enough. And, by the way, what became of Seaton?
He apparently has not been around for some time."

"You needn't worry about Seaton's plants--I'll line them up for you
myself. As for Seaton, he was chased into the fourth dimension. He
hasn't got back yet, and he probably won't; as I will explain to his
crowd when I take them over. As for men, we shall have the combined
personnel of all the armies and navies of the world. You think that
even that force won't be enough, but it will. As you go over those
plans in detail, you will see that by the proper use of dirigible
forces we shall have plenty of man power."

"How do you intend to subdue the armies and navies of the world?"

"It would take too long to go into detail. Turn on that radio there
and listen, however, and you'll get it all--in fact, being on the
inside, you'll be able to do a lot of reading between the lines that no
one else will. Also, what I am going to do next will settle the doubt
that is still in your mind as to whether I've really got the stuff."

       *       *       *       *       *

The projection vanished, and in a few minutes every radio receiving
set throughout the world burst into stentorian voice. DuQuesne was
broadcasting simultaneously upon every channel from five meters
to five thousand, using a wave of such tremendous power that even
two-million-watt stations were smothered at the very bases of their own
transmitting towers.

"People of Earth, attention!" the speakers blared. "I am speaking
for the World Steel Corporation. From this time on the governments
of all nations of the Earth will be advised and guided by the World
Steel Corporation. For a long time I have sought some method of doing
away with the stupidities of the present national governments. I have
studied the possibilities of doing away with war and its attendant
horrors. I have considered all feasible methods of correcting your
present economic system, under which you have had constantly recurring
cycles of boom and panic.

"Most of you have thought for years that something should be done
about all these things. You are not only unorganized, however; you are
and always have been racially distrustful and hence easily exploited
by every self-seeking demagogue who has arisen to proclaim the dawn
of a new day. Thus you have been able to do nothing to improve world
conditions.

"It was not difficult to solve the problem of the welfare of mankind.
It was quite another matter, however, to find a way of enforcing
that solution. At last I have found it. I have developed a power
sufficiently great to compel world-wide disarmament and to inaugurate
productive employment of all men now bearing arms, as well as all
persons now unemployed, at shorter hours and larger wages than any
heretofore known. I have also developed means whereby I can trace
with absolute certainty the perpetrators of any known crime, past or
present; and I have both the power and the will to deal summarily with
habitual criminals.

"The revolution which I am accomplishing will harm no one except
parasites upon the body politic. National boundaries and customs shall
remain as they now are. Governments will be overruled only when and as
they impede the progress of civilization. War, however, will not be
tolerated. I shall prevent it, not by killing the soldiers who would do
the actual fighting, but by putting out of existence every person who
attempts to foment strife. Those schemers I shall kill without mercy,
long before their plans shall have matured.

"Trade shall be encouraged, and industry. Prosperity shall be
world-wide and continuous, because of the high level of employment and
remuneration. I do not ask you to believe all this, I am merely telling
you. Wait and see--it will come true in less than thirty days.

"I shall now demonstrate my power by rendering the navy of the United
States helpless, without taking a single life. I am now poised low over
the city of Washington. I invite the Seventieth Bombing Squadron, which
I see has already taken to the air, to drop their heaviest bombs upon
me. I shall move out over the Potomac, so that the fragments will do
no damage, and I shall not retaliate. I could wipe out that squadron
without effort, but I have no desire to destroy brave men who are only
obeying blindly the dictates of an outworn system."

       *       *       *       *       *

The space ship, which had extended across the city from Chevy Chase
to Anacostia, moved out over the river, followed by the relatively
tiny bombers. After a time the entire countryside was shaken by the
detonations of the world's heaviest projectiles, but DuQuesne's cold,
clear voice went on:

"The bombers have done their best, but they have not even marred the
outer plating of my ship. I will now show you what I can do if I should
decide to do it. There is an obsolete battleship anchored off the Cape,
which was to have been sunk by naval gunfire. I direct a force upon
it--it is gone; volatilized almost instantly.

"I am now over Sandy Hook. I am not destroying the coast-defense
guns, as I cannot do so without killing men. Therefore I am simply
uprooting them and am depositing them gently upon the mud flats of the
Mississippi River, at St. Louis, Missouri. Now I am sending out a force
to each armed vessel of the United States navy, wheresoever situated
upon the face of the globe.

"At such speed as is compatible with the safety of the personnel, I am
transporting those vessels through the air toward Salt Lake City, Utah.
To-morrow morning every unit of the American navy will float in Great
Salt Lake. If you do not believe that I am doing this, read in your own
newspaper to-morrow that I have done it.

[Illustration: _"To-morrow morning," the cold, clear voice went on,
"every unit of the American navy will float in Great Salt Lake."_]

"To-morrow I shall treat similarly the navies of Great Britain, France,
Italy, Japan, and the other maritime nations. I shall deal then with
the naval bases of the world and with the military forces and their
fortifications.

"I have already taken steps to abate the nuisance of certain widely
known criminals and racketeers who have been conducting, quite openly
and flagrantly, a reign of terror for profit. Seven of those men have
already died, and ten more are to die to-night. Your homes shall
be safe from the kidnaper; your businesses shall be safe from the
extortioner and his skulking aid, the dynamiter.

"In conclusion, I tell you that the often-promised new era is here; not
in words, but in actuality. Good-by until to-morrow."

DuQuesne flashed his projection down into Brookings' office. "Well,
Brookings, that's the start. You understand now what I am going to do,
and you know that I can do it."

"Yes. You undoubtedly have immense power, and you have taken exactly
the right course to give us the support of a great number of people who
would ordinarily be bitterly opposed to anything we do. But that talk
of wiping out gangsters and racketeers sounded funny, coming from you."

"Why should it? We are now beyond that stage. And, while public opinion
is not absolutely necessary to our success it is always a potent force.
No program of despotism, however benevolent, can expect to be welcomed
unanimously; but the course I have outlined will at least divide the
opposition."

DuQuesne cut off his forces and sat back at the controls, relaxed,
his black eyes staring into infinity. Earth was his, to do with as
he wished; and he would soon have it so armed that he could hold it
against the universe. Master of Earth! His highest ambition had been
attained--or had it? The world, after all, was small--merely a mote in
space. Why not be master of the entire Galaxy? There was Norlamin to be
considered, of course--

Norlamin!

Norlamin would not like the idea and would have to be pacified.

As soon as he got the Earth straightened out he would have to see what
could be done about Norlamin.



                                  X.


"Dick!" Dorothy shrieked, flashing to Seaton's side; and, abandoning
his fruitless speculations, he turned to confront two indescribable,
yet vaguely recognizable, entities who had floated effortlessly into
the control room of the _Skylark_. Large they were, and black--a dull,
lusterless black--and each was possessed of four huge, bright lenses
which apparently were eyes. "Dick! What are they, anyway?"

"Life, probably; the intelligent, four-dimensional life that Mart fully
expected to find here," Seaton answered. "I'll see if I can't send them
a thought."

Staring directly into those expressionless lenses the man sent out wave
after wave of friendly thought, without result or reaction. He then
turned on the power of the mechanical educator and donned a headset,
extending another toward one of the weird visitors and indicating as
clearly as he could by signs that it was to be placed back of the
outlandish eyes. Nothing happened, however, and Seaton snatched off the
useless phones.

"Might have known they wouldn't work!" he snorted. "Electricity! Too
slow--and those tubes probably won't be hot in less than ten years
of this hypertime, besides. Probably wouldn't have been any good,
anyway--their minds would of course be four-dimensional, and ours most
distinctly are not. There may be some point--or rather, plane--of
contact between their minds and ours, but I doubt it. They don't act
warlike, though; we'll simply watch them a while and see what they do."

But if, as Seaton had said, the intruders did not seem inimical,
neither were they friendly. If any emotion at all affected them, it was
apparently nothing more nor less than curiosity. They floated about,
gliding here and there, their great eyes now close to this article,
now that; until at last they floated _past_ the arenak wall of the
spherical space ship and disappeared.

Seaton turned quickly to his wife, ready to minister again to
overstrained nerves, but much to his surprise he found Dorothy calm and
intensely interested.

"Funny-looking things, weren't they, Dick?" she asked animatedly. "They
looked just like highly magnified chess knights with four hands; or
like those funny little sea horses they have in the aquarium, only on a
larger scale. Were those propellers they had instead of tails natural
or artificial--could you tell?"

"Huh? What're you talking about? I didn't see any such details as
that!" Seaton exclaimed.

"I couldn't, either, really," Dorothy explained, "until after I found
out how to look at them. I don't know whether my method would appeal
to a strictly scientific mind or not. I can't understand any of this
fourth-dimensional, mathematical stuff of yours and Martin's, anyway,
so when I want to see anything out here I just pretend that the
fourth dimension isn't there at all. I just look at what you call the
three-dimensional surface and it looks all right. When I look at you
that way, for instance, you look like my own Dick, instead of like a
cubist's four-dimensional nightmare."

"You have hit it, Dorothy." Crane had been visualizing four-dimensional
objects as three-dimensional while she was speaking. "That is probably
the only way in which we can really perceive hyperthings at all."

"It _does_ work, at that!" Seaton exclaimed. "Congratulations, Dot;
you've made a contribution to science--but say, what's coming off now?
We're going somewhere."

       *       *       *       *       *

For the _Skylark_, which had been floating freely in space--a motion
which the senses of the wanderers had long since ceased to interpret
as a sensation of falling--had been given an acceleration. Only a
slight acceleration, barely enough to make the floor of the control
room seem "down," but any acceleration at all in such circumstances was
to the scientists cause for grave concern.

"Nongravitational, of course, or we couldn't feel it--it'd affect
everything about the ship alike. What's the answer, Mart, if any?"
Seaton demanded. "Suppose that they've taken hold of us with a tractor
ray and are taking us for a ride?"

"It would appear that way. I wonder if the visiplates are still
practical?" Crane moved over to number one visiplate and turned it in
every direction. Nothing was visible in the abysmal, all-engulfing,
almost palpable darkness of the absolute black outside the hull of the
vessel.

"It wouldn't work, hardly," Seaton commented. "Look at our time
here--we must be 'way beyond light. I doubt if we could see anything,
even if we had a sixth-order projector--which of course we haven't."

"But how about our light inside here, then?" asked Margaret. "The lamps
are burning, and we can see things."

"I don't know, Peg," Seaton replied. "All this stuff is 'way past me.
Maybe it's because the lights are traveling with us--no, that's out.
Probably, as I intimated before, we aren't seeing things at all--just
feeling them, some way or other. That must be it, I think--it's sure
that the light-waves from those lamps are almost perfectly stationary,
as far as we're concerned."

"Oh, there's something!" Dorothy called. She had remained at the
visiplate, staring into the impenetrable darkness. "See, it just
flashed on! We're falling toward ground of some kind. It doesn't look
like any planet I ever saw before, either--it's perfectly endless and
it's perfectly flat."

The others rushed to the plates and saw, instead of the utter
blackness of a moment before, an infinite expanse of level, uncurving
hyperland. Though so distant from it that any planetary curvature
should have been evident, they could perceive no such curvature. Flat
that land was, and sunless, but apparently self-luminous; glowing with
a strong, somewhat hazy, violet light. And now they could also see
the craft which had been towing them. It was a lozenge-shaped affair,
glowing fiercely with the peculiarly livid "light" of the hyperplanet;
and was now apparently exerting its maximum tractive effort in a vain
attempt to hold the prodigious mass of _Skylark Two_ against the
seemingly slight force of gravitation.

"Must be some kind of hyperlight that we're seeing by," Seaton
cogitated. "Must be sixth or seventh-order velocity, at least, or we'd
be--"

"Never mind the light or our seeing things!" Dorothy interrupted. "We
are falling, and we shall probably hit hard. Can't you do something
about it?"

"Afraid not, Kitten." He grinned at her. "But I'll try it--Nope,
everything's dead. No power, no control, no nothing, and there won't be
until we snap back where we belong. But don't worry about a crash. Even
if that ground is solid enough to crash us, and I don't think it is,
everything out here, including gravity, seems to be so feeble that it
won't hurt us any."

Scarcely had he finished speaking when the _Skylark_ struck--or,
rather, floated gently downward into the ground. For, slight as was
the force of gravitation, and partially counteracted as well by the
pull of the towing vessel, the arenak globe did not even pause as
it encountered the apparently solid rock of the planet's surface.
That rock billowed away upon all sides as the _Skylark_ sank into it
and through it, to come to a halt only after her mass had driven a
vertical, smooth-sided well some hundreds of feet in depth.

Even though the Osnomian metal had been rendered much less dense than
normal by its extrusion and expansion into the fourth dimension, yet it
was still so much denser than the unknown material of the hyperplanet
that it sank into that planet's rocky soil as a bullet sinks into thick
jelly.

"Well, that's that!" Seaton declared. "Thinness and tenuosity, as well
as feebleness, seem to be characteristics of this hypermaterial. Now
we'll camp here peacefully for a while. Before they succeed in digging
us out--if they try it, which they probably will--we'll be gone."

       *       *       *       *       *

Again, however, the venturesome and impetuous chemist was wrong. Feeble
the hypermen were, and tenuous, but their curiosity was whetted even
sharper than before. Derricks were rigged, and slings; but even before
the task of hoisting the _Skylark_ to the surface of the planet was
begun, two of the peculiar denizens of the hyperworld were swimming
down through the atmosphere of the four-dimensional well at whose
bottom the Earth vessel lay. Past the arenak wall of the cruiser they
dropped, and into the control room they floated.

"But I do not understand it at all, Dick," Crane had been arguing.
"Postulating the existence of a three-dimensional object in
four-dimensional space, a four-dimensional being could of course
enter it at will, as your fingers entered that tobacco can. But since
all objects here are in fact and of necessity four-dimensional, that
condition alone should bar any such proceeding. Therefore, since you
actually _did_ take the contents out of that can without opening it,
and since our recent visitors actually _did_ enter and leave our
vessel at will, I can only conclude that we must still be essentially
three-dimensional in nature, even though constrained temporarily to
occupy four-dimensional space."

"Say, Mart, that's a thought! You're still the champion
ground-and-lofty thinker of the universe, aren't you? That explains
a lot of things I've been worrying myself black in the face about. I
think I can explain it, too, by analogy. Imagine a two-dimensional man,
one centimeter wide and ten or twelve centimeters long; the typical
flatlander of the classical dimensional explanations. There he is, in
a plane, happy as a clam and perfectly at home. Then some force takes
him by one end and rolls him up into a spiral, or sort of semisolid
cylinder, one centimeter long. He won't know what to make of it, but
in reality he'll be a two-dimensional man occupying three-dimensional
space.

"Now imagine further that we can see him, which of course is a pretty
tall order, but necessary since this is a very rough analogy. We
wouldn't know what to make of him, either, would we? Doesn't that
square up with what we're going through now? We'd think that such a
thing was quite a curiosity and want to find out about it, wouldn't we?
That, I think, explains the whole thing, both our sensations and the
actions of those sea horses--huh! Here they are again. Welcome to our
city, strangers!"

But the intruders made no sign of understanding the message. They did
not, could not, understand.

The human beings, now using Dorothy's happily discovered method of
dimensional reduction, saw that the hypermen did indeed somewhat
resemble overgrown sea horses--the hippocampus of Earthly zoölogy--but
sea horses each equipped with a writhing, spinning, air-propeller tail
and with four long and sinuous arms, terminating in many dexterous and
prehensile fingers.

[Illustration: _Using Dorothy's method of dimensional reduction, Seaton
and the Cranes saw that the hypermen did indeed somewhat resemble
overgrown sea horses._]

Each of those hands held a grappling trident; a peculiar,
four-dimensional hyperforceps whose insulated, interlocking teeth
were apparently electrodes--conductors of some hyperequivalent of our
Earthly electricity. With unmoved, expressionless "faces" the two
visitors floated about the control room, while Seaton and Crane sent
out wave after wave of friendly thought and made signs of friendship in
all the various pantomimic languages at their command.

"Look out, Mart, they're coming this way! I don't want to start
anything hostile, but I don't particularly like the looks of those
toad-stabbers of theirs, and if they start any funny business with them
maybe we'd better wring their fishy little necks!"

But there was to be no neck-wringing--then. Slight of strength the
hypermen were, and of but little greater density than the thin air
through which they floated so easily; but they had no need of physical
strength--then.

Four tridents shot out, and in a monstrously obscure fashion reached
_past_ clothing, skin, and ribs; seizing upon and holding firmly, but
painlessly and gently, the vital nervous centers of the human bodies.
Seaton tried to leap to the attack, but even his quickness was of
no avail--even before he moved, a wave of intolerable agony surged
throughout his being, ceasing only and completely when he relaxed,
relinquishing his pugnacious attempt. Shiro, leaping from the galley
with cleaver upraised, was similarly impaled and similarly subdued.

Then a hoisting platform appeared, and Seaton and Margaret were forced
to board it. They had no choice; the first tensing of the muscles to
resist the will of the hyperman was quelled instantly by a blast of
such intolerable torture that no human body could possibly defy it for
even the slightest perceptible instant of time.

"Take it easy, Dot--Mart," Seaton spoke rapidly as the hoist started
upward. "Do whatever they say--no use taking much of that stuff--until
Peg and I get back. We'll get back, too, believe me! They'll _have_
to take these meat hooks out of us sometime, and when they do they'll
think a cyclone has broken loose."



                                  XI.


Raging but impotent, Seaton stood motionless beside his friend's wife
upon the slowly rising lift; while Crane, Dorothy, and Shiro remained
in the control room of the _Skylark_. All were helpless, incapable
alike of making a single movement not authorized by their grotesque
captors. Feeble the hypermen were, as has been said; but at the first
tensing of a human muscle in revolt there shot from the insulated teeth
of the grappling hypertrident such a terrific surge of unbearably
poignant torture that any thought of resistance was out of the question.

Even Seaton--fighter by instinct though he was, and reckless as
he was and desperate at the thought of being separated from his
beloved Dorothy--had been able to endure only three such shocks. The
unimaginable anguish of the third rebuke, a particularly vicious and
long-continued wrenching and wringing of the most delicate nerve
centers of his being, had left him limp and quivering. He was still
furious, still bitterly humiliated. His spirit was willing, but he was
physically unable to drive his fiendishly tortured body to further acts
of rebellion.

Thus it was that the improvised elevator of the hypermen carried two
docile captives as it went _past_--not _through_--the spherical arenak
shell of _Skylark Two_ and up the mighty well which the vessel had
driven in its downward plunge. The walls of that pit were glassily
smooth; or, more accurately, were like slag: as though the peculiarly
unsubstantial rock of the hyperplanet had been actually melted by the
force of the cruiser's descent, easy and gradual as the fall had seemed
to the senses of the Terrestrials.

It was apparent also that the hypermen were having difficulty in
lifting the, to them, tremendous weight of the two human bodies. The
platform would go up a few feet, then pause. Up and pause, up and
pause; again and again. But at last they reached the top of the well,
and, wretched as he was, Seaton had to grin when he perceived that
they were being lifted by a derrick, whose overdriven engine, attended
though it was by a veritable corps of mechanics, could lift them only
a few feet at a time. Coughing and snorting, it ran slower and slower
until, released from the load, it burst again into free motion to build
up sufficient momentum to lift them another foot or so.

And all about the rim of that forty-foot well there were being erected
other machines. Trusses were rising into the air, immense chains
were being forged, and additional motors were being assembled. It
was apparent that the _Skylark_ was to be raised; and it was equally
evident that to the hypermen that raising presented an engineering
problem of no small magnitude.

"She'll be right here when we get back, Peg, as far as those jaspers
are concerned," Seaton informed his companion. "If they have to slip
their clutches to lift the weight of just us two, they'll have one
sweet job getting the old _Skylark_ back up here. They haven't got
the slightest idea of what they're tackling--they can't begin to pile
enough of that kind of machinery in this whole part of the country to
budge her."

"You speak as though you were quite certain of our returning," Margaret
spoke somberly. "I wish that I could feel that way."

"Sure I'm certain of it," Seaton assured her. "I've got it all figured
out. Nobody can maintain one hundred per cent vigilance forever, and
as soon as I get back into shape from that last twisting they gave me,
I'll be fast enough to take advantage of the break when it comes."

"Yes; but suppose it doesn't come?"

"It's bound to come sometime. The only thing that bothers me is
that I can't even guess at when we're due to snap back into our own
three-dimensional space. Since we couldn't detect any motion in an
ether wave, though, I imagine that we'll have lots of time, relatively
speaking, to get back here before the _Skylark_ leaves. Ah! I wondered
if they were going to make us walk to wherever it is they're taking us,
but I see we ride--there comes something that must be an airship. Maybe
we can make our break now instead of later."

But the hyperman did not relax his vigilance for an instant as the
vast, vague bulk of the flier hovered in the air beside their elevator.
A port opened, a short gangplank shot out, and under the urge of
the punishing trident the two human beings stepped aboard. A silent
flurry ensued among the weird crew of the vessel as its huge volume
sank downward under the unheard-of mass of the two captives, but no
opportunity was afforded for escape--the gripping trident did not
relax, and at last the amazed officers succeeded in driving their
motors sufficiently to lift the prodigious load into the air of the
hyperplanet.

"Take a good, long look around, Peg, so that you can help find our
way back," Seaton directed, and pointed out through the peculiarly
transparent wall of their conveyance. "See those three peaks over
there, the only hills in sight? Our course is about twelve or fifteen
degrees off the line of the right-hand two--and there's something that
looks like a river down below us. The bend there is just about on
line--see anything to mark it by?"

"Well, there's a funny-looking island, kind of heart-shaped, with a
reddish-colored spire of rock--see it?"

"Fine--we ought to be able to recognize that. Bend, heart-island, red
obelisk on what we'll call the upstream end. Now from here, what? Oh,
we're turning--going upstream. Fine business! Now we'll have to notice
when and where we leave this river, lake, or whatever it is."

       *       *       *       *       *

They did not, however, leave the course of the water. For hundreds of
miles, apparently, it was almost perfectly straight, and for hours
the airship of the hypermen bored through the air only a few hundred
feet above its gleaming surface. Faster and faster the hypership flew
onward, until it became a whistling, yelling projectile, tearing its
way at a terrific but constant velocity through the complaining air.

But while that which was beneath them was apparently the fourth
dimensional counterpart of an Earthly canal, neither water nor
landscape was in any sense familiar. No sun was visible, nor moon,
nor the tiniest twinkling star. Where should be the heavens there was
merely a void of utter, absolute black, appalling in its uncompromising
profundity. Indeed, the Terrestrials would have thought themselves
blind were it not for the forbidding, Luciferean vegetation which,
self-luminous with a ghastly bluish-violet pseudo-light, extended
outward--flat--in every direction to infinity.

"What's the matter with it, Dick?" demanded Margaret, shivering. "It's
horrible, awful, unsettling. Surely anything that is actually seen must
be capable of description? But this--" Her voice died away.

"Ordinarily, three-dimensionally, yes; but this, no," Seaton
assured her. "Remember that our brains and eyes, now really
pseudo-fourth-dimensional, are capable of seeing those things as
they actually are; but that our entities--intelligences--whatever
you like--are still three-dimensional and can neither comprehend nor
describe them. We can grasp them only very roughly by transposing them
into our own three-dimensional concepts, and that is a poor subterfuge
that fails entirely to convey even an approximate idea. As for that
horizon--or lack of it--it simply means that this planet is so big that
it looks flat. Maybe it _is_ flat in the fourth dimension--I don't
know!"

Both fell silent, staring at the weird terrain over which they were
being borne at such an insane pace. Along its right line above that
straight watercourse sped the airship, a shrieking arrow; and to the
right of the observers and to left of them spread, as far as the eye
could reach, a flatly unbroken expanse of the ghostly, livid, weirdly
self-luminous vegetation of the unknowable hyperworld. And, slinking,
leaping, or perchance flying between and among the boles and stalks of
the rank forest growth could be glimpsed fleeting monstrous forms of
animal life.

Seaton strained his eyes, trying to see them more clearly; but owing
to the speed of the ship, the rapidity of the animals' movements, the
unsatisfactory illumination, and the extreme difficulty of translating
at all rapidly the incomprehensible four-dimensional forms into their
three-dimensional equivalents, he could not even approximate either
the size or the appearance of the creatures with which he, unarmed and
defenseless, might have to deal.

"Can you make any sense out of those animals down there, Peg?" Seaton
demanded. "See, there's one just jumped out of the river and seemed to
fly into that clump of bamboolike stuff there. Get any details?"

"No. What with the poor light and everything being so awful and so
distorted, I can hardly see anything at all. Why--what of them?"

"This of 'em. We're coming back this way, and we may have to come on
foot. I'll try to steal a ship, of course, but the chance that we'll be
able to get one--or to run it after we do get it--is mighty slim. But
assuming that we are afoot, the more we know about what we're apt to
go up against the better we'll be able to meet it. Oh, we're slowing
down--been wondering what that thing up ahead of us is. It looks like a
cross between the Pyramid of Cheops and the old castle of Bingen on the
Rhine, but I guess it's a city--it seems to be where we're headed for."

"Does this water actually flow out from the side of that wall, or am I
seeing things?" the girl asked.

"It seems to--your eyes are all right, I guess. But why shouldn't it?
There's a big archway, you notice--maybe they use it for power or
something, and this is simply an outfall--"

"Oh, we're going in!" Margaret exclaimed, her hand flashing out to
Seaton's arm.

"Looks like it, but they probably know their stuff." He pressed her
hand reassuringly. "Now, Peg, no matter what happens, stick to me as
long as you possibly can!"

As Seaton had noticed, the city toward which they were flying resembled
somewhat an enormous pyramid, whose component units were themselves
mighty buildings, towering one above and behind the other in crenelated
majesty to an awe-inspiring height. In the wall of the foundation tier
of buildings there yawned an enormous opening, spanned by a noble arch
of metaled masonry, and out of this gloriously arched aqueduct there
sprang the stream whose course the airship had been following so long.
Toward that forbidding opening the hypership planed down, and into it
she floated slowly and carefully.

       *       *       *       *       *

Much to the surprise of the Terrestrials, however, the great tunnel
of the aqueduct was not dark. Walls and arched ceiling alike glowed
with the livid, bluish-violet ultra-light which they had come to
regard as characteristic of all hyperthings, and through that uncanny
glare the airship stole along. Once inside the tunnel its opening
vanished--imperceptible, indistinguishable from its four-dimensional,
black-and-livid-blue background.

Unending that tunnel stretched before and behind them. Walls and watery
surface alike were smooth, featureless, and so uniformly and weirdly
luminous that the eye could not fix upon any point firmly enough to
determine the rate of motion of the vessel--or even to determine
whether it was moving at all. No motion could be perceived or felt and
the time-sense had long since failed. Seaton and Margaret may have
traveled in that gigantic bore for inches or for miles of distance;
for seconds or for weeks of hypertime; they did not then and never did
know. But with a slight jar the hypership came to rest at last upon a
metallic cradle which had in some fashion appeared beneath her keel.
Doors opened and the being holding the tridents, who had not moved a
muscle during the, to the Terrestrials, interminable journey, made it
plain to them that they were to precede him out of the airship. They
did so, quietly and without protest, utterly helpless to move save at
the behest of their unhuman captor-guide.

Through a maze of corridors and passages the long way led. Each was
featureless and blank, each was lighted by the same eerie, bluish
light, each was paved with a material which, although stone-hard to
the hypermen, yielded springily, as yields a soft peat bog, under
the feet of the massive Terrestrials. Seaton, although now restored
to full vigor, held himself rigorously in check. Far from resisting
the controlling impulses of the trident he sought to anticipate those
commands.

Indeed, recognizing the possibility that the captor might be aware,
through those electrical connections, of his very ideas, he schooled
his outward thoughts to complete and unquestioning submission. Yet
never had his inner brain been more active, and now the immense
mentality given him by the Norlaminians stood him in good stead. For
every doorway, every turn, every angle and intersection of that maze of
communicating passageways was being engraved indelibly upon his brain,
he knew that no matter how long or how involved the way, he could
retain his orientation with respect to the buried river up which they
had sailed.

And, although quiescent enough and submissive enough to all outward
seeming, his inner brain was keyed up to its highest pitch, eager to
drive Seaton's gigantic and instantaneously reacting muscles into
outbursts of berserk fury at the slightest lapse of the attention of
the wielder of the mastering trident.

But there was no such lapse. The intelligence of the hyperman seemed to
be concentrated in the glowing tips of the forceps and did not waver
for an instant, even when an elevator into which he steered his charges
refused to lift the immense weight put upon it.

A silent colloquy ensued, then Seaton and Margaret walked endlessly up
a spiral ramp. Climbed, it seemed, for hours, their feet sinking to
the ankles into the resilient material of the rock-and-metal floor,
while their alert guardian floated effortlessly in the air behind them,
propelled and guided by his swiftly revolving tail.

Eventually the ramp leveled off into a corridor. Straight ahead, two
aisles--branch half right--branch half left--first turn left--third
turn right--second doorway on right. They stopped. The door opened.
They stepped into a large, officelike room, thronged with the
peculiar, sea-horselike hypermen of this four-dimensional civilization.
Everything was indescribable, incomprehensible, but there seemed to
be desks, mechanisms, and tier upon tier of shelf-like receptacles
intended for the storage of they knew not what.

Most evident of all, however, were the huge, goggling, staring eyes of
the creatures as they pressed in, closer and closer to the helplessly
immobile bodies of the man and the woman. Eyes dull, expressionless,
and unmoving to Earthly, three-dimensional intelligences; but organs of
highly intelligible, flashing language, as well as of keen vision, to
their possessors.

Thus it was that the very air of the chamber was full of speech and
of signs, but neither Margaret nor Seaton could see or hear them. In
turn the Earthman tried, with every resource at his command of voice,
thought, and pantomime, to bridge the gap--in vain.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then strange, many-lensed instruments were trundled into the room and
up to the helpless prisoners. Lenses peered; multicolored rays probed;
planimeters, pantographs, and plotting points traced and recorded every
bodily part; the while the two sets of intelligences, each to the other
so foreign, were at last compelled to acknowledge frustration. Seaton
of course knew what caused the impasse and, knowing the fundamental
incompatibility of the dimensions involved, had no real hope that
communication could be established, even though he knew the hypermen to
be of high intelligence and attainment.

The natives, however, had no inkling of the possibility of
three-dimensional actualities. Therefore, when it had been made plain
to them that they had no point of contact with their visitors--that the
massive outlanders were and must remain unresponsive to their every
message and signal--they perforce ascribed that lack of response to a
complete lack of intelligence.

The chief of the council, who had been conducting the examination,
released the forces of his mechanisms and directed his flashing glance
upon the eyes of the Terrestrials' guard, ordering him to put the
specimens away.

"--and see to it that they are watched very carefully," the ordering
eye concluded. "The Fellows of Science will be convened and will study
them in greater detail than we have been able to do here."

"Yes, sir; as you have said, so shall it be," the guard acknowledged,
and by means of the trident he guided his captives through a
high-arched exit and into another labyrinth of corridors.

