but I simply know I haven’t got this much stuff. You, Cam—or is it all of you?” Not one of
the Five was as yet thoroughly familiar with the operating characteristics of the Unit.
“All of us, more or less, but mostly Kit,” Camilla decided after a moment’s
thought. “He’s as solid as an inert planet.”
“Not me,” Kit denied, vigorously. “Must be you other kids. Feels to me like Kat,
mostly. All I’m doing is just sort of leaning up against you a little—just in case. I haven’t
done a thing so far.”
“Oh, no? Sure not!” Kathryn giggled, an infectious chuckle inherited or copied
directly from her mother. “We know it, Kit. You wouldn’t think of doing anything, even if
you could. Just the same, we’re mighty glad you’re here, chum!”
“QX, kids, seal the chatter. We’ve had time to learn that they can’t crack us, and
so have they, so let’s get to work.”
Since the Unit was now under continuous attack, its technique would have to be
entirely different from that used previously. Its barrier must vanish for an infinitesimal
period of time, during which it must simultaneously detect and blast Or, rather, the blast
would have to be directed in mid-flight, while the Unit’s own block was open. Nor could
that block be open for more than the barest fractional millimicrosecond before or after
the passage of the bolt. It is time that the bolt compared with the power of the Unit very
much as the steady pressure of burning propellant powder compares with the disruptive
force of detonating duodec: even so it would have wrought much damage to the minds
of the Five had any of it been allowed to reach them.
Also, like parachute-jumping, this technique could not be practiced. Since the
timing had to be so nearly absolute, the first two shots missed their targets completely;
but the Unit learned fast. Eddorian after Eddorian died.
“Help, All-Highest, help!” a high Eddorian appealed, finally.
“What is it?” His Ultimate Supremacy, knowing that only utter desperation could
be back of such intrusion, accepted the call.
“It is this new Arisian entity . . .”
“It is not an entity, fool, but a fusion,” came curt reprimand. “We decided that
point long ago.”
“An entity, I say!” In his urgency the operator committed the unpardonable by
omitting the titles of address. “No possible fusion can attain such perfection of timing, of
synchronization. Our best fusions have attempted to match it, and have failed. Its
screens are impenetrable. Its thrusts cannot be blocked. My message is this: solve for
us, and quickly, the problem of this entity. If you do not or cannot do so, we perish all of
us, even to you of the Innermost Circle.”
“Think you so?” The thought was a sneer. “If your fusions cannot match those of
the Arisians you should die, and the loss will be small.”
The fifth screen went down. Eddore lay bare to the Arisian mind. There were
inner defenses, of course, but Kit knew every one; their strengths and their
weaknesses. He had long since spread in Mentor’s mind an exact and completely
detailed chart: they had long since drawn up a completely detailed plan of campaign.
Nevertheless, Kit could not keep from advising Mentor:
“Pick off any who may try to get away. Start on Area B and work up. Be sure,
though, to lay off of Area K or you’ll get your beard singed off.”
“The plan is being followed, youth,” Mentor assured him. “Children, you have
done very well indeed. Rest now, and recuperate your powers against that which is yet
to come.”
“QX. Unlace yourselves, kids. Loosen up. Relax. I’ll break out a few beakers of
fayalin, and all of us—you especially, Con—had better stoke up with candy bars.”
“Eat! Why, I couldn’t . . .” but at her brother’s insistence she took an experimental
bite. “But say, I am hungry, at that!”
“Of course you are. You’ve been putting out a lot of stuff, and there’s more and
worse coming. Now rest, all of you.”
They rested. Somewhat to their surprise, they could rest; even Constance. But
the respite was short. Area K, the headquarters and the citadel of His Ultimate
Supremacy and the Innermost Circle of the Boskonian Empire, contained all that
remained of Eddorian life.
But this, Kit knew, was the crux. This was what had stopped the Arisians cold;
had held them off for all these millions upon millions of years. Everything up to now the
Arisians could have done themselves; but even the totalized and integrated mind of
Arisia would hit Area K and bounce.
