which we know as Civilization. But, since this is not a biological treatise, this point is
merely mentioned, not discussed.
The Onlonians, then, while not precisely describable to man, were very similar to
the Eich—as similar, say, as a Posenian and a Tellurian are to each other in the
perception of a Palainian. That is to say practically identical; for to the unknown and
incomprehensible senses of those frigid beings the fact that the Posenian possess four
arms, eight hands, and no eyes at all, as compared with the Tellurian’s simply paired
members, constitutes a total difference so slight as to be negligible.
But to resume the thread of history, we are at liberty to know things that Kinnison
did not. Specifically, we may observe and hear a conference which tireless research
has reconstructed in toto. The place was upon chill, dark Onlo, in a searingly cold room
whose normal condition of utter darkness was barely ameliorated by a dim blue glow.
The time was just after Kinnison had left Lonabar for Lyrane II. The conferees were
Alcon of Thrale and his Onlonian cabinet officers. The armor-clad Tyrant, in whose
honor the feeble illumination was, lay at ease in a reclining chair; the pseudo-reptilian
monstrosities were sitting or standing in some obscure and inexplicable fashion at a
long, low bench of stone.
“The fact is,” one of the Onlonians was radiating harshly, “that our minions in the
other galaxy could not or would not or simply did not think. For years things went so
smoothly that no one had to think. The Great Plan, so carefully worked out, gave every
promise of complete success. It was inevitable, it seemed, that that entire galaxy would
be brought under our domination, its Patrol destroyed, before any inkling of our purpose
could be perceived by the weaklings of humanity.
“The Plan took cognizance of every known factor of any importance. When,
however, an unknown, unforeseeable factor, the Lens of the Patrol, became of real
importance, that Plan of course broke down. Instantly upon the recognition of an
unconsidered factor the Plan should have been revised. All action should have ceased
until that factor had been evaluated and neutralized. But no—no one of our
commanders in that galaxy or handling its affairs ever thought of such a thing . . .”
“It is you who are not thinking now,” the Tyrant of Thrale broke in. “If any
underling had dared any such suggestion you yourself would have been among the first
to demand his elimination. The Plan should have been revised, it is true; but the fault
does not lie with the underlings. Instead, it lies squarely with the Council of Boskone . . .
by the way, I trust that those six of that Council who escaped destruction upon Jarnevon
by means of their hyper-spatial tube have been dealt with?”
“They have been liquidated,” another officer replied.
“It is well. They were supposed to think, and the fact that they neither coped with
the situation nor called it to your attention until it was too late to mend matters, rather
than any flaw inherent in the Plan, is what has brought about the present intolerable
situation.
“Underlings are not supposed to think. They are supposed to report facts; and, if
so requested, opinions and deductions. Our representatives there were well-trained and
skillful. They reported accurately, and that was all that was required of them. Helmuth
reported truly, even though Boskone discredited his reports. So did Prellin, and
Crowninshield, and Jalte. The Eich, however, failed in their duties of supervision and
correlation; which is why their leaders have been punished and their operators have
been reduced in rank—why we have assumed a task which, it might have been
supposed and was supposed, lesser minds could have and should have performed.
“Let me caution you now that to underestimate a foe is a fatal error. Lan of the
Eich prated largely upon this very point, but in the eventuality he did in fact
underestimate very seriously the resources and the qualities of the Patrol; with what
disastrous consequences we are all familiar. Instead of thinking he attempted to subject
a purely philosophical concept, the Lens, to a mathematical analysis. Neither did the
heads of our military branch think at all deeply, or they would not have tried to attack
Tellus until after this new and enigmatic factor had been resolved. Its expeditionary
force vanished without sign or signal—in spite of its primaries, its negative-matter
bombs, its supposedly irresistible planets —and Tellus still circles untouched about Sol
its sun. The condition is admittedly not to be borne; but I have always said, and I now do
and shall insist, that no further action be taken until the Great Plan shall have been so
revised as reasonably to take into account the Lens . . . What of Arisia?” he demanded
of a third cabineteer.
“It is feared that nothing can be done about Arisia at present,” that entity replied.
“Expeditions have been sent, but they were dealt with as simply and as effectively as
were Lan and Amp of the Eich. Planets have also been sent, but they were detected by
the Patrol and were knocked out by far-ranging dirigible planets of the enemy. However,
I have concluded that Arisia, of and by itself, is not of prime immediate importance. It is
true that the Lens did in all probability originate with the Arisians. It is hence true that the
destruction of Arisia and its people would be highly desirable, in that it would insure that
no more Lenses would be produced. Such destruction would not do away, however with
the myriads of the instruments which are already in use and whose wearers are
operating so powerfully against us. Our most pressing business, it seems to me, is to
hunt down and exterminate all Lensmen; particularly the one whom Jalte called THE
Lensman; whom Eichmil was informed by Lensman Morgan, was known to even other
Lensmen only as Star A Star. In that connection, I am forced to wonder—is Star A Star
in reality only one mind?”
“That question has been considered both by me and by your chief psychologist,”
Alcon made answer. “Frankly, we do not know. We have not enough reliable data upon
which to base a finding of fact Nor does it matter in the least. Whether one or two or a
thousand, we must find and we must slay until it is feasible to resume our orderly
conquest of the universe. We must also work unremittingly upon a plan to abate the
nuisance which is Arisia. Above all, we must see to it with the utmost diligence that no
iota of information concerning us ever reaches any member of the Galactic Patrol—I do
not want either of our worlds to become as Jarnevon now is.”
“Hear! Bravo! Nor I!” came a chorus of thoughts, interrupted by an emanation
from one of the sparkling force-ball inter-galactic communicators.
“Yes? Alcon acknowledging,” the Tyrant took the call.
It was a zwilnik upon far Lonabar, reporting through Lyrane VIII everything that
Cartiff had done. “I do not know —I have no idea—whether or not this matter is either
unusual or important,” the observer concluded. “I would, however, rather report ten
unimportant things than miss one which might later prove to have had significance.”
“Right. Report received,” and discussion raged. Was this affair actually what it
appeared upon the surface to be, or was it another subtle piece of the work of that
never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Lensman?
The observer was recalled. Orders were given and were carried out. Then, after
it had been learned that Bleeko’s palace and every particle of its contents had been
destroyed, that Cartiff had vanished utterly, and that nobody could be found upon the
face of Lonabar who could throw any light whatever upon the manner or the time of his
going; then, after it was too late to do anything about it, it was decided that this must
have been the work of THE Lensman. And it was useless to storm or to rage. Such a
happening could not have been reported sooner to so high an office; the routine events
of a hundred million worlds simply could not be considered at that level. And since this
Lensman never repeated —his acts were always different, alike only in that they were
drably routine acts until their crashing finales—the Boskonian observers never had been
and never would be able to report his activities in time.
“But he got nothing this time, I am certain of that,” the chief psychologist exulted.
“How can you be so sure?” Alcon snapped.
“Because Menjo Bleeko of Lonabar knew nothing whatever of our activities or of
our organization except at such times as one of my men was in charge of his mind,” the
scientist gloated. “I and my assistants know mental surgery as those crude hypnotists
the Eich never will know it. Even our lowest agents are having those clumsy and