Seaton laughed aloud as he tucked Margaret's hand under his arm and
marched along under the urge of the admonishing trident.

"'Nobody 'ome--they ain't got no sense,' says his royal nibs. 'Tyke 'em
awye!'" he exclaimed.

"Why so happy all of a sudden, Dick? I can't see very much change in
our status."

"You'd be surprised." He grinned. "There's been a lot of change. I've
found out that they can't read our thoughts at all, as long as we don't
express them in muscular activity. I've been guarding my thoughts and
haven't been talking to you much for fear they could get my ideas some
way. But now I can tell you that I'm going to start something pretty
quick. I've got this trident thing pretty well solved. This bird's
taking us to jail now, I think, and when he gets us there his grip will
probably slip for an instant. If it does he'll never get it back, and
we'll be merrily on our way."

"To jail!" Margaret exclaimed. "But suppose they put us--I hope they
put us in the same cell!"

"Don't worry about that. If my hunch is right it won't make a bit of
difference--I'll have you back before they can get you out of sight.
Everything around here is thin almost to the point of being immaterial,
you know--you could whip an army of them in purely physical combat, and
I could tear this whole joint up by the roots."

"A la Samson? I believe that you could, at that." Margaret smiled.

"Yeah; or rather, you can play you're Paul Bunyan, and I'll be Babe,
the big blue ox. We'll show this flock of prop-tailed gilliwimpuses
just how we gouged out Lake Superior to make a he-man's soup bowl!"

"You make me feel a lot better, Dick, even if I do remember that Babe
was forty-seven ax handles across the horns." Margaret laughed, but
sobered quickly. "But here we are--oh, I _do_ hope that he leaves me
with you!"



                                 XII.


They had stopped beside a metal grill, in front of which was poised
another hyperman, his propeller tail idling slowly. He had thought
that he was to be Seaton's jailer, and as he swung the barred gate
open he engaged the Terrestrial's escort in optical conversation--a
conversation which gave Seaton the mere instant of time for which he
had been waiting.

"So these are the visitors from outer space, whose bodies are so much
denser than solid metal?" he asked curiously. "Have they given you much
trouble?"

"None at all. I touched that one only once, and this one, that you are
to keep here, wilted at only the third step of force. The orders are
to keep them under control every minute, however. They are stupid,
senseless brutes, as is of course to be expected from their mass and
general make-up. They have not given a single sign of intelligence of
even the lowest order, but their strength is apparently enormous, and
they might do a great deal of damage if allowed to break away from the
trident."

"All right; I'll hold him constantly until I am relieved," and the
jailer, lowering his own trident, extended a long, tentacular arm
toward the grooved and knobbed shaft of the one whose teeth were
already imbedded in Seaton's tissues.

Seaton had neither perceived nor sensed anything of this conversation,
but he was tense and alert; tight-strung to take advantage of even
the slightest slackening of the grip of the grappling fingers of the
controller. Thus in the bare instant of the transfer of control from
one weird being to the other he acted--instantaneously and highly
effectively.

With a twisting leap he whirled about, wrenching himself free from the
punishing teeth of the grapple. Lightning hands seized the shaft and
swung the weapon in a flashing arc. Then, with all the quickness of his
highly trained muscles and with all the power of his brawny right arm,
Seaton brought the controller down full upon the grotesque head of the
hyperman.

He had given no thought to the material character of weapon or
of objective; he had simply wrenched himself free and struck
instinctively, lethally, knowing that freedom had to be won then or
never. But he was not wielding an Earthly club or an Osnomian bar;
nor was the flesh opposing him the solid substance of a human and
three-dimensional enemy.

At impact the fiercely driven implement flew into a thousand pieces,
but such was the power behind it that each piece continued on, driving
its relentless way through the tenuous body substance of the erstwhile
guard. That body subsided instantly upon the floor, a shapeless and
mangled mass of oozing, dripping flesh. Weaponless now, holding
only the shattered butt of the ex-guard's trident, Seaton turned to
confront the other guard who, still holding Margaret helpless, was
advancing upon him, wide-open trident to the fore.

He hurled the broken stump; then, as the guard nimbly dodged the flying
missile, he leaped to the barred door of the cell. He seized it and
jerked mightily; and as the anchor bolts of the hinges tore out of the
masonry he swung the entire gate in a full-sweeping circle. Through
the soft body the interlaced bars tore, cutting it into ghastly,
grisly dice, and on, across the hall, tearing into and demolishing the
opposite wall.

"All right, Peg, or did he shock you?" Seaton demanded.

"All right, I guess--he didn't have time, to do much of anything."

"Fine, let's snap it up, then. Or wait a minute, I'd better get us a
couple of shields. We've got to keep them from getting those stingarees
into us again--as long as we can keep them away from us we can do about
as we please around here, but if they ever get hold of us again it'll
be just too bad."

While Seaton was speaking he had broken away and torn out two great
plates or doors of solid metal, and, handing one of them to his
companion, he went on: "Here, carry this in front of you and we'll go
places and do things."

But in that time, short as it was, the alarm had been given, and up
the corridor down which they must go was advancing a corps of heavily
armed beings. Seaton took one quick step forward, then, realizing
the impossibility of forcing his way through such a horde without
impalement, he leaped backward to the damaged wall and wrenched out
a huge chunk of masonry. Then, while the upper wall and the now
unsupported ceiling collapsed upon him, their fragments touching his
hard body lightly and bouncing off like so many soft pillows, he hurled
that chunk of material down the hall and into the thickest ranks of
the attackers.

Through the close-packed phalanx it tore as would a plunging tank
through massed infantry, nor was it alone. Mass after mass of rock was
hurled as fast as the Earthman could bend and straighten his mighty
back, and the hypermen broke ranks and fled in wild disorder.

For to them Seaton was not a man of flesh and blood, lightly tossing
pillows of eiderdown along a corridor, through an assemblage of
wraithlike creatures. He was to them a monstrous being, constructed
of something harder, denser, and tougher than any imaginable metal.
A being driven by engines of unthinkable power, who stood unharmed
and untouched while masses of stone, brickwork, and structural steel
crashed down upon his bare head. A being who caught those falling
masses of granite and concrete and hurled them irresistibly through
rank after rank of flesh-and-blood men.

"Let's go, Peg!" Seaton gritted. "The way's clear now, I guess--we'll
show those horse-faced hippocampuses that what it takes to do things,
we've got!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Through the revolting, reeking shambles of the corpse-littered corridor
they gingerly made their way. Past the scene of the battle, past
intersection after intersection they retraced their course, warily and
suspiciously at first. But no ambush had been laid--the hypermen were
apparently only too glad to let them go in peace--and soon they were
hurrying along as fast as Margaret could walk.

They were soon to learn, however, that the denizens of this city of
four-dimensional space had not yet given up the chase. Suddenly the
yielding floor dropped away beneath their feet and they fell, or,
rather, floated, easily and slowly downward. Margaret shrieked in
alarm, but the man remained unmoved and calm.

"'Sall right, Peg," he assured her. "We want to go clear down to the
bottom of this dump, anyway, and this'll save us the time and trouble
of walking down. All right; that is, if we don't sink into the floor
so deep when we hit that we won't be able to get ourselves out of it.
Better spread out that shield so you'll fall on it--it won't hurt you,
and it may help a lot."

So slowly were they falling that they had ample time in which to
prepare for the landing; and, since both Seaton and Margaret were
thoroughly accustomed to weightless maneuvering in free space, their
metal shields were flat beneath them when they struck the lowermost
floor of the citadel. Those shields were crushed, broken, warped and
twisted as they were forced into the pavement by the force of the
falling bodies--as would be the steel doors of a bank vault upon being
driven broadside on, deep into a floor of solid concrete.

But they served their purpose; they kept the bodies of the Terrestrials
from sinking beyond their depth into the floor of the hyperdungeon.
As they struggled to their feet, unhurt, and saw that they were in a
large, cavernous room, six searchlightlike projectors came into play,
enveloping them in a flood of soft, pinkish-white light.

Seaton stared about him, uncomprehending, until he saw that one of
the hypermen, caught accidentally in the beam, shriveled horribly and
instantly into a few floating wisps of luminous substance which in a
few seconds disappeared entirely.

"Huh! Death rays!" he exclaimed then. "'Sa good thing for us we're
essentially three-dimensional yet, or we'd probably never have known
what struck us. Now let's see--where's our river? Oh, yes; over this
way. Wonder if we'd better take these shields along? Guess not, they're
pretty well shot--we'll pick us up a couple of good ones on the way,
and I'll get you a grill like this one as a good club, too."

"But there's no door on that side!" Margaret protested.

"We should fret a lot about that--we'll roll our own as we go along."

His heavy boot crashed against the wall before them, and a section
of it fell outward. Two more kicks and they were through, hurrying
along passages which Seaton knew led toward the buried river, breaking
irresistibly through solid walls whenever the corridor along which they
were moving angled away from his chosen direction.

Their progress was not impeded. The hyperbeings were willing--yes,
anxious--for their unmanageable prisoners to depart and made no further
attempts to bar their path. Thus the river was soon reached.

The airship in which they had been brought to the hypercity was nowhere
to be seen, and Seaton did not waste time looking for it. He had been
unable to understand the four-dimensional controls even while watching
them in operation, and he realized that even if he could find the
vessel the chance of capturing it and of escaping in it was slight
indeed. Therefore, throwing an arm around his companion, he leaped
without ado into the speeding current.

"But, Dick, we'll drown!" Margaret protested. "This stuff must be
altogether too thin for us to swim in--we'll sink like rocks!"

"Sure we will, but what of it?" he returned. "How many times have you
actually breathed since we left three-dimensional space?"

"Why, thousands of times, I suppose--or, now that you mention it, I
don't really know whether I'm breathing at all or not--but we've been
gone so long--Oh, I don't believe that I really know _anything_!"

"You aren't breathing at all," he informed her then. "We have been
expending energy, though, in spite of that fact, and the only way I
can explain it is that there must be fourth-dimensional oxygen or we
would have suffocated long ago. Being three-dimensional, of course we
wouldn't have to breathe it in for the cells to get the benefit of
it--they can grab it direct. Incidentally, that probably accounts for
the fact that I'm hungry as a wolf, but that'll have to wait until we
get back into our own space again."

True to Seaton's prediction, they suffered no inconvenience as they
strode along upon the metaled pavement of the river's bottom, Seaton
still carrying the bent and battered grating with which he had wrought
such havoc in the corridor so far above.

Almost at the end of the tunnel, a sharklike creature darted upon
them, dreadful jaws agape. With his left arm Seaton threw Margaret
behind him, while with his right he swung the four-dimensional grating
upon the monster of the deeps. Under the fierce power of the blow the
creature became a pulpy mass, drifting inertly away upon the current,
and Seaton stared after it ruefully.

"That particular killing was entirely unnecessary, and I'm sorry I did
it," he remarked.

"Unnecessary? Why, it was going to bite me!" she cried.

"Yeah, it _thought_ it was, but it would have been just like one of
our own real sharks trying to bite the chilled-steel prow off of a
battleship," he replied. "Here comes another one. I'm going to let him
gnaw on my arm, and see how he likes it."

On the monster came with a savage rush, until the dreadful, outthrust
snout almost touched the man's bare, extended arm. Then the creature
stopped, dead still in mid-rush, touched the arm tentatively, and
darted away with a quick flirt of its powerful tail.

"See, Peg, he knows we ain't good to eat. None of these hyperanimals
will bother us--it's only these men with their meat hooks that we have
to fight shy of. Here's the jump-off. Better we hit it easylike--I
wouldn't wonder if that sandy bottom would be pretty tough going. I
think maybe we'd better take to the beach as soon as we can."

       *       *       *       *       *

From the metaled pavement of the brilliantly lighted aqueduct they
stepped out upon the natural sand bottom of the open river. Above them
was only the somberly sullen intensity of velvety darkness; a darkness
only slightly relieved by the bluely luminous vegetation upon the
river's either bank. In spite of their care they sank waist-deep into
that sand, and it was only with great difficulty that they fought their
way up to the much firmer footing of the nearer shore.

Out upon the margin at last, they found that they could make good
time, and they set out downstream at a fast but effortless pace. Mile
after mile they traveled, until, suddenly, as though some universal
switch had been opened, the ghostly radiance of all the vegetation of
the countryside disappeared in an instant, and utter and unimaginable
darkness descended as a pall. It was not the ordinary darkness of an
Earthly night, nor yet the darkness of even an Earthly dark room; it
was indescribably, completely, perfect darkness of the total absence of
every ray of light, unknown upon Earth and unknowable to Earthly eyes.

"Dick!" shrieked Margaret. "Where are you?"

"Right here, Peg--take it easy," he advised, and groping fingers
touched and clung. "They'll probably light up again. Maybe this is
their way of having night. We can't do much, anyway, until it gets
light again. We couldn't possibly find the _Skylark_ in this darkness;
and even if we could feel our way downriver we'd miss the island that
marks our turning-off point. Here, I feel a nice soft rock. I'll sit
down with my back against it and you can lie down, with my lap for a
pillow, and we'll take us a nap. Wasn't it Porthos, or some other one
of Dumas' characters that said, 'He who sleeps, eats'?"

"Dick, you're a perfect peach to take things the way you do."
Margaret's voice was broken. "I know what you're thinking of, too. Oh,
I _do_ hope that nothing has become of them!" For she well knew that,
true and loyal friend though Seaton was, yet his every thought was for
his beloved Dorothy, presumably still in _Skylark Two_--just as Martin
Crane came first with her in everything.

"Sure they're all right, Peg." An instantly suppressed tremor shook
his giant frame. "They're figuring on keeping them in the _Lark_ until
they raise her, I imagine. If I had known as much then as I know now
they'd never have got away with any of this stuff--but it can't be
helped now. I wish I could do something, because if we don't get back
to _Two_ pretty quick it seems as though we may snap back into our own
three dimensions and land in empty space. Or would we, necessarily? The
time coördinates would change, too, of course, and that change might
very well make it obligatory for us to be back in our exact original
locations in the _Lark_ at the instant of transfer, no matter where we
happen to be in this hyperspace-hypertime continuum. Too deep for me--I
can't figure it. Wish Mart was here, maybe he could see through it."

"You don't wish so half as much as I do!" Margaret exclaimed feelingly.

"Well, anyway, we'll pretend that _Two_ can't run off and leave us
here. That certainly is a possibility, and it's a cheerful thought to
dwell on while we can't do anything else."

They fell silent. Now and again Margaret dozed, only to start awake
at the coughing grunt of some near-by prowling hyperdenizen of that
unknown jungle, but Seaton did not sleep. He did not even half believe
in his own hypothesis of their automatic return to their space ship;
and his vivid imagination insisted upon dwelling lingeringly upon every
hideous possibility of their return to three-dimensional space outside
their vessel's sheltering walls. And that same imagination continually
conjured up visions of what might be happening to Dorothy--to the
beloved bride who, since their marriage upon far distant Osnome, had
never before been separated from him for so long a time. He had to
struggle against an insane urge to do something, anything; even to
dash madly about in the absolute blackness of hyperspace in a mad
attempt--doomed to certain failure before it was begun--to reach
_Skylark Two_ before she should vanish from four-dimensional space.

Thus, while Seaton grew more and more tense momently, more and ever
more desperately frustrate, the abysmally oppressive hypernight wore
illimitably on. Creeping--plodding--d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g endlessly along;
extending itself fantastically into the infinite reaches of all
eternity.



                                 XIII.


As suddenly as the hyperland had become dark it at last became light.
There was no gradual lightening, no dawning, no warning--in an instant,
blindingly to eyes which had for so long been straining in vain to
detect even the faintest ray of visible light in the platinum-black
darkness of the hypervoid, the entire countryside burst into its
lividly glowing luminescence. As the light appeared Seaton leaped to
his feet with a yell.

"Yowp! I was never so glad to see a light before in all my life, even
if it is blue! Didn't sleep much either, did you, Peg?"

"Sleep? I don't believe that I'll _ever_ be able to sleep again! It
seemed as though I was lying there for weeks!"

"It did seem long, but time is meaningless to us here, you know."

The two set out at a rapid pace, down the narrow beach beside the
hyperstream. For a long time nothing was said, then Margaret broke out,
half hysterically:

"Dick, this is simply driving me mad! I think probably I _am_ mad,
already. We seem to be walking, yet we aren't, really; we're going
altogether too fast, and yet we don't seem to be getting anywhere.
Besides, it's taking forever and ever--"

"Steady, Peg! Keep a stiff upper lip! Of course we really aren't
walking, in a three-dimensional sense, but we're getting there, just
the same. I'd say that we were traveling almost half as fast as that
airship was, which is a distinctly cheerful thought. And don't try
to think of anything in detail, because equally of course we can't
understand it.

"And as for time, forget it. Just remember that, as far as we are
concerned, this whole episode is occupying only a thousandth of a
second of our own real time, even if it seems to last a thousand years.

"And, above all, get it down solid that you're not nutty--it's just
that everything else around here is. It's like that wild one Sir
Eustace pulled on me that time, remember? 'I say, Seaton, old chap, the
chaps hereabout seem to regard me as a foreigner. Now really, you know,
they should realize that I am simply alone in a nation of foreigners.'"

Margaret laughed, recovering a measure of her customary poise at
Seaton's matter-of-fact explanations and reassurance, and the
seemingly endless journey went on. Indeed, so long did it seem that
the high-strung and apprehensive Seaton was every moment expecting
the instantaneous hypernight again to extinguish all illumination
long before they came within sight of the little island, with its
unmistakably identifying obelisk of reddish stone.

"Woof, but that's a relief!" he exploded at sight of the marker. "We'll
be there in a few minutes more--here's hoping it holds off for those
few minutes!"

"It will," Margaret said confidently. "It'll have to, now that we're so
close. How are you going to get a line on those three peaks? We cannot
possibly see over or through that jungle."

"Easy--just like shooting fish down a well. That's one reason I was so
glad to see that tall obelisk thing over there--it's big enough to hold
my weight and high enough so that I can see the peaks from its top.
I'm going to climb up it and wigwag you onto the line we want. Then
we'll set a pole on that line and crash through the jungle, setting up
back-sights as we go along. We'll be able to see the peaks in a mile or
so, and once we see them it'll be easy enough to find _Two_."

"But climbing Cleopatra's Needle comes first, and it's straight up and
down," Margaret objected practically. "How are you going to do that?"

"With a couple of hypergrab-hooks--watch me!"

He wrenched off three of the bars of his cell grating and twisted
them together, to form a heavy rod. One end of this rod he bent back
upon itself, sharpening the end by squeezing it in his two hands. It
required all of his prodigious strength, but in his grasp the metal at
last, slowly, flowed together in a perfect weld and he waved in the air
a sharply pointed hook some seven feet in length. In the same way he
made another, and, with a word to the girl, he shot away through the
almost intangible water toward the island.

He soon reached the base of the obelisk, and into its rounded surface
he drove one of his hyperhooks. But he struck too hard. Though the hook
was constructed of the most stubborn metal known to the denizens of
that strange world, the obelisk was of hyperstone and the improvised
tool rebounded, bent out of all semblance and useless.

It was quickly reshaped, however, and Seaton went more gently about his
task. He soon learned exactly how much pressure his hooks would stand,
and also the best method of imbedding the sharp metal points in the
rock of the monument. Then, both hooks holding, he drove the toe of one
heavy boot into the stone and began climbing.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon, however, his right-hand hook refused to bite; the stone had so
dulled the point of the implement that it was useless. After a moment's
thought Seaton settled both feet firmly and, holding the shaft of the
left-hand hook under his left elbow, bent the free end around behind
his back. Then, both hands free, he essayed the muscle-tearing task of
squeezing that point again into serviceability.

"Watch out, Dick--you'll fall!" Margaret called.

"I'll try not to," he called back cheerfully. "Took too much work
and time to get up this far to waste it. Wouldn't hurt me if I did
fall--but you might have to come over and pull me out of the ground."

He did not fall. The hook was repointed without accident and he
continued up the obelisk--a human fly walking up a vertical column.
Four times he had to stop to sharpen his climbers, but at last he
stood atop the lofty shaft. From that eminence he could see not only
the three peaks, but even the scene of confused activity which he knew
marked the mouth of the gigantic well at whose bottom the _Skylark_
lay. Margaret had broken off a small tree, and from the obelisk's top
Seaton directed its placing as a transit man directs the setting of his
head flag.

"Left--'way left!" His arm waved its hook in great circles. "Easy
now!" Left arm poised aloft. "All right for line!" Both arms swept
up and down, once. A careful recheck--"Back a hair." Right arm out,
insinuatingly. "All right for tack--down she goes!" Both arms up and
down, twice, and the feminine flagman drove the marker deep into the
sand.

"You might come over here, Peg!" Seaton shouted, as he began his hasty
descent. "I'm going to climb down until my hooks get too dull to
hold, and then fall the rest of the way--no time to waste sharpening
them--and you may have to rally 'round with a helping hand."

Scarcely a third of the way down, one hook refused to function. A
few great plunging steps downward and the other also failed--would
no longer even scratch the stubborn stone. Already falling, Seaton
gathered himself together, twisted bars held horizontally beneath him,
and floated gently downward. He came to ground no harder than he would
have landed after jumping from a five-foot Earthly fence; but even his
three-ply bars of hypermetal did not keep him from plunging several
feet into that strangely unsubstantial hyperground.

Margaret was there, however, with her grating and her plate of armor.
With her aid Seaton struggled free, and together they waded through the
river and hurried to the line post which Margaret had set. Then, along
the line established by the obelisk and the post, the man crashed into
the thick growth of the jungle, the woman at his heels.

Though the weirdly peculiar trees, creepers, and bamboolike shoots
comprising the jungle's vegetation were not strong enough to bar the
progress of the dense, hard, human bodies, yet they impeded that
progress so terribly that the trail-breaker soon halted.

"Not so good this way, Peg," he reflected. "These creepers will soon
pull you down, I'm afraid; and, besides, we'll be losing our line
pretty quickly. What to do? Better I knock out a path with this magic
wand of mine, I guess--none of this stuff seems to be very heavy."

Again they set out; Seaton's grating, so bent and battered now that
it could not be recognized as once having been the door of a prison
cell, methodically sweeping from side to side; a fiercely driven scythe
against which no hyperthing could stand. Vines and creepers still
wrapped around and clung to the struggling pair; shattered masses
drifted down upon them from above, exuding in floods a viscous, gluey
sap; and both masses of broken vegetation and floods of adhesive juices
reënforced and rendered even more impassible the already high-piled
wilderness of débris which had been accumulating there during time
unthinkable.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus hampered, but driven to highest effort by the fear of imminent
darkness and consequent helplessness, they struggled indomitably on.
On and on; while behind them stretched an ever-lengthening, straight,
sharply cut streak of blackness in the livid hyperlight of the jungle.

Seaton's great mass and prodigious strength enabled him to force his
way through that fantastically inimical undergrowth without undue
difficulty, but the unremitting pull and drag of the attacking vines
eventually wore down the woman's much slighter physique.

"Just a minute, Dick!" She stopped, strength almost spent. "I hate to
admit that I can't stand the pace, especially since you are doing all
the real work, as well as wading through the same mess that I am, but I
don't believe that I can go on much longer without a rest."

"All right--" Seaton began, but broke off, staring ahead. "No; keep on
coming one minute more, Peg--three more jumps and we're through."

"I can go that much farther, of course. Lead on, MacDuff!" and they
struggled on.

Seaton had spoken truly. In a few more steps they broke out of the
thick growth of the jungle and into the almost-palpable darkness
of a great, roughly circular area which had been cleared of the
prolific growth. In the center of this circle could be seen the bluely
illuminated works of the engineers who were raising _Skylark Two_. The
edge of the great well was surrounded by four-dimensional machinery;
and that well's wide apron and its towering derricks were swarming with
hypermen.

"Stay behind me, Peg, but as close as you can without getting hit," the
man instructed his companion after a hasty but comprehensive study of
the scene. "Keep your shield up and have your grating in good swinging
order. I'll be able to take care of most of them, I think, but you want
to be ready to squash any of them that may get around me or who may
rush us from behind. Those stickers of theirs are bad medicine, girl,
and we don't want to take any chances at all of getting stuck again."

"I'll say we don't!" she agreed feelingly, and Seaton started off over
the now unencumbered ground. "Wait a minute, Dick--where are you,
anyway? I can't see you at all!"

"That's right, too. Never thought of it, but there's no light. The
glimmer of those plants is pretty faint, at best, and doesn't reach out
here at all. We'd better hold hands, I guess, until we get close to the
works out there so that we can see what we're doing and what's going
on."

"But I've got only two hands--I'm not a hippocampus--and they're both
full of doors and clubs and things. But maybe I can carry this shield
under my arm, it isn't heavy--there, where are you, anyway?"

Seeking hands found each other, and, hand in hand, the two set out
boldly toward the scene of activity so starkly revealed in the center
of that vast circle of darkness. So appalling was the darkness that it
was a thing tangible--palpable. Seaton could not see his companion,
could not see the weapons and the shield he bore, could not even
faintly discern the very ground upon which he trod. Yet he plunged
forward, almost dragging the girl along bodily, eyes fixed upon the
bluely gleaming circle of structures which was his goal.

"But Dick!" Margaret panted. "Let's not go so fast; I can't see a
thing--not even my hand right in front of my eyes--and I'm afraid we'll
bump into something--anything!"

"We've got to snap it up, Peg," the man replied, not slackening his
pace in the slightest, "and there's nothing very big between us and the
_Skylark_, or we could see it against those lights. We may stumble over
something, of course, but it'll be soft enough so that it won't hurt us
any. But suppose that another night clamps down on us before we get out
there?"

"Oh, that's right; it did come awfully suddenly," and Margaret leaped
ahead; dread of the abysmally horrible hypernight so far outweighing
her natural fear of unseen obstacles in her path that the man was hard
put to it to keep up with her. "Suppose they'll know we're coming?"

"Maybe--probably--I don't know. I don't imagine they can see us, but
since we cannot understand anything about them, it's quite possible
that they may have other senses that we know nothing about. They'll
have to spot us mighty quick, though, if they expect to do themselves
any good."

The hypermen could not see them, but it was soon made evident that
the weird beings had indeed, in some unknown fashion, been warned of
their coming. Mighty searchlights projected great beams of livid blue
light, beams which sought eagerly the human beings--probing, questing,
searching.

As he perceived the beams Seaton knew that the hypermen could not
see without lights any better than he could; and, knowing what to
expect, he grinned savagely into the darkness as he threw an arm around
Margaret and spoke--or thought--to her.

"One of those beams'll find us pretty quick, and they may send
something along it. If so, and if I yell jump, do it quick. Straight
up; high, wide, and handsome--jump!"

       *       *       *       *       *

For even as he spoke, one of the stabbing beams of light had found them
and had stopped full upon them. And almost instantly had come flashing
along that beam a horde of hypermen, armed with peculiar weapons at
whose use the Terrestrials could not even guess.

But also almost instantly had Seaton and Margaret jumped--jumped with
the full power of Earthly muscles which, opposed by only the feeble
gravity of hyperland, had given their bodies such a velocity that
to the eyes of the hypermen their intended captives had simply and
instantly disappeared.

"They knew we were there, all right, some way or other--maybe our mass
jarred the ground--but they apparently can't see us without lights,
and that gives us a break," Seaton remarked conversationally, as they
soared interminably upward. "We ought to come down just about where
that tallest derrick is--right where we can go to work on them."

But the scientist was mistaken in thinking that the hypermen had
discovered them through tremors of the ground. For the searching cones
of light were baffled only for seconds; then, guided by some sense
or by some mechanism unknown and unknowable to any three-dimensional
intelligence, they darted aloft and were once more outlining the
fleeing Terrestrials in the bluish glare of their livid radiance. And
upward, along those illuminated ways, darted those living airplanes,
the hypermen; and this time the man and the woman, with all their
incredible physical strength, could not leap aside.

"Not so good," said Seaton, "better we'd stayed on the ground, maybe.
They _could_ trace us, after all; and of course this air is their
natural element. But now that we're up here, we'll just have to fight
them off; back to back, until we land."

"But how can we stay back to back?" asked Margaret sharply. "We'll
drift apart at our first effort. Then they'll be able to get behind us
and they'll have us again!"

"That's so, too--never thought of that angle, Peg. You've got a belt
on, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Fine! Loosen it up and I'll run mine through it. The belts and an
ankle-and-knee lock'll hold us together and in position to play tunes
on those sea horses' ribs. Keep your shield up and keep that grating
swinging and we'll lay them like a carpet."

Seaton had not been idle while he was talking, and when the attackers
drew near, vicious tridents outthrust, they encountered an irresistibly
driven wall of crushing, tearing, dismembering, and all-destroying
metal. Back to back the two unknown monstrosities floated through the
air; interlaced belts holding their vulnerable backs together, gripped
legs holding their indestructibly dense and hard bodies in alignment.

[Illustration: _The hypermen encountered an irresistibly driven wall of
crushing, tearing, dismembering and all-destroying metal._]

For a time the four-dimensional creatures threw themselves upon the
Terrestrials, only to be hurled away upon all sides, ground literally
to bits. For Margaret protected Seaton's back, and he himself took care
of the space in front of him, to right and to left of them, above and
below them; driving the closely spaced latticework of his metal grating
throughout all that space so viciously and so furiously that it seemed
to be omnipresent as well as omnipotent.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, giving up hope of recapturing the specimens alive, the
hyperbeings turned upon them their lethal beams. Soft, pinkly glowing
beams which turned to a deep red and then flamed through the spectrum
and into the violet as they were found to have no effect upon the human
bodies. But the death rays of the hypermen, whatever the frequency,
were futile--the massed battalions at the pit's mouth were as impotent
as had been the armed forces of the great hypercity, whose denizens had
also failed either to hold or to kill the supernatural Terrestrials.

During the hand-to-hand encounter the two had passed the apex of their
flight; and now, bathed in the varicolored beams, they floated gently
downward, directly toward the great derrick which Seaton had pointed
out as marking their probable landing place. In fact, they grazed one
of the massive corner members of the structure; but Seaton interposed
his four-dimensional shield and, although the derrick trembled
noticeably under the impact, neither he nor Margaret was hurt as they
drifted lightly to the ground.

"Just like jumping off of and back into a feather bed!" Seaton exulted,
as he straightened up, disconnected the hampering belts, and guided
Margaret toward the vast hole in the ground, unopposed now save for
the still-flaring beams. "Wonder if any more of them want to argue the
right of way with us? Guess not."

"But how are we going to get down there?" asked Margaret.

"Fall down--or, better yet, we'll slide down those chains they've
already got installed. You'd better carry all this junk, and I'll kind
of carry you. That way you won't have to do anything--just take a ride."

Scarcely encumbered by the girl's weight, Seaton stepped outward to the
great chain cables, and hand under hand he went down, down past the
huge lifting cradles which had been placed around the massive globe of
arenak.

"But we'll go right through it--there's nothing to stop us in this
dimension!" protested Margaret.

