Lensman 05 – Second Stage Lensman – E E. Doc Smith

make her carry that load, but he had to; she did not—although for entirely different

reasons—want to take it.

He shook out the Lens and, holding it in a thick-folded corner of the insulating

blanket, flicked one of the girl’s fingertips across the bracelet. Satisfied by the fleeting

flash of color which swept across the jewel, he snapped the platinum-iridium band

around her left wrist, which it fitted exactly.

She stared for a minute at the smoothly, rhythmically flowing colors of the thing

so magically sprung to life upon her wrist; awe and humility in her glorious eyes. Then:

“I can’t,. Kim. I simply can’t. I’m not worthy of it,” she choked.

“None of us are, Cris. We can’t be—but we’ve got to do it, just the same.”

“I suppose that’s true—it would be so, of course . . . I’ll do my best. . . but you

know perfectly well, Kim, that I’m not —can’t ever be—a real Lensman.”

“Sure you can. Do we have to go over all that again? You won’t have some of the

technical stuff that we got, of course, but you carry jets that no other Lensman ever has

had. You’re a real Lensman; don’t worry about that—if you weren’t, do you think they

would have made that Lens for you?”

“I suppose not . . . it must be true, even though I can’t understand it. But I’m

simply scared to death of the rest of it, Kim.”

“You needn’t be. It’ll hurt, but not more than you can stand. Don’t think we’d

better start that stuff for a few days yet, though; not until you get used to using your

Lens. Coming at you, Lensman!” and he went into Lens-to-Lens communication,

broadening it gradually into a wide-open two-way. She was appalled at first, but

entranced some thirty minutes later, when he called the lesson to a halt.

“Enough for now,” he decided. “It doesn’t take much of that stuff to be a great

plenty, at first.”

“I’ll say it doesn’t,” she agreed. “Put this away for me until next time, will you,

Kim? I don’t want to wear it all the time until I know more about it.”

“Fair enough. In the meantime I want you to get acquainted with a new girl-friend

of mine,” and he sent out a call for Illona Potter. “Girl-friend!”

“Uh-huh. Study her. Educational no end, and she may be important. Want to

compare notes with you on her later, is why I’m not giving you any advance dope on

her—here she comes.”

“Mac, this is Illona,” he introduced them informally. “I told them to give you the

cabin next to hers,” he added, to the nurse. “I’ll go with you to be sure everything’s on

the green.” It was, and the Lensman left the two together. “I’m awfully glad you’re here,”

Illona said, shyly. “I’ve heard so much about you, Miss . . .”

” ‘Mac’ to you, my dear—all my friends call me that,” the nurse broke in. “And you

don’t want to believe everything you hear, especially aboard this space-bucket.” Her lips

smiled, but her eyes were faintly troubled.

“Oh, it was nice,” Illona assured her. “About what a grand person you are, and

what a wonderful couple you and Lensman Kinnison make—why, you really are in love

with him, aren’t you?” This in surprise, as she studied the nurse’s face. “Yes,”

unequivocally. “And you love him, too, and that makes it. . .”

“Good heavens, no!” the Aldebaranian exclaimed, so positively that Clarrissa

jumped.

“What? You don’t? Really?” Gold-flecked, tawny eyes stared intensely into

engagingly candid eyes of black. The nurse wished then that she had left her Lens on,

so she could tell whether this bejeweled brunette hussy was telling the truth or not.

“Certainly not. That’s what I meant—I’m simply scared to death of him. He’s so . .

. well, so overpowering—he’s so much more—tremendous—than I am. I didn’t see how

any girl could possibly love him—but I understand now how you could, perhaps. You’re

sort of—terrific—yourself, you know. I feel as though I ought to call you ‘Your

Magnificence’ instead of just plain ‘Mac’.”

“Why, I’m no such thing!” Clarrissa exclaimed; but she softened noticeably, none

the less. “And I think that I’m going to like you a lot.”

