FLOOR! At last! Only their instantaneous speed of reaction enabled the Five to
conceal from the linkage the shrieked thought of what Floor really meant. After a
flashing exchange of thought, Kit smoothly took charge of the conference.
“The planet Floor should be investigated first, I think,” he resumed
communication with the group as though his attention had not wavered. “It is the planet
nearest the most probable point of origin of that thought-burst. Also, the period of the
variable and the planet’s distance seem to fit our observations and deductions better
than any of the others. Any arguments?”
No arguments. They all agreed. Kinnison, however, demanded action; direct and
fast.
“We’ll investigate it!” he exclaimed. “With the Dauntless, the Z9M9Z, and Grand
Fleet; and with our very special knick-knack as an ace up our sleeve!”
“Just a minute, dad!” Kit protested. “If, as some of this material seems to indicate,
the Ploorans actually are the top echelon of Boskonia, even that array may not be
enough.”
“You may be right—probably are. What, then? What do you say, Tregonsee?”
“Fleet action, yes,” the Rigellian agreed. “Also, as you implied, but did not clearly
state, independent but correlated action by us five Second-Stage Lensmen, with our
various skills. I would suggest, however, that your children be put first—very definitely
first—in command.”
“We object—we haven’t got jets enough to . . .”
“Over-ruled!” Kinnison did not have to think to make that decision. He knew. “Any
other objections? . . . Approved. I’ll call Cliff Maitland right now, then, and get things
going.”
That call, however, was never sent; for at that moment the mind of Mentor of
Arisia flooded the group.
“Children, attend.” This intrusion is necessary because a matter has come up
which will permit of no delay. Boskonia is now launching the attack which has been in
preparation for over twenty years. Arisia is to be the first point of attack. Kinnison,
Tregonsee, Worsel, and Nadreck will take immediate steps to assemble the Grand Fleet
of the Galactic Patrol in defense. I will confer at length with the younger Kinnisons.
“The Eddorians, as you know,” Mentor went on to the Children of the Lens,
“believe primarily in the efficacy of physical, material force. While they possess minds of
real power, they use them principally as tools in the development of more and ever
more efficient mechanical devices. We of Arisia, on the other hand, believe in the
superiority of the mind. A fully competent mind would have no need of material devices,
since it could control all material substance directly. While we have made some
progress toward that end, and you will make more in the cycles to come, Civilization is,
and for some time will be, dependent upon physical things. Hence the Galactic Patrol
and its Grand Fleet.
“The Eddorians have succeeded finally in inventing a mechanical generator able
to block our most penetrant thoughts. They believe implicitly that their vessels, so
protected, will be able to destroy our planet. They may believe that the destruction of
our planet would so weaken us that they would be able to destroy us. It is assumed that
you children have deduced that neither we nor the Eddorians can be slain by physical
force?”
“Yes—the clincher being that no suggestion was made about giving Eddore a
planet from Nth space.”
“We Arisians, as you know, have been aiding Nature in the development of
minds much abler than our own. While your minds have not yet attained their full
powers, you will be able to use the Patrol and its resources to defend Arisia and to
destroy the Boskonian fleet. That we cannot do it ourselves is implicit in what I have
said.”
“But that means . . . this is the big show, then, that you have been hinting at so
long?”
“Far from it. An important engagement, of course, but only preliminary to the real
test, which will come when we invade Eddore. Do you agree with us that if Arisia were
to be destroyed now, it would be difficult to repair the damage done to the morale of the
Galactic Patrol?”
“Difficult? It would be impossible!”
“Not necessarily. We have considered the matter at length, however, and have
decided that a Boskonian success at this time would not be for the good of Civilization.”
“I’ll say it wouldn’t—that’s a masterpiece of understatement if there ever was one!
Also, a successful defense of Arisia would be about the best thing that the Patrol could
possibly do for itself.”
“Exactly so. Go then, children, and work to that end.”
“But how, Mentor—how?”