"No, we won't; and yes, there is," Seaton replied. "We swing _past_ it
and down, around onto level footing, on this loose end of chain--like
this, see?" and they were once more in the control room of _Skylark
Two_.

There stood Dorothy, Crane, and Shiro, exactly as they had left them so
long before. Still held in the grip of the tridents, they were silent,
immobile; their eyes were vacant and expressionless. Neither Dorothy
nor Crane gave any sign of recognition, neither seemed even to realize
that their loved ones, gone so long, had at last returned.



                                 XIV.


Seaton's glance leaped to his beloved Dorothy. Drooping yet rigid
she stood there, unmoving, corpselike. Accustomed now to seeing
four-dimensional things by consciously examining only their
three-dimensional surfaces, he perceived instantly the waxen, utterly
inhuman vacuity of her normally piquant and vivacious face--perceived
it, and at that perception went mad.

Clutching convulsively the length of hyperchain by which he had swung
into the control room he leaped, furious and elementally savage.

So furious was his action that the chain snapped apart at the wall of
the control room; so rapid was it that the hyperguard had no time to
move, nor even to think.

That guard had been peacefully controlling with his trident the
paralyzed prisoner. All had been quiet and calm. Suddenly--in an
instant--had appeared the two monstrosities who had been taken to the
capital. And in that same fleeting instant one of the monsters was
leaping at him. And ahead of that monster there came lashing out an
enormous anchor chain, one of whose links of solid steel no ordinary
mortal could lift; an anchor chain hurtling toward him with a velocity
and a momentum upon that tenuous hyperworld unthinkable.

The almost-immaterial flesh of the hyperman could no more withstand
that fiercely driven mass of metal than can a human body ward off an
armor-piercing projectile in full flight. Through his body the great
chain tore; cutting, battering, rending it into ghastly, pulpily
indescribable fragments unrecognizable as ever having been anything
animate. Indeed, so fiercely had the chain been urged that the metal
itself could not stand the strain. Five links broke off at the climax
of the chain's black-snakelike stroke, and, accompanying the bleeding
scraps of flesh that had been the guard, tore on past the walls of the
space ship and out into the hypervoid.

The guard holding his tridents in Crane and Shiro had not much more
warning. He saw his fellow obliterated, true; but that was all he lived
to see, and he had time to do exactly nothing. One more quick flip of
Seaton's singularly efficient weapon and the remains of that officer
also disappeared into hyperspace. More of the chain went along, this
time, but that did not matter. Dropping to the floor the remaining
links of his hyperflail, Seaton sprang to Dorothy, reaching her side
just as the punishing trident, released by the slain guard, fell away
from her.

She recovered her senses instantly and turned a surprised face to the
man, who, incoherent in his relief that she was alive and apparently
unharmed, was taking her into his arms.

"Why, surely, Dick, I'm all right--how could I be any other way?" she
answered his first agonized question in amazement. She studied his worn
face in puzzled wonder and went on: "But you certainly are not. What
has happened, dear, anyway; and how could it have, possibly?"

"I hated like sin to be gone so long, Dimples, but it couldn't be
helped." Seaton, in his eagerness to explain his long absence, did not
even notice the peculiar implications in his wife's speech and manner.
"You see, it was a long trip, and we didn't get a chance to break away
from those meat hooks of theirs until after they got us into their city
and examined us. Then, when we finally did break away, we found that we
couldn't travel at night. Their days are bad enough, with this thick
blue light, but during the nights there's absolutely no light at all,
of any kind. No moon, no stars, no nothing--"

"Nights! What are you talking about, Dick, anyway?" Dorothy had been
trying to interrupt since his first question and had managed at last to
break in. "Why, you haven't been gone at all, not even a second. We've
all been right here, all the time!"

"Huh?" ejaculated Seaton. "Are you cuckoo, Red-Top, or what--"

"Dick and I were gone at least a week, Dottie," Margaret, who had been
embracing Crane, interrupted in turn, "and it was awful!"

"Just a minute, folks!" Seaton listened intently and stared upward.
"We'll have to let the explanations ride a while longer. I thought
they wouldn't give up that easy--here they come! I don't know how long
we were gone--it seemed like a darn long time--but it was long enough
so that I learned how to mop up on these folks, believe me! You take
that sword and buckler of Peg's, Mart. They don't look so hot, but
they're big medicine in these parts. All we've got to do is swing them
fast enough to keep those stingaroos of theirs out of our gizzards
and we're all set. Be careful not to hit too hard, though, or you'll
bust that grating into forty pieces--it's hyperstuff, nowhere near
as solid as anything we're used to. All it'll stand is about a normal
fly-swatting stroke, but that's enough to knock any of these fan-tailed
humming birds into an outside loop. Ah, they've got guns or something!
Duck down, girls, so we can cover you with these shields; and, Shiro,
you might pull that piece of chain apart and throw the links at
them--that'll be good for what ails them!"

The hypermen appeared in the control room, and battle again was
joined. This time, however, the natives did not rush to the attack
with their tridents; nor did they employ their futile rays of death.
They had guns, shooting pellets of metal; they had improvised
crossbowlike slings and catapults; they had spears and javelins made
of their densest materials, which their strongest men threw with all
their power. But pellets and spears alike thudded harmlessly against
four-dimensional shields--shields once the impenetrable, unbreakable
doors of their mightiest prison--and the masses of metal and stone
vomited forth by the catapults were caught by Seaton and Crane and
hurled back through the ranks of the attackers with devastating effect.
Shiro also was doing untold damage with his bits of chain and with such
other items of four-dimensional matter as came to hand.

Still the hypermen came pressing in, closer and closer. Soon the three
men were standing in a triangle, in the center of which were the women,
their flying weapons defining a volume of space to enter which meant
hideous dismemberment and death to any hypercreature. But on they came,
willing, it seemed, to spend any number of lives to regain their lost
control over the Terrestrials; realizing, it seemed, that even those
supernaturally powerful beings must in time weaken.

       *       *       *       *       *

While the conflict was at its height, however, it seemed to Seaton that
the already tenuous hypermen were growing even more wraithlike; and
at the same time he found himself fighting with greater and greater
difficulty. The lethal grating, which he had been driving with such
speed that it had been visible only as a solid barrier, moved more
and ever more slowly, to come finally to a halt in spite of his every
effort.

He could not move a muscle, and despairingly he watched a now
almost-invisible warden who was approaching him, controlling trident
outthrust. But to his relieved surprise the hyperforceps did not touch
him, but slithered _past him_ without making contact; and hyperman and
hyperweapon disappeared altogether, fading out slowly into nothingness.

Then Seaton found himself moving in space. Without volition he was
floating across the control room, toward the switch whose closing
had ushered the Terrestrials out of their familiar space of three
dimensions and into this weirdly impossible region of horror. He was
not alone in his movement. Dorothy, the Cranes, and Shiro were all in
motion, returning slowly to the identical positions they had occupied
at the instant when Seaton had closed his master switch.

And as they moved, they _changed_. The _Skylark_ herself changed, as
did every molecule, every atom of substance, in or of the spherical
cruiser of the void.

Seaton's hand reached out and grasped the ebonite handle of the switch.
Then, as his entire body came to rest, he was swept by wave upon wave
of almost-unbearable relief as the artificial and unnatural extension
into the fourth dimension began to collapse. Slowly, as had progressed
the extrusion into that dimension, so progressed the de-extrusion from
it. Each ultimate particle of matter underwent an indescribable and
incomprehensible foreshortening; a compression; a shrinking together;
a writhing and twisting reverse rearrangement, each slow increment of
which was poignantly welcome to every outraged unit of human flesh.

Suddenly seeming, and yet seemingly only after untold hours, the return
to three-dimensional space was finished. Seaton's hand drove through
the remaining fraction of an inch of its travel with the handle of
the switch; his ears heard the click and snap of the lightning-fast
plungers driving home against their stop blocks--the closing of the
relay switches had just been completed. The familiar fittings of the
control room stood out in their normal three dimensions, sharp and
clear.

Dorothy sat exactly as she had sat before the transition. She was
leaning slightly forward in her seat--her gorgeous red-bronze hair
in perfect order, her sweetly curved lips half parted, her violet
eyes widened in somewhat fearful anticipation of what the dimensional
translation was to bring. She was unchanged--but Seaton!

He also sat exactly as he had sat an instant--or was it a
month?--before; but his face was thin and heavily lined, his
normally powerful body was now gauntly eloquent of utter fatigue.
Nor was Margaret in better case. She was haggard, almost emaciated.
Her clothing, like that of Seaton, had been forced to return to a
semblance of order by the exigencies of interdimensional and intertime
translation, and for a moment appeared sound and whole.

The translation accomplished, however, that clothing literally felt
apart. The dirt and grime of their long, hard journey and the sticky
sap of the hyperplants through which they had fought their way had
of course disappeared--being four-dimensional material, all such had
perforce remained behind in four-dimensional space--but the thorns and
sucking disks of the hypervegetation had taken toll. Now each rent and
tear reappeared, to give mute but eloquent testimony to the fact that
the sojourn of those two human beings in hyperland had been neither
peaceful nor uneventful.

Dorothy's glance flashed in amazement from Seaton to Margaret, and she
repressed a scream as she saw the ravages wrought by whatever it was
that they had gone through.

But Seaton's first thought was for the bodiless foes whom they might
not have left behind. "Did we get away, Mart?" he demanded, hand still
upon the switch. Then, without waiting for a reply, he went on: "We
must've made it, though, or we'd've been dematerialized before this.
Three rousing cheers! We made it--we made it!"

For several minutes all four gave way to their mixed but profound
emotions, in which relief and joy predominated. They had escaped from
the intellectuals; they had come alive through hyperspace!

"But Dick!" Dorothy held Seaton off at arm's length and studied his
gaunt, lined face. "Lover, you look actually thin."

"I _am_ thin," he replied. "We were gone a week, we told you. I'm just
about starved to death, and I'm thirstier even than that. Not being
able to eat is bad; but going without water is worse, believe me! My
whole insides feel like a mess of desiccated blotters. Come on, Peg;
let's empty us a couple of water tanks."

They drank; lightly and intermittently at first, then deeply.

At last Seaton put down the pitcher. "That isn't enough, by any means;
but we're damp enough inside so that we can swallow food, I guess.
While you're finding out where we are, Mart, Peg and I'll eat six or
eight meals apiece."

       *       *       *       *       *

While Seaton and Margaret ate--ate as they had drunk, carefully, but
with every evidence of an insatiable bodily demand for food--Dorothy's
puzzled gaze went from the worn faces of the diners to a mirror which
reflected her own vivid, unchanged self.

"But I don't understand it at all, Dick!" she burst out at last.
"_I'm_ not thirsty, nor hungry, and I haven't changed a bit. Neither
has Martin; and yet you two have lost pounds and pounds and look as
though you had been pulled through a knot hole. It didn't seem to us as
though you were away from us all. You were going to tell me about that
back there, when we were interrupted. Now go ahead and explain things,
before I explode. What happened, anyway?"

Seaton, hunger temporarily assuaged, gave a full but concise summary of
everything that had happened while he and Margaret were away from the
_Skylark_. He then launched into a scientific dissertation, only to be
interrupted by Dorothy.

"But, Dick, it doesn't sound reasonable that all that could _possibly_
have happened to you and Peggy without our even knowing that any time
at all had passed!" she expostulated. "We weren't unconscious or
anything, were we, Martin? We knew what was going on all the time,
didn't we?"

"We were at no time unconscious, and we knew at all times what was
taking place around us," Crane made surprising but positive answer. He
was seated at a visiplate, but had been listening to the story instead
of studying the almost-sheer emptiness that was space. "And since it is
a truism of Norlaminian psychology that any lapse of consciousness, of
however short duration, is impressed upon the consciousness of a mind
of even moderate power, I feel safe in saying that for Dorothy and me,
at least, no lapse of time did occur or could have occurred."

"There!" Dorothy exulted. "You've got to admit that Martin knows his
stuff. How are you going to get around that?"

"Search me--wish I knew." Seaton frowned in thought. "But Mart chirped
it, I think, when he said 'for Dorothy and me, at least,' because
for us two time certainly lapsed, and lapsed plenty. However, Mart
certainly _does_ know his stuff; the old think tank is full of bubbles
all the time. He doesn't make positive statements very often, and when
he does you can sink the bank roll on 'em. Therefore, since you were
both conscious and time did not lapse--for you--it must have been time
itself that was cuckoo instead of you. It must have stretched, or must
have been stretched, like the very dickens--for you.

"Where does that idea get us? I might think that their time was
intrinsically variable, as well as being different from ours, if it
was not for the regular alternation of night and day--of light and
darkness, at least--that Peg and I saw, and which affected the whole
country, as far as we could see. So that's out.

"Maybe they treated you two to a dose of suspended animation or
something of the kind, since you weren't going anywhere--Nope, that
idea doesn't carry the right earmarks, and besides it would have
registered as such on Martin's Norlaminianly psychological brain. So
that's out, too. In fact, the only thing that could deliver the goods
would be a sta--but that'd be a trifle strong, even for a hyperman, I'm
afraid."

"What would?" demanded Margaret. "Anything that you would call strong
ought to be worth listening to."

"A stasis of time. Sounds a trifle far-fetched, of course, but--"

"But phooey!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Now you _are_ raving, Dick!"

"I'm not so sure of that, at all," Seaton argued stubbornly. "They
really understand time, I think, and I picked up a couple of pointers.
It would take a sixth-order field--That's it, I'm pretty sure, and that
gives me an idea. If they can do it in hypertime, why can't we do it in
ours?"

"I fail to see how such a stasis could be established," argued Crane.
"It seems to me that as long as matter exists time must continue, since
it is quite firmly established that time depends upon matter--or rather
upon the motion in space of that which we call matter."

"Sure--that's what I'm going on. Time and motion are both relative.
Stop all motion--relative, not absolute motion--and what have you? You
have duration without sequence or succession, which is what?"

"That would be a stasis of time, as you say," Crane conceded, after due
deliberation. "How can you do it?"

"I don't know yet whether I can or not--that's another question.
We already know, though, how to set up a stasis of the ether along
a spherical surface, and after I have accumulated a little more
data on the sixth order it should not be impossible to calculate a
volume-stasis in both ether and sub-ether, far enough down to establish
complete immobility and local cessation of time in gross matter so
affected."

"But would not all matter so affected assume at once the absolute zero
of temperature and thus preclude life?"

"I don't think so. The stasis would be sub-atomic and instantaneous,
you know; there could be no loss or transfer of energy. I don't see how
gross matter could be affected at all. As far as I can see it would
be an absolutely perfect suspension of animation. You and Dot lived
through it, anyway, and I'm positive that that's what they did to you.
And I still say that if anybody can do it, we can."

"'And that,'" put in Margaret roguishly, "as you so feelingly remark,
'is a cheerful thought to dwell on--let's dwell on it!'"

"We'll do that little thing, too, Peg, some of these times; see if we
don't!" Seaton promised. "But to get back to our knitting, what's the
good word, Mart--located us yet? Are we, or are we not, heading for
that justly famed distant Galaxy of the Fenachrone?"

"We are not," Crane replied flatly, "nor are we heading for any other
point in space covered by the charts of Ravindau's astronomers."

"Huh? Great Cat!" Seaton joined the physicist at his visiplate, and
made complete observations upon the few nebulae visible.

He turned then to the charts, and his findings confirmed those of
Crane. They were so far away from our own Galaxy that the space in
which they were was unknown, even to those masters of astronomy and of
intergalactic navigation, the Fenachrone.

"Well, we're not lost, anyway, thanks to your cautious old bean."
Seaton grinned as he stepped over to an object-compass mounted upon the
plane table.

       *       *       *       *       *

This particular instrument was equipped with every refinement known
to the science of four great Solar Systems. Its exceedingly delicate
needle, swinging in an almost-perfect vacuum upon practically
frictionless jeweled bearings, was focused upon the unimaginable
mass of the entire First Galaxy, a mass so inconceivably great that
mathematics had shown--and even Crane would have stated as a fact--that
it would affect that needle from any point whatever, however distant,
in universal space.

Seaton actuated the minute force which set the needle in motion, but
it did not oscillate. For minute after minute it revolved slowly but
freely, coming ultimately to rest without any indication of having
been affected in the least by any external influence. He stared at
the compass in stark, unbelieving amazement, then tested its current
and its every other factor. The instrument was in perfect order and
in perfect adjustment. Grimly, quietly, he repeated the oscillatory
test--with the same utterly negative result.

"Well, that is eminently, conclusively, definitely, and unqualifiedly
that." He stared at Crane, unseeing, his mind racing. "The most
sensitive needle we've got, and she won't even register!"

"In other words, we are lost." Crane's voice was level and calm.
"We are so far away from the First Galaxy that even that compass,
supposedly reactive from any possible location in space, is useless."

"But I don't get it, at all, Mart!" Seaton expostulated, paying no
attention to the grim meaning underlying his friend's utterance. "With
the whole mass of the Galaxy as its object of attachment that needle
absolutely will register from a distance greater than any possible
diameter of the super-universe--" His voice died away.

"Go on; you are beginning to see the light," Crane prompted.

"Yeah--no wonder I couldn't plot a curve to trace those Fenachrone
torpedoes--our fundamental assumptions were unsound. The fact simply
is that if space is curved at all, the radius of curvature is vastly
greater than any figure as yet proposed, even by the Fenachrone
astronomers. We certainly weren't out of our own space a thousandth of
a second--more likely only a couple of millionths--do you suppose that
there really are folds in the fourth dimension?"

"That idea has been advanced, but folds are not strictly necessary, nor
are they easy to defend. It has always seemed to me that the hypothesis
of linear departure is much more tenable. The planes need not be
parallel, you know--in fact, it is almost a mathematical certainty that
they are _not_ parallel."

"That's so, too; and that hypothesis would account for everything, of
course. But how are--"

"What _are_ you two talking about?" demanded Dorothy. "We simply
couldn't have come that far--why, the _Skylark_ was stuck in the ground
the whole time!"

"As a physicist, Red-Top, you're a fine little beauty-contest winner."
Seaton grinned. "You forget that with the velocity she had, the _Lark_
couldn't have been stopped within three months, either--yet she seemed
to stop. How about that, Mart?"

"I have been thinking about that. It is all a question of relative
velocities, of course; but even at that, the angle of departure of the
two spaces must have been extreme indeed to account for our present
location in three-dimensional space."

"Extreme is right; but there's no use yapping about it now, any more
than about any other spilled milk. We'll just have to go places and do
things; that's all."

"Go where and do what?" asked Dorothy pointedly.

"Lost--lost in space!" Margaret breathed.

As the dread import of their predicament struck into her consciousness
she had seized the arm rests of her chair in a spasmodic clutch; but
she forced herself to relax and her deep brown eyes held no sign of
panic.

"But we have been lost in space before, Dottie, apparently as badly as
we are now. Worse, really, because we did not have Martin and Dick with
us then."

"'At-a-girl, Peg!" Seaton cheered. "We may--be lost--guess we are,
temporarily, at least--but we're not licked, not by seven thousand rows
of apple trees!"

"I fail to perceive any very solid basis for your optimism," Crane
remarked quietly, "but you have an idea, of course. What is it?"

"Pick out the Galaxy nearest our line of flight and brake down for
it." Seaton's nimble mind was leaping ahead. "The _Lark's_ so full
of uranium that her skin's bulging, so we've got power to burn. In
that Galaxy there are--there _must_ be--suns with habitable, possibly
inhabited, planets. We'll find one such planet and land on it. Then
we'll do with our might what our hands find to do."

"Such as?"

"Along what lines?" queried Dorothy and Crane simultaneously.

"Space ship, probably--_Two's_ entirely too small to be of any account
in intergalactic work," Seaton replied promptly. "Or maybe fourth-,
fifth- and sixth-order projectors; or maybe some kind of an ultra-ultra
radio or projector. How do I know, from here? But there's thousands of
things that maybe we can do--we'll wait until we get there to worry
about which one to try first."



                                  XV.


Seaton strode over to the control board and applied maximum
acceleration. "Might as well start traveling, Mart," he remarked to
Crane, who had for almost an hour been devoting the highest telescopic
power of number six visiplate to spectroscopic, interferometric, and
spectrophotometric studies of half a dozen selected nebulae. "No matter
which one you pick out we'll have to have quite a lot of positive
acceleration yet before we reverse to negative."

"As a preliminary measure, might it not be a good idea to gain some
idea as to our present line of flight?" Crane asked dryly, bending a
quizzical glance upon his friend. "You know a great deal more than
I do about the hypothesis of linear departure of incompatible and
incommensurable spaces, however, and so perhaps you already know our
true course."

"Ouch! Pals, they got me!" Seaton clapped a hand over his heart; then,
seizing his own ear, he led himself up to the switchboard and shut off
the space drive, except for the practically negligible superimposed
thirty-two feet per second which gave to the _Skylark's_ occupants a
normal gravitational force.

"Why, Dick, how perfectly silly!" Dorothy chuckled. "What's the matter?
All you've got to do is to--"

"Silly, says you?" Seaton, still blushing, interrupted her. "Woman, you
don't know the half of it! I'm just plain dumb, and Mart was tactfully
calling my attention to the fact. Them's soft words that the slatlike
string bean just spoke, but believe me, Red-Top, he packs a wicked
wallop in that silken glove!"

"Keep still a minute, Dick, and look at the bar!" Dorothy protested.
"Everything's on zero, so we must be still going straight up, and all
you have to do to get back somewhere near our own Galaxy is to turn it
around. Why didn't one of you brilliant thinkers--or have I overlooked
a bet?"

"Not exactly. You don't know about those famous linear departures, but
I do. I haven't that excuse--I simply went off half cocked again. You
see, it's like this: Even if those gyroscopes could have retained their
orientation unchanged through the fourth-dimensional translation, which
is highly improbable, that line wouldn't mean a thing as far as getting
back is concerned.

"We took one gosh-awful jump in going through hyperspace, you know,
and we have no means at all of determining whether we jumped up,
down, or sidewise. Nope, he's right, as usual--we can't do anything
intelligently until he finds out, from the shifting of spectral lines
and so on, in what direction we actually are traveling. How're you
coming with it, Mart?"

"For really precise work we shall require photographs of some twenty
hours' exposure. However, I have made six preliminary observations,
as nearly on rectangular coördinates as possible, from which you can
calculate a first-approximation course which will serve until we can
obtain more precise data."

"All right! Calcium H and calcium K--Were they all type G?"

"Four of them were of type G, two were of type K. I selected the H and
K lines of calcium because they were the most prominent individuals
appearing in all six spectra."

"Fine! While you're taking your pictures I'll run them off on the
calculator. From the looks of those shifts I'd say I could hit our
course within five degrees, which is close enough for a few days, at
least."

Seaton soon finished his calculations. He then read off from the great
graduated hour-space and declination-circles of the gyroscope cage the
course upon which the power bar was then set, and turned with a grin to
Crane, who had just opened the shutter for his first time exposure.

"We were off plenty, Mart," he admitted. "The whole gyroscope system
was rotated about ninety degrees minus declination and something like
plus seven hours' right ascension, so we'll have to forget all our old
data and start out from scratch with the reference planes as they are
now. That won't hurt us much, though, since we haven't any idea where
we are, anyway.

"We're heading about ten degrees or so to the right of that nebula over
there, which is certainly a mighty long ways off from where I thought
we were going. I'll put on full positive and point ten degrees to the
left of it. Probably you'd better read it now, and by taking a set of
observations, say a hundred hours apart, we can figure when we'll have
to reverse acceleration.

"While you're doing that I thought I'd start seeing what I could do
about a fourth-order projector. It'll take a long time to build, and
we'll need one bad when we get inside that Galaxy. What do you think?"

"I think that both of those ideas are sound," Crane assented, and each
man bent to his task.

       *       *       *       *       *

Crane took his photographs and studied each of the six key nebulae
with every resource of his ultrarefined instruments. Having determined
the _Skylark's_ course and speed, and knowing her acceleration, he was
able at last to set upon the power bar an automatically varying control
of such a nature that her resultant velocity was directly toward the
lenticular nebula nearest her former line of flight.

That done, he continued his observations at regular
intervals--constantly making smaller his limit of observational error,
constantly so altering the power and course of the vessel that the
selected Galaxy would be reached in the shortest possible space of time
consistent with a permissible final velocity.

And in the meantime Seaton labored upon the projector. It had been
out of the question, of course, to transfer to tiny _Two_ the immense
mechanism which had made of _Three_ a sentient, almost a living,
thing; but, equally of course, he had brought along the force-band
transformers and selectors, and as much as possible of the other
essential apparatus. He had been obliged to leave behind, however,
the very heart of the fifth-order installation--the precious lens of
neutronium--and its lack was now giving him deep concern.

"What's the matter, Dickie? You look as though you had lost your last
friend." Dorothy intercepted him one day as he paced about the narrow
confines of the control room, face set and eyes unseeing.

"Not quite that, but ever since I finished that fourth-order outfit
I've been trying to figure out something to take the place of that
lens we had in _Three_, so that I can go ahead on the fifth, but that
seems to be one thing for which there is absolutely no substitute. It's
like trying to unscrew the inscrutable--it can't be done."

"If you can't get along without it, why didn't you bring it along, too?"

"Couldn't."

"Why?" she persisted.

"Nothing strong enough to hold it. In some ways it's worse than atomic
energy. It's so hot and under such pressure that if that lens were
to blow up in Omaha it would burn up the whole United States, from
San Francisco to New York City. It takes either thirty feet of solid
inoson or else a complete force-bracing to stand the pressure. We had
neither, no time to build anything, and couldn't have taken it through
hyperspace even if we could have held it safely."

"Does that mean--"

"No. It simply means that we'll have to start at the fourth again
and work up. I did bring along a couple of good big faidons, so that
all we've got to do is find a planet heavy enough and solid enough
to anchor a full-sized fourth-order projector on, within twenty
light-years of a white dwarf star."

"Oh, is that all? You two'll do that, all right."

"Isn't it wonderful the confidence some women have in their husbands?"
Seaton asked Crane, who was studying through number six visiplate and
the fourth-order projector the enormous expanse of the strange Galaxy
at whose edge they now were. "I think maybe we'll be able to pull it
off, though, at that. Of course we aren't close enough yet to find such
minutiae as planets, but how are things shaping up in general?"

"Quite encouraging! This Galaxy is certainly of the same order of
magnitude as our own, and--"

"Encouraging, huh?" Seaton broke in. "If such a dyed-in-the-wool
pessimist as you are can permit himself to use such a word as that,
we're practically landed on a planet right now!"

"And shows the same types and varieties of stellar spectra," Crane went
on, unperturbed. "I have identified with certainty no less than six
white dwarf stars, and some forty yellow dwarfs of type G."

"Fine! What did I tell you?" exulted Seaton.

"Now go over that again, in English, so that Peggy and I can feel
relieved about it, too," Dorothy directed. "What's a type-G dwarf?"

"A sun like our own old Sol, back home," Seaton explained. "Since we
are looking for a planet as much as possible like our own Earth, it
is a distinctly cheerful fact to find so many suns so similar to our
own. And as for the white dwarfs, I've got to have one fairly close to
the planet we land on, because to get in touch with Rovol I've got to
have a sixth-order projector; to build which I've first got to have one
of the fifth order; for the reconstruction of which I've got to have
neutronium; to get which I'll have to be close to a white dwarf star.
See?"

"Uh-huh! Clear and lucid to the point of limpidity--not." Dorothy
grimaced, then went on: "As for me, I'm certainly glad to see those
stars. It seems that we've been out there in absolutely empty space for
ages, and I've been scared a pale lavender all the time. Having all
these nice stars around us again is the next-best thing to being on
solid ground."

       *       *       *       *       *

At the edge of the strange Galaxy though they were, many days were
required to reduce the intergalactic pace of the vessel to a value at
which maneuvering was possible, and many more days passed into time
before Crane announced the discovery of a sun which not only possessed
a family of planets, but was also within the specified distance of a
white dwarf star.

To any Earthly astronomer, whose most powerful optical instruments fail
to reveal even the closest star as anything save a dimensionless point
of light, such a discovery would have been impossible, but Crane was
not working with Earthly instruments. For the fourth-order projector,
although utterly useless at the intergalactic distances with which
Seaton was principally concerned, was vastly more powerful than any
conceivable telescope.

Driven by the full power of a disintegrating uranium bar, it could hold
a projection so steadily at a distance of twenty light-years that a man
could manipulate a welding arc as surely as though it was upon a bench
before him--which, in effect, it was--and in cases in which delicacy
of control was not an object, such as the present quest for such vast
masses as planets, the projector was effective over distances of many
hundreds of light-years.

Thus it came about that the search for a planetiferous sun near a white
dwarf star was not unduly prolonged, and _Skylark Two_ tore through the
empty ether toward it.

Close enough so that the projector could reveal details, Seaton drove
projections of all four voyagers down into the atmosphere of the
first planet at hand. That atmosphere was heavy and of a pronounced
greenish-yellow cast, and through it that fervent sun poured down a
flood of livid light upon a peculiarly dead and barren ground--but
yet a ground upon which grew isolated clumps of a livid and monstrous
vegetation.

"Of course detailed analysis at this distance is impossible, but what
do you make of it, Dick?" asked Crane. "In all our travels, this is
only the second time we have encountered such an atmosphere."

"Yes; and that's exactly twice too many." Seaton, at the spectroscope,
was scowling in thought. "Chlorin, all right, with some fluorin and
strong traces of oxides of nitrogen, nitrosyl chloride, and so on--just
about like that one we saw in our own Galaxy that time. I thought then
and have thought ever since that there was something decidedly fishy
about that planet, and I think there's something equally fishy about
this one."

"Well, let's not investigate it any further, then," put in Dorothy.
"Let's go somewhere else, quick."

"Yes, let's," Margaret agreed, "particularly if, as you said about
that other one, it has a form of life on it that would make our
grandfather's whiskers curl up into a ball."

"We'll do that little thing; we haven't got _Three's_ equipment now,
and without it I'm no keener on smelling around this planet than you
are," and he flipped the projection across a few hundred million miles
of space to the neighboring planet. Its air, while somewhat murky and
smoky, was colorless and apparently normal, its oceans were composed of
water, and its vegetation was green. "See, Mart? I told you something
was fishy. It's all wrong--a thing like that can't happen even once,
let alone twice."

"According to the accepted principles of cosmogony it is of course to
be expected that all the planets of the same sun would have atmospheres
of somewhat similar composition," Crane conceded, unmoved. "However,
since we have observed two cases of this kind, it is quite evident
that there are not only many more suns having planets than has been
supposed, but also that suns capture planets from each other, at least
occasionally."

"Maybe--that would explain it, of course. But let's see what this world
looks like--see if we can find a place to sit down on. It'll be nice
to live on solid ground while I do my stuff."

He swung the viewpoint slowly across the daylight side of the strange
planet, whose surface, like that of Earth, was partially obscured by
occasional masses of cloud. Much of that surface was covered by mighty
oceans, and what little land there was seemed strangely flat and
entirely devoid of topographical features.

