read minds?” vanBuskirk stated, rather than asked.
“When I want to, yes. That was what I was doing while we were mopping up. I
demanded the location of their base from every one of them alive but none of them
knew it. I got a lot of pictures and descriptions of the buildings, layout, arrangements
and personnel of the base, but not a hint as to where it is in space. The navigators
,.were all dead, and not even the Arisians understand death. But that’s getting pretty
deep into philosophy and it’s time to eat again. Lets go!”
Days passed uneventfully, but finally the communicator again began to talk. Two
pirate ships were closing in upon the supposedly derelict vessel, discussing with each
other the exact point of convergence of the three courses.
“I was hoping we’d be able to communicate with Prime Base before they caught
up with us,” Kinnison remarked. “But I guess it’s no dice-I can’t get anybody on my Lens
and the ether’s as full of interference as ever. They’re a suspicious bunch, and they
aren’t going to let us get away with a single thing if they can help it. You’ve got that
duplicate of their communications unscrambler built?”
‘Yes — that was it you just listened to. I built it out of our own stuff, and I’ve gone
over the whole ship with a cleaner. There isn’t a trace, not even a finger-print, to show
that anybody except her own crew has ever been aboard.”
“Good work! This course takes us right through a planetary system in a few
minutes and well have to unload there. Let’s see . . this chart marks planets two and
three as inhabited, but with a red reference number, eleven twenty-seven. Um . . m . .
that means practically unexplored and unknown. No landing ever made . . . no patrol
representation or connection . . . . no commerce . . . state of civilization unknown . . . .
scanned only once, in the Third Galactic Survey, and that was a hell of a long time ago.
Not so good, apparently — but maybe all the better for us, at that. Anyway, it’s a forced
landing, so get ready to shove off.”
They boarded their lifeboat, placed it in the cargo-lock, opened the outer port
upon its automatic block, and waited. At their awful galactic speed the diameter of a
solar system would be traversed in such a small fraction of a second that observation
would be impossible, to say nothing of computation. They would have to act first and
compute later.
They flashed into the strange system. A planet loomed terrifying close, at their
frightful velocity almost invisible even upon their ultra-vision plates. The lifeboat shot
out, becoming inert as it passed the screen. The cargo-port swung shut. Luck had been
with them, the planet was scarcely a million miles away. While vanBuskirk drove toward
it, Kinnison made hasty observations.
“Could have been better — but could have been a lot worse,” he reported. “This
is planet four. Uninhabited, which is very good. Three, though, is clear over across the
sun, and Two isn’t any too close for a space-suit flight — better than eighty million miles.
Easy enough as far as distance goes — we’ve all made longer hops in our suits — but
we’ll be open to detection for about fifteen minutes. Can’t be helped, though . . . . here
we are I”
“Going to land her free, huh?” vanBuskirk whistled. “What a chance!”
‘It’d be a bigger one to take the time to sand her inert. Her power will hold — I
hope. We’ll inert her and match intrinsics with her when we come back — we’ll have
more time then.”
The lifeboat stopped instantaneously, in a free landing, upon the uninhabited,
desolate, rocky soil of the strange world. Without a word the two men leaped out,
carrying fully packed knapsacks. A portable -projector was then dragged out and its
fierce beam directed into the base of the hill beside which they had come to earth. A
cavern was quickly made, and while its glassy walls were still smoking hot the lifeboat
was driven within it. With their DeLameters the two wayfarers then undercut the hill, so
that a great slide of soil and rock obliterated every sign of the visit. Kinnison and
vanBuskirk could find their vessel again, from their accurately-taken bearings, but, they
hoped, no one else could.
Then, still without a word, the two adventurers flashed upward. The atmosphere
of the planet, tenuous and cold though it was, nevertheless so sorely impeded their
progress that minutes of precious time were required for the driving projectors of their
suits to force them through its thin layer. Eventually, however, they were in interplanet-
ary space and were flying at quadruple the speed of light. Then vanBuskirk spoke.
“Landing the boat, hiding it, and this trip are the danger spots. Heard anything
yet?”
“No, and I don’t believe we will. I think probably we’ve lost them completely.
Won’t know definitely, though, until after they catch the ship, and that won’t be for ten
minutes yet. We’ll be landed by then.”
A world now loomed beneath them, a pleasant, Earthly-appearing world of
scattered clouds, green forests, rolling plains, wooded and snow-capped mountain-
ranges, and rolling oceans. Here and there were to be seen what looked like cities, but
Kinnison gave them a wide berth, electing to land upon an open meadow in the shelter
of a black and glassy cliff.
“Ah, just in time, they’re beginning to talk,” Kinnison announced. “Unimportant
stuff yet, opening the ship and so on. I’ll relay the talk as nearly verbatim as possible
when it gets interesting.” He fell silent, then went on in a singsong tone, as though he
were reciting from memory, which in effect he was.
“‘Captains of ships PQ263 and EQ69B47 calling Helmuth! We have stopped and
have boarded the F47U596. Everything is in order and as deduced and reported by
your observers. Everyone aboard is dead. They did. not all die at the same time, but
they all died from the effects of the collision. There is no trace of outside interference
and all the personnel are accounted for.’
“‘Helmuth, speaking for Boskone. Your report is inconclusive. Search the ship
minutely for tracks, prints, scratches. Note any missing supplies or misplaced items of
equipment. Study carefully all mechanisms, particularly converters and communicators,
for signs of tampering or dismantling.’
“Whew!” whistled Kinnison. “They’ll find where you took that communicator apart,
Bus, just as sure as hell’s a mantrap I”
“No, they won’t,” declared vanBuskirk as positively. “I did it with rubber-nosed
Pliers, and if I left a scratch or a scar or a print on it I’ll eat it, tubes and all!”
A pause.
“‘We have studied everything most carefully, Oh Helmuth, and find no trace of
tampering or visit’
“Helmuth again. `Your report is still inconclusive. Whoever did what has been
done is probably a Lensman, and certainly has brains. Give me the present recorded
serial number of all port openings, and the exact number of times you have opened
each port.’
“Ouch!” groaned Kinnison. “If that means what I think it does, all hell’s out for
noon. Did you see any numbering recorders on those ports? I didn’t — of course neither
of us thought of such a thing. Hold it — here comes some more stuff.
” `Port-opening recorder serial numbers are as follows’ . . . don’t mean a thing to
us . . . . . `we have opened the emergency inlet port once and the starboard main lock
twice. No other port at all.’
“And here’s Helmuth again. `Ah, as I thought. The emergency port was opened
once by outsiders, and the starboard cargo port twice. The Lensman came aboard,
headed the ship toward Sol, took his lifeboat aboard, listened to us, and departed at his
leisure. And this in the very midst of our fleet, the entire personnel of which was
supposed to be looking for him! How supposedly intelligent spacemen could be guilty of
such utter and indefensible stupidity . . . . ‘ He’s tellin’ ’em plenty, Bus, but there’s no
use repeating it. The tone can’t be reproduced, and it’s simply taking the hide right off
their backs . . . . here’s some more . . . . . ‘General broadcast! Ship F47U596 in its
supposedly derelict condition flew from the point of destruction of the Patrol ship, on
course . . . . . ‘ No use quoting, Bus, he’s simply giving directions for scouring our whole
line of flight . . . . . Fading out — they’re going on, or back. This outfit, of course, is good
for only the closest ‘kind of close-up work.”
“And we’re out of the frying pan into the fire, huh?”
“Oh, no, we’re a lot better off than we were. We’re on a planet and not using any