perceived the slight “curdling” of space which presages the appearance of the terminus
of a hyper-spatial tube and gave the alarm. Kit, the girls, and all the Arisians responded
instantly—all knew that this was to be a thing which not even the Five could handle
unaided.
Not one, or a hundred, or a thousand, but at least two hundred thousand of those
tubes erupted, practically at once. Kit could alert and instruct ten Rigellian operators
every second, and so could each of his sisters; but since every tube within striking
distance of Arisia had to be guarded or plugged within thirty seconds of its appearance,
it is seen that the Arisians did practically all of the spotting and placing during those first
literally incredible two or three minutes.
If the Boskonians could have emerged from a tube’s terminus in the moment of
its appearance, it is quite probable that nothing could have saved Arisia. As it was,
however, the enemy required seconds, or sometimes even whole minutes, to traverse
their tubes, which gave the defenders much valuable time.
Upon arriving at the tube’s end, the fleet laced itself, by means of tractors and
pressors, into a rigid although inertia-less structure. Then, if there was time, and
because the theory was that the pirates would probably send a negasphere through
first, with an intrinsic velocity aimed at Arisia, a suitably-equipped loose planet was
tossed into “this end” of the tube. Since they might send a loose or an armed planet
through first, however, the fleet admiral usually threw a negasphere in, too.
What happened when planet met negasphere, in the unknown medium which
makes up the “interior” of a hyper-spatial tube, is not surely known. Several highly
abstruse mathematical treatises and many volumes of rather gruesome fiction have
been written upon the subject—none of which, however, has any bearing here.
If the Patrol fleet did not get there first, the succession of events was different;
the degree of difference depending upon how much time the enemy had had. If, as
sometimes happened, a fleet was coming through it was met by a super-atomic bomb
and by the concentrated fire of every primary projector that the englobing task force
could bring to bear; with consequences upon which it is neither necessary or desirable
to dwell. If a planet had emerged, it was met by a negasphere . . .
Have you ever seen a negasphere strike a planet?
The negasphere is built of negative matter. This material—or, rather, anti-
material—is in every respect the exact opposite of the every-day matter of normal
space. Instead of electrons, it has positrons. To it a push, however violent, is a pull; a
pull is a push. When negative matter strikes positive, then, there is no collision in the
usual sense of the word. One electron and one positron neutralize each other and
disappear; giving rise to two quanta of extremely hard radiation.
Thus, when the spherical hyper-plane which was the aspect of the negasphere
tended to occupy the same three-dimensional space in which the loose planet already
was, there was no actual collision. Instead, the materials of both simply vanished, along
the surface of what should have been a contact, in a gigantically crescendo burst of
pure, raw energy. The atoms and the molecules of the planet’s substance disappeared;
the physically incomprehensible texture of the negasphere’s anti-mass changed into
that of normal space. And all circumambient space was flooded with inconceivably lethal
radiation; so intensely lethal that any being not adequately shielded from it died before
he had time to realize that he was being burned.
Gravitation, of course, was unaffected; and the rapid disappearance of the
planet’s mass set up unbalanced forces of tremendous magnitude. The hot, dense,
pseudo-liquid magma tended to erupt as the sphere of nothingness devoured so rapidly
the planet’s substance, but not a particle of it could move. Instead, it vanished.
Mountains fell, crashingly. Oceans poured. Earth-cracks appeared; miles wide, tens of
miles deep, hundreds of miles long. The world heaved . . . shuddered . . . disintegrated .
. . vanished.
The shock attack upon Arisia itself, which in the Ed-dorian mind had been
mathematically certain to succeed, was over in approximately six minutes. Kinnison,
Maitland, and LaForge, fuming at their stations, had done nothing at all. The
Boskonians had probably thrown everything they could; the probability was vanishingly
small that that particular attack was to be or could be resumed. Nevertheless a host of
Kinnison’s task forces remained on guard and a detail of Arisians still scanned all
nearby space.
“What shall I do next, Kit?” Camilla asked. “Help Connie crack that screen?”
Kit glanced at his youngest sister, who was stretched out flat, every muscle
rigidly tense in an extremity of effort.
“No,” he decided. “If she can’t crack it alone, all four of us couldn’t help her
much. Besides, I don’t believe she can break it. It’s a mechanical, you know, powered
by atomic-motored generators. My guess is that it’ll have to be solved, not cracked, and
the solution will take time. When she comes down off that peak, Kay, you might tell her
so, and both of you start solving it. The rest of us have another job. The Boskonian
moppers-up are coming in force, and there isn’t a chance that either we or the Arisians
can derive the counter-formula of that screen in less than a week. Therefore the rest of
this battle will have to be fought out on conventional lines. We can do the most good, I
think, by spotting the Boskonians into the big tank—our scouts aren’t locating five
percent of them—for the L2’s to pass on to dad and the rest of the top brass so they can
run this battle the way it ought to be run. You’ll do the spotting, Cam, of course; Kat and
I will do the pushing. And if you thought that Tregonsee took you for a ride . . . ! It’ll
work, don’t you think?” “Of course it’ll work!”
Thus, apparently as though by magic, red lights winked into being throughout a
third of the volume of the immense tank; and the three master strategists, informed of
what was being done, heaved tremendous sighs of relief. They now had real control.
They knew, not only the positions of their own task forces, but also, and exactly, the
position of every task-force of the enemy. More, by merely forming in his mind the
desire for the information, any one of the three could know, with no appreciable lapse of
time, the exact composition and the exact strength of any individual fleet, flotilla, or
squadron!
Kit and his two sisters stood close-grouped, motionless; heads bent and almost
touching, arms interlocked. Kinnison perceived with surprise that Lenses, as big and as
bright as Kit’s own, flamed upon his daughters’ wrists; a surprise which changed to awe
as the very air around those three red-bronze-auburn heads began to thicken, to
pulsate, and to glow with that indefinable, indescribable polychromatic effulgence so
uniquely characteristic of the Lens of the Galactic Patrol. But there was work to do, and
Kinnison did it.
Since the Z9M9Z was now working as not even the most optimistic of her
planners and designers had dared to hope, the war could now be fought strategically;
that is, with the object of doing the enemy as much harm as possible with the irreducible
minimum of risk. It was not sporting. It was not clubby. There was nothing whatever of
chivalry. There was no thought whatever of giving the enemy a break. It was
massacre—it was murder—it was war.
It was not ship to ship. No, nor fleet to fleet. Instead, ten or twenty Patrol task-
forces, under sure pilotage, dashed out to englobe at extreme range one fleet of the
Boskonians. Then, before the opposing admiral could assemble a picture of what was
going on, his entire command became the center of impact of hundreds or even
thousands of super-atomic bombs, as well as the focus of an immensely greater
number of scarcely less ravaging primary beams. Not a ship nor a scout nor a lifeboat of
the englobed fleet escaped, ever. In fact, few indeed were the blobs, or even droplets,
of hard alloy or of dureum which remained merely liquefied or which, later, were able to
condense.
Fleet by fleet the Boskonians were blown out of the ether; one by one the red
lights in the tank and in the reducer winked out. And finally the slaughter was done.
Kit and his two now Lensless sisters unlaced themselves. Karen and Constance
came up for air, announcing that they knew how to work the problem Kit had handed
them, but that it would take time. Clarrissa, white and shaken by what she had driven
herself to do, looked and felt sick. So did Kinnison; nor had either of the other two
commanders derived any pleasure from the engagement. Tregonsee deplored it. Of all
the Lensed personnel, only Worsel had enjoyed himself. He liked to kill enemies, at