The immaterial conveyance dropped straight down upon the largest
visible mass of land, down through a towering jungle of fernlike and
bamboolike plants, halting only a few feet above the ground. Solid
ground it certainly was not, nor did it resemble the watery muck of
our Earthly swamps. The huge stems of the vegetation rose starkly
from a black and seething field of viscous mud--mud unrelieved by
any accumulation of humus or of débris--and in that mud there swam,
crawled, and slithered teeming hordes of animals.

"What perfectly darn funny-looking mud puppies!" Dorothy exclaimed.
"And isn't that the thickest, dirtiest, gooiest mud you ever saw?"

"Just about," Seaton agreed, intensely interested. "But those things
seem perfectly adapted to it. Flat, beaver tails; short, strong legs
with webbed feet; long, narrow heads with rooting noses, like pigs;
and heavy, sharp incisor teeth. But they live on those ferns and
stuff--that's why there's no underbrush or dead stuff. Look at that
bunch working on the roots of that big bamboo over there. They'll have
it down in a minute--there she goes!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The great trunk fell with a crash as he spoke, and was almost instantly
forced beneath the repellant surface by the weight of the massed "mud
puppies" who flung themselves upon it.

"Ah, I thought so!" Crane remarked. "Their molar teeth do not match
their incisors, being quite Titanotheric in type. Probably they can
assimilate lignin and cellulose instead of requiring our usual nutrient
carbohydrates. However, this terrain does not seem to be at all
suitable for our purpose."

"I'll say it doesn't. I'll scout around and see if we can't find some
high land somewhere, but I've got a hunch that we won't care for that,
either. This murky air and the strong absorption lines of SO2 seem to
whisper in my ear that we'll find some plenty hot and plenty sulphurous
volcanoes when we find the mountains."

A few large islands or small continents of high and solid land were
found at last, but they were without exception volcanic. And those
volcanoes were not quiescent. Each was in constant and furious eruption.

"Well, I don't see any place around here either fit to live in or solid
enough to anchor an observatory onto," Seaton concluded, after he had
surveyed the entire surface of the globe. "I think we'd better flit
across to the next one, don't you, folks?"

Suiting action to word, he shot the beam to the next nearest planet,
which chanced to be the one whose orbit was nearest the blazing sun,
and a mere glance showed that it would not serve the purposes of the
Terrestrials. Small it was, and barren: waterless, practically airless,
lifeless; a cratered, jagged, burned-out ember of what might once have
been a fertile little world.

The viewpoint then leaped past the flaming inferno of the luminary and
came to rest in the upper layers of an atmosphere.

"Aha!" Seaton exulted, after he had studied his instruments briefly.
"This looks like home, sweet home to me. Nitrogen, oxygen, some CO2, a
little water vapor, and traces of the old familiar rare gases. And see
the oceans, the clouds, and the hills? Hot dog!"

As the projection dropped toward the new world's surface, however,
making possible a detailed study, it became evident that there was
something abnormal about it. The mountains were cratered and torn;
many of the valleys were simply desolate expanses of weathered lava,
tuff, and breccia; and, while it seemed that climatic conditions were
eminently suitable, of animal life there was none.

And it was not only the world itself that had been outraged. Near a
great inland lake there spread the ruins of what had once been a great
city; ruins so crumbled and razed as to be almost unrecognizable. What
had been stone was dust, what had been metal was rust; and dust and
rust alike were now almost completely overgrown by vegetation.

"Hm-m-m!" Seaton mused, subdued. "There _was_ a near-collision of
planet-bearing suns, Mart; and that chlorin planet was captured. This
world was ruined by the strains set up--but surely they must have been
scientific enough to have seen it coming? Surely they must have made
plans so that _some_ of them could have lived through it?"

He fell silent, driving the viewpoint hither and thither, like a hound
in quest of a scent. "I thought so!" Another ruined city lay beneath
them; a city whose buildings, works, and streets had been fused
together into one vast agglomerate of glaringly glassy slag, through
which could be seen unmelted fragments of strangely designed structural
members. "Those ruins are fresh--that was done with a heat ray, Mart.
But who did it, and why? I've got a hunch--wonder if we're too late--if
they've killed them all off already?"

Hard-faced now and grim, Seaton combed the continent, finding at last
what he sought.

"Ah, I thought so!" he exclaimed, his voice low but deadly. "I'll
bet my shirt that the chlorins are wiping out the civilization of
that planet--probably people more or less like us. What d'you say,
folks--do we declare ourselves in on this, or not?"

"I'll tell the cockeyed world--I believe that we should--By all
means--" came simultaneously from Dorothy, Margaret, and Crane.

"I knew you'd back me up. Humanity _über alles_--_homo sapiens_ against
all the vermin of the universe! Let's go, _Two_--do your stuff!"

       *       *       *       *       *

As _Two_ hurtled toward the unfortunate planet with her every iota of
driving power, Seaton settled down to observe the strife and to see
what he could do. That which lay beneath the viewpoint had not been a
city, in the strict sense of the word. It had been an immense system of
concentric fortifications, of which the outer circles had long since
gone down under the irresistible attack of the two huge structures of
metal which hung poised in the air above. Where those outer rings had
been there was now an annular lake of boiling, seething lava. Lava
from which arose gouts and slender pillars of smoke and fume; lava
being volatilized by the terrific heat of the offensive beams and being
hurled away in flaming cascades by the almost constant detonations
of high-explosive shells; lava into which from time to time another
portion of the immense fortress slagged down--put out of action,
riddled, and finally fused by the awful forces of the invaders.

Even as the four Terrestrials stared in speechless awe, an intolerable
blast of flame burst out above one of the flying forts and down it
plunged into the raging pool, throwing molten slag far and wide as it
disappeared beneath the raging surface.

"Hurray!" shrieked Dorothy, who had instinctively taken sides with the
defenders. "One down, anyway!"

But her jubilation was premature. The squat and monstrous fabrication
burst upward through that flaming surface and, white-hot lava
streaming from it in incandescent torrents, it was again in action,
apparently uninjured.

[Illustration: _But the squat and monstrous flying fort burst upward
through the seething surface and was again in full action._]

"All fourth-order stuff, Mart," Seaton, who had been frantically busy
at his keyboard and instruments, reported to Crane. "Can't find a trace
of anything on the fifth or sixth, and that gives us a break. I don't
know what we can do yet, but we'll do something, believe me!"

"Fourth order? Are you sure?" Crane doubted. "A fourth-order screen
would be a zone of force, opaque and impervious to gravitation, whereas
those screens are transparent and are not affecting gravity."

"Yeah, but they're doing something that we never tried, since we never
used fourth-order stuff in fighting. They've both left the gravity band
open--it's probably too narrow for them to work through, at least with
anything very heavy--and that gives us the edge."

"Why? Do you know more about it than they do?" queried Dorothy.

"Who and what are they, Dick?" asked Margaret.

"Sure I know more about it than they do. I understand the fifth and
sixth orders, and you can't get the full benefit of any order until you
know all about the next one. Just like mathematics--nobody can really
handle trigonometry until after he has had calculus. And as to who
they are, the folks in that fort are of course natives of the planet,
and they may well be people more or less like us. It's dollars to
doughnuts, though, that those vessels are manned by the inhabitants of
that interloping planet--that form of life I was telling you about--and
it's up to us to pull their corks if we can. There, I'm ready to go, I
think. We'll visit the ship first."

The visible projection disappeared and, their images now invisible
patterns of force, they stood inside the control room of one of the
invaders. The air bore the faint, greenish-yellow tinge of chlorin;
the walls were banked and tiered with controlling dials, meters, and
tubes; and sprawling, lying, standing, or hanging before those controls
were denizens of the chlorin planet. No two of them were alike in form.
If one of them was using eyes he had eyes everywhere; if hands, hands
by the dozen, all differently fingered, sprouted from one, two, or a
dozen supple and snaky arms.

But the inspection was only momentary. Scarcely had the unseen visitors
glanced about the interior when the visibeam was cut off sharply. The
peculiar beings had snapped on a full-coverage screen and their vessel,
now surrounded by the opaque spherical mirror of a zone of force, was
darting upward and away--unaffected by gravity, unable to use any of
her weapons, but impervious to any form of matter or to any ether-borne
wave.

"Huh! 'We didn't come over here to get peeked at,' says they." Seaton
snorted. "Amœbic! Must be handy, though, at that, to sprout eyes, arms,
ears, and so on whenever and wherever you want to--and when you want
to rest, to pull in all such impedimenta and subside into a senseless
green blob. Well, we've seen the attackers, now let's see what the
natives look like. They can't cut us off without sending their whole
works sky-hooting off into space."

The visibeam sped down into the deepest sanctum of the fortress without
hindrance, revealing a long, narrow control table at which were
seated men--men not exactly like the humanity of Earth, of Norlamin,
of Osnome, or of any other planet, but undoubtedly men, of the genus
_homo_.

"You were right, Dick." Crane the anthropologist now spoke. "It seems
that on planets similar to Earth in mass, atmosphere, and temperature,
wherever situated, man develops. The ultimate genes must permeate
universal space itself."

"Maybe--sounds reasonable. But did you see that red light flash on when
we came in? They've got detectors set on the gravity band--look at the
expression on their faces."

       *       *       *       *       *

Each of the seated men had ceased his activity and was slumped down
into his chair. Resignation, hopeless yet bitter, sat upon lofty, domed
brows and stared out of large and kindly eyes.

"Oh, I get it!" Seaton exclaimed. "They think the chlorins are watching
them--as they probably do most of the time--and they can't do anything
about it. Should think they could do the same--or could broadcast an
interference--I could help them on that if I could talk to them--wish
they had an educator, but I haven't seen any--" He paused, brow knitted
in concentration. "I'm going to make myself visible to try a stunt.
Don't talk to me; I'll need all the brain power I've got to pull this
off."

As Seaton's image thickened into substance its effect upon
the strangers was startling indeed. First they shrank back in
consternation, supposing that their enemies had at last succeeded in
working a full materialization through the narrow gravity band. Then,
as they perceived that Seaton's figure was human, and of a humanity
different from their own, they sprang to surround him, shouting words
meaningless to the Terrestrials.

For some time Seaton tried to make his meaning clear by signs, but the
thoughts he was attempting to convey were far too complex for that
simple medium. Communication was impossible and the time was altogether
too short to permit of a laborious learning of language. Therefore
streamers of visible force shot from Seaton's imaged eyes, sinking
deeply into the eyes of the figure at the head of the table.

"Look at me!" he commanded, and his fists clenched and drops of sweat
stood out on his forehead as he threw all the power of his brain into
that probing, hypnotic beam.

The native resisted with all his strength, but not for nothing had
Seaton had superimposed upon his already-powerful mind a large
portion of the phenomenal brain of Drasnik, the First of Psychology
of Norlamin. Resistance was useless. The victim soon sat relaxed and
passive, his mind completely subservient to Seaton's, and as though in
a trance he spoke to his fellows.

"This apparition is the force-image of one of a group of men from
a distant Solar System," he intoned in his own language. "They are
friendly and intend to help us. Their space ship is approaching
us under full power, but it cannot get here for many days. They
can, however, help us materially before they arrive in person. To
that end, he directs that we cause to be brought into this room a
full assortment of all our fields of force, transmitting tubes,
controllers, force-converters--in short, the equipment of a laboratory
of radiation--No, that would take too long. He suggests that one of us
escort him to such a laboratory."



                                 XVI.


As Seaton assumed, the near-collision of suns which had affected so
disastrously the planet Valeron did not come unheralded to overwhelm a
world unwarned, since for many hundreds of years her civilization had
been of a high order indeed.

With all their resources of knowledge and of power, however, it was
pitifully little that the people of Valeron could do; for of what avail
are the puny energies of man compared to the practically infinite
forces of cosmic phenomena? Any attempt of the humanity of the doomed
planet to swerve from their courses the incomprehensible masses of
those two hurtling suns was as surely doomed to failure as would be the
attempt of an ant to thrust from its rails an onrushing locomotive.

But what little could be done was done; done scientifically and
logically; done, if not altogether without fear, at least inasmuch
as was humanly possible without favor. With mathematical certainty
were plotted the areas of least strain, and in those areas were
constructed shelters. Shelters buried deeply enough to be unaffected
by the coming upheavals of the world's crust; shelters of unbreakable
metal, so designed, so latticed and braced as to withstand the seismic
disturbances to which they were inevitably to be subjected.

Having determined the number of such shelters that could be built,
equipped, and supplied with the necessities of life in the time
allowed, the board of selection began its cold-blooded and heartless
task. Scarcely one in a thousand of Valeron's teeming millions was to
be given a chance for continued life, and they were to be chosen only
from the children who would be in the prime of young adulthood at the
time of the catastrophe.

These children were the pick of the planet: flawless in mind, body, and
heredity. They were assembled in special schools near their assigned
refuges, where they were instructed intensively in everything that they
would have to know in order that civilization should not disappear
utterly from the universe.

Such a thing could not be kept a secret long, and it is best to touch
as lightly as possible upon the scenes which ensued after the certainty
of doom became public knowledge.

Characters already strong were strengthened, but those already weak
went to pieces entirely in orgies to a normal mind unthinkable. Almost
overnight a peaceful and law-abiding world went mad--became an insane
hotbed of crime, rapine, and pillage unspeakable. Martial law was
declared at once, and after a few thousand maniacs had been ruthlessly
shot down, the soberer inhabitants were allowed to choose between two
alternatives. They could either die then and there before a firing
squad, or they could wait and take whatever slight chance there might
be of living through what was to come--but devoting their every effort
meanwhile to the end that through those selected few the civilization
of Valeron should endure.

Many chose death and were executed summarily and without formality,
without regard to wealth or station. The rest worked.

       *       *       *       *       *

Since the human mind cannot be kept indefinitely at high tension, the
new condition of things came in time to be regarded almost as normal,
and as months lengthened into years the routine was scarcely broken.

But always there were the sly--the self-seekers, the bribers, the
corruptionists--willing to go to any lengths whatever to avoid their
doom. Not openly did they carry on their machinations, but like
loathsome worms eating at the heart of an outwardly fair fruit. But the
scientists, almost to a man, were loyal. Trained to think, they thought
clearly and logically, and surrounded themselves with soldiers and
guards of the same stripe.

Time went on. The shelters were finished. Into them were taken stores,
libraries, tools and equipment of every sort necessary for the
rebuilding of a fully civilized world. Finally the "children," now in
the full prime of young manhood and young womanhood, were carefully
checked in. Once inside those massive portals of metal they were of a
world apart.

They were completely informed and completely educated; they had for
long governed themselves with neither aid nor interference; they knew
precisely what they must face; they knew exactly what to do and exactly
how to do it. Behind them the mighty, multi-ply seals were welded into
place and broken rock by the cubic mile was blasted down upon their
refuges.

Day by day the heat grew more and more intense. The tides waxed ever
higher. Cyclonic storms raged ever fiercer, accompanied by an incessant
blaze of lightning and a deafeningly continuous roar of thunder.

Work was at an end and the masses were utterly beyond control. The
devoted were butchered by their frantic fellows; the hopeless were
stung to madness; the stolid were driven to frenzy by the realization
that there was to be no future; the remaining sly ones deftly turned
the unorganized fury of the mob into a purposeful attack upon the
shelters, their only hope of life.

But at each refuge the rabble met an unyielding wall of guards loyal
to the last, and of scientists who, their work now done, were merely
waiting for the end. Guards and scientists fought with rays, rifles,
swords, and finally with clubs, stones, fists, feet and teeth.
Outnumbered by thousands they fell and the howling mob surged over
their bodies. To no purpose. Those shelters had been designed and
constructed to withstand the attacks of nature gone berserk, and futile
indeed were the attempts of the frenzied hordes to tear a way into
their sacred recesses.

Thus died the devoted and high-souled band who had saved their
civilization; but in that death each man was granted the boon which,
deep in his heart, he had craved. They had died quickly and violently,
fighting for a cause they knew to be good.

       *       *       *       *       *

The suns passed, each upon his appointed way. The cosmic forces ceased
to war and to the tortured and ravaged planet there at last came peace.
The surviving children of Valeron emerged from their subterranean
retreats and undauntedly took up the task of rebuilding their world.
And to such good purpose did they devote themselves to the problems of
rehabilitation that in a few hundred years there bloomed upon Valeron a
civilization and a culture scarcely to be equaled in the universe.

For the new race had been cradled in adversity. In its ancestry there
was no physical or mental taint or weakness, all dross having been
burned away by the fires of cosmic catastrophe which had so nearly
obliterated all the life of the planet.

Immediately after the Emergence it had been observed that the two
outermost planets of the system had disappeared and that in their stead
revolved a new planet. This phenomenon was recognized for what it was,
an exchange of planets; something to give concern only to astronomers,
and to them only mathematically, in the computation of now greatly
perturbed orbits.

No one except sheerest romancers even gave thought to the possibility
of life upon other worlds, it being an almost mathematically
demonstrable fact that the Valeronians were the only life in the entire
universe. And even if other planets might possibly be inhabited, what
of it? The vast reaches of empty ether intervening between Valeron and
even her nearest fellow planet formed an insuperable obstacle even to
communication, to say nothing of physical passage.

When the interplanetary invaders were discovered upon Valeron, Quedrin
Vornel, the most brilliant physicist of the planet, and his son Quedrin
Radnor, the most renowned, were among the first to be informed of the
visitation.

Of these two, Quedrin Vornel had for many years been engaged in
researches of the most abstruse and fundamental character upon the
ultimate structure of matter. He had delved deeply into those which we
know as matter, energy, and ether, and had studied exhaustively the
phenomena characteristic of or associated with atomic, electronic, and
photonic rearrangements.

His son, while a scientist of no mean attainments in his own right, did
not possess the phenomenally powerful and profoundly analytical mind
that had made the elder Quedrin the outstanding scientific genius of
his time. He was, however, a synchronizer _par excellence_, possessing
to a unique degree the ability to develop things and processes of
great utilitarian value from concepts and discoveries of a purely
scientific and academic nature.

The vibrations which we know as Hertzian waves had long been known and
had long been employed in radio, both broadcast and tight-beam, in
television, in beam-transmission of power, and in receiverless visirays
and their blocking screens. When Quedrin the elder disrupted the atom,
however, successfully and safely liberating and studying not only its
stupendous energy but also an entire series of vibrations, rays, and
particles theretofore unknown to science, Quedrin the younger began
forthwith to turn the resulting products to the good of mankind.

Intra-atomic energy soon drove every prime mover of Valeron and shorter
and shorter waves were harnessed. In beams, fans, and broadcasts
Quedrin Radnor combined and heterodyned them, making of them tools and
instruments immeasurably superior in power, precision, and adaptability
to anything that his world had ever before known.

Due to the signal abilities of brilliant father and famous son,
the laboratory in which they labored was connected by a private
communication beam with the executive office of the Bardyle of Valeron.
"Bardyle," freely translated, means "coördinator." He was neither king,
emperor, nor president; and, while his authority was supreme, he was in
no sense a dictator.

A paradoxical statement this, but a true one; for the orders--or
rather, requests and suggestions--of the Bardyle merely guided the
activities of men and women who had neither government nor laws, as we
understand the terms, but were working of their own volition for the
good of all mankind. The Bardyle could not conceivably issue an order
contrary to the common weal, nor would such an order have been obeyed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Upon the wall of the laboratory the tuned buzzer of Bardyle's
beam-communicator sounded its subdued call and Klynor Siblin, the
scientist's capable assistant, took the call upon his desk instrument.
A strong, youthful face appeared upon the screen.

"Radnor is not here, Siblin?" The pictured visitor glanced about the
room as he spoke.

"No, sir. He is out in the space ship, making another test flight. He
is merely circling the world, however, so that I can easily get him on
the plate here if you wish."

"That would perhaps be desirable. Something very peculiar has occurred,
concerning which all three of you should be informed."

The connections were soon made and the Bardyle went on:

"A semicircular dome of force has been erected over the ruins of the
ancient city of Mocelyn. It is impossible to say how long it has been
in place, since you know the ruins lie in an entirely unpopulated area.
It is, however, of an unknown composition and pattern, being opaque
to vision and to our visibeams. It is also apparently impervious to
matter. Since this phenomenon seems to lie in your province I would
suggest that you three men investigate it and take such steps as you
deem necessary."

"It is noted, O Bardyle," and Klynor Siblin cut the beam.

He then shot out their heaviest visiray beam, poising its viewpoint
directly over what, in the days before the cataclysm, had been the
populous city of Mocelyn.

Straight down the beam drove, upon the huge hemisphere of greenly
glinting force; urged downward by the full power of the Quedrins'
mighty generators. By the very vehemence of its thrust it tore through
the barrier, but only for an instant. The watchers had time to
perceive only fleetingly a greenish-yellow haze of light, but before
any details could be grasped their beam was snapped--the automatically
reacting screens had called for and had received enough additional
power to neutralize the invading beam.

Then, to the amazement of the three physicists, a beam of visible
energy thrust itself from the green barrier and began to feel its way
along their own invisible visiray. Siblin cut off his power instantly
and leaped toward the door.

"Whoever they are, they know something!" he shouted as he ran. "Don't
want them to find this laboratory, so I'll set up a diversion with a
rocket plane. If you watch at all, Vornel, do it from a distance and
with a spy ray, not a carrier beam. I'll get in touch with Radnor on
the way."

Even though he swung around in a wide circle, to approach the strange
stronghold at a wide angle to his former line, such was the power of
the plane that Siblin reached his destination in little more than an
hour. Keying Radnor's visibeam to the visiplates of the plane, so that
the distant scientist could see everything that happened, Siblin again
drove a heavy beam into the unyielding pattern of green force.

[Illustration: _Surrounded by a shell of energy, he was drawn toward
the huge dome._]

This time, however, the reaction was instantaneous. A fierce tongue
of green flame licked out and seized the flying plane in mid-air.
One wing and side panel were sliced off neatly and Siblin was thrown
out violently, but he did not fall. Surrounded by a vibrant shell of
energy, he was drawn rapidly toward the huge dome. The dome merged with
the shell as it touched it, but the two did not coalesce. The shell
passed smoothly through the dome, which as smoothly closed behind it.
Siblin inside the shell, the shell inside the dome.



                                 XVII.


Siblin never knew exactly what happened during those first few minutes,
nor exactly how it happened. One minute, in his sturdy plane, he was
setting up his "diversion" by directing a powerful beam of force upon
the green dome of the invaders. Suddenly his rocket ship had been
blasted apart and he had been hurled away from the madly spinning,
gyrating wreckage.

He had a confused recollection of sitting down violently upon something
very hard, and perceived dully that he was lying asprawl upon the
inside of a greenishly shimmering globe some twenty feet in diameter.
Its substance had the hardness of chilled steel, yet it was almost
perfectly transparent, seemingly composed of cold green flame, pale
almost to invisibility. He also observed, in an incurious, foggy
fashion, that the great dome was rushing toward him at an appalling
pace.

He soon recovered from his shock, however, and perceived that the
peculiar ball in which he was imprisoned was a shell of force, of
formula and pattern entirely different from anything known to the
scientists of Valeron. Keenly alive and interested now, he noted with
high appreciation exactly how the wall of force that was the dome
merged with, made way for, and closed smoothly behind the relatively
tiny globe.

Inside the dome he stared around him, amazed and not a little awed.
Upon the ground, the center of that immense hemisphere, lay a
featureless, football-shaped structure which must be the vessel of the
invaders. Surrounding it there were massed machines and engineering
structures of unmistakable form and purpose; drills, derricks, shaft
heads, skips, hoists, and other equipment for boring and mining.
From the lining of the huge dome there radiated a strong, lurid,
yellowish-green light which intensified to positive ghastliness the
natural color of the gaseous chlorin which replaced the familiar air in
that walled-off volume so calmly appropriated to their own use by the
Outlanders.

As his shell was drawn downward toward the strange scene Siblin saw
many moving things beneath him, but was able neither to understand
what he saw nor to correlate it with anything in his own knowledge or
experience. For those beings were amorphous. Some flowed along the
ground, formless blobs of matter; some rolled, like wheels or like
barrels; many crawled rapidly, snakelike; others resembled animated
pancakes, undulating flatly and nimbly about upon a dozen or so short,
tentacular legs; only a few, vaguely manlike, walked upright.

A glass cage, some eight feet square and seven high, stood under the
towering bulge of the great ship's side; and as his shell of force
engulfed it and its door swung invitingly open, Siblin knew that he was
expected to enter it.

Indeed, he had no choice--the fabric of cold flame that had been
his conveyance and protection vanished, and he had scarcely time to
leap inside the cage and slam the door before the noxious vapors of
the atmosphere invaded the space from which the shell's impermeable
wall had barred it. To die more slowly, but just as surely, from
suffocation? No, the cage was equipped with a thoroughly efficient
oxygen generator and air purifier; there were stores of Valeronian food
and water; there were a chair, a table, and a narrow bunk; and, wonder
of wonders, there were even kits of toilet articles and of changes of
clothing.

Far above a great door opened. The cage was lifted and, without any
apparent means either of support or of propulsion, it moved through the
doorways and along various corridors and halls, coming finally to rest
upon the floor in one of the innermost compartments of the sky rover.
Siblin saw masses of machinery, panels of controlling instruments, and
weirdly multiform creatures at station; but he had scant time even to
glance at them, his attention being attracted instantly to the middle
of the room where, lying in a heavily reënforced shallow cup of metal
upon an immensely strong, low table, he saw a--a _something_; and for
the first time an inhabitant of Valeron saw at close range one of the
invaders.

It was in no sense a solid, nor a liquid, nor yet a jelly; although it
seemed to partake of certain properties of all three. In part it was
murkily transparent, in part greenishly translucent, in part turbidly
opaque; but in all it was intrinsically horrible.

But that it was sentient and intelligent there could be no doubt. Not
only could its malign mental radiations be felt, but its brain could
be plainly seen; a huge, intricately convolute organ suspended in an
unyielding but plastic medium of solid jelly. Its skin seemed thin and
frail, but Siblin was later to learn that that tegument was not only
stronger than rawhide, but was more pliable, more elastic, and more
extensible than the finest rubber.

       *       *       *       *       *

As the Valeronian stared in helpless horror that peculiar skin
stretched locally almost to vanishing thinness and an enormous,
Cyclopean eye developed. More than an eye, it was a special organ
for a special sense which humanity has never possessed, a sense
combining ordinary vision with something infinitely deeper,
more penetrant and more powerful. Vision, hypnotism, telepathy,
thought-transference--something of all three, yet in essence a thing
beyond any sense or faculty known to us or describable in language
had its being in the almost-visible, almost-tangible beam of force
which emanated from the single, temporary "eye" of the Thing and bored
through the eyes and deep into the brain of the Valeronian. Siblin's
very senses reeled under the impact of that wave of mental power, but
he did not quite lose consciousness.

"So _you_ are one of the ruling intelligences of this planet--one of
its most advanced scientists?" The scornful thought formed itself,
coldly clear, in his mind. "We have always known, of course, that we
are the highest form of life in the universe, and the fact that you
are so low in the scale of mentality only confirms that knowledge. It
would be surprising indeed if such a noxious atmosphere as yours could
nurture any real intelligence. It will be highly gratifying to report
to the Council of Great Ones that not only is this planet rich in the
materials we seek, but that its inhabitants, while intelligent enough
to do our bidding in securing those materials, are not sufficiently
advanced to cause us any trouble."

"Why did you not come in peace?" Siblin thought back. Neither cowed nor
shaken, he was merely amazed at the truculently overbearing mien of the
strange entity.

"Bah!" snapped the amœbus savagely. "That is the talk of a
weakling--the whining, begging reasoning of a race of low intelligence,
one which knows and acknowledges itself inferior. Know you, feeble
brain, that we of Chlora"--to substitute an intelligible word for
the unpronounceable and untranslatable thought-image of his native
world--"neither require nor desire cooperation. We are in no need
either of assistance or of instruction from any lesser and lower form
of life. We instruct. Other races, such as yours, either obey or are
obliterated. I brought you aboard this vessel because I am about to
return to my own planet, and had decided to take one of you with me, so
that the other Great Ones of the Council may see for themselves what
form of life this Valeron boasts.

"If your race obeys our commands implicitly and does not attempt to
interfere with us in any way, we shall probably permit most of you to
continue your futile lives in our service; such as in mining for us
certain ores which, relatively abundant upon your planet, are very
scarce upon ours.

"As for you personally, perhaps we shall destroy you after the other
Great Ones have examined you, perhaps we shall decide to use you as
a messenger to transmit our orders to your fellow creatures. Before
we depart, however, I shall make a demonstration which should impress
upon even such feeble minds as those of your race the futility of any
thought of opposition to us. Watch carefully--everything that goes on
outside is shown in the view box."

Although Siblin had neither heard, felt, nor seen the captain issue any
orders, all was in readiness for the take-off. The mining engineers
were all on board, the vessel was sealed for flight, and the navigators
and control officers were at their panels. Siblin stared intently
into the "view box," the three-dimensional visiplate that mirrored
faithfully every occurrence in the neighborhood of the Chloran vessel.

The lower edge of the hemisphere of force began to contract, passing
smoothly through or around--the spectator could not decide which--the
ruins of Mocelyn, hugging or actually penetrating the ground, allowing
not even a whiff of its precious chlorin content to escape into the
atmosphere of Valeron. The ship then darted into the air and the
shrinking edge became an ever-decreasing circle upon the ground beneath
her. That circle disappeared as the meeting edge fused and the wall of
force, now a hollow sphere, contained within itself the atmosphere of
the invaders.

High over the surface of the planet sped the Chloran raider toward the
nearest Valeronian city, which happened to be only a small village.
Above the unfortunate settlement the callous monstrosity poised its
craft, to drop its dread curtain of strangling, choking death.

Down the screen dropped, rolling out to become again a hemispherical
wall, sweeping before it every milliliter of the life-giving air of
Valeron and drawing behind it the noxious atmosphere of Chlora. For
those who have ever inhaled even a small quantity of chlorin it is
unnecessary to describe in detail the manner in which those villagers
of Valeron died; for those who have not, no possible description could
be adequate. Suffice it to say, therefore, that they died--horribly.

       *       *       *       *       *

Again the wall of force rolled up, coming clear up to the outer skin
of the cruiser this time, in its approach liquefying the chlorin and
forcing it into storage chambers. The wall then disappeared entirely,
leaving the marauding vessel starkly outlined against the sky. Then,
further and even more strongly to impress the raging but impotent
Klynor Siblin:

"Beam it down!" the amœbus captain commanded, and various officers sent
out thin, whiplike tentacles toward their controls.

Projectors swung downward and dense green pillars of flaming energy
erupted from the white-hot refractories of their throats. And what
those green pillars struck subsided instantly into a pool of hissing,
molten glass. Methodically they swept the entire area of the village.

"You monster!" shrieked Siblin, white, shaken, almost beside himself.
"You vile, unspeakable monster! Of what use is such a slaughter of
innocent men? They have not harmed you--"

"Indeed they have not, nor could they," the amœbus interrupted
callously. "They mean nothing whatever to me, in any way. I have gone
to the trouble of wiping out this city to give you and the rest
of your race an object lesson; to impress upon you how thoroughly
unimportant you are to us and to bring home to you your abject
helplessness. Your whole race is, as you have just shown yourself to
be, childish, soft, and sentimental, and therefore incapable of real
advancement. On the contrary we, the masters of the universe, do not
suffer from silly inhibitions or from foolish weaknesses."