“Oh . . . h . . . h—honestly?” Illona squealed. “It sounds too good to be true,

you’re so marvelous. But if you do, I think that Civilization will be everything that I’ve

been afraid—so afraid—that it couldn’t possibly be!”

No longer was it a feminine Lensman investigating a female zwilnik; it was two

girls—two young, intensely alive, human girls—who chattered on and on.

Days passed. Clarrissa learned some of the uses of her Lens. Then Kimball

Kinnison, Second-Stage Lensman, began really to bear down. Since such training has

been described in detail elsewhere, it need be said here only that Clarrissa MacDougall

had mental capacity enough to take it without becoming insane. He suffered as much as

she did; after every mental bout he was as spent as she was; but both of them stuck

relentlessly to it.

He did not make a Second Stage Lensman of her, of course. He couldn’t. Much

of the stuff was too hazy yet; more of it did not apply. He gave her everything, however,

which she could handle and which would be of any use to her in the work she was to

do; including the sense of perception. He did it, that is, with a modicum of help; for, once

or twice, when he faltered or weakened, not knowing exactly what to do or not being

quite able to do it, a stronger mind than his was always there.

At length, approaching Tellus fast, the nurse and Kinnison had a final

conference; the consultation of two Lensmen settling the last details of procedure in a

long-planned and highly important campaign.

“I agree with you that Lyrane II is a key planet,” she was saying, thoughtfully. “It

must be, to have those .expeditions from Lonabar and the as yet unknown planet ‘X’

centering there.”

” ‘X’ certainly, and don’t forget the possibility of ‘Y’ and ‘Z’ and maybe others,” he

reminded her. “The Lyrane-Lonabar linkage is the only one we’re sure of. With you on

one end of that and me on the other, it’ll be funny if we can’t trace out some more. While

I’m building up an authentic identity to tackle Bleeko, you’ll be getting chummy with

Helen of Lyrane. That’s about as far ahead as we can plan definitely right now, since

this groundwork can’t be hurried too much.”

“And I report to you often—frequently, in fact.” Clarrissa widened her expressive

eyes at her man.

“At least,” he agreed. “And I’ll report to you between times.”

“Oh, Kim, it’s nice, being a Lensman!” She snuggled closer. Some way or other,

the conference had become somewhat personal. “Being en rapport will be almost as

good as being together—we can stand it, that way, at least.”

“It’ll help a lot, ace, no fooling. That was why I was afraid to go ahead with it on

my own hook. I couldn’t be sure that my feelings were not in control, instead of my

judgment—if any.”

“I’d have been certain that it was your soft heart instead of your hard head if it

hadn’t been for Mentor,” she sighed, happily. “As it is, though, everything’s on the

green.”

“All done with Illona?”

“Yes, the darling . . . she’s the sweetest thing, Kim . . . and a storehouse of

information if there ever was one. You and I know more of Boskonian life than anyone

of Civilization ever knew before, I’m sure. And it’s so ghastly! We must win, Kim . . . we

simply must, for the good of all creation!”

“We will.” Kinnison spoke with grim finality.

“But back to Illona. She can’t go with me, and she can’t stay here with Hank

aboard the Dauntless taking me back to Lyrane, and you can’t watch her. I’d hate to

think of anything happening to her, Kim.”

“It won’t,” he replied, comfortably. “Ilyowicz won’t sleep nights until he has her as

the top-flight solo dancer in his show—even though she doesn’t have to work for a living

any more . . .”

“She will, though, I think. Don’t you?”

“Probably. Anyway, a couple of Haynes’ smart girls are going to be her best

friends, wherever she goes. Sort of keep an eye on her until she learns the ropes—it

won’t take long. We owe her that much, I figure.”

“That much, at least. You’re seeing to the selling of her jewelry yourself, aren’t

you?”

“No, I had a new thought on that. I’m going to buy it myself—or rather, Cartiff is.

They’re making up a set of paste imitations. Cartiff has to buy a stock somewhere; why

not hers?”

“That’s a thought—there’s certainly enough of them to stock a wholesaler . . .

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