cautious mind, that a dog could be a source of mental danger.
With all due precaution against getting even a single grain of the stuff into his
own system, Kinnison transferred his thionite into the special container in which it was
to be used. Another day sufficed to observe and to memorize the personnel of the
gateway observers, their positions, and the sequence in which they took the boards.
Then the Lensman, still almost a week ahead of schedule, settled down to wait the time
when he should make his next move. Nor was this waiting unduly irksome, now that
everything was ready he could be as patient as a cat on duty at a mousehole.
The time came to act. Kinnison took over the mind of the dog, which at once
moved over to the bunk in which one particular observer lay asleep. There would be no
chance whatever of gaining control of any observer while he was actually on the board,
but here in barracks it was almost ridiculously easy. The dog crept along on soundless
paws-a long, slim nose reached out and up-sharp teeth closed delicately upon a battery
lead-out came the plug. The thought-screen went down, and instantly Kinnison was in
charge of the fellow’s mind.
And when that observer went on duty his first act was to let Kimball Kinnison,
Gray Lensman, into Boskone’s Grand Basel Low and fast Kinnison flew, while the
observer so placed his body as to shield from any chance passer-by the all too
revealing surface of his visiplate. In a few minutes the Lensman reached a portal of the
dome itself. That door also opened-and closed behind him. Ire released the mind of the
observer and watched briefly. Nothing happened. All was still well!
Then, in every barracks save one using whatever came to hand in the way of
dog or other unshielded animal, Kinnison wrought briefly but effectively. He did not slay
by mental force-he did not have enough of that to spare -but the mere turn of an
inconspicuous valve would do just as well. Some of those now idle men would probably
live to answer Helmuth’s call to extra duty, but not too many-nor would those who
obeyed that summons live long thereafter.
Down stairway after stairway he dove, down to the compartment in which was
housed the great air-purifier. Now let them come! Even if they had a spy-ray on him
now it would be too late to do them a bit of good. And now, by Mono’s golden gills, that
fleet had better be out there, getting ready to blast!
It was. From all over the galaxy Grand Fleet had come, every Patrol base had
been stripped of almost everything mobile that could throw a beam. Every vessel
carried either a Lensman or some other highly trusted officer, and each such officer had
two detector nullifiers-one upon his person, the other in his locker-either of which would
protect his whole ship from detection.
In long lines, singly and at intervals, those untold thousands of ships had crept
between the vessels guarding Grand Base. Nor were the outpost crews to blame. They
had been on duty for months, and not even an asteroid had relieved the monotony.
Nothing had happened or would. They watched their plates steadily enough-and, if they
did nothing more, why should they have? And what could they have done? How could
they suspect that such a thing as a detector nullifier had been invented?
The Patrol’s Grand Fleet, then, was already massing over its primary objectives,
each vessel in a rigidly assigned position. The pilots, captains, and navigators were
chatting among themselves, jerkily and in low tones, as though even to raise their
voices might reveal prematurely to the enemy the concentration of the Patrol forces.
The firing officers were already at their boards, eyeing hungrily the small switches which
they could not throw for so many long minutes yet.
And far below, beside the pirates’ air-purifier, Kinnison released the locking
toggles of his armor and leaped out. To burn a hole in the primary duct took only a
second. To drop into that duct his container of thionite, to drench that container with the
reagent which would in sixty seconds dissolve completely the container’s substance
without affecting either its contents or the metal of the duct, to slap a flexible adhesive
patch over the hole in the duct, and to leap back into his armor, all these things required
only a trifle over one minute. Eleven minutes to go–QX.
In the nearest barracks, even while the Lensman was arrowing up the stairways,
a dog again deprived a sleeping man of his thought-screen. That man, however,
instead of going to work, took up a pair of pliers and proceeded to cut the battery leads
of every sleeper in the barracks, severing them so closely that no connection could be
made without removing the armor.
As those leads were severed men woke up and dashed into the dome. Along
catwalk after catwalk they raced, and apparently that was all they were doing. But each
runner, as he passed a man on duty, flicked a battery plug out of its socket, and that
observer, at Kinnison’s command, opened the face-plate of his armor and breathed
deeply of the now drug-laden atmosphere.
Thionite, as has been intimated, is perhaps the worst of all known habit-forming
drugs. In almost infinitesimal doses it gives rise to a state in which the victim seems
actually to experience the gratification of his every desire, whatever that desire may be.
The larger the dose, the more intense the sensation, until-and very quickly-the dosage
is reached at which he passes into an ecstasy so unbearable that death ensues
forthwith.
Thus there was no alarm, no outcry, no warning. Each observer sat or stood
entranced, holding exactly the pose he had been in at the instant of opening his face-
plate. But now, instead of paying attention to his duty, he was plunging deeper and
deeper into the paroxysmally ecstatic profundity of a thionite debauch from which there
was to be no awakening. Therefore half of that mighty dome was unmanned before
Helmuth even realized that anything out of order was going on.
As soon as he realized that something was amiss, however, he sounded the “all
hands on duty” alarm and rapped out instructions to the officers in the barracks. But the
cloud of death had arrived there first, and to his consternation not one-quarter of those
officers responded. Quite a number of men did get into the dome, but every one of
them collapsed before reaching the catwalks. And three-fourths of his working force
died before he located Kinnison’s speeding messengers.
“Blast them down!” Helmuth shrieked, pointing, gesticulating madly.
Blast whom down? The minions of the Lensmen were themselves blasting away
now, right and left, shouting contradictory but supposedly authoritative orders.
“Blast those men not on duty!” Helmuth’s rating voice now filled the dome. “You,
at board 4791 Blast that man on catwalk 28, at board 4951”
With such detailed instructions, Kinnison’s agents one by one ceased to be. But
as one was beamed down another took his place, and soon every one of the few
remaining living pirates in the dome was blasting indiscriminately at every other one.
And then, to cap the Saturnalian climax, came the zero second.
* * *
The Galactic Patrol’s Grand Fleet had assembled. Every cruiser, every
battleship, every mauler hung poised above its assigned target. Every vessel was
stripped for action. Every accumulator cell was full to its ultimate watt, every generator
and every arm was tuned and peaked to its highest attainable efficiency. Every firing
officer upon every ship, eat tensely at his board, his hand hovering near, but not
touching, his firing key, his eyes fixed glaringly upon the second-hand of his precisely
synchronized timer, his ears scarcely hearing the droning, soothing voice of Port
Admiral Haynes.
For the Old Man had insisted upon giving the firing order himself, and he now sat
at the master timer, speaking into the master microphone. Beside him sat von
Hohendorff, the grand old Commandant of Cadets. Both of these veterans had thought
long since that they were done with space-war forever, but only an order of the full
Galactic Council could have kept either of them at home. They were grimly determined
that they were going to be in at the death, even though they were not at all certain
whose death it was to be. If it should turn out that it was to be Helmuth’s, well and good-
everything would be on the green. If, on the other hand, young Kinnison had to go, they
would in all probability have to go, too-and so be it.
“Now, remember, boys, keep your hands oft of those keys until I give you the
word,” Haynes’ soothing voice droned on, giving no hint of the terrific strain he himself
was under. “I’ll give you lots of warning . . . . I am going to count the last five seconds