The eye faded out, its sharp outlines blurring gradually as its highly
specialized parts became transformed into or were replaced by the
formless gel composing the body of the creature. The amœbus then poured
himself out of the cup, assumed the shape of a doughnut, and rolled
rapidly out of the room.

When the Chloran captain had gone, Siblin threw himself upon his
narrow bunk, fighting savagely to retain his self-control. He _must_
escape--he _must_ escape--the thought repeated itself endlessly in his
mind--but how? The glass walls of his prison were his only defense
against hideous death. Nowhere in any Chloran thing, nowhere in any
nook or cranny of the noisome planet toward which he was speeding,
could he exist for a minute except inside the cell which his captors
were keeping supplied with oxygen. No tools--nothing from which to make
a protective covering--no way of carrying air--nowhere to go--helpless,
helpless--even to break that glass meant death--

       *       *       *       *       *

At last he slept, fitfully, and when he awoke the vessel was deep in
interplanetary space. His captors paid no further attention to him--he
had air, food, and water, and if he chose to kill himself that was of
no concern to them--and Siblin, able to think more calmly now, studied
every phase of his predicament.

There was absolutely no possibility of escape. Rescue was out of
the question. He could, however, communicate with Valeron, since in
his belt were tiny sender and receiver, attached by tight beams to
instruments in the laboratory of the Quedrins. Detection of that pencil
beam might well mean instant death, but that was a risk which, for the
good of humanity, must be run. Lying upon his side, he concealed one
ear plug under his head and manipulated the tiny sender in his belt.

"Quedrin Radnor--Quedrin Vornel--" he called for minutes, with no
response. Truly, something of grave import must have happened to
cause complete desertion of _that_ laboratory. However, it mattered
little; his messages would be recorded. He went on to describe in
detail, tersely, accurately, and scientifically, everything that he had
observed and deduced concerning the Chlorans, their forces, and their
mechanisms.

"We are now approaching the planet," he continued, now an observer
reporting what he saw in the view box. "It is apparently largely land.
It has north and south polar ice caps. A dark area, which I take to be
an ocean, is the most prominent feature visible at this time. It is
diamond-shaped and its longer axis, lying north and south, is about one
quarter of a circumference in length. Its shorter axis, about half that
length, lies almost upon the equator. We are passing high above this
ocean, going east.

"East of the ocean and distant from it about one fifth of a
circumference lies quite a large lake, roughly elliptical in shape,
whose major axis lies approximately northeast and southwest. We are
dropping toward a large city upon the southeast shore of this lake,
almost equally distant from its two ends. Since I am to be examined by
a so-called 'Council of Great Ones,' it may be that this city is their
capital.

"No matter what happens, do not attempt to rescue me, as it is
entirely hopeless. Escape is likewise impossible, because of the lethal
atmosphere. There is a strong possibility, furthermore, that I may be
returned to Valeron as a messenger to our race. This possibility is
my only hope of returning. I am sending this data and will continue
to send it as long as is possible, simply to aid you in deciding what
shall be done to defend our civilization against these monsters.

"We are now docking, near a large, hemispherical dome of force--My
cell is being transported through the atmosphere toward that dome--It
is opening. I do not know whether my beam can pass out through it, but
I shall keep on sending--Inside the dome there is a great building,
toward which I am floating--I am inside the building, inside a glass
compartment which seems to be filled with air--Yes, it _is_ air, for
the creatures who are entering it are wearing protective suits of some
transparent substance. Their bodies are now globular and they are
walking, each upon three short legs. One of them is developing an eye,
similar to the one I descr--"

[Illustration: _Their bodies were globular, and each one walked upon
three short legs._]

Siblin's message stopped in the middle of a word. The eye had developed
and in its weirdly hypnotic grip the Valeronian was helpless to do
anything of his own volition. Obeying the telepathic command of the
Great One, he stepped out into the larger room and divested himself of
his scanty clothing. One of the monstrosities studied his belt briefly,
recognized his communicator instruments for what they were, and kicked
them scornfully into a corner--thus rendering it impossible for either
captive or captors to know it when that small receiver throbbed out its
urgent message from Quedrin Radnor.

The inspection and examination finished, it did not take long for the
monstrosities to decide upon a course of action.

"Take this scum back to its own planet as soon as your cargo is
unloaded," the chief Great One directed. "You must pass near that
planet on your way to explore the next one, and it will save time and
inconvenience to let it carry our message to its fellows."

Out in space, speeding toward distant Valeron, the captain again
communicated with Siblin:

"I shall land you close to one of your inhabited cities and you will at
once get in touch with your Bardyle. You already know what your race is
to do, and you have in your cage a sample of the ore with which you are
to supply us. You shall be given twenty of your days in which to take
from the mine already established by us enough of that ore to load this
ship--ten thousand tons. The full amount--and pure mineral, mind you,
no base rock--must be in the loading hoppers at the appointed time or I
shall proceed to destroy every populated city, village, and hamlet upon
the face of your globe."

"But that particular ore is rare!" protested Siblin. "I do not believe
that it will prove physically possible to recover such a vast amount of
it in the short time you are allowing us."

"You understand the orders--obey them or die!"



                                XVIII.


Very near to Valeron, as space distances go, yet so far away in terms
of miles that he could take no active part whatever in the proceedings,
Quedrin Radnor sat tense at his controls, staring into his powerful
visiplates. Even before Klynor Siblin had lifted his rocket plane
off the ground, Radnor had opened his throttles wide. Then, his ship
hurtling at full drive toward home, everything done he could do, he sat
and watched.

Watched, a helpless spectator. Watched while Siblin made his futilely
spectacular attack; watched the gallant plane's destruction; watched
the capture of the brave but foolhardy pilot; watched the rolling up
and compression of the Chloran dome; watched in agony the obliteration
of everything, animate and inanimate, pertaining to the outlying
village; watched in horrified relief the departure of the invading
space ship.

Screaming through the air, her outer plating white hot from its
friction, her forward rocket tubes bellowing a vicious crescendo,
Radnor braked his ship savagely to a landing in the dock beside the
machine shop in which she had been built. During that long return
voyage his mind had not been idle. Not only had he decided what to
do, he had also made rough sketches and working drawings of the
changes which must be made in his peaceful space ship to make of her a
superdreadnought of the void.

This was not as difficult an undertaking as might be supposed. She
already had power enough and to spare, her generators and connectors
being able to supply, hundreds of times over, her maximum present
drain; and, because of the ever-present danger of collision with
meteorites, she was already amply equipped with repeller screens and
with automatically tripped zones of force. Therefore all that was
necessary was the installation of the required offensive armament--beam
projectors, torpedo tubes, fields of force, controls, and the like--the
designing of which was a simple matter for the brain which had tamed to
man's everyday use the ultimately violent explosiveness of intra-atomic
energy.

Radnor first made sure that the machine-shop superintendent, master
mechanic, and foremen understood the sketches fully and knew precisely
what was to be done. Then, confident that the new projectors would
project and that the as yet nonexistent oxygen bombs would explode with
their theoretical violence, he hurried to the office of the Bardyle.
Already gathered there was a portentous group. Besides the coördinator
there were scientists, engineers, architects, and beam specialists, as
well as artists, teachers, and philosophers.

"Greetings, Quedrin Radnor!" began the Bardyle. "Your plan for the
defense of Valeron has been adopted, with a few minor alterations
and additions suggested by other technical experts. It has been
decided, however, that your proposed punitive visit to Chlora cannot
be approved. As matters now stand it can be only an expedition of
retaliation and vengeance, and as such can in no wise advance our
cause."

"Very well, O Bardyle! It is--" Radnor, trained from infancy in
cooperation, was accepting the group decision as a matter of course
when he was interrupted by an emergency call from his own laboratory.
An assistant, returning to the temporarily deserted building, had found
the message of Klynor Siblin and had known that it should be given
immediate attention.

"Please relay it to us here, at once," Radnor instructed; and, when the
message had been delivered:

"Fellow councilors, I believe that this word from Klynor Siblin will
operate to change your decision against my proposed flight to Chlora.
With these incomplete facts and data to guide me I shall be able to
study intelligently the systems of offense and of defense employed by
the enemy, and shall then be in position to strengthen immeasurably our
own armament. Furthermore, Siblin was alive within the hour--there may
yet be some slight chance of saving his life in spite of what he has
said."

The Bardyle glanced once around the circle of tense faces, reading in
them the consensus of opinion without having recourse to speech.

"Your point is well taken, Councilor Quedrin, and for the sake of
acquiring knowledge your flight is approved," he said slowly.
"Provided, however--and this is a most important proviso--that you can
convince us that there is a reasonable certainty of your safe return.
Klynor Siblin had, of course, no idea that he would be captured.
Nevertheless, the Chlorans took him, and his life is probably forfeit.
You must also agree not to jeopardize your life in any attempt to
rescue your friend unless you have every reason to believe that such an
attempt will prove successful. We are insisting upon these assurances
because your scientific ability will be of inestimable value to Valeron
in this forthcoming struggle, and therefore your life must at all
hazards be preserved."

"To the best of my belief and ability my safe return is certain,"
replied Radnor positively. "Siblin's plane, used only for low-speed
atmospheric flying, had no defenses whatever and so fell an easy prey
to the Chlorans' attack. My ship, however, was built to navigate space,
in which it may meet at any time meteorites traveling at immensely high
velocities, and is protected accordingly. She already had four courses
of high-powered repeller screens, the inside course of which, upon
being punctured, automatically throws around her a zone of force.

"This zone, as most of you know, sets up a stasis in the ether itself,
and thus is not only absolutely impervious to and unaffected by
any material substance, however applied, but is also opaque to any
vibration or wave-form propagated through the ether. In addition to
these defenses I am now installing screens capable of neutralizing any
offensive force with which I am familiar, as well as certain other
armament, the plans of all of which are already in your possession, to
be employed in the general defense.

"I agree also to your second condition."

"Such being the case your expedition is approved," the Bardyle said,
and Radnor made his way back to the machine shop.

       *       *       *       *       *

His first care was to tap Siblin's beam, but his call elicited no
response. Those ultrainstruments were then lying neglected in a corner
of an air-filled room upon far Chlora, where the almost soundless voice
of the tiny receiver went unheard. Setting upon his receiver a relay
alarm to inform him of any communication from Siblin, Radnor joined the
force of men who were smoothly and efficiently re-equipping his vessel.

In a short time the alterations were done, and, armed now to the teeth
with vibratory and with solid and gaseous destruction, he lifted his
warship into the air, grimly determined to take the war into the
territory of the enemy.

He approached the inimical planet cautiously, knowing that their cities
would not be undefended, as were those of his own world, and fearing
that they might have alarms and detector screens of which he could
know nothing. Poised high above the outermost layer of that noxious
atmosphere he studied for a long time every visible feature of the
world before him.

In this survey he employed an ordinary, old-fashioned telescope instead
of his infinitely more powerful and maneuverable visirays, because the
use of the purely optical instrument obviated the necessity of sending
out forces which the Chlorans might be able to detect. He found the
diamond-shaped ocean and the elliptical lake without difficulty, and
placed his vessel with care. He then cut off his every betraying force
and his ship plunged downward, falling freely under the influence of
gravity.

Directly over the city Radnor actuated his braking rockets, and as they
burst into their staccato thunder his hands fairly flashed over his
controls. Almost simultaneously he scattered broadcast his cargo of
bombs, threw out a vast hemisphere of force to confine the gas they
would release, activated his spy ray, and cut in the generators of his
awful offensive beams.

The bombs were simply large flasks of metal, so built as to shatter
upon impact, and they contained only oxygen under pressure--but
what a pressure! Five thousand Valeronian atmospheres those flasks
contained. Well over seventy-five thousand pounds to the square inch
in our ordinary terms, that pressure was one handled upon Earth only
in high-pressure laboratories. Spreading widely to cover almost
the whole circle of the city's expanse, those terrific canisters
hurtled to ground and exploded with all the devastating might of the
high-explosive shells which in effect they were.

But the havoc they wrought as demolition bombs was neither their
only nor their greatest damage. The seventy-five million cubic feet
of free oxygen, driven downward and prevented from escaping into
the open atmosphere by Radnor's forces, quickly diffused into a
killing concentration throughout the Chloran city save inside that
one upstanding dome. Almost everywhere else throughout that city the
natives died exactly as had died the people of the Valeronian village
in the strangling chlorine of the invaders; for oxygen is as lethal to
that amœbic race as is their noxious halogen to us.

Long before the bombs reached the ground Radnor was probing with his
spy ray at the great central dome from within which Klynor Siblin's
message had in part been sent. But now he could not get through
it; either they had detected Siblin's beam and blocked that entire
communication band or else they had already put up additional barriers
around their headquarters against his attack, quickly though he had
acted.

Snapping off the futile visiray, he concentrated his destructive beam
into a cylinder of the smallest possible diameter and hurled it against
the dome; but even that frightful pencil of annihilation, driven by
Radnor's every resource of power, was utterly ineffective against that
greenly scintillant hemisphere of force. The point of attack flared
into radiant splendor, but showed no sign of overloading or of failure.

Knowing now that there was no hope at all of rescuing Siblin and that
he himself had only a few minutes left in which to work, Radnor left
his beam upon the dome only long enough for his recording photometers
to analyze the radiations emanating from the point of contact. Then,
full-driven still, but now operating at maximum aperture, he drove
it in a dizzying spiral outwardly from the dome, fusing the entire
unprotected area of the metropolis into a glassily fluid slag of
seething, smoking desolation.

But beneath that dome of force there was a mighty fortress indeed. It
is true that her offensive weapons had not seen active service for many
years; not since the last rebellion of the slaves had been crushed. It
is also true that the Chloran officers whose duty it was to operate
these weapons had been caught napping--as thoroughly surprised at that
fierce counterattack as would be a group of Earthly hunters were the
lowly rabbits to turn upon them with repeating rifles in their furry
paws.

But it did not take long for those officers to tune in their offensive
armament, and that armament was driven by no such puny engines as
Radnor's space ship bore. Being stationary and a part of the regular
equipment of a fortress, their size and mass were of course much
greater than anything ordinarily installed in any vessel, of whatever
class or tonnage. Also, in addition to being superior in size and
number, the Chloran generators were considerably more efficient in the
conversion and utilization of interatomic energy than were any then
known to the science of Valeron.

Therefore, as Radnor had rather more than expected, he was not long
allowed to wreak his will. From the dome there reached out slowly,
almost caressingly, a huge arm of force incredible, at whose first
blighting touch his first or outer screen simply vanished--flared
through the visible spectrum and went down, all in the veriest
twinkling of an eye. That first screen, although the weakest by far of
the four, had never even radiated under the heaviest test loads that
Radnor had been able to put upon it. Now he sat at his instruments,
tense but intensely analytical, watching with bated breath as that
Titanic beam crashed through his second screen and tore madly at his
third.

       *       *       *       *       *

Well it was for Valeron that day that Radnor had armed and powered his
vessel to withstand not only whatever forces he expected her to meet,
but had, with the true scientific spirit and in so far as he was able,
provided against any conceivable emergency. Thus, the first screen
was, as has been said, sufficiently powerful to cope with anything
the vessel was apt to encounter. Nevertheless, the power of the other
defensive courses increased in geometrical progression; and, as a final
precaution, the fourth screen, in the almost unthinkable contingency
of its being overloaded, threw on automatically in the moment of its
failure an ultimately impenetrable zone of force.

That scientific caution was now to save not only Radnor's life, but
also the whole civilization of Valeron. For even that mighty fourth
screen, employing in its generation as it did the unimaginable sum
total of the power possible of production by the massed converters
of the space flyer, failed to stop that awful thrust. It halted it
for a few minutes, in a blazingly, flamingly pyrotechnic display of
incandescence indescribable, but as the Chlorans meshed in additional
units of their stupendous power plant it began to radiate higher and
higher into the ultra-violet and was certainly doomed.

It failed, and in the instant of its going down actuated a zone of
force--a complete stasis in the ether itself, through which no possible
manifestation, either of matter or of energy in any form, could in any
circumstances pass. Or could it? Radnor clenched his teeth and waited.
Whether or not there was a sub-ether--something lying within and
between the discrete particles which actually composed the ether--was a
matter of theoretical controversy and of some academically scientific
interest.

But, postulating the existence of such a medium and even that of
vibrations of such infinitely short period that they could be
propagated therein, would it be even theoretically possible to
heterodyne upon them waves of ordinary frequencies? And could those
amorphous monstrosities be so highly advanced that they had reduced to
practical application something that was as yet known to humanity only
in the vaguest, most tenuous of hypotheses?

Minute after minute passed, however, during which the Valeronian
remained alive within an intact ship which, he knew, was hurtling
upward and away from Chlora at the absolute velocity of her inertia,
unaffected by gravitation, and he began to smile in relief. Whatever
might lie below the level of the ether, either of vibration or of
substance, it was becoming evident that the Chlorans could no more
handle it than could he.

For half an hour Radnor allowed his craft to drift within her
impenetrable shield. Then, knowing that he was well beyond atmosphere,
he made sure that his screens were full out and released his zone.
Instantly his screens sprang into a dazzling, coruscant white under
the combined attack of two space ships which had been following him.
This time, however, the Chloran beams were stopped by the third screen.
Either the enemy had not had time to measure accurately his power, or
they had not considered such measurement worth while.

They were now to pay dearly for not having gauged his strength.
Radnor's beam, again a stabbing stiletto of pure energy, lashed out
against the nearer vessel; and that luckless ship mounted no such
generators as powered her parent fortress. That raging spear, driven
as it was by all the power that Radnor had been able to pack into his
cruiser, tore through screens and metal alike as though they had been
so much paper; and in mere seconds what had once been a mighty space
ship was merely a cloud of drifting, expanding vapor. The furious
shaft was then directed against the other enemy, but it was just too
late--the canny amœbus in command had learned his lesson and had
already snapped on his zone of force.

Having learned many facts vital to the defense of Valeron and knowing
that his return homeward would now be unopposed, Radnor put on full
touring acceleration and drove toward his native world. Motionless at
his controls, face grim and hard, he devoted his entire mind to the
problem of how Valeron could best wage the inevitable war of extinction
against the implacable denizens of the monstrous, interloping planet
Chlora.



                                 XIX.


As has been said, Radnor's reply to Siblin's message was unheard, for
his ultraphones were not upon his person, but were lying disregarded in
a corner of the room in which their owner had undergone examination by
his captors. They still lay there as the Valeronian in his cage was
wafted lightly back into the space ship from which he had been taken
such a short time before; lay there as that vehicle of vacuous space
lifted itself from its dock and darted away toward distant Valeron.

During the earlier part of that voyage Radnor was also in the ether,
traveling from Valeron to Chlora. The two vessels did not meet,
however, even though each was making for the planet which the other
had left and though each pilot was following the path for him the
most economical of time and of power. In fact, due to the orbits,
velocities, and distances involved, they were separated by such a vast
distance at the time of their closest approach to each other that
neither ship even affected the ultrasensitive electro-magnetic detector
screens of the other.

Not until the Chloran vessel was within Valeron's atmosphere did her
commander deign again to notice his prisoner.

"As I told you when last I spoke to you, I am about to land you in one
of your inhabited cities," the amœbus informed Siblin then. "Get in
touch with your Bardyle at once and convey our instructions to him.
You have the sample and you know what you are to do. No excuses for
nonperformance will be accepted. If, however, you anticipate having any
difficulty in convincing your fellow savages that we mean precisely
what we say, I will take time now to destroy one or two more of your
cities."

"It will not be necessary--my people will believe what I tell them,"
Siblin thought back. Then, deciding to make one more effort, hopeless
although it probably would be, to reason with that highly intelligent
but monstrously callous creature, he went on:

"I wish to repeat, however, that your demand is entirely beyond reason.
That ore is rare, and in the time you have allowed us I really fear
that it will be impossible for us to mine the required amount of it.
And surely, even from your own point of view, it would be more logical
to grant us a reasonable extension of time than to kill us without
further hearing simply because we have failed to perform a task that
was from the very first impossible. You must bear it in mind that a
dead humanity cannot work your mines at all."

"We know exactly how abundant that ore is, and we know equally well
your intelligence and your ability," the captain replied coldly--and
mistakenly. "With the machinery we have left in the mine and by working
every possible man at all times, you can have it ready for us. I am
now setting out to explore the next planet, but I shall be at the mine
at sunrise, twenty of your mornings from to-morrow. Ten thousand tons
of that mineral must be ready for me to load or else your entire race
shall that day cease to exist. It matters nothing to us whether you
live or die, since we already have slaves enough. We shall permit you
to keep on living if you obey our orders in every particular, otherwise
we shall not so permit."

The vessel came easily to a landing. Siblin in his cage was picked up
by the same invisible means, transported along corridors and through
doorways, and was deposited, not ungently, upon the ground in the
middle of a public square. When the raider had darted away he opened
the door of his glass prison and made his way through the gathering
crowd of the curious to the nearest visiphone station, where the mere
mention of his name cleared all lines of communication for an instant
audience with the Bardyle of Valeron.

"We are glad indeed to see you again, Klynor Siblin." The coördinator
smiled in greeting. "The more especially since Quedrin Radnor, even
now on the way back from Chlora, has just reported that his attempt to
rescue you was entirely in vain. He was met by forces of such magnitude
that only by employing a zone of force was he himself able to win
clear. But you undoubtedly have tidings of urgent import--you may
proceed."

Siblin told his story tersely and cogently, yet omitting nothing of
importance. When he had finished his report the Bardyle said:

"Truly, a depraved evolution--a violent and unreasonable race indeed."
He thought deeply for a few seconds, then went on: "The council
extraordinary has been in session for some time. I am inviting you to
join us here. Quedrin Radnor should arrive at about the same time as
you do, and you both should be present to clear up any minor points
which have not been covered in your visiphone report. I am instructing
the transportation officer there to put at your disposal any special
equipment necessary to enable you to get here as soon as possible."

The Bardyle was no laggard, nor was the transportation officer of
the city in which Siblin found himself. Therefore when he came
out of the visiphone station there was awaiting him a two-wheeled
automatic conveyance bearing upon its windshield in letters of orange
light the legend, "Reserved for Klynor Siblin." He stepped into
the queer-looking, gyroscopically stabilized vehicle, pressed down
"9-2-6-4-3-8"--the location number of the airport--upon the banked keys
of a numbering machine, and touched a red button, whereupon the machine
glided off of itself.

It turned corners, dived downward into subways and swung upward onto
bridges, selecting unerringly and following truly the guiding pencils
of force which would lead it to the airport, its destination. Its pace
was fast, mounting effortlessly upon the straightaways to a hundred
miles an hour and more.

There were no traffic jams and very few halts, since each direction of
traffic had its own level and its own roadway, and the only necessity
for stopping came in the very infrequent event that a main artery into
which the machine's way led was already so full of vehicles that it had
to wait momentarily for an opening. There was no disorder, and there
were neither accidents nor collisions; for the forces controlling those
thousands upon thousands of speeding mechanisms, unlike the drivers
of Earthly automobiles, were uniformly tireless, eternally vigilant,
and--sober.

Thus Siblin arrived at the airport without incident, finding his
special plane ready and waiting. It also was fully automatic,
robot-piloted, sealed for high flight, and equipped with everything
necessary for comfort. He ate a hearty meal, and, then, as the plane
reached its ninety-thousand-foot ceiling and leveled out at eight
hundred miles an hour toward the distant capital, undressed and went to
bed, to the first real sleep he had enjoyed for many days.

       *       *       *       *       *

As has been indicated, Siblin lost no time; but, rapidly as he had
traveled and instantly as he had made connections Quedrin Radnor was
already in his seat in the council extraordinary when Siblin was
ushered in to sit with that august body. The visiphone reports had
been studied exhaustively by every councilor, and as soon as the
newcomer had answered their many questions concerning the details of
his experiences the council continued its intense, but orderly and
thorough, study of what should be done, what could be done, in the
present crisis.

"We are in agreement, gentlemen," the Bardyle at last announced. "This
new development, offering as it does only the choice between death and
slavery of the most abject kind, does not change the prior situation
except in setting a definite date for the completion of our program
of defense. The stipulated amount of tribute probably could be mined
by dint of straining our every resource, but in all probability that
demand is but the first of such a never-ending succession that our
lives would soon become unbearable.

"We are agreed that the immediate extinction of our entire race is
preferable to a precarious existence which can be earned only by
incessant and grinding labor for an unfeeling and alien race; an
existence even then subject to termination at any time at the whim of
the Chlorans.

"Therefore the work which was begun as soon as the strangers revealed
their true nature and which is now well under way shall go on. Most of
you know already what that work is, but for one or two who do not and
for the benefit of the news broadcasts I shall summarize our position
as briefly as is consistent with clarity.

"We intend to defend this, our largest city, into which is being
brought everything needed of supplies and equipment, and as many men as
can work without interfering with each other. The rest of our people
are to leave their houses and scatter into widely separated temporary
refuges until the issue has been decided. This evacuation may not be
necessary, since the enemy will center their attack upon our fortress,
knowing that until it has been reduced we are still masters of our
planet.

"It was decided upon, however, not only in the belief that the enemy
may destroy our unprotected centers of population, either wantonly
or in anger at our resistance, but also because such a dispersion
will give our race the greatest possible chance of survival in the
not-at-all-improbable event of the crushing of our defenses here.

"One power-driven dome of force is to protect the city proper, and
around that dome are being built concentric rings of fortifications
housing the most powerful mechanisms of offense and defense possible
for us to construct.

"Although we have always been a peaceful people our position is not
entirely hopeless. The _sine qua non_ of warfare is power, and of that
commodity we have no lack. True, without knowledge of how to apply
that power our cause would be already lost, but we are not without
knowledge of the application. Many of our peace-time tools are readily
transformed into powerful engines of destruction. Quedrin Radnor,
besides possessing a unique ability in the turning of old things to
new purposes, has studied exhaustively the patterns of force employed
by the enemy and understands thoroughly their generation, their
utilization, and their neutralization.

"Finally, the mining and excavating machinery of the Chlorans has been
dismantled and studied, and its novel features have been incorporated
in several new mechanisms of our own devising. Twenty days is none too
long a time in which to complete a program of this magnitude and scope,
but that is all the time we have. You wish to ask a question, Councilor
Quedrin?"

"If you please. Shall we not have more than twenty days? The ship to be
loaded will return in that time, it is true, but we can deal with her
easily enough. Their ordinary space ships are no match for ours. That
fact was proved so conclusively during our one engagement in space that
they did not even follow me back here. They undoubtedly are building
vessels of vastly greater power, but it seems to me that we shall be
safe until those heavier vessels can arrive."

"I fear that you are underestimating the intelligence of our foes,"
replied the coördinator. "In all probability they know exactly what
we are doing, and were their present space ships superior to yours we
would have ceased to exist ere this. It is practically certain that
they will attack as soon as they have constructed craft of sufficient
power to insure success. In fact, they may be able to perfect their
attack before we can complete our defense, but that is a chance which
we must take.

"In that connection, two facts give us grounds for optimism. First,
theirs is an undertaking of greater magnitude than ours, since they
must of necessity be mobile and operative at a great distance from
their base, whereas we are stationary and at home. Second, we started
our project before they began theirs. This second fact must be allowed
but little weight, however, for they may well be more efficient than we
are in the construction of engines of war.

"The exploring vessel is unimportant. She may or may not call for
her load of ore; she may or may not join in the attack which is now
inevitable. One thing only is certain--we must and we will drive this
program through to completion before she is due to dock at the mine.
Everything else must be subordinated to the task; we must devote to it
every iota of our mental, physical, and mechanical power. Each of you
knows his part. The meeting is adjourned _sine die_."

       *       *       *       *       *

There ensued a world-wide activity unparalleled in the annals of the
planet. During the years immediately preceding the cataclysm there had
been hustle and bustle, misdirected effort, wasted energy, turmoil
and confusion; and a certain measure of success had been wrested out
of chaos only by the ability of a handful of men to think clearly and
straight. Now, however, Valeron was facing a crisis infinitely more
grave, for she had but days instead of years in which to prepare to
meet it. But now, on the other hand, instead of possessing only a
few men of vision, who had found it practically impossible either to
direct or to control an out-and-out rabble of ignorant, muddled, and
panic-stricken incompetents, she had a population composed entirely
of clear thinkers who, requiring very little direction and no control
at all, were able and eager to work together whole-heartedly for the
common good.

Thus, while the city and its environs now seethed with activity,
there was no confusion or disorder. Wherever there was room for a man
to work, a man was working, and the workers were kept supplied with
materials and with mechanisms. There were no mistakes, no delays, no
friction. Each man knew his task and its relation to the whole, and
performed it with a smoothly efficient speed born of a racial training
in coöperation and coördination impossible to any member of a race of
lesser mental attainments.

To such good purpose did every Valeronian do his part that at dawn of
The Day everything was in readiness for the Chloran visitation. The
immense fortress was complete and had been tested in every part, from
the ranked batteries of gigantic converters and generators down to
the most distant outlying visiray viewpoint. It was powered, armed,
equipped, provisioned, garrisoned. Every once-populated city was devoid
of life, its inhabitants having dispersed over the face of the globe,
to live in isolated groups until it had been decided whether the proud
civilization of Valeron was to triumph or to perish.

Promptly as that sunrise the Chloran explorer appeared at the lifeless
mine, and when he found the loading hoppers empty he calmly proceeded
to the nearest city and began to beam it down. Finding it deserted he
cut off, and felt a powerful spy ray, upon which he set a tracer. This
time the ray held up and he saw the immense fortress which had been
erected during his absence; a fortress which he forthwith attacked
viciously, carelessly, and with the loftily arrogant contempt which
seemed to characterize his breed.

But was that innate contemptuousness the real reason for that suicidal
attempt? Or had that vessel's commander been ordered by the Great
Ones to sacrifice himself and his command so that they could measure
Valeron's defensive power? If so, why did he visit the mine at all
and why did he not know beforehand the location of the fortress?
Camouflage? In view of what the Great Ones of Chlora must have known,
why that commander did what he did that morning no one of Valeron ever
knew.

The explorer launched a beam--just one. Then Quedrin Radnor pressed
a contact and out against the invader there flamed a beam of such
violence that the amœbus had no time to touch his controls, that even
the automatic trips of his zone of force--if he had such trips--did not
have time in which to react. The defensive screens scarcely flashed,
so rapidly did that terrific beam drive through them, and the vessel
itself disappeared almost instantly--molten, vaporized, consumed
utterly. But there was no exultation beneath Valeron's mighty dome.
From the Bardyle down, the defenders of their planet knew full well
that the real attack was yet to come, and knew that it would not be
long delayed.

It was not. And the ships which came to reduce Valeron's far-flung
stronghold in no way resembled any form of space ship with which
humanity was familiar. Two stupendous structures of metal appeared,
plunging stolidly along, veritable flying fortresses, of such enormous
bulk and mass that it seemed scarcely conceivable for them actually to
support themselves in air.