“Again I tell you that I do not know. You have powers— individually, collectively,
and as the Unit—about which I know little or nothing. Use them!”
CHAPTER 25: THE DEFENSE OF ARISIA
The “Big Noise”—socially the Directrix, technically the Z9M9Z—floated through
space at the center of a hollow sphere of maulers packed almost screen to screen. She
was the Brain. She had been built around the seventeen million cubic feet of
unobstructed space which comprised her “tank”—the three-dimensional chart in which
vari-colored lights, stationary and moving, represented the positions and motions of
solar systems, ships, loose planets, negaspheres, and all other objects and items in
which Grand Fleet Operations was, or might become, interested. Completely encircling
the tank’s more than two thousand feet of circumference was the Rigellian-manned,
multi-million-plug board; a crew and a board capable of handling efficiently more than a
million combat units.
In the “reducer,” the comparatively tiny ten-foot tank set into an alcove, there
were condensed the continuously-changing major features of the main chart, so that
one man could comprehend and direct the board strategy of the engagement.
Instead of Port Admiral Haynes, who had conned that reducer and issued
general orders during the only previous experience of the Z9M9Z in serious warfare,
Kimball Kinnison was now in supreme command. Instead of Kinnison and Worsel, who
had formerly handled the big tank and the board, there were Clarrissa, Worsel,
Tregonsee, and the Children of the Lens. There also, in a built-in, thoroughly competent
refrigerator, was Nadreck. Port Admiral Raoul LaForge and Vice-Coordinator Clifford
Maitland were just coming aboard.
Might he need anybody else, Kinnison wondered. Couldn’t think of anybody—he
had just about the whole top echelon of Civilization. Cliff and Laf weren’t L2’s, of course,
but they •were mighty good men . . . besides, he liked them! Too bad the fourth officer
of their class couldn’t be there, too . . . gallant Wiedel Holmberg, killed in action . . . at
that, three out of four was a high average—mighty high . . .
“Hi, Cliff—Hi, Laf!” “Hi, Kim!”
The three old friends shook hands cordially, then the two newcomers stared for
minutes into the maze of lights flashing and winking in the tremendous space-chart.
“Glad I don’t have to try to make sense out of that,” LaForge commented, finally.
“Looks a lot different in battle harness than on practice cruises. You want me on that
forward wall there, you said?”
“Yes. You can see it plainer down in the reducer. The white star is Arisia. The
yellows, all marked, are suns and other fixed points, such as the markers along the
arbitrary rim of the galaxy, running from there to there. Reds will be Boskonians when
they get close enough to show. Greens are ours. Up in the big tank everything is
identified, but down here there’s no room for details—each green light marks the
location of a whole operating fleet. That block of green circles, there, is your command.
It’s about eighty parsecs deep and covers everything within two hours—say a hundred
and fifty parsecs—of the line between Arisia and the Second Galaxy. Pretty loose now,
of course, but you can tighten it up and shift it as you please as soon as some reds
show up. You’ll have a Rigeliian talker—here he is now— when you want anything
done, think at bun and he’ll give it to the right panel on the board. QX?”
“I think so. I’ll practice a bit.”
“Now you, Cliff. These green crosses, half-way between the forward wall and
Arisia, are yours. You won’t have quite as much depth as Laf, but a wider coverage. The
green tetrahedrons are mine. They blanket Arisia, you notice, and fill the space out to
the second wall.”
“Do you think you and I will have anything to do?” Maitland asked, waving a hand
at LaForge’s tremendous barrier.
“I wish I could hope not, but I can’t. They’re going to throw everything they’ve got
at us.”
For weeks Grand Fleet drilled, maneuvered, and practiced. All space within ten
parsecs of Arisia was divided into cubes, each of which was given a reference number.
Fleets were so placed that any point in that space could be reached by at least one fleet
in thirty seconds or less of elapsed time.
Drill went on until, finally, it happened. Constance, on guard at the moment,