To handle Area K two things were necessary: the Unit and the utterly
inconceivable massed might of the Lensmen.
Knowing better even than Mentor what the situation was, Kit felt again a twinge
of panic, but managed to throw it off.
“No tight linkage yet, kids,” Kit the Organizer went smoothly to work. “Individual
effort—a flash of fusion, perhaps, now and then, if any of us call for it, but no Unit until I
give the word. Then give it everything you’ve got. Cam, analyze that screen and set us
up a pattern for it—you’ll find it’ll take some doing. See whether it’s absolutely
homogeneous—hunt for weak Spots, if any. Con, narrow down to the sharpest needle
you can possibly make and start pecking. Not too hard—don’t tire yourself—just to get
acquainted with the texture of the thing and keep them awake. Kay, take over our guard
so Eukonidor can join the other Arisians. Kat, come along with me—you’ll have to help
with the Arisians until I call you into the Unit.
“You Arisians, except Mentor, blanket this dome. Thinner than that—solider,
harder . . . there. A trifle off-balance yet—give me just a little more, here ‘on this side.
QX—hold it right there! SQUEEZE! Kat, watch ’em. Hold them right there and in balance
until you’re sure the Eddorians aren’t going to be able to put any bulges up through the
blanket.
“Now, Mentor, you and the Lensmen. Tell them to give us, for the next five
seconds, absolutely everything they can deliver. When they’re at absolute peak, hit us
with the whole charge. Dead center. Don’t pull your punch. We’ll be ready.
“Con, get ready to stick the needle right there—they’ll think it’s just another peck,
I hope—and slug as you never slugged before. Kay, get ready to drop that screen and
stiffen the needle—when that beam hits us it’ll be NO pat on the back. The rest of us will
brace you both and keep the shock from killing us all. Here it comes . . . make Unit! . . .
GO!”
The Unit struck. Its needle of pure force drove against the Eddorians’ supposedly
absolutely impenetrable shield. The Unit’s thrust was, of itself, like nothing ever before
known. The Lensmen’s pile-driver blow—the integrated sum total of the top effort of
every Lensman of the entire Galactic Patrol—was of itself irresistible. Something had to
give way.
For an instant it seemed as though nothing were happening or ever would
happen. Strong young arms laced the straining Five into a group as motionless and as
sculpturesque as statuary, while between their bodies and around them there came into
being a gigantic Lens: a Lens whose splendor filled the entire room with radiance.
Under that awful concentration of force something had to give way. The Unit
held. The Arisians held. The Lensmen held. The needle, superlatively braced, neither
bent nor broke. Therefore the Eddorian’s screen was punctured; and in the instant of its
puncturing it disappeared as does a bubble when it breaks.
There was no mopping up to do. Such was the torrent of force cascading into the
stronghold that within a microsecond after its shield went down all life within it was
snuffed out.
The Boskonian War was over.
CHAPTER 29: THE POWER OF LOVE
Dld you kids come through QX?” the frightful combat over, the dreadful tension a
thing of the past, Kit’s first thought was for his sisters.
They were unharmed. None of the Five had suffered anything except mental
exhaustion. Recuperation was rapid.
“Better we hunt that tube up and get dad out of it, don’t you think?” Kit suggested.
“Have you got a story arranged that will hold water?” Camilla asked.
“Everything except for a few minor details, which we can put in later.”
Smoothly the four girls linked their minds with their brother’s; effortlessly the
Unit’s thought surveyed all nearby space. No hyper-spatial tube, nor any trace of one,
was there. Tuned to Kinnison’s pattern, the Unit then scanned not only normal space
and the then present time, but also millions upon millions of other spaces and past and
future times; all without finding the Gray Lensman.
Again and again the Unit reached out, farther and farther; out to the extreme limit
of even its extraordinary range. Every space and every time was empty. The Children of