Simultaneously the two floating castles launched against the towering
dome of defense the heaviest beams they could generate and project.
Under that awful thrust Valeron's mighty generators shrieked a mad
crescendo and her imponderable shield radiated a fierce, eye-tearing
violet, but it held. Not for nothing had the mightiest minds of
Valeron wrought to convert their mechanisms and forces of peace into
engines of war; not for nothing had her people labored with all their
mental and physical might for almost two-score days and nights,
smoothly and efficiently as one mind in one body. Not easily did even
Valeron's Titanic defensive installation carry that frightful load, but
they carried it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, like mythical Jove hurling his bolt--like, that is, save that
beside that Valeronian beam any possible bolt of lightning would have
been as sweetly innocuous a caress as young love's first kiss--Radnor
drove against the nearer structure a beam of concentrated fury; a beam
behind which there were every volt and every ampere that his stupendous
offensive generators could yield.

The Chloran defenses in turn were loaded grievously, but in turn they
also held; and for hours then there raged a furiously spectacular
struggle. Beams, rods, planes, and needles of every known kind and
of every usable frequency of vibratory energy were driven against
impenetrable neutralizing screens. Monstrous cannon, hurling shells
with a velocity and of an explosive violence far beyond anything known
to us of Earth, radio-beam-dirigible torpedoes, robot-manned drill
planes, and the many other lethal agencies of ultra-scientific war--all
these were put to use by both sides in those first few frantic hours,
but neither side was able to make any impression upon the other. Then,
each realizing that the other's defenses had been designed to withstand
his every force, the intensive combat settled down to a war of sheer
attrition.

Radnor and his scientists devoted themselves exclusively to the
development of new and ever more powerful weapons of offense; the
Chlorans ceased their fruitless attacks upon the central dome and
concentrated all their offensive power into two semicircular arcs,
which they directed vertically downward upon the outer ring of the
Valeronian works in an incessant and methodical flood of energy.

They could not pierce the defensive shields against Valeron's massed
power, but they could and did bring into being a vast annular lake of
furiously boiling lava, into which the outer ring of fortresses began
slowly to crumble and to dissolve. This method of destruction, while
slow, was certain; and grimly, pertinaciously, implacably, the Chlorans
went about the business of reducing Valeron's only citadel.

The Bardyle wondered audibly how the enemy could possibly maintain
indefinitely an attack so profligate of energy, but he soon learned
that there were at least four of the floating fortresses engaged in
the undertaking. Occasionally the two creations then attacking were
replaced by two precisely similar structures, presumably to return to
Chlora in order to renew their supplies of the substance, whatever
it was, from the atomic disintegration of which they derived their
incomprehensible power.

And slowly, contesting stubbornly and bitterly every foot of ground
lost, the forces of Valeron were beaten back under the relentless,
never-ceasing attack of the Chloran monstrosities--back and ever
back toward their central dome as ring after ring of the outlying
fortifications slagged down into that turbulently seething, that
incandescently flaming lake of boiling lava.



                                  XX.


Valeron was making her last stand. Her back was against the wall. The
steadily contracting ring of Chloran force had been driven inward until
only one thin line of fortified works lay between it and the great dome
covering the city itself. Within a week at most, perhaps within days,
that voracious flood of lava would lick into and would dissolve that
last line of defense. Then what of Valeron?

All the scientists of the planet had toiled and had studied, day and
night, but to no avail. Each new device developed to halt the march of
the encroaching constricting band of destruction had been nullified in
the instant of its first trial.

"They must know every move we make, to block us so promptly," Quedrin
Radnor had mused one day. "Since they certainly have no visiray
viewpoints of material substance within our dome, they must be able to
operate a spy ray using only the narrow gravity band, a thing we have
never been able to accomplish. If they can project such viewpoints
of pure force through such a narrow band, may they not be able to
project a full materialization and thus destroy us? But, no, that band
is--_must_ be--altogether too narrow for that."

Stirred by these thoughts he had built detectors to announce the
appearance of any nongravitational forces in the gravity band and
had learned that his fears were only too well founded. While the
enemy could not project through the open band any forces sufficiently
powerful to do any material damage, they were thus in position to
forestall any move which the men of Valeron made to ward off their
inexorably approaching doom.

Far beneath the surface of the ground, in a room which was not only
sealed but was surrounded with every possible safeguard, nine men sat
at a long table, the Bardyle at its head.

"--and nothing can be done?" the coördinator was asking. "There is no
possible way of protecting the edges of the screens?"

"None." Radnor's voice was flat, his face and body alike were eloquent
of utter fatigue. He had driven himself to the point of collapse, and
all his labor had proved useless. "Without solid anchorages we cannot
hold them--as the ground is fused they give way. When the fused area
reaches the dome the end will come. The outlets of our absorbers will
also be fused, and with no possible method of dissipating the energy
being continuously radiated into the dome we shall all die, practically
instantaneously."

"But I judge you are trying something new, from the sudden cutting off
of nearly all our weight," stated another.

"Yes. I have closed the gravity band until only enough force can get
through to keep us in place on the planet, in a last attempt to block
their spy rays so that we can try one last resort--" He broke off as
an intense red light suddenly flared into being upon a panel. "No;
even that is useless. See that red light? That is the pilot light of
a detector upon the gravity band. The Chlorans are still watching us.
We can do nothing more, for if we close that band any tighter we shall
leave Valeron entirely and shall float away, to die in space."

As that bleak announcement was uttered the councilors sat back limply
in their seats. Nothing was said--what was there to say? After all, the
now seemingly unavoidable end was not unexpected. Not a man at that
table had really in his heart thought it possible for peaceful Valeron
to triumph against the superior war craftiness of Chlora.

They sat there, staring unseeing into empty air, when suddenly in that
air there materialized Seaton's projection. Since its reception has
already been related, nothing need be said of it except that it was the
Bardyle himself who was the recipient of that terrific wave of mental
force. As soon as the Terrestrial had made clear his intentions and his
desires, Radnor leaped to his feet, a man transformed.

"A laboratory of radiation!" he exclaimed, his really profound
exhaustion forgotten in a blaze of new hope. "Not only shall I lead him
to such a laboratory, but my associates and I shall be only too glad to
do his bidding in every possible way."

       *       *       *       *       *

Followed closely by the visitor, Radnor hurried buoyantly along a
narrow hall and into a large room in which, stacked upon shelves, lying
upon benches and tables, and even piled indiscriminately upon the
floor, there was every conceivable type and kind of apparatus for the
generation and projection of etheric forces.

Seaton's flashing glance swept once around the room, cataloguing and
classifying the heterogeneous collection. Then, while Radnor looked on
in a daze of incredulous astonishment, that quasi-solid figure of force
made tangible wrought what was to the Valeronian a scientific miracle.
It darted here and there with a speed almost impossible for the eye to
follow, seizing tubes, transformers, coils, condensers, and other items
of equipment, connecting them together with unbelievable rapidity into
a mechanism at whose use the bewildered Radnor, able physicist though
he was, could not even guess.

The mechanical educator finished, Seaton's image donned one of its sets
of multiple headphones and placed another upon the unresisting head
of his host. Then into Radnor's already reeling mind there surged an
insistent demand for his language, and almost immediately the headsets
were tossed aside.

"There, that's better!" Seaton--for the image was, to all intents
and purposes, Seaton himself--exclaimed. "Now that we can talk to
each other we'll make those jelly brains hard to catch. They'll think
they've got hold of a wild cat by the tail pretty quick now, and
they'll be yelling for help to let go."

"But the Chlorans are watching everything you do," protested Radnor,
"and we cannot block them out without cutting off our gravity entirely.
They will therefore be familiar with any mechanism we may construct and
will be able to protect themselves against it."

"They just think they will," was the grim response. "I can't close the
gravity band without disaster, any more than you could, but I can find
any spy ray they can use and send back along it a jolt that'll burn
their eyes out. You see, there's a lot of stuff down on the edge of the
fourth order that neither you folks nor the Chlorans know anything
about yet, because you haven't had enough thousands of years to study
it."

While he was talking, Seaton had been furiously at work upon a small
generator, and now he turned it on.

"If they can see through _that_," he said, "they're a lot smarter
than I think they are. Even if they're bright enough to have figured
out what I was doing while I was doing it, it won't do them any good,
because this outfit will scramble any beam they can send through that
band."

"I must bow to your superior knowledge, of course," Radnor said
gravely, "but I should like to ask one question. You are working
a full materialization through less than a quarter of the gravity
band--something that has always been considered impossible. Is there no
danger that the Chlorans may analyze your patterns and thus duplicate
your feat?"

"Not a chance," Seaton assured him positively. "This stuff I am using
is on a tight beam, so tight that it is absolute proof against analysis
or interference. It took the Norlaminians--and they're a race of real
thinkers--over eight thousand years to go from the beams you and the
Chlorans are using down to what I'm showing you. Therefore I'm not
afraid that the opposition will pick it up in the next week or two. But
we'd better get busy in a big way. Your most urgent need, I take it, is
for something--anything--that will stop that surface of force before it
reaches the skirt of your defensive dome and blocks your dissipators?"

"Exactly!"

"All right. We'll build you a four-way fourth-order projector to handle
full materializations--four way to handle four attackers in case
they get desperate and double their program. With it you will send
working images of yourselves into the power rooms of the Chloran ships
and clamp a short circuiting field across the secondaries of their
converters. Of course they can bar you out with a zone of force if they
detect you before you can kill the generators of their zones, but that
will be just as good, as far as we're concerned--they can't do a thing
as long as they're on, you know. Now put on the headset again and I'll
give you the dope on the projector. Better get a recorder, too, as
there'll be some stuff that you won't be able to carry in your head."

The recorder was brought in and from Seaton's brain there flowed
into it and into the mind of Radnor the fundamental concepts and
complete equations and working details of the new instrument. Upon
the Valeronian's face was first blank amazement, then dawning
comprehension, and lastly sheer, wondering awe as, the plan completed,
he removed the headset. He began a confused panegyric of thanks, but
Seaton interrupted him briskly.

"'Sall right, Radnor, you'd do the same thing for us if things were
reversed. Humanity has got to stick together against all the vermin of
all the universes. But, say, I'm getting a yen to see this mess all
cleaned up, myself--think I'll stick around and help you build it.
You're all in, clear to the neck, but you won't rest until the Chlorans
are whipped--I can't blame you for that, I wouldn't either--and I'm
fresh as a daisy. Let's go!"

       *       *       *       *       *

In a few hours the complex machine was done. Radnor and Siblin were
seated at two of the sets of controls, associate physicists at the
others.

"Since I don't know any more about their system of conversion than
you do, I can't tell you in detail what to do," Seaton was issuing
final instructions. "But whatever you do, don't monkey with their
primaries--shortening them would overload their liberators and blow
this whole Solar System over into the next Galaxy. Take time to be dead
sure that you've got the secondaries of their main converters, and
slap a short circuit on as many of them as you can before they cut you
off with a zone. You'll probably find a lot of liberator-converter sets
on vessels of that size, but if you can kill the ones that feed the
zone generators they're our meat."

"You are much more familiar with such things than we are," Radnor
remarked. "Would you not like to come along?"

"I'll say I would, but I can't," Seaton replied instantly. "This isn't
me at all, you know. But let's see--"

"Oh, of course," Radnor apologized. "In working with you so long and so
cordially I forgot for the moment that you are not here in person."

"Nope, can't be done." Seaton frowned, still immersed in
the hitherto unstudied problem of the reprojection of a
projected image. "Need over two hundred thousand relays
and--um--synchronization--neuro-muscular--not on this outfit. Wonder if
it can be done at all? Have to look into it sometime--but excuse me,
Radnor, I was thinking and got lost. Ready to go? I'll watch you on
the plate here and be ready to offer advice--not that you'll need it.
Shoot!"

Radnor snapped on the power and he and his aid shot their projections
into one of the opposing fortresses, Siblin and his associate going
into the other. Through compartment after compartment of the immense
structures the as yet invisible projections went, searching for the
power rooms. They were not hard to find, extending as they did nearly
the full length of the stupendous structures; vaulted caverns filled
with linked pairs of mastodonic fabrications, the liberator-converters.

Springing in graceful arcs from heavily insulated posts in the
ends of one machine of each pair were five great bus-bars, which
Radnor and Siblin recognized instantly as secondary leads from the
converters--the gigantic mechanisms which, taking the raw intra-atomic
energy from the liberators, converted it into a form in which it could
be controlled and utilized.

Neither Radnor nor Siblin had ever heard of five-phase energy of any
kind, but those secondaries were unmistakable. Therefore all four
images drove against the fivefold bars their perfectly conducting
fields of force. Four converters shrieked wildly, trying to wrench
themselves from their foundations; insulation smoked and burst wildly
into yellow flame; the stubs of the bars grew white-hot and began to
fuse; and in a matter of seconds a full half of each prodigious machine
subsided to the floor, a semimolten, utterly useless mass.

[Illustration: _They drove their fields of force against the fivefold
bars._]

Similarly went the next two in each fortress, and the next--then
Radnor's two projections were cut off sharply as the Chloran's
impenetrable zone of force went on, and that fortress, all its beams
and forces inoperative, floated off into space.

Siblin and his partner were more fortunate. When the amœbus commanding
their prey threw in his zone switch nothing happened. Its source of
power had already been destroyed, and the two Valeronian images went
steadily down the line of converters, in spite of everything the
ragingly frantic monstrosities could do to hinder their progress.

The terrible beam of destruction held steadily upon that fortress by
the beamers in Valeron's mighty dome had never slackened its herculean
efforts to pierce the Chloran screens. Now, as more and more of the
converters of that floating citadel were burned out those screens began
to radiate higher and higher into the ultra-violet. Soon they went
down, exposing defenseless metal to the blasting, annihilating fury
of the beam, to which any conceivable substance is but little more
resistant than so much vacuum.

There was one gigantic, exploding flash, whose unbearable brilliance
darkened even the incandescent radiance of the failing screen, and
Valeron's mighty beam bored on, unimpeded. And where that mastodonic
creation had floated an instant before there were only a few curling
wisps of vapor.

"Nice job of clean-up, boys--fine!" Seaton clapped a friendly hand upon
Radnor's shoulder. "Anybody can handle them now. Better you take a week
off and catch up on sleep. I could do with a little shut-eye myself,
and you've been on the job a lot longer than I have."

"But hold on--don't go yet!" Radnor exclaimed in consternation. "Why,
our whole race owes its very existence to you--wait at least until our
Bardyle can have a word with you!"

"That isn't necessary, Radnor. Thanks just the same, but I don't go in
for that sort of thing, any more than you would. Besides, we'll be here
in the flesh in a few days and I'll talk to him then. So long!" and the
projection disappeared.

       *       *       *       *       *

In due time _Skylark Two_ came lightly to a landing in a parkway near
the council hall, to be examined curiously by an excited group of
Valeronians who wondered audibly that such a tiny space ship should
have borne their salvation. The four Terrestrials, sure of their
welcome, stepped out and were greeted by Siblin, Radnor, and the
Bardyle.

"I must apologize, sir, for my cavalier treatment of you at our
previous meeting." Seaton's first words to the coördinator were
in sincere apology. "I trust that you will pardon it, realizing
that something of the kind was necessary in order to establish
communication."

"Speak not of it, Richard Seaton. I suffered only a temporary
inconvenience, a small thing indeed compared to the experience of
encountering a mind of such stupendous power as yours. Neither words
nor deeds can express to you the profound gratitude of our entire race
for what you have done for Valeron.

"I am informed that you personally do not care for extravagant praise,
but please believe me to be voicing the single thought of a world's
people when I say that no words coined by brain of man could be just,
to say nothing of being extravagant, when applied to you. I do not
suppose that we can do anything, however slight, for you in return, in
token that these are not entirely empty words?"

"You certainly can, sir," Seaton made surprising answer. "We are so
completely lost in space that without a great deal of material and of
mechanical aid we shall never be able to return to, nor even to locate
in space, our native Galaxy, to say nothing of our native planet."

A concerted gasp of astonishment was his reply, then he was assured in
no uncertain terms that the resources of Valeron were at his disposal.

A certain amount of public attention had of course to be endured; but
Seaton and Crane, pleading a press of work upon their new projectors,
buried themselves in Radnor's laboratory, leaving it to their wives to
bear the brunt of Valeronian adulation.

"How do you like being a heroine, Dot?" Seaton asked one evening, as
the two women returned from an unusually demonstrative reception in
another city.

"We just revel in it, since we didn't do any of the real work--it's
just too perfectly gorgeous for words," Dorothy replied shamelessly.
"Especially Peggy." She eyed Margaret mischievously and winked
furtively at Seaton. "Why, you ought to see her--she could just simply
roll that stuff up on a fork and eat it, as though it were that much
soft fudge!"

Since the scientific and mechanical details of the construction of a
fifth-order projector have been given in full elsewhere there is no
need to repeat them here. Seaton built his neutronium lens in the core
of the near-by white dwarf star, precisely as Rovol had done it from
distant Norlamin. He brought it to Valeron and around it there began
to come into being a duplicate of the immense projector which the
Terrestrials had been obliged to leave behind them when they abandoned
gigantic _Skylark Three_ to plunge through the fourth dimension in tiny
_Two_.

"Maybe it's none of my business, Radnor," Seaton turned to the
Valeronian curiously during a lull in their work, "but how come you're
still simply shooting away those Chloran vessels by making them put out
their zones of force? Why didn't you hop over there on your projector
and blow their whole planet over into the next Solar System? I would
have done that long ago if it had been me, I think."

"We did visit Chlora once, with something like that in mind, but our
attempt failed lamentably," Radnor admitted sheepishly. "You remember
that peculiar special sense, that mental force that Siblin tried to
describe to you? Well, it was altogether too strong for us. My father,
possessing one of the strongest minds of Valeron, was in the chair, but
they mastered him so completely that we had to recall the projection
by cutting off the power to prevent them from taking from his mind by
force the methods of transmission which you taught us and which we were
then using."

"Hmm! So that's it, huh?" Seaton was greatly interested. "Maybe I'll
take one on the chin, but I'm going to lock horns with that bunch of
squidges myself, one of these days. When this projector gets itself
done I'll skip over there and try them a whirl--with this fifth-order
outfit I think maybe I'll be able to make big medicine on them."

       *       *       *       *       *

True to his word, Seaton's first use of the new mechanism was to
assume the offensive. He first sought out and destroyed the Chloran
structure then in space--now an easy task, since zones of force, while
impenetrable to any ether-borne phenomena, offer no resistance whatever
to forces of the fifth order, propagated as they are in that inner
medium, the sub-ether. Then, with the Quedrins standing by, to cut off
the power in case he should be overpowered, he invaded the sanctum
sanctorum of all Chlora--the private office of the Supreme Great One
himself--and stared unabashed and unaffected into the enormous "eye" of
the monstrous ruler of the planet.

There ensued a battle royal. Had mental forces been visible, it would
have been a spectacular meeting indeed! Larger and larger grew the
"eye" until it was transmitting all the terrific power generated by
that frightful, visibly palpitating brain. But Seaton was not of
Valeron, nor was he handicapped by the limitations of a fourth-order
projector. He was now being projected upon a full beam of the fifth, by
a mechanism able to do full justice to his stupendously composite brain.

The part of that brain he was now employing was largely the
contribution of Drasnik, the First of Psychology of ancient Norlamin;
and from it he was hurling along that beam the irresistible sum total
of mental power accumulated by ten thousand generations of the most
profound students of the mind that our Galaxy has ever known.

The creature, realizing that at long last it had met its mental master,
must have emitted radiations of distress, for into the room came
crowding hordes of the monstrosities, each of whom sought to add his
own mind to those already opposing the intruder. In vain--all their
power could not turn Seaton's penetrating glare aside, nor could it
wrest from that glare's unbreakable grip the mind of the tortured
Great One.

And now, mental waves failing, they resorted to the purely physical.
Hand rays of highest power blasted at that figure uselessly; fiercely
driven bars, spears, axes, and all other weapons rebounded from
it without leaving a mark upon it, rebounded bent, broken, and
twisted. For that figure was in no sense matter as we understand the
term. It was pure force--force made palpable and coherent by the
incomprehensible power of disintegrating matter; force against which
any possible application of mechanical power would be precisely as
effective as would wafted thistledown against Gibraltar.

Thus the struggle was brief. Paying no attention to anything, mental
or physical, that the other monstrosities could bring to bear, Seaton
compelled his victim to assume the shape of the heretofore-despised
human being. Then, staring straight into that quivering brain through
those hate-filled, flaming eyes, he spoke aloud, the better to drive
home his thought:

"Learn, so-called Great One, once and for all, that when you attack any
race of humanity anywhere, you attack not only that one race, but all
the massed humanity of all the planets of all the Galaxies! As you have
already observed, I am not of the planet Valeron, nor of this Solar
System, nor even of this Galaxy; but I and my fellows have come to the
aid of this race of humanity whom you were bold enough to attack.

"I have proved that we are your masters, mentally as well as
scientifically and mechanically. Those of you who have been attacking
Valeron have been destroyed, ships and crews alike. Those en route
there have been destroyed in space. So also shall be destroyed any
and all expeditions you may launch beyond the limits of your own foul
atmosphere.

"Since even such a repellent civilization as yours must have its place
in the great scheme of things, we do not intend to destroy your planet
nor such of your people as remain upon it or near it, unless such
destruction shall become necessary for the welfare of the human race.
While we are considering what we shall do about you, I advise you to
heed well this warning!"



                                 XXI.


The four Terrestrials had discussed at some length the subject of
Chlora and her outlandish population.

"It looks as though you were perched upon the horns of a first-class
dilemma," Dorothy remarked at last. "If you let them alone there is no
telling what harm they will do to these people here, and yet it would
be a perfect shame to kill them all--they can't help being what they
are. Do you suppose you can figure a way out of it, Dick?"

"Maybe--I've got a kind of a hunch, but it hasn't jelled into a
workable idea yet. It's tied in with the sixth-order projection that
we'll have to have, anyway, to find our way back home with. Until we
get that working I guess we'll just let the amœbuses stew in their own
juice."

"Well, and then what?" Dorothy prompted.

"I told you it's nebulous yet, with a lot of essential details yet to
be filled in--" Seaton paused, then went on, doubtfully: "It's pretty
wild--I don't know whether--"

"Now you _must_ tell us about it, Dick," Margaret urged.

"I'll say you've got to," Dorothy agreed. "You've had a lot of ideas
wild enough to make any sane creature's head spin around in circles
before this, but not one of them was so hair raising that you were
backward in talking about it. This one must be the prize brain storm of
the universe--spill it to us!"

"All right, but remember that it's only half baked and that you asked
for it. I'm doping out a way of sending them back to their own Solar
System, planet and all."

"What!" exclaimed Margaret.

Dorothy simply whistled--a long, low whistle highly eloquent of
incredulity.

"Maintenance of temperature? Time? Power? Control?" Crane, the
imperturbable, picked out unerringly the four key factors of the
stupendous feat.

"Your first three objections can be taken care of easily enough,"
Seaton replied positively. "No loss of temperature is possible through
a zone of force--our own discovery. We can stop time with a stasis--we
learned that from watching those four-dimensional folks work. The power
of cosmic radiation is practically infinite and eternal--we learned how
to use that from the pure intellectuals. Control is the sticker, since
it calls for computations and calculations at present impossible; but I
believe that when we get our mechanical brain done, it will be able to
work out even such a problem as that."

"What d'you mean, mechanical brain?" demanded Dorothy.

"The thing that is going to run our sixth-order projector," Seaton
explained. "You see, it'll be altogether too big and too complicated to
be controlled manually, and thought--human thought, at least--is on one
band of the sixth order. Therefore the logical thing to do is to build
an artificial brain capable of thinking on _all_ bands of the order
instead of only one, to handle the whole projector. See?"

"No," declared Dorothy promptly, "but maybe I will, though, when I see
it work. What's next on the program?"

"Well, it's going to be quite a job to build that brain and we'd better
be getting at it, since without it there'll be no _Skylark Four_--"

"Dick, I object!" Dorothy protested vigorously. "_The Skylark of Space_
was a nice name--"

"Sure, you'd think so, since you named her yourself," interrupted
Seaton in turn, with his disarming grin.

"Keep still a minute, Dickie, and let me finish. _Skylark Two_ was
pretty bad, but I stood it; and by gritting my teeth all out of shape
I did manage to keep from squawking about _Skylark Three_, but I
certainly am not going to stand for _Skylark Four_. Why, just think of
giving a name like that to such a wonderful thing as she is going to
be--as different as can be from anything that has ever been dreamed of
before--just as though she were going to be simply one more of a long
series of cup-challenging motor boats or something! Why, it's--it's
just too perfectly idiotic for words!"

"But she's _got_ to be some kind of a _Skylark_, Dot--you know that."

"Yes, but give her a name that means something--that sounds like
something. Name her after this planet, say--_Skylark of Valeron_--how's
that?"

"O.K. by me. How about it, Peg? Mart?"

The Cranes agreed to the suggestion with enthusiasm and Seaton went on:

"Well, an onion by any other name would smell as sweet, you know,
and it's going to be just as much of a job to build the _Skylark of
Valeron_ as it would have been to build _Skylark Four_. Therefore, as I
have said before and am about to say again, we'd better get at it."

The fifth-order projector was moved to the edge of the city, since
nowhere within its limits was there room for the structure to be built,
and the two men seated themselves at its twin consoles and their hands
flew over its massed banks of keyboards. For a few minutes nothing
happened; then on the vast, level plain before them--a plain which
had been a lake of fluid lava a few weeks before--there sprang into
being an immense foundation-structure of trussed and latticed girder
frames of inoson, the hardest, strongest, and toughest form of matter
possible to molecular structure. One square mile of ground it covered
and it was strong enough, apparently, to support a world.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the foundation was finished, Seaton left the framework to Crane,
while he devoted himself to filling the interstices and compartments as
fast as they were formed. He first built one tiny structure of coils,
fields, and lenses of force--one cell of the gigantic mechanical brain
which was to be. He then made others, slightly different in tune, and
others, and others.

He then set forces to duplicating these cells, forces which
automatically increased in number until they were making and setting
five hundred thousand cells per second, all that his connecting forces
could handle. And everywhere, it seemed, there were projectors, fields
of force, receptors and converters of cosmic energy, zones of force,
and many various shaped lenses and geometric figures of neutronium
incased in sheaths of faidon.

From each cell led tiny insulated wires, so fine as to be almost
invisible, to the "nerve centers" and to one of the millions of
projectors. From these in turn ran other wires, joining together to
form larger and larger strands until finally several hundred enormous
cables, each larger than a man's body, reached and merged into an
enormous, glittering, hemispherical, mechano-electrical inner brain.

For forty long Valeronian days--more than a thousand of our Earthly
hours--the work went on ceaselessly, day and night. Then it ceased
of itself and there dangled from the center of the glowing, gleaming
hemisphere a something which is only very vaguely described by calling
it either a heavily wired helmet or an incredibly complex headset. It
was to be placed over Seaton's head, it is true--it _was_ a headset,
but one raised to the millionth power.

It was the energizer and controller of the inner brain, which was in
turn the activating agency of that entire cubic mile of as yet inert
substance, that assemblage of thousands of billions of cells, so soon
to become the most stupendous force for good ever to be conceived by
the mind of man.

When that headset appeared Seaton donned it and sat motionless. For
hour after hour he sat there, his eyes closed, his face white and
strained, his entire body eloquent of a concentration so intense as
to be a veritable trance. At the end of four hours Dorothy came up
resolutely, but Crane waved her back.

"This is far and away the most crucial point of the work, Dorothy," he
cautioned her gravely. "While I do not think that anything short of
physical violence could distract his attention now, it is best not to
run any risk of disturbing him. An interruption now would mean that
everything would have to be done over again from the beginning."

Something over an hour later Seaton opened his eyes, stretched
prodigiously, and got up. He was white and trembling, but tremendously
relieved and triumphant.

"Why, Dick, what have you been doing? You look like a ghost!" Dorothy
was now an all solicitous wife.

"I've been _thinking_, and if you don't believe that it's hard work
you'd better try it some time! 'Sall right, though, I won't have to do
it any more--got a machine to do my thinking for me now."

"Oh, is it all done?"

"Nowhere near, but it's far enough along so that it can finish itself.
I've just been telling it what to do."

"_Telling_ it! Why, you talk as though it were human!"

"Human? It's a lot more than that. It can outthink and outperform even
those pure intellectuals--'and that,' as the poet feelingly remarked,
'is going some'! And if you think that riding in that fifth-order
projector was a thrill, wait until you see what this one can do. Think
of it"--even the mind that had conceived the thing was awed--"it is an
extension of my own brain, using waves that traverse even intergalactic
distances practically instantaneously. With it I can see anything I
want to look at, anywhere; can hear anything I want to hear. It can
build, make, do, or perform anything that my brain can think of."

"That is all true, of course," Crane said slowly, his sober mien
dampening Dorothy's ardor instantly, "but still--I can not help
wondering--" He gazed at Seaton thoughtfully.

"I know it, Mart, and I'm working up my speed as fast as I possibly
can," Seaton answered the unspoken thought, rather than the words. "But
let them come--we'll take 'em. I'll have everything on the trips, ready
to spring."

"What _are_ you two talking about?" Dorothy demanded.

"Mart pointed out to me the regrettable fact that my mental processes
are in the same class as the proverbial molasses in January, or as a
troop of old and decrepit snails racing across a lawn. I agreed with
him, but added that I would have my thoughts all thunk up ahead of time
when the pure intellectuals tackle us--which they certainly will."

"_Slow!_" she exclaimed. "When you planned the whole _Skylark of
Valeron_ and nobody knows what else, in five hours?"

"Yes, dear, _slow_. Remember when we first met our dear departed
friend Eight, back in the original _Skylark_? You saw him materialize
exact duplicates of each of our bodies, clear down to the molecular
structures of our chemistry, in less than one second, from a cold,
standing start. Compared to that job, the one I have just done is
elementary. It took me over five hours--he could have done it in
nothing flat.

"However, don't let it bother you too much. I'll never be able to equal
their speed, since I'll not live enough millions of years to get the
required practice, but our being material gave us big advantages in
other respects that Mart isn't mentioning because, as usual, he is
primarily concerned with our weaknesses--yes? No?"

"Yes; I will concede that being material does yield advantages which
may perhaps make up for our slower rate of thinking," Crane at last
conceded.

"Hear that? If he admits that much, you know that we're as good as in,
right now," Seaton declared. "Well, while our new brain is finishing
itself up, we might as well go back to the hall and chase the Chlorans
back where they belong--the Brain worked out the equations for me this
morning."

       *       *       *       *       *

From the ancient records of Valeron, Radnor and the Bardyle had
secured complete observational data of the cataclysm, which had made
the task of finding the present whereabouts of the Chlorans' original
sun a simple task. The calculations and computations involved in the
application of forces of precisely the required quantities to insure
the correct final orbit were complex in the extreme; but, as Seaton had
foretold, they had presented no insurmountable difficulties to the vast
resources of the Brain.

