he had picked up his Lens on Lyrane IX. And “picked up” was literal. He had not seen,
nor heard, nor had any dealings of any kind with anyone while he was there.
Since both armored figures stood motionless, no sign of the tremendous actuality
of their mental battle was evident. Thus the Boskonians were not surprised to hear their
Black Lensman speak.
“Very well, Thyron, you have passed this preliminary examination. I know all that
I now need to know. I will accompany you to your vessel, to complete my investigation
there. Lead the way.”
Kinnison did so, and as the speedster came to rest inside the Dauntless the
Black Lensman addressed Vice-Admiral Mendonai via plate.
“I am taking Bradlow Thyron and his ship to the spaceyards on Four, where a
really comprehensive study of it can be made. Return to and complete your original
assignment”
“I abase myself, Your Supremacy, but . . . but I . . . I discovered that ship!”
Mendonai protested.
“Granted,” the Black Lensman sneered. “You will be given full credit in my report
for what you have done. The fact of discovery, however, does not excuse your present
conduct. Go—and consider yourself fortunate that, because of that service, I forbear
from disciplining you for your intolerable insubordination.”
“I abase myself, Your Supremacy. I go.” He really did abase himself, this time,
and the fleet disappeared.
Then, the mighty Dauntless safely away from Kalonia and on her course to
rendezvous with die Velan, Kinnison again went over his captive’s mind; line by line and
almost cell by cell. It was still the same. It was still Lyrane IX and it still didn’t make any
kind of sense. Since Boskonians were certainly not supermen, and hence could not
possibly have developed their own Lenses, it followed that they must have obtained
them from the Boskonian counterpart of Arista. Hence, Lyrane IX must be IT—a
conclusion which was certainly fallacious. Ridiculous—preposterous—utterly untenable:
Lyrane IX never had been, was not, and never would be the home of any Boskonian
super-race. Nevertheless, it was a definite fact that Melasnikov had got his Lens there.
Also, if he had ever had any special training, such as any Lensman must have had, he
didn’t have any memory of it. Nor did he carry any scars of surgery. What a hash! How
could anybody make any sense out of such a mess as that?
* * * *
Ever-watchful Kathryn, eyes narrowed now in concentration, could have told him,
but she did not. Her visualization was beginning to clear up. Lyrane was out. So was
Floor. The Lenses originated on Eddore; that was certain. The fact that their training
was subconscious weakened the Black Lensman in precisely the characteristics
requisite for ultimate strength —although probably neither the Eddorians nor the
Ploorans, with their warped, Boskonian sense of values, realized it. The Black Lensmen
would never constitute a serious problem. QX.
* * * *
Kinnison, having attended to the unpleasant but necessary job of resolving
Melasnikov into his component atoms, turned to his Lensman-aide.
“Hold everything, Frank, until I get back. This won’t take long.”
Nor. did it, although the outcome was not at all what the Gray Lensman had
expected.
Kinnison and Worsel, in an inert speedster, crossed the Hell-Hole’s barrier web at
a speed of only miles per hour, and then slowed down. The ship was backing in on her
brakes, with everything set to hurl her forward under full free drive should either
Lensman flick a finger. Kinnison could feel nothing, even though, being en rapport with
Worsel, he knew that his friend was soon suffering intensely.
“Let’s flit,” the Gray Lensman suggested, and threw on the drive. “I probed my
limit, and couldn’t touch or feel a thing. Had enough, didn’t you?”
“More than enough—I couldn’t have taken much more.”
Each boarded his ship; and as the Dauntless and the Velan tore through space
toward far Lyrane, Kinnison paced his room, scowling in black abstraction. Nor would a
mind-reader have found his thoughts either cogent or informative.
“Lyrane Nine . . . Lyrane Nine . . . Lyrane Nine . . . LYRANE NINE . . . and
something I can’t feel or sense or perceive that kills anybody and everybody else . . .
