Children of the lens by E.E Doc Smith

He was isolated; no one of his fellows received his call. Nor could he escape from the

form of flesh he was then energizing. I myself saw to that.” Karen had never before felt

the Arisian display emotion, but his thought was grim and cold. “From that form, which

your father never did perceive, Gharlane of Eddore passed into the next plane of

existence.”

Karen shivered. “It served bun right . . . That clears everything up, I think. But are

you sure, Mentor”—wistfully—”that you can’t, or rather shouldn’t, teach me any more

than you have? It’s . . . I feel . . . well, ‘incompetent’ is putting it very mildly indeed.”

‘To a mind of such power and scope as yours, in its present state of

development, such a feeling is inevitable. Nor can anyone except yourself do anything

about it. Cold comfort, perhaps, but it is the stark truth that from now on your

development is your own task. Yours alone. As I have already told Christopher and

Kathryn, and will very shortly tell Camilla and Constance, you have had your last Arisian

treatment I will be on call to any of you at any instant of any day, to aid you or to guide

you or to re-enforce you at need; but of formal instruction there can be no more.”

Karen left Arisia and drove for Lyrane, her thoughts in a turmoil. The time was

too short by far; she deliberately cut her vessel’s speed and took a long detour so that

the vast and chaotic library of her mind could be reduced to some semblance of order

before she landed.

She reached Lyrane II, and there, again to all outward seeming a happy, carefree

girl, she hugged her mother rapturously.

“You’re the most wonderful thing, mums!” Karen exclaimed. “It’s simply

marvelous, seeing you again in the flesh . . .”

“Now why bring that up?” Clarrissa had—just barely— become accustomed to

working undraped, in the Lyranian fashion.

“I didn’t mean it that way at all, and you know I didn’t,” Kay snickered. “Shame on

you—fishing for compliments, and at your age, too!” Ignoring the older woman’s attempt

at protest she went on: “All kidding aside, mums, you’re a mighty smart-looking hunk of

woman. I approve of you exceedingly much. In fact, we’re a keen pair and I like both of

us. I’ve got one advantage over you, of course, in that I never did care whether I had

any clothes on or not. How are you doing?”

“Not so well—of course, though, I haven’t been here very long.” Forgetting her

undressedness, Clarrissa frowned. “I haven’t found Helen, and I haven’t found out yet

why she retired. I can’t quite decide whether to put pressure on now, or wait a while

longer. Ladora, the new Elder Person, is . . . that is, I don’t know . . . Oh, here she

comes now. I’m glad— I want you to meet her.”

If Ladora was glad to see Karen, however, she did not show it. Instead, for an

inappreciable instant of time which was nevertheless sufficient for the acquirement of

much information, each studied the other. Like Helen, the former queen, Ladora was

tall, beautifully proportioned, flawless of skin and feature, hard and fine. But so, and in

most respects even more so, to Ladora’s astonishment and quickly-mounting wrath,

was this pink-tanned stranger. Practically instantaneously, therefore, the Lyranian

hurled a vicious mental bolt; only to get the surprise of her life.

She hadn’t found out yet what this strange near-person, Clarrissa of Sol III, had

in the way of equipment, but from the meek way she acted, it couldn’t be much. So

Clarrissa’s offspring, younger and less experienced, would be easy enough prey.

But Ladora’s bolt, the heaviest she could send, did not pierce even the outermost

fringes of her intended victim’s defenses, and so vicious was the almost simultaneous

counter-thrust that it went through the Lyranian’s hard-held block in nothing flat. Inside

her brain it wrought such hellishly poignant punishment that the matriarch, forgetting

everything, tried only and madly to scream. She could not. She could not move a

muscle of her face or of her body. She could not even fall. And the one brief glimpse

she had into the stranger’s mind showed it to be such a blaze of incandescent fury that

she, who had never feared in the slightest any living creature, knew now in full measure

what fear was.

“I’d like to give that alleged brain of yours a good going over, just for fun.” Karen

forced her emotion to subside to a mere seething rage, and Ladora watched her do it.

“But since this whole stinking planet is my mother’s dish, not mine, she’d blast me to a

cinder—she’s done it before— if I dip in.” She cooled still more—visibly. “At that, I don’t

suppose you’re too bad an egg, in your own poisonous way—you just don’t know any

better. So maybe I’d better warn you, you poor fool, since you haven’t got sense enough

to see it, that you’re playing with an atomic vortex when you push her around like you’ve

been doing. Just a very little more of it and she’ll get mad, like I did a second ago except

more so, and you’ll wish to Klono you’d never been born. She won’t make a sign until

she blows her top, but I’m telling you she’s as much harder and tougher than I am as

she is older, and what she does to people she gets mad at I wouldn’t want to watch

happen again, even to a snake. She’ll pick you up, curl you into a circle, pull off your

arms, shove your feet down your throat, and roll you across that field there like a hoop.

After that I don’t know what she’ll do—depends on how much pressure she develops

before she goes off. One thing, though; she’s always sorry afterwards. Why, she even

attends the funerals, sometimes, and insists on paying all the expenses!”

With which outrageous thought she kissed Clarrissa an enthusiastic goodbye.

“Told you I couldn’t stay a minute— got to do a flit—’see a man about a dog’, you

know—came a million parsecs to squeeze you, mums, but it was worth it —clear ether!”

She was gone, and it was a dewy-eyed and rapt mother, not a Lensman, who

turned to the still completely disorganized Lyranian. Clarrissa had perceived nothing

whatever of what had happened; Karen had very carefully seen to that.

“My daughter,” Clarrissa mused, as much to herself as to Ladora. “One of four.

The four dearest, finest, sweetest girls that ever lived. I often wonder how a woman of

my limitations, of my faults, could possibly have borne such children.”

And Ladora of Lyrane, humorless and literal as all Lyranians are, took those

thoughts at their face value and correlated their every connotation and implication with

what she herself had perceived in that “dear, sweet” daughter’s mind; with what that

daughter had done and had said. The nature and quality of this hellish near-person’s

“limitations” and “faults” became eminently clear; and as she perceived what she

thought was the truth, the Lyranian literally cringed.

“As you know, I have been in doubt as to whether or not to support you actively,

as you wish,” Ladora offered, as the two walked across the field, toward the line of

ground-cars. “On the one hand, the certainty that the safety, and perhaps the very

existence, of my race will be at hazard. On the other, the possibility that you are right in

saying that the situation will continue to deteriorate if we do nothing. The decision has

not been an easy one to make.” Ladora was no longer aloof. She was just plain scared.

She had been talking against time, and hoping that the help for which she had long

since called would arrive in time. “I have touched only the outer surface of your mind.

Will you allow me, without offense, to test its inner quality before deciding definitely?” In

the instant of asking, Ladora sent out a full-driven probe.

“I will not.” Ladora’s beam struck a barrier which seemed to her exactly like

Karen’s. None of her race had developed anything like it. She had never seen . . . yes,

she had, too— years ago, when she was a child, that time in the assembly hall—that

utterly hated male, Kinnison of Tellus! Tellus— Sol III! Clarrissa of Sol III, then, wasn’t a

near-person at all, but a female—Kinnison’s kind of female—and a creature who was

physically a person, but mentally that inconceivable monstrosity, a female, might be

anything and might do anything! Ladora temporized.

“Excuse me; I did not mean to intrude against your will,” she apologized,

smoothly enough. “Since your attitude makes it extremely difficult for me to cooperate

with you, I can make no promises as yet. What is it that you wish to know first?”

“I wish to interview your predecessor, the person we called Helen.” Strangely

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