Therefore, everything in readiness, the two Terrestrial scientists
surrounded the inimical planet with a zone of force, so that it would
lose none of its heat during the long journey; and with a stasis of
time, so that its people would not know of anything that was happening
to them. They then erected force-control stations around it, adjusted
with such delicacy and precision that they would direct the planet into
the exact orbit it had formerly occupied around its parent sun. Then,
at the instant of correct velocity and position, the control stations
would go out of existence and the forces would disappear.

As the immense ball of dazzlingly opaque mirror which now hid the
unwanted world swung away with ever-increasing velocity, the Bardyle,
who had watched the proceedings in incredulous wonder, heaved a
profound sigh of relaxation.

"What a relief--what a relief!" he exclaimed.

"How long will it take?" asked Dorothy curiously.

"Quite a while--something over four hundred years of our time. But
don't let it gnaw on you--they won't know a thing about it. When the
forces let go they'll simply go right on, from exactly where they left
off, without realizing that any time at all has lapsed--in fact, for
them, no time at all shall have lapsed. All of a sudden they will find
themselves circling around a different sun, that's all.

"If their old records are clear enough they may be able to recognize
it as their original sun and they'll probably do a lot of wondering as
to how they got back there. One instant they were in a certain orbit
around this sun here, the next instant they will be in another orbit
around an entirely different sun! They'll know, of course, that we did
it, but they'll have a sweet job figuring out how and what we did--some
of it is really deep stuff. Also, they will be a few hundred years off
in their time, but since nobody in the world will know it, it won't
make any difference."

"How perfectly weird!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Just think of losing a
four-hundred-year chunk right out of the middle of your life and not
even knowing it!"

"I would rather think of the arrest of development," meditated Crane.
"Of the opportunity of comparing the evolution of the planets already
there with that of the returned wanderer."

"Yeah, it would be interesting--'sa shame we won't be alive then,"
Seaton responded, "but in the meantime we've got a lot of work to do
for ourselves. Now that we've got this mess straightened out I think
we had better tell these folks good-by, get into _Two_, and hop out to
where Dot's _Skylark of Valeron_ is going to materialize."

The farewell to the people of Valeron was brief, but sincere.

"This is in no sense good-by," Crane concluded. "By the aid of these
newly discovered forces of the sixth order there shall soon be worked
out a system of communication by means of which all the inhabited
planets of the Galaxies shall be linked as closely as are now the
cities of any one world."

_Skylark Two_ shot upward and outward, to settle into an orbit well
outside that of Valeron. Seaton then sent his projection back to the
capital city, fitted over his imaged head the controller of the inner
brain, and turned to Crane with a grin.

"That's timing it, old son--she finished herself up less than an hour
ago. Better cluster around and watch this, folks, it's going to be
good."

       *       *       *       *       *

At Seaton's signal the structure which was to be the nucleus of the new
space traveler lifted effortlessly into the air its millions of tons of
dead weight and soared, as lightly as little _Two_ had done, out into
the airless void. Taking up a position a few hundred miles away from
the Terrestrial cruiser, it shot out a spherical screen of force to
clear the ether of chance bits of débris. Then inside that screen there
came into being a structure of gleaming inoson, so vast in size that to
the startled onlookers it appeared almost of planetary dimensions.

"Good heavens--it's stupendous!" Dorothy exclaimed. "What did you boys
make it so big for--just to show us you could, or what?"

"Hardly! She's just as small as she can be and still do the work.
You see, to find our own Galaxy we will have to project a beam to a
distance greater than any heretofore assigned diameter of the universe,
and to control it really accurately its working base and the diameter
of its hour and declination-circles would each have to be something
like four light-years long. Since a ship of that size is of course
impracticable, Mart and I did some figuring and decided that with
circles one thousand kilometers in diameter we could chart Galaxies
accurately enough to find the one we're looking for--if you think of
it, you'll realize that there are a lot of hundredth-millimeter marks
around the circumference of circles of that size--and that they would
probably be big enough to hold a broadcasting projection somewhere
near a volume of space as large as that occupied by the Green System.
Therefore we built the _Skylark of Valeron_ just large enough to
contain those thousand-kilometer circles."

As _Skylark Two_ approached the looming planetoid the doors of vast
airlocks opened. Fifty of those massive gates swung aside before her
and closed behind her before she swam free in the cool, sweet air and
bright artificial sunlight of the interior. She then floated along
above an immense, grassy park toward two well-remembered and beloved
buildings.

[Illustration: _As the tiny ship approached, the doors of vast airlocks
opened._]

"Oh, Dick!" Dorothy squealed. "There's our house--and Cranes! It's
funny though to see them side by side. Are they the same inside,
too--and what's that funny little low building between them?"

"They duplicate the originals exactly, except for some items of
equipment which would be useless here. The building between them is
the control room, in which are the master headsets of the Brain
and its lookouts. The Brain itself is what you would think of as
underground--inside the shell of the planetoid."

The small vessel came lightly to a landing and the wanderers
disembarked upon the close-clipped, springy turf of a perfect lawn.
Dorothy flexed her knees in surprise.

"How come we aren't weightless, Dick?" she demanded. "This gravity
isn't--_can't_ be--natural. I'll bet you did that, too!"

"Mart and I together did, sure. We learned a lot from the intellectuals
and a lot more in hyperspace, but we could neither derive the
fundamental equations nor apply what knowledge we already had until we
finished this sixth-order outfit. Now, though, we can give you all the
gravity you want--or as little--whenever and wherever you want it."

"Oh, marvelous--this is glorious, boys!" Dorothy breathed. "I have
always just simply despised weightlessness. Now, with these houses and
everything, we can have a perfectly wonderful time!"

"Here's the dining room," Seaton said briskly. "And here's the headset
you put on to order dinner or whatever is appropriate to the culinary
department. You will observe that the kitchen of this house is purely
ornamental--never to be used unless you want to."

"Just a minute, Dick," Dorothy's voice was tensely serious. "I have
been really scared ever since you told me about the power of that
Brain, and the more you tell me of it the worse scared I get. Think
of the awful damage a wild, chance thought would do--and the more an
ordinary mortal tries to avoid any thought the surer he is to think
it, you know that. Really, I'm not ready for that yet, dear--I'd much
rather not go near that headset."

"I know, sweetheart," his arm tightened around her. "But you didn't
let me finish. These sets around the house control forces which are
capable of nothing except duties pertaining to the part of the house in
which they are. This dining-room outfit, for instance, is exactly the
same as the Norlaminian one you used so much, except that it is much
simpler.

"Instead of using a lot of keyboards and force-tubes, you simply think
into that helmet what you want for dinner and it appears. Think that
you want the table cleared and it is cleared--dishes and all simply
vanish. Think of anything else you want done around this room and it's
done--that's all there is to it.

"To relieve your mind I'll explain some more. Mart and I both realized
that that Brain could very easily become the most terrible, the
most frightfully destructive thing that the universe has ever seen.
Therefore, with two exceptions, every controller on this planetoid
is of a strictly limited type. Of the two master controls, which are
unlimited and very highly reactive, one responds only to Crane's
thoughts, the other only to mine. As soon as we get some loose time
we are going to build a couple of auxiliaries, with automatic stops
against stray thoughts, to break you girls in on--we know as well as
you do, Red-Top, that you haven't had enough practice yet to take an
unlimited control."

"I'll say _I_ haven't!" she agreed feelingly. "I feel lots better
now--I'm sure I can handle the rest of these things very nicely."

"Sure you can. Well, let's call the Cranes and go into the control
room," Seaton suggested. "The quicker we get started the quicker we'll
get done."

       *       *       *       *       *

Accustomed as she was to the banks and tiers of keyboards, switches,
dials, meters, and other operating paraphernalia of the control rooms
of the previous _Skylark_, Dorothy was taken aback when she passed
through the thick, heavily insulated door into that of the _Skylark of
Valeron_. For there were four gray walls, a gray ceiling, and a rugged
gray floor. There were low, broad double chairs and headsets. There was
nothing else.

"This is your seat, Dottie, here beside me, and this is your
headset--it's just a visiset, so you can see what is going on, not a
controller," he hastened to reassure her. "You have a better illusion
of seeing if your eyes are open, that's why everything is neutral in
color. But better still for you girls, we'll turn off the lights."

The illumination, which had seemed to pervade the entire room instead
of emanating from any definite sources, faded out; but in spite of the
fact that the room was in absolute darkness Dorothy saw with a clarity
and a depth of vision impossible to any Earthly eyes. She saw at one
and the same time, with infinite precision of detail, the houses and
their contents; the whole immense sphere of the planetoid, inside and
out; Valeron and her sister planets encircling their sun; and the
stupendous full sphere of the vaulted heavens.

She knew that her husband was motionless at her side, yet she saw him
materialize in the control room of _Skylark Two_. There he seized
the cabinet which contained the space chart of the Fenachrone--that
library of films portraying all the Galaxies visible to the wonderfully
powerful telescopes and projectors of that horrible race.

That cabinet became instantly a manifold scanner, all its reels
flashing through as one. Simultaneously there appeared in the air
above the machine a three-dimensional model of all the Galaxies there
listed. A model upon such a scale that the First Galaxy was but a tiny
lenticular pellet, although it was still disproportionately large;
upon such a scale that the whole vast sphere of space covered by the
hundreds of Fenachrone scrolls was compressed into a volume but little
larger than a basketball. And yet each tiny Galactic pellet bore its
own peculiarly individual identifying marks.

Then Dorothy felt as though she herself had been hurled out into the
unthinkable reaches of space. In a fleeting instant of time she passed
through thousands of star clusters, and not only knew the declination,
right ascension, and distance of each Galaxy, but saw it duplicated in
miniature in its exact place in an immense, three-dimensional model in
the hollow interior of the space-flyer in which she actually was.

The mapping went on. To human brains and hands the task would have
been one of countless years. Now, however, it was to prove only a
matter of hours, for this was no human brain. Not only was it reactive
and effective at distances to be expressed in light-years or parsecs:
because of the immeasurable sixth-order velocity of its carrier wave
it was equally effective at distances of thousands upon thousands of
light--millionia--reaches of space so incomprehensibly vast that the
rays of visible light emitted at the birth of a sun so far away would
reach the point of observation only after that sun had lived through
its entire cycle of life and had disappeared.

"Well, that's about enough of that for you, for a while," Seaton
remarked in a matter-of-fact voice. "A little of that stuff goes a long
ways at first--you have to get used to it."

"I'll say you do! Why--I--it--" Dorothy paused, even her ready tongue
at a loss for words.

"You can't describe it in words--don't try," Seaton advised. "Let's go
outdoors and watch the model grow."

To the awe, if not to the amazement of the observers, the model had
already begun to assume a lenticular pattern. Galaxies, then, really
_were_ arranged in general as were the stars composing them; there
really _were_ universes, and they really _were_ lenticular--the vague
speculations of the hardiest and most exploratory cosmic thinkers were
being confirmed.

For hour after hour the model continued to grow and Seaton's face began
to take on a look of grave concern. At last, however, when the chart
was three fourths done or more, a deep-toned bell clanged out the
signal for which he had been waiting--the news that there was now being
plotted a configuration of Galaxies identical with that portrayed by
the space chart of the Fenachrone.

"Gosh!" Seaton sighed hugely. "I was beginning to be afraid that
we had escaped clear out of our own universe, and that would have
been bad--very, very bad, believe me! The rest of the mapping can
wait--let's go!"

Followed by the others he dashed into the control room, threw on his
helmet, and hurled a projection into the now easily recognizable First
Galaxy. He found the Green System without difficulty, but he could
not hold it. So far away it was that even the highest amplification
and the greatest power of which the gigantic sixth-order installation
was capable could not keep the viewpoint from leaping erratically, in
fantastic bounds of hundreds of millions of miles, all through and
around its objective.

But Seaton had half expected this development and was prepared for it.
He had already sent out a broadcasting projection; and now, upon a band
of frequencies wide enough to affect every receiving instrument in use
throughout the Green System and using power sufficient to overwhelm any
transmitter, however strong, that might be in operation, he sent out in
a mighty voice his urgent message to the scientists of Norlamin.



                                 XXII.


In the throne room of Kondal, with its gorgeously resplendent jeweled
ceiling and jeweled metallic-tapestry walls, there were seated in
earnest consultation the three most powerful men of the planet
Osnome--Roban and Karfedix [1], Dunark the Kofedix [2], and Tarnan
the Karbix [3]. Their "clothing" was the ordinary Osnomian regalia
of straps, chains, and metallic bands, all thickly bestudded with
blazing gems and for the most part supporting the full assortment of
devastatingly powerful hand weapons without which any man of that race
would have felt stark naked. Their fierce green faces were keenly
hawklike; the hard, clean lines of their bare green bodies bespoke the
rigid physical training that every Osnomian undergoes from birth until
death.

[Footnote 1: Emperor.]

[Footnote 2: Crown Prince.]

[Footnote 3: President of the Church and Commander in Chief of all
armed forces of Osnome.]

"Father, Tarnan may be right," Dunark was saying soberly. "We are too
savage, too inherently bloodthirsty, too deeply interested in killing,
not as a means to some really worth-while end, but as an end in itself.
Seaton the overlord thinks so, the Norlaminians think so, and I am
beginning to think so myself. All really enlightened races look upon
us as little better than barbarians, and in part I agree with them. I
believe, however, that if we were really to devote ourselves to study
and to productive effort we could soon equal or surpass any race in the
System, except of course the Norlaminians."

"There may be something in what you say," the emperor admitted
dubiously, "but it is against all our racial teachings. What, then, of
an outlet for the energies of all manhood?"

"Constructive effort instead of destructive," argued the Karbix. "Let
them build--study--learn--advance. It is all too true that we are far
behind other races of the System in all really important things."

"But what of Urvan and his people?" Roban brought up his last and
strongest argument. "They are as savage as we are, if not more so.
As you say, the necessity for continuous warfare ceased with the
destruction of Mardonale, but are we to leave our whole planet
defenseless against an interplanetary attack from Urvania?"

"They dare not attack us," declared Tarnan, "any more than we dare
attack them. Seaton the overlord decreed that the people of us two
first to attack the other dies root and branch, and we all know that
the word of the overlord is no idle, passing breath."

"But he has not been seen for long. He may be far away and the
Urvanians may decide at any time to launch their fleets against us.
However, before we decide this momentous question I suggest that you
two pay a visit of state to the court of Urvan. Talk to Urvan and
his Karbix as you have talked to me, of coöperation and of mutual
advancement. If they will coöperate, we will."

During the long voyage to Urvania, the third planet of the fourteenth
sun, however, their new ardor cooled perceptibly--particularly that of
the younger man--and in Urvan's palace it became clear that the love
of peaceful culture inculcated upon those fierce minds by contact with
more humane peoples could not supplant immediately the spirit of strife
bred into bone and fiber during thousands of generations of incessant
warfare.

For when the two Osnomians sat down with the two Urvanians the very
air seemed charged with animosity. Like strange dogs meeting with
bared fangs and bristling manes, Osnomian and Urvanian alike fairly
radiated hostility. Therefore Tarnan's suggestions as to coöperation
and understanding were decidedly unconvincing, and were received with
open scorn.

"Your race may well wish to coöperate with ours," sneered the Emperor
of Urvania, "since, but for the threats of that self-styled overlord,
you would have ceased to exist long since. And how do we know where
that one is, what he is doing, whether he is paying any attention to
us? Probably you have learned that he has left this System entirely
and have already planned an attack upon us. In self-defense we shall
probably have to wipe out your race to keep you from destroying ours.
At any rate your plea is very evidently some underhanded trick of your
weak and cowardly race--"

"Weak! Cowardly! _Us?_ You conceited, bloated toad!" stormed Dunark,
who had kept himself in check thus far only by sheer power of will. He
sprang to his feet, his stool flying backward. "Here and now I demand
a meeting of honor, if you know the meaning of the word honor."

       *       *       *       *       *

The four enraged men, all drawing weapons, were suddenly swept apart,
then clutched and held immovably as a figure of force materialized
among them--the form of an aged, white-bearded Norlaminian.

[Illustration: _The four enraged men, all drawing weapons, were
suddenly swept apart._]

"Peace, children, and silence!" the image commanded sternly. "Rest
assured that there shall be no more warfare in this System and that
the decrees of the overlord shall be enforced to the letter. Calm
yourselves and listen. I know well, mind you, that none of you really
meant what has just been said. You of Osnome were so impressed by the
benefits of mutual helpfulness that you made this journey to further
its cause; you of Urvania are at heart also strongly in favor of it,
but neither of you has strength enough or courage enough to admit it.

"For know, vain and self-willed children, that it is weakness, not
strength, which you have been displaying. It may well be, however, that
your physical bravery and your love of strife can now be employed for
the general good of all humanity. Would you join hands, to fight side
by side in such a cause?"

"We would," chorused the four, as one.

Each was heartily ashamed of what had just happened, and was glad
indeed of the opportunity to drop it without losing face.

"Very well! We of Norlamin fear greatly that we have inadvertently
given to one of the greatest foes of universal civilization weapons
equal in power to the overlord's own, and that he is even now working
to undo all that had been done. Will you of Osnome and you of Urvania
help in conducting an expedition against that foe?"

"We will!" they exclaimed.

Dunark added: "Who is that enemy, and where is he to be found?"

"He is Dr. Marc C. DuQuesne, of Earth."

"DuQuesne!" barked Dunark. "Why, I thought the Fenachrone killed him!
But we shall attend to it at once--when _I_ kill any one he _stays_
killed!"

"Just a moment, son," the image cautioned. "He has surrounded Earth
with defenses against which your every arm would be entirely impotent.
Come you to Norlamin, bringing each of you one hundred of his best men.
We shall have prepared for you certain equipment which, although it
may not enable you to emerge victorious from the engagement, will at
least insure your safe return. It might be well also to stop at Dasor,
which is not now far from your course of flight, and bring along Sacner
Carfon, who will be of great assistance, being a man both of action and
of learning."

"But _DuQuesne_!" raved Dunark, who realized immediately what must have
happened. "Why didn't you ray him on sight? Didn't you know what a liar
and a thief he is, by instinct and training?"

"We had no suspicion then who he was, thinking, as did you, that
DuQuesne had passed. He came under another name, as Seaton's friend. He
came as one possessing knowledge, with fair and plausible words. But of
that we shall inform you later. Come at once--we shall place upon your
controls forces which shall pilot you accurately and with speed."

Upon the aqueous world of Dasor they found its amphibious humanity
reveling in an activity which, although dreamed of for centuries, had
been impossible of realization until the _Skylark_ had brought to them
a supply of Rovolon, the metal of power. Now cities of metal were
arising here and there above her waves, airplanes and helicopters sped
through and hovered in her atmosphere, barges and pleasure craft sailed
the almost unbroken expanse of ocean which was her surface, immense
submarine freighters bored their serenely stolid ways through her
watery depths.

Sacner Carfon, the porpoiselike, hairless, naked Dasorian councilor,
heaved his six and a half feet of height and his five hundredweight of
mass into Dunark's vessel and greeted the Osnomian prince with a grave
and friendly courtesy.

"Yes, friend, everything is wonderfully well with Dasor," he answered
Dunark's query. "Now that our one lack, that of power, has been
supplied, our lives can at last be lived to the full, unhampered by the
limitations which we have hitherto been compelled to set upon them. But
this from Norlamin is terrible news indeed. What know you of it?"

During the trip to Norlamin the three leaders not only discussed and
planned among themselves, but also had many conferences with the
Advisory Five of the planet toward which they were speeding, so that
they arrived upon that ancient world with a complete knowledge of
what they were to attempt. There Rovol and Drasnik instructed them in
the use of fifth-order forces, each according to his personality and
ability.

To Sacner Carfon was given high command, and he was instructed minutely
in every detail of the power, equipment, and performance of the vessel
which was to carry the hope of civilization. To Tarnan, the best
balanced of his race, was given a more limited knowledge. Dunark and
Urvan, however, were informed only as to the actual operation of the
armament, with no underlying knowledge of its nature or construction.

"I trust that you will not resent this necessary caution," Drasnik
said carefully. "Your natures are as yet essentially savage and
bloodthirsty; your reason is all too easily clouded by passion. You
are, however, striving truly, and that is a great good. With a few
mental operations, which we shall be glad to give you at a later time,
you shall both be able to take your places as leaders in the march of
your peoples toward civilization."

       *       *       *       *       *

Fodan, majestic chief of the Five, escorted the company of warriors to
their battleship of space, and what a ship she was! Fully twice the
size of _Skylark Three_ in every dimension she lay there, surcharged
with power and might, awaiting only her commander's touch to hurl
herself away toward distant and now inimical Earth.

But the vengeful expedition was too late by far. DuQuesne had long
since consolidated his position. His chain of interlinked power
stations encircled the globe. Governments were in name only. World
Steel now ruled the entire Earth and DuQuesne's power was absolute.
Nor was that rule as yet unduly onerous. The threat of war was gone,
the tyranny of gangsterism was done, everybody was working for high
wages--what was there to kick about? Some men of vision of course
perceived the truth and were telling it, but they were being howled
down by the very people they were trying to warn.

It was thus against an impregnably fortified world that Dunark and
Urvan directed every force with which their flying superdreadnought
was armed. Nor was she feeble, this monster of the skyways, but
DuQuesne had known well what form the attack would take and, having the
resources of the world upon which to draw, he had prepared to withstand
the amassed assault of a hundred such vessels--or a thousand.

Therefore the attack not only failed; it was repulsed crushingly. For
from his massed generators DuQuesne hurled out upon the Norlaminian
space ship a solid beam of such incredible intensity that in
neutralizing its terrific ardor her store of power-uranium dwindled
visibly, second by second. So rapidly did the metal disappear that
Sacner Carfon, after waging the unequal struggle for some twenty hours,
put on high acceleration and drove back toward the Central System,
despite the raging protests of Dunark and of his equally tempestuous
fellow lieutenant.

And in his private office, which was also a complete control room,
DuQuesne smiled at Brookings--a hard, thin smile. "Now you see," he
said coldly. "Suppose I hadn't spent all this time and money on my
defenses?"

"Well, why don't you go out and chase 'em? Give 'em a scare, anyway?"

"Because it would be useless," DuQuesne stated flatly. "That ship
carries more stuff than anything we have ready to take off at present.
Also, Dunark does not scare. You might kill him, but you can't scare
him--it isn't in the breed."

"Well, what is the answer, then? You have tried to take Norlamin with
everything you've got--bombs, automatic ships, and projectors--and you
haven't got to first base. You can't even get through their outside
screens. What are you going to do--let it go on as a stalemate?"

"Hardly!" DuQuesne smiled thinly. "While I do not make a practice
of divulging my plans, I am going to tell you a few things now, so
that you can go ahead with more understanding and hence with greater
confidence. Seaton is out of the picture, or he would have been back
here before this. The Fenachrone are all gone. Dunark and his people
are unimportant. Norlamin is the only known obstacle between me and the
mastery of the Galaxy, therefore Norlamin must either be conquered or
destroyed. Since the first alternative seems unduly difficult, I shall
destroy her."

"Destroy Norlamin--how?" The thought of wiping out that world, with all
its ancient culture, did not appall--did not even affect--Brookings'
callous mind. He was merely curious concerning the means to be employed.

"This whole job so far has been merely a preliminary toward that
destruction," DuQuesne informed him levelly. "I am now ready to go
ahead with the second step. The planet Pluto is, as you may or may not
know, very rich in uranium. The ships which we are now building are
to carry a few million tons of that metal to a large and practically
uninhabited planet not too far from Norlamin. I shall install driving
machinery upon that planet and, using it as a projectile which all
their forces cannot stop, I shall throw Norlamin into her own sun."

       *       *       *       *       *

Raging but impotent, Dunark was borne back to Norlamin; and, more
subdued now but still bitterly humiliated, he accompanied Urvan, Sacner
Carfon, and the various Firsts to a consultation with the Five.

As they strolled along through the grounds, past fountains of flaming
color, past fantastically geometric hedges intricately and ornately
wrought of noble metal, past walls composed of self-luminous gems so
moving as to form fleeting, blending pictures of exquisite line and
color, Sacner Carfon eyed Drasnik in unobtrusive signal and the two
dropped gradually behind.

"I trust that you were successful in whatever it was you had in mind to
do while we set up the late diversion?" Carfon asked quietly, when they
were out of earshot.

Dunark and Urvan, his fierce and fiery aids, had taken everything that
had happened at its face value, but not so had the leader. Unlike his
lieutenants, the massive Dasorian had known at first blast that his
expedition against DuQuesne was hopeless. More, it had been clear to
him that the Norlaminians had known from the first that their vessel,
enormous as she was and superbly powerful, could not crush the defenses
of Earth.

"We knew, of course, that you would perceive the truth," the First
of Psychology replied as quietly. "We also knew that you would
appreciate our reasons for not taking you fully into our confidence
in advance. Tarnan of Osnome also had an inkling of it, and I have
already explained matters to him. Yes; we succeeded. While DuQuesne's
whole attention was taken up in resisting your forces and in returning
them in kind, we were able to learn much that we could not have
learned otherwise. Also, our young friends Dunark and Urvan, through
being chastened, have learned a very helpful lesson. They have seen
themselves in true perspective for the first time; and, having fought
side by side in a common and so far as they knew a losing cause, they
have become friends instead of enemies. Thus it will now be possible
to inaugurate upon those two backward planets a program leading toward
true civilization."

In the Hall of the Five the Norlaminian spokesman voiced thanks and
appreciation for the effort just made, concluding:

"While as a feat of arms the expedition may not have been a success,
in certain other respects it was far from being a failure. By its help
we were enabled to learn much, and I can assure you now that the foe
shall not be allowed to prevail--it is graven upon the sphere that
civilization is to go on."

"May I ask a question, sir?" Urvan was for the first time in his
bellicose career speaking diffidently. "Is there no way of landing a
real storming force upon Earth? Must we leave DuQuesne in possession
indefinitely?"

"We must wait, son, and work," the chief answered, with the fatalistic
calm of his race. "At present we can do nothing more, but in time--"

He was interrupted by a deafening blast of sound--the voice of Richard
Seaton, tremendously amplified.

"This is the _Skylark_ calling Rovol of Norlamin--_Skylark_ calling
Rovol of Norlamin--" it repeated over and over, rising to a roar and
diminishing to a whisper as Seaton's broadcaster oscillated violently
through space.

Rovol laid a beam to the nearest transmitter and spoke: "I am here,
son. What is it?"

"Fine! I'm away out here in--"

"Hold on a minute, Dick!" Dunark shouted. He had been humble and sober
enough since his return to Norlamin, realizing as he never had before
his own ignorance in comparison with the gigantic minds about him, the
powerlessness of his entire race in comparison with the energies he had
so recently seen in action. But now, as Seaton's voice came roaring in
and Rovol and his brain-brother were about to indulge so naïvely and so
publicly in a conversation which certainly should not reach DuQuesne's
ears, his spirits rose. Here was something he could do to help.

"DuQuesne is alive, has Earth completely fortified, and is holding it
against everything we can give him," Dunark went on rapidly. "He's got
everything we have, maybe more, and he's undoubtedly listening to every
word we're saying. Talk Mardonalian--I know for a fact that DuQuesne
can't understand that. They've got an educator here and I'll give it to
Rovol right now--all right, go ahead."

"I'm clear out of the Galaxy," Seaton's voice went on, now speaking the
language of the Osnomian race which had so recently been destroyed. "So
many Galaxies away that none of you except Orlon could understand the
distance. The speed of transmission is due to the fact that we have
perfected and I am using a sixth-order projector, not a fifth. Have you
a ship fit for really long-distance flight--as big as _Three_ was, or
bigger?"

"Yes; we have a vessel twice her size."

"Fine! Load her up and start. Head for the Great Nebula in
Andromeda--Orlon knows what and where that is. That isn't very close to
my line, but it will do until you get some apparatus set up. I've got
to have Rovol, Drasnik, and Orlon, and I would like to have Fodan; you
can bring along anybody else that wants to come. I'll sign on again in
an hour--you should be started by then."

       *       *       *       *       *

Besides the four Norlaminians mentioned, Caslor, First of Mechanism,
and Astron, First of Energy, also elected to make the stupendous
flight, as did also many "youngsters" from the Country of Youth. Dunark
would not be left behind, nor would adventurous Urvan. And lastly there
was Sacner Carfon the Dasorian, who remarked that he "would have to go
along to make the boys behave and to steer the ship in case the old
professors forgot to." The space ship was well on its way when at the
end of the hour Seaton's voice again was heard.

"All right, put me on a recorder and I'll give you the dope," he
instructed, when he had made sure that his signal was received.

"DuQuesne has been trying to put a ray on us and he may try to follow
us," Dunark put in.

"Let him," Seaton shot back grimly, then spoke in English: "DuQuesne,
Dunark says that you're listening in. You have my urgent, if not
cordial, invitation to follow this Norlaminian ship. If you follow it
far enough, you'll take a long, long ride, believe me!"

Again addressing the voyagers, he recounted briefly everything that had
occurred since the abandonment of _Skylark Three_, then dived abruptly
into the fundamental theory and practical technique of sixth-order
phenomena and forces.

Of that ultramathematical dissertation Dunark understood not even the
first sentence; Sacner Carfon perhaps grasped dimly a concept here and
there. The Norlaminians, however, sat back in their seats, relaxed and
smiling, their prodigious mentalities not only absorbing greedily but
assimilating completely the enormous doses of mathematical and physical
science being thrust upon them so rapidly. And when that epoch-making,
that almost unbelievable, tale was done, not one of the aged scientists
even referred to the tape of the recorder.

"Oh, wonderful--wonderful!" exclaimed Rovol in ecstasy, his
transcendental imperturbability broken at last. "Think of it! Our
knowledge extended one whole order farther in each direction, both into
the small and into the large. Magnificent! And by one brain, and that
of a youth. Extraordinary! And we may now traverse universal space
in ordinary time, because that brain has harnessed the practically
infinite power of cosmic radiation, a power which exhausted the store
of uranium carried by _Skylark Three_ in forty hours. Phenomenal!
Stupendous!"

"But do not forget that the brain of that youth is a composite of
many," said Fodan thoughtfully, "and that in it, among others,
were yours and Dunark's. Seaton himself ascribes to that peculiar
combination his successful solution of the problem of the sixth order.
You know, of course, that I am in no sense belittling the native power
of that brain. I am merely suggesting that perhaps other noteworthy
discoveries may be made by superimposing brains in other, but equally
widely divergent, fields of thought."

"An interesting idea, truly, and one which may be fruitful of result,"
assented Orlon, the First of Astronomy, "but I would suggest that we
waste no more time. I, for one, am eager to behold with my own inner
consciousness the vistas of the Galaxies."

Agreeing, the five white-bearded scientists seated themselves at the
multiplex console of their fifth-order installation and set happily to
work. Their gigantic minds were undaunted by the task they faced--they
were only thrilled with interest at the opportunity of working with
magnitudes, distances, forces, objects, and events at the very
contemplation of which any ordinary human mind would quail.