KLONO’S tungsten TEETH and CURVING CARBALLOY CLAWS!!!”
CHAPTER 21: THE RED LENSMAN ON LYRANE
Helen’s story was short and bitter. human or near-human Boskonians came to
Lyrane II and spread insidious propaganda all over the planet. Lyranian matriarchy
should abandon its policy of isolationism. Matriarchs were the highest type of life.
Matriarchy was the most perfect of all existing forms of government—why keep on
confining it to one small planet, when it should by rights be ruling the entire galaxy? The
way things were, there was only one Elder Person; all other Lyranians, even though
better qualified than the then incumbent, were nothing . . . and so on. Whereas, if things
were as they should be, each individual Lyranian person could be and would be the
Elder Person of a planet at least, and perhaps of an entire solar system . . . and so on.
And the visitors, who, they insisted, were no more males than the Lyranian persons
were females, would teach them. They would be amazed at how easily, under
Boskonian guidance, this program could be put into effect.
Helen fought the intruders with everything she had. She despised the males of
her own race; she detested those of all others. Believing hers to be the only existing
matriarchal race, especially since neither Kinnison nor the Boskonians seemed to know
of any other, she was sure that any prolonged contact with other cultures would result,
not in the triumph of matriarchy, but in its fall. She not only voiced these beliefs as she
held them—violently—but also acted upon them in the same fashion.
Because of the ingrained matriarchially conservative habit of Lyranian thought,
particularly among the older persons, Helen found it comparatively easy to stamp out
the visible manifestations; and, being in no sense a sophisticate, she thought the whole
matter settled. Instead, she merely drove the movement underground, where it grew
tremendously. The young, of course, rebellious as always against the hide-bound,
mossbacked, and reactionary older generation, joined the subterranean New Deal in
droves. Nor was the older generation solid. In fact, it was riddled by the defection of
many thousands who could not expect to attain any outstanding place in the world as it
was and who believed that the Boskonians’ glittering forecasts would come true.
Disaffection spread, then, rapidly and unobserved; culminating in the carefully-
planned uprising which made Helen an ex-queen and put her under restraint to await a
farcical trial and death.
“I see.” Clarrissa caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Very unfunny. . . . You
didn’t mention or think of any of your persons as ringleaders . . . peculiar that you
couldn’t catch them, with your telepathy . . . no, natural enough, at that . . . but there’s
one I want very much to get hold of. Don’t know whether she was really a leader, or not,
but she was mixed up in some way with a Boskonian Lensman. I never did know her
name. She was the worn—the person who managed your airport here when Kim and I
were . . .”
“Cleonie? Why, I never thought . . . but it might have, at that. . . yes, as I look
back . . .”
“Yes, hindsight is a lot more accurate than foresight,” the Red Lensman grinned.
“I’ve noticed that myself, lots of times.”
“It did! It was a leader!” Helen declared, furiously. “I shall have its life, too, the
damned, jealous cat—the blood-sucking, back-biting louse!”
“She’s all of that, in more ways than you know,” Clarrissa agreed, grimly, and
spread in the Lyranian’s mind the story of Eddie the derelict. “So you see that Cleonie
has got to be our starting-point. Have you any idea of where we can find her?”
“I haven’t seen or beard anything of Cleonie lately.” Helen paused in thought. “If,
though, as I am now almost certain, it was one of the prime movers behind this
brainless brat Ladora, it wouldn’t dare leave the planet for very long at a time. As to how
to find it, I don’t quite know . . . Anybody would be apt to shoot me on sight . . . would
you dare fly this funny plane of yours down close to a few of our cities?”
“Certainly. I don’t know of anything around here that my screens and fields can’t
stop. Why?”
“Because I know of several places where Cleonie might be, and if I can get fairly
close to them, I can find it in spite of anything it can do to hide itself from me. But I don’t
want to get you into too much trouble, and I don’t want to get killed myself, either, now