Steadily and contentedly they worked on, while at the behest of their
nimble and unerring fingers there came into being the forces which were
to build into their own vessel a duplicate of the mechano-electrical
brain which actuated and controlled the structure, almost of planetary
proportions, in which Seaton was even then hurtling toward them.
Hurtling with a velocity rapidly mounting to a value incalculable;
driven by the power liberated by the disintegrating matter of all the
suns of all the Galaxies of all the universes of cosmic space!



                                XXIII.


With all their might of brain and skill of hand and with all the
resources of their fifth-order banks of forces, it was no small task
for the Norlaminians to build the sixth-order controlling system which
their ship must have if they were to traverse universal space in any
time short of millenia. But finally it was done.

A towering mechano-electrical brain almost filled the mid-section of
their enormous sky rover, the receptors and converters of the free
energy of space itself had been installed, and their intra-atomic
space-drive, capable of developing an acceleration of only five
light-veloci ties, had been replaced by Seaton's newly developed
sixth-order cosmic-energy drive which could impart to the ship and its
entire contents, without jolt, jar, or strain, any conceivable, almost
any calculable, acceleration.

For many days the Norlaminian vessel had been speeding through the void
at her frightful maximum of power toward the _Skylark of Valeron_,
which in turn was driving toward our Galaxy at the same mad pace.
Braking down now, since only a few thousand light-years of distance
separated the hurtling flyers, Seaton materialized his image at the
brain control of the smaller cruiser and thought into it for minutes.

"There, we're all set!" In the control room of the _Skylark_ Seaton
laid aside his helmet and wiped the perspiration from his forehead in
sheer relief. "The trap is baited and ready to spring--I've been scared
to death for a week that they'd tackle us before we were ready for
them."

"What difference would it have made?" asked Margaret curiously. "Since
we have our sixth-order screens out they couldn't hurt us, could they?"

"No, Peg; but keeping them from hurting us isn't enough--we've got to
capture 'em. And they'll have to be almost directly between Rovol's
ship and ours to make that capture possible. You see, we'll have to
send out from each vessel a hollow hemisphere of force and surround
them. If we had only one ship, or if they don't come between our two
ships, we can't bottle them up, because they have exactly the same
velocity of propagation that our own forces have.

"Also, you can see that our projector can't work direct on more than
a hemisphere without cutting its own beams, and that we can't work
through relay stations because, fast as relays are, the Intellectuals
would get away while the relays were cutting in. Any more questions?"

"Yes; I have one," put in Dorothy. "You told us that this artificial
brain of yours could do anything that your own brain could think of,
and here you've got it stuck already and have to have two of them. How
come?"

"Well, this is a highly exceptional case," Seaton replied. "What I said
would be true ordinarily, but now, as I explained to Peg, it's working
against something that can think and act just as quickly as it can."

"I know, dear, I was just putting you on the spot a little. What are
you using for bait?"

"Thoughts. We're broadcasting them from a point midway between the two
vessels. They're keen on investigating any sixth-order impulses they
feel, you know--that's why we've kept all our stuff on tight beams
heretofore, so that they probably couldn't detect it--so we're sending
out a highly peculiar type of thought, that we are pretty sure will
bring them in from wherever they are."

"Let me listen to it, just for a minute?" she pleaded.

"W-e-l-l--I don't know." He eyed her dubiously. "Not for a minute--no.
Being of a type that not even a pure intellectual can resist, they'd
burn out any human brain in mighty short order. Maybe you might for
about a tenth of a second, though."

He lowered a helmet over her expectant head and snatched it off again,
but that moment had been enough for Dorothy. Her violet eyes widened
terribly in an expression commingled of amazedly poignant horror and of
dreadfully ecstatic fascination.

[Illustration: _Her whole body trembled violently. "Oh, Dick, Dick!"
she gasped. "How horrible!"_]

"Dick--Dick!" she shrieked; then, recovering slowly: "How horrible--how
ghastly--how perfectly, exquisitely damnable! What is it? Why, I
actually heard babies begging to be born! And there were men who had
died and gone to heaven and hell; there were minds that had lost their
bodies and didn't know what to do--were simply shrieking out their
agony, despair, and utter, unreasoning terror for the whole universe
to hear! And there were joys, pleasures, raptures, so condensed as
to be almost as unbearable as the tortures. And there were other
things--awful, terrible, utterly indescribable and unimaginable things!
Oh, Dick, I was sure that I had gone stark, staring, raving crazy!"

"'Sall right, dear," Seaton reassured his overwrought wife. "All those
things are really there, and more. I told you it was bad medicine--that
it would tear your brain to pieces if you took much of it."

       *       *       *       *       *

Seaton paused, weighing in his mind how best to describe the really
indescribable signal that was being broadcast by the Brain, then went
on, choosing his words with care:

"All the pangs and all the ecstasies, all the thoughts and all the
emotions of all evolution of all things, animate and inanimate, are
there; of all things that ever have existed from the unknowable
beginning of infinite time and of all things that ever shall exist
until time's unknowable end. It covers all animate life, from the first
stirring of that which was to vitalize the first uni-cell in the slime
of the first world ever to come into being in the cosmos, to the last
cognition of the ultimately last intelligent entity ever to be.

"Our present humanity was of course included, from before conception,
through birth, through all of life, through death, and through the
life beyond. It covers inanimate evolution from the ultimate particle
and wave, through the birth, life, death, and re-birth of any possible
manifestation of energy and of matter, up to and through the ultimate
universe.

"Neither Mart nor I could do it all. We carried everything as far as we
could, then the Brain went through with it to its logical conclusion,
which of course we could not reach. Then the Brain systematized all the
data and reduced it to a concentrated essence of pure thought. It is
that essence which is being broadcast and which will certainly attract
the Intellectuals. In the brief flash you got of it you probably could
understand at all only the human part--but maybe it's just as well."

"I'll say it's just as well!" Dorothy emphatically agreed. "I wouldn't
listen to that again, even for a millionth of a second, for a million
dollars--but I wouldn't have missed it for another million, either. I
don't know whether to beg you to listen to it, Peggy, or to implore you
not to."

"Don't bother," Margaret replied positively. "Anything that could throw
you into such a hysterical tantrum as that did, I don't want any of at
all. None at all, in fact, it would be altogether too much for--"

"Got them, folks--all done!" Seaton exclaimed. "You can put on your
headsets now."

A signal lamp had flashed brightly and he knew that those two gigantic
brains, working in perfect synchronism, had done instantaneously all
that they had been set to do.

"Are you dead sure that they got them all, Dick?"

"Absolutely, and they got them in less time than it took the filament
of the lamp to heat up. You can bank on it that all seven of them are
in the can. I go off half cocked and make mistakes, but those Brains
don't--they can't."

Seaton was right. Though far away, even as universal distances go, the
Intellectuals had felt that broadcast thought and had shot toward its
source at their highest possible speed. For in all their long lives
and throughout all their cosmic wanderings they had never encountered
thoughts of such wide scope, such clear cogency, such tremendous power.

The discarnate entities approached the amazing pattern of mental force
which was radiating so prodigally and addressed it; and in that instant
there were shot out curvingly from each of the mechano-electrical
brains a gigantic, hemispherical screen.

Developing outwardly from the two vessels as poles with the
unimaginable velocity possible only to sixth-order forces, the two
cups were barriers impenetrable to any sixth-order force, yet neither
affected nor were affected by the gross manifestations which human
senses can perceive. Thus Solar Systems, even the neutronium cores of
stars, did not hinder their instantaneous development.

Hundreds of light-years in diameter though they were, the open edges
of those semiglobes of force met in perfect alignment and fused
smoothly, effortlessly, instantaneously together to form a perfect,
thought-tight sphere. The violently radiating thought-pattern which had
so interested the Intellectuals disappeared, and at the same instant
the ultrasensitive organisms of the entities were assailed by the to
them deafening and blinding crash and flash of the welding together
along its equator of the far-flung hollow globe.

These simultaneous occurrences were the first intimations that
everything was not what it appeared, and the disembodied intelligences
flashed instantly into furious activity, too late by the smallest
possible instant of time. The trap was sprung, the sphere was
impervious at its every point, and, unless they could break through
that wall, the Intellectuals were incarcerated until Seaton should
release his screens.

       *       *       *       *       *

Within the confines of the globe there were not a few suns and
thousands of cubic parsecs of space upon whose stores of energy the
Intellectuals could draw. Wherefore they launched a concerted attack
upon the wall, hurling against it all the force they could direct.
But they were not now contending against the power of any human,
organic, finite brain. For Seaton's mind, powerfully composite though
it was of the mightiest intellects of the First Galaxy, was only the
primary impulse which was being impressed upon the grids and was
being amplified to any desirable extent by the almost infinite power
of those two cubic miles of coldly emotionless, perfectly efficient,
mechano-electrical artificial Brains.

Thus against every frantic effort of the Intellectuals within it the
sphere was contracted inexorably, and as it shrank, reducing the volume
of space from which the prisoners could draw energy, their struggles
became weaker and weaker. When the ball of force was only a few
hundred miles in diameter and the two vessels were relatively at rest,
Seaton erected auxiliary stations around it and assumed full control.

Rapidly then the prisoning sphere, little larger now than a toy
balloon, was brought through the inoson wall of the _Skylark_ and
held motionless in the air above the Brain room. A complex structure
of force was built around it, about which in turn there appeared a
framework of inoson, supporting sixteen massive bars of uranium.

Seaton took off his helmet and sighed. "There, that'll hold them for a
while, I guess."

"What are you going to do with them?" asked Margaret.

"Darned if I know, Peg," he admitted ruefully. "That's been pulling
my cork ever since we figured out how to catch them. We can't kill
them and I'm afraid to let them go, because they're entirely too hot
to handle. So in the meantime, pending the hatching out of a feasible
method of getting rid of them permanently, I have simply put them in
jail."

"Why, Dick, how positively brutal!" Dorothy exclaimed.

"Yeah? There goes your soft heart again, Red-Top, instead of your hard
head. I suppose it would be positively O.K. to let them loose, so
that they can dematerialize all four of us? But it isn't as bad as it
sounds, because I've got a stasis of time around them. We can leave
them in there for seventeen thousand million years and even their
intellects won't know it, because for them no time at all shall have
lapsed."

"No-o-o--of course we can't let them go scot-free," Dorothy admitted,
"but we--I should--well, maybe couldn't you make a bargain with them to
give them their liberty if they will go away and let us alone? They're
such free spirits, surely they would rather do that than stay bottled
up there forever."

"Since they are purely intellectual and hence immortal, I doubt very
much if they'll dicker with us at all," Seaton replied. "Time doesn't
mean a thing to them, you know; but since you insist I'll check the
stasis and talk it over with them."

A tenuous projection, heterodyned upon waves far below the band upon
which the captives had their being, crept through the barrier screen
and Seaton addressed his thoughts to the entity known as "One."

"Being highly intelligent, you have already perceived that we are
vastly more powerful than you are. Living in the flesh possesses many
advantages over an immaterial existence. One of these is that it
permitted us to pass through the fourth dimension, which you cannot do
because your patterns are purely three-dimensional and inextensible.
While in hyperspace we learned many things. Particularly we learned
much of the really fundamental natures and relationships of time,
space, and matter, gaining thereby a basic knowledge of all nature
which is greater, we believe, than any that has ever before been
possessed by any three-dimensional being.

"Not only can we interchange matter and energy as you do in your
materializations and dematerializations, but we can go much farther
than you can, working in levels which you cannot reach. For instance, I
am projecting myself through this screen, which you cannot do because
the carrier wave is far below your lowest attainable level.

"With all my knowledge, however, I admit that I cannot destroy you,
since you can shrink as nearly to a mathematical point as I can
compress this zone, and its complete coalescence would of course
liberate you. Upon the other hand, you realize your helplessness inside
that sphere. You can do nothing about it since it cuts off your sources
of power.

"I can keep you imprisoned therein as long as I choose. I can
set upon it forces which will keep you imprisoned until this
two-hundred-kilogram ingot of uranium has dwindled down to a mass of
less than one milligram. Knowing that the half-life period of that
element is approximately five times ten to the ninth years, you can
calculate for yourself the length of time during which you shall remain
incarcerated.

"My wife, however, has a purely sentimental objection to confining
you thus, and wishes to make an agreement with you whereby we may set
you at liberty without endangering our own present existences. We are
willing to let you go if you will agree to leave this universe forever.
I realize, of course, that you are beyond either sentiment or passion
and are possessed of no emotions whatever. Realizing this, I give you a
choice, upon purely logical grounds, thus:

"Will you leave us and our universe alone, to work out our own
salvation or our own damnation, as the case may be, or shall I leave
you inside that sphere of force until its monitor bars are exhausted?
Think well before you reply; for, know you, we all prefer to exist
for a short time as flesh and blood rather than for all eternity as
fleshless and immaterial intelligences. Not only that--we intend so to
exist and we shall so exist!"

"We shall make no agreements, no promises," One replied. "Yours is
the most powerful mind I have encountered--almost the equal of one of
ours--and I shall take it."

"You just _think_ you will!" Seaton blazed. "You don't seem to get
the idea at all. I am going to surround you with an absolute stasis
of time, so that you will not even be conscious of imprisonment, to
say nothing of being able to figure a way out of it, until certain
more pressing matters have been taken care of. I shall then work out
a method of removing you from this universe in such a fashion and to
such a distance that if you should desire to come back here the time
required would be, as far as humanity is concerned, infinite. Therefore
it must be clear to you that you will not be able to get any of our
minds, in any circumstances."

"I had not supposed that a mind of such power as yours could think so
muddily," One reproved him. "In fact, you do not so think. You know as
well as I do that the time with which you threaten me is but a moment.
Your Galaxy is insignificant, your universe is but an ultramicroscopic
mote in the cosmic all. We are not interested in them and would have
left them before this had I not encountered your brain, the best I have
seen in substance. That mind is highly important and that mind I shall
have."

"But I have already explained that you can't get it, ever," protested
Seaton, exasperated. "I shall be dead long before you get out of that
cage."

"More of your purposely but uselessly confused thinking," retorted One.
"You know well that your mind shall never perish, nor shall it diminish
in vigor throughout all time to come. You have the key to knowledge,
which you will hand down through all your generations. Planets, Solar
Systems, Galaxies, will come and go, as they have since time first was;
but your descendants will be eternal, abandoning planets as they age to
take up their abodes upon younger, pleasanter worlds, in other systems
and in other Galaxies--perhaps even in other universes.

"And I do not believe that I shall lose as much time as you think. You
are bold indeed in assuming that your mind, able as it is, can imprison
mine for even the brief period we have been discussing. At any rate, do
as you please--we will make neither promises nor agreements."



                                 XXIV.


Immense as the Norlaminian vessel was, getting her inside the planetoid
was a simple matter to the Brain. Inside the _Skylark_ a dome bulged
up, driving back the air; a circular section of the multilayered
wall disappeared; Rovol's space-torpedo floated in; the wall was
again intact; the dome vanished; the visitor settled lightly into the
embrace of a mighty landing cradle which fitted exactly her slenderly
stupendous bulk.

The Osnomian prince was the first to disembark, appearing unarmed; for
the first time in his warlike life he had of his own volition laid
aside his every weapon.

"Glad to see you, Dick," he said simply, but seizing Seaton's hand in
both his own, with a pressure that said far more than his words. "We
thought they got you, but you're bigger and better than ever--the worse
jams you get into, the stronger you come out."

Seaton shook the hands enthusiastically. "Yeah, 'lucky' is my middle
name--I could fall into a vat of glue and climb out covered with talcum
powder and smelling like a bouquet of violets. But you've advanced more
than I have," glancing significantly at the other's waist, bare now
of its wonted assortment of lethal weapons. "You're going good, old
son--we're all behind you!"

He turned and greeted the other new-comers in cordial and appropriate
fashion, then all went into the control room.

During the long flight from Valeron to the First Galaxy no one paid
any attention to course or velocity--a handful of cells in the Brain
piloted the _Skylark_ better than any human intelligence could have
done it. Each Norlaminian scientist studied rapturously new vistas of
his specialty: Orlon the charted Galaxies of the First Universe, Rovol
the minutely small particles and waves of the sixth order, Astron the
illimitable energies of cosmic radiation, and so on.

Seaton spent day after day with the Brain, computing, calculating,
thinking with a clarity and a cogency hitherto impossible, all to one
end. What should he do, what _could_ he do, with those confounded
Intellectuals? Crane, Fodan, and Drasnik spent their time in planning
the perfect government--planetary, systemic, galactic, universal--for
all intelligent races, wherever situated.

Sacner Carfon studied quietly but profoundly with Caslor of Mechanism,
adapting many of the new concepts to the needs of his aqueous planet.
Dunark and Urvan, their fiery spirits now subdued and strangely awed,
devoted themselves as sedulously to the arts and industries of peace as
they formerly had to those of war.

Time thus passed quickly, so quickly that, almost before the travelers
were aware, the vast planetoid slowed down abruptly to feel her
cautious way among the crowded stars of our Galaxy. Though a mere
crawl in comparison with her inconceivable intergalactic speed, her
present pace was such that the stars sped past in flaming lines of
light. Past the double sun, one luminary of which had been the planet
of the Fenachrone, she flew; past the Central System; past the Dark
Mass, whose awful attraction scarcely affected her cosmic-energy
drive--hurtling toward Earth and toward Earth's now hated master,
DuQuesne.

DuQuesne had perceived the planetoid long since, and his robot-manned
ships rushed out into space to do battle with Seaton's new and peculiar
craft. But of battle there was none; Seaton was in no mood to trifle.
Far below the level of DuQuesne's screens, the cosmic energies directed
by the Brain drove unopposed upon the power bars of the space fleet
of Steel and that entire fleet exploded in one space-filling flash of
blinding brilliance. Then the _Skylark_, approaching the defensive
screens, halted.

"I know that you're watching me, DuQuesne, and I know what you're
thinking about, but you can't do it." Seaton, at the Brain's control,
spoke aloud. "You realize, don't you, that if you clamp on a zone of
force it'll throw the Earth out of its orbit?"

"Yes; but I'll do it if I have to," came back DuQuesne's cold accents.
"I can put it back after I get done with you."

"You don't know it yet, big shot, but you are going to do exactly
nothing at all!" Seaton snapped. "You see, I've got a lot of stuff here
that you don't know anything about because you haven't had a chance
to steal it yet, and I've got you stopped cold. I'm just two jumps
ahead of you, all the time. I could hypnotize you right now and make
you do anything I say, but I'm not going to--I want you to be wide
awake and aware of everything that goes on. Snap on your zone if you
want to--I'll see to it that the Earth stays in its orbit. Well, start
something, you big, black ape!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The screens of the _Skylark_ glowed redly as a beam carrying the
full power of DuQuesne's installations was hurled against them--a
beam behind which there was the entire massed output of Steel's
world-girdling network of superpower stations. But Seaton's screens
merely glowed; they did not radiate even under that Titanic thrust.
For, as has been said, this new _Skylark_ was powered, not by
intra-atomic energy, but by the cosmic energy liberated by all the
disrupting atoms in all the suns of all the Galaxies of all the
universes. Therefore her screens did not radiate; in fact, the furious
blasts of DuQuesne's projectors only increased the stream of power
being fed to her receptors and converters.

The mighty shields of the planetoid took every force that DuQuesne
could send, then Seaton began to compress his zones, leaving open
only the narrow band in the fourth order through which the force of
gravitation makes itself manifest. Not only did he leave that band
open, he so blocked it open that not even DuQuesne's zones of force,
full-driven though they were, could close it.

In their closing those zones brought down over all Earth a pall of
darkness of an intensity theretofore unknown. It was not the darkness
of any possible night, but the appalling, absolute blackness of the
utter absence of every visible wave from every heavenly body. As that
unrelieved and unheralded blackness descended, millions of Earth's
humanity went mad in unspeakable orgies of fright, of violence, and of
crime.

But that brief hour of terror, horrible as it was, can be passed
over lightly, for it ended forever any hope of world domination by
any self-interested man or group, paving the way as it did for the
heartiest possible reception of the government of right instead of by
might so soon to be given to Earth's peoples by the sages of Norlamin.

Through the barriers both of mighty space ship and of embattled planet
Seaton drove his sixth-order projection. Although built to be effective
at universal distances the installation was equally efficient at only
miles, since its control was purely mental. Therefore Seaton's image,
solid and visible, materialized in DuQuesne's inner sanctum--to see
DuQuesne standing behind Dorothy's father and mother, a heavy automatic
pistol pressed into Mrs. Vaneman's back.

"That'll be all from you, I think," he sneered. "You can't touch
me without hurting your beloved parents-in-law and you're too
tender-hearted to do that. If you make the slightest move toward me all
I've got to do is to touch the trigger. And I shall do that, anyway,
right now, if you don't get out of this System and stay out. I am still
master of the situation, you see."

"You are master of nothing, you murderous baboon!"

Even before Seaton spoke the first word his projection had acted.
DuQuesne was fast, as has been said, but how fast are the fastest of
human nervous and muscular reactions when compared with the speed
of thought? DuQuesne's retina had not yet registered the fact that
Seaton's image had moved when his pistol was hurled aside and he was
pinioned by forces as irresistible as the cosmic might from which they
sprang.

DuQuesne was snatched into the air of the room--was surrounded by
a globe of energy--was jerked out of the building through a welter
of crushed and broken masonry and concrete and of flailing, flying
structural steel--was whipped through atmosphere, stratosphere, and
empty space into the control room of the _Skylark of Valeron_. The
inclosing shell of force disappeared and Seaton hurled aside his
controlling helmet, for he knew that his iron self-control was fast
giving way. He knew that wave upon wave of passion, of sheer hate,
was rising, battering at the very gates of his mind; knew that if he
wore that headset one second longer the Brain, actuated by his own
uncontrollable thoughts, would passionlessly but mercilessly exert its
awful power and blast his foe into nothingness before his eyes.

Thus at long last the two men, physically so like, so unlike mentally,
stood face to face; hard gray eyes staring relentlessly into unyielding
eyes of midnight black. Seaton was in a towering rage; DuQuesne, cold
and self-contained as ever, was calmly alert to seize any possible
chance of escape from his present predicament.

"DuQuesne, I'm telling you something," Seaton gritted through clenched
teeth. "Prop back your ears and listen. You and I are going out in
that projector. You are going to issue 'cease firing' orders to all
your stations and tell them that you're all washed up--that a humane
government is taking things over."

"Or else?"

"Or else I'll do, here and now, what I've been wanting to do to you
ever since you shot up Crane's place that night--I will scatter your
component atoms all the way from here to Valeron."

"But, Dick--" Dorothy began to protest.

"Don't butt in, Dot!"

Stern and cold, Seaton's voice was one his wife had never before heard.
Never had she seen his face so hard, so bitterly implacable.

"Sympathy is all right in its place," Seaton went on, "but this is the
showdown. The time for dealing tenderly with this piece of mechanism in
human form is past. He has needed killing for a long time, and unless
he toes the mark quick and careful he'll get it, right here and right
now.

"And as for you, DuQuesne," turning again to the prisoner, "for your
own good I'd advise you to believe that I'm not talking just to make a
noise. This isn't a threat, it's a promise--get me?"

"You couldn't do it, Seaton, you're too--" Their eyes were still
locked, but into DuQuesne's there had crept a doubt. "Why, I believe
you _would_!" he exclaimed.

"I'll tell the cockeyed universe I will!" Seaton barked. "Last chance!
Yes or no?"

"Yes." DuQuesne knew when to back down. "You win--temporarily at
least," he could not help adding.

       *       *       *       *       *

The projection went out and the required orders were given. Sunlight,
moonlight, and starlight again bathed the world in wonted fashion.
DuQuesne sat at ease in a cushioned chair, smoking Crane's cigarettes;
Seaton stood scowling blackly, hands jammed deep into pockets,
addressing the jury of Norlaminians.

"You see what a jam I'm in?" he complained. "I could be arrested for
what I think of that bird. He ought to be killed, but I can't do it
unless he gives me about half an excuse, and he's darn careful not to
do that. So what?"

"The man has a really excellent brain, but it is slightly warped,"
Drasnik offered. "I do not believe, however, that it is beyond repair.
It may well be that a series of mental operations might make of him a
worth-while member of society."

"I doubt it." Seaton still scowled. "He'd never be satisfied unless he
was all three rings of the circus. Being a big shot isn't enough--he's
got to be the whole works, a regular Poo-Bah. He's naturally
antisocial--he would always be making trouble and would never fit
into a really civilized world. He _has_ got a wonderful brain; but he
isn't human--Say, that gives me an idea!" His corrugated brow smoothed
magically, his boiling rage was forgotten.

"DuQuesne, how would you like to become a pure intellect? A bodiless
intelligence, immaterial and immortal, pursuing pure knowledge and pure
power throughout all cosmos and all time, in company with seven other
such entities?"

"What are you trying to do, kid me?" DuQuesne sneered. "I don't need
any sugar coating on my pills. You are going to take me on a one-way
ride--all right, go to it, but don't lie about it!"

"No; I mean it. Remember the one we met in the first _Skylark_? Well,
we captured him and six others, and it's a very simple matter to
dematerialize you so that you can join them. I'll bring them in, so
that you can talk to them yourself."

The Intellectuals were brought into the control room, the stasis
of time was released, and DuQuesne--via projection--had a long
conversation with One.

"That's the life!" he exulted finally. "Better a million times over
than any possible life in the flesh--the ideal existence! Think you can
do it without killing me, Seaton?"

"Sure I can--I know both the words and the music."

DuQuesne and the caged Intellectuals poised in the air, Seaton threw
a zone around cage and man, the inner zone of course disappearing as
the outer one went on. DuQuesne's body disappeared--but not so his
intellect.

"That was the first really bad mistake you ever made, Seaton," the same
sneering, domineering, icily cold DuQuesne informed Seaton's projection
in level thought. "It was bad because you can't ever remedy it--you
_can't_ kill me now! And now I _will_ get you--what's to hinder me from
doing anything I please?"

"I am, bucko," Seaton informed him cheerfully. "I told you quite a
while ago that you'd be surprised at what I could do, and that still
goes as it lays. But I'm surprised at your rancor and at the survival
of your naughty little passions. What d'you make of it, Drasnik? Is it
simply a hangover, or may it be permanent in his case?"

"Not permanent, no," Drasnik decided. "It is only that he has not yet
become accustomed to his changed state of being. Such emotions are
definitely incompatible with pure mentality and will disappear in a
short time."

"Well, I'm not going to let him think even for a minute that I slipped
up on his case," Seaton declared. "Listen, you. If I hadn't been dead
sure of being able to handle you I would have killed you instead of
dematerializing you. And don't get too cocky about my not being able to
kill you yet, either, if it comes to that. It shouldn't be impossible
to calculate a zone in which there would be no free energy whatever, so
that you would starve to death. But don't worry, I'm not going to do it
unless I have to."

"Just what do you think you _are_ going to do?"

"See that miniature space ship there? I am going to compress you and
your new playmates into this spherical capsule and surround you with
a stasis of time. Then I am going to send you on a trip. As soon as
you are out of the Galaxy this bar here will throw in a cosmic-energy
drive--not using the power of the bar itself, you understand, but only
employing its normal radiation of energy to direct and to control
the energy of space--and you will depart for scenes unknown with an
acceleration equal to the sixth power of the velocity of light. You
will travel at that acceleration until this small bar is gone. It will
last approximately ninety thousand million years, which, as One will
assure you, is but a moment.

"Then these large bars, which will still be big enough to do the work,
will rotate your capsule into the fourth dimension. This is desirable,
not only to give you additional distance, but also to destroy any
orientation you may have remaining, in spite of the stasis of time
and the not inconsiderable distance already covered. When and if you
get back into three-dimensional space you will be so far away from
here that you will certainly need most of what is left of eternity to
find your way back here." Then, turning to the ancient physicist of
Norlamin: "O.K., Rovol?"

"An exceedingly scholarly bit of work," Rovol applauded.

"It is well done, son," majestic Fodan gravely added. "Not only is it
a terrible thing indeed to take away a life, but it is certain that
the unknowable force is directing these disembodied mentalities in
the engraving upon the sphere of a pattern which must forever remain
hidden from our more limited senses."

Seaton thought into the headset for a few seconds, then again projected
his mind into the capsule.

"All set to go, folks?" he asked. "Don't take it too hard--no matter
how many millions of years the trip lasts, you won't know anything
about it. Happy landings!"

The tiny space-ship prison shot away, to transport its contained
bodiless intelligences into the indescribable immensities of the
super-universe; of the cosmic all; of that ultimately infinite space
which can be knowable, if at all, only to such immortal and immaterial,
to such incomprehensibly gigantic, mentalities as were theirs.



                               EPILOGUE


The erstwhile overlord and his wife sat upon an ordinary davenport in
their own home, facing a fireplace built by human labor, within which
nature-grown logs burned cracklingly. Dorothy wriggled luxuriously,
fitting her gorgeous auburn head even more snugly into the curve of
Seaton's mighty shoulder, her supple body even more closely into the
embrace of his brawny arm.

"It's funny, isn't it, lover, the way things turn out? Space ships
and ordinary projectors and forces and things are all right, but I'm
awfully glad that you turned that horrible Brain over to the Galactic
Council in Norlamin and said you'd never build another. Maybe I
shouldn't say it, but it's ever so much nicer to have you just a man
again, instead of a--well, a kind of a god or something."

"I'm glad of it, too, Dorothy mine--I couldn't hold the pose. When I
got so mad at DuQuesne that I had to throw away the headset I realized
that I never could get good enough to be trusted with that much
dynamite."

"We're both really human, and I'm glad of it. It's funny, too," she
went on dreamily, "the way we jumped around and how much we missed.
From here across thousands of Solar Systems to Osnome, and from
Norlamin across thousands of Galaxies to Valeron. And yet we haven't
seen either Mars or Venus, our next-door neighbors, and there are lots
of places on Earth, right in our own back yard, that we haven't seen
yet, either."

"Well, since we're going to stick around here for a while, maybe we can
catch up on our local visitings."

"I'm glad that you are getting reconciled to the idea; because where
you go I go, and if I can't go you can't, either, so you've _got_ to
stay on Earth for a while, because Richard Ballinger Seaton the Second
is going to be born right here, and not off in space somewhere!"

"Sure he is, sweetheart. I'm with you, all the way--you're a blinding
flash and a deafening report, dear little girl friend, and, as I may
have intimated previously, I love you."

"Just as I love you--it's wonderful, isn't it, how supremely happy you
and I are? I wish more people could be like us--more of them will be,
too, won't they, after this new planetary government has shown them
what coöperation can do?"

"They're bound to, dear. It'll take time, of course--racial hates and
fears cannot be overcome in a day--but the people of our old Earth are
not too dumb to learn."

Auburn head close to brown, they stared into the flickering flames in
silence; the wonderfully satisfying silence of perfect comradeship,
perfect sympathy, perfect understanding, perfect and perfected love.

For these two the problems of life were few and small.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Skylark of Valeron" ***

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