lived long and would live longer: by doing everything in the easiest possible way he had
conserved his resources. Why take chances with a highly valuable life? Why be so
inefficient as to work hard hi the performance of a task when it could always be done in
some easy way?
Nadreck moved in upon Onlo, men, absolutely imperceptibly. His dark, cold,
devious mind, so closely akin to those of the Onlonians, reached out, indetectably en
rapport with theirs. He studied, dissected, analyzed and neutralized their defenses, one
by one. Then, his ultra-black speedster securely hidden from their every prying
mechanism and sense, although within easy working distance of the control dome itself,
he snuggled down into his softly-cushioned resting place and methodically, efficiently,
he went to work.
Thus, when Alcon of Thrale next visited his monstrous henchmen, Nadreck
flipped a switch and every thought of the zwilniks’ conference went permanently on
record.
“What have you done, Kandron, about the Lensman?” the Tyrant demanded,
harshly. “What have you concluded?”
“We have done very little,” the chief psychologist replied, coldly. “Beyond the
liquidation of a few Lensmen—with nothing whatever to indicate that any of them had
any leading part in our recent reverses—our agents have accomplished nothing.
“As to conclusions, I have been unable to draw any except the highly negative
one that every Boskonian psychologist who has ever summed up the situation has, in
some respect or other, been seriously in error.”
“And only you are right!” Alcon sneered. “Why?”
“I am right only in that I admit my inability to draw any valid conclusions^”
Kandron replied, imperturbably. “The available data are too meager, too inconclusive,
and above all, too contradictory to justify any positive statements. There is a possibility
that there are two Lensmen who have been and are mainly responsible for what has
happened. One of these, the lesser, may be—note well that I say ‘may be’, not ‘is’—a
Tellurian or an Aldebaranian or some other definitely human being; the other and by far
the more powerful one is apparently entirely unknown, except by his works.”
“Star A Star,” Alcon declared.
“Call him so if you like,” Kandron assented, flatly. “But this Star A Star is an
operator. As the supposed Director of Lensmen he is merely a figment of the
imagination.”
“But this information came from the Lensman Morgan!” Alcon protested. “He was
questioned under the drug of truth; he was tortured and all but slain; the Overlord of
Delgon consumed all his life-force except for the barest possible moiety!”
“How do you know all these things?” Kandron asked, unmoved. “Merely from the
report of the Overlords and from the highly questionable testimony of one of the Eich,
who was absent from the scene during all of the most important time.”
“You suspect, then, that . . .” Alcon broke off, shaken visibly.
“I do,” the psychologist replied, dryly. “I suspect very strongly indeed that there is
working against us a mind of a power and scope but little inferior to my own. A mind
able to overcome that of an Overlord; one able, at least if unsuspected and hence
unopposed, to deceive even the admittedly capable minds of the Eich. I suspect that the
Lensman Morgan was, if he existed at all, merely a puppet. The Eich took him too easily
by far. It is therefore eminently possible that he had no physical actuality of existence . .
.”
“Oh, come, now! Don’t be ridiculous!” Alcon snapped. “With all Boskone there .as
witnesses? Why, his hand and Lens remained!”
“Improbable, perhaps, I admit—but still eminently possible,” Kandron insisted.
“Admit for the moment that he was actual, and that he did lose a hand—but remember
also that the hand and the Lens may very well have been brought along and left there
as reassurance; we cannot be sure even that the Lens matched the hand. But admitting
all this, I am still of the opinion that Lensman Morgan was not otherwise tortured, that he
lost none of his vital force, that he and the unknown I have already referred to returned
practically unharmed to their own galaxy. And not only did they return, they must have
carried with them the information which was later used by the Patrol in the destruction of
Jarnevon.”
“Preposterous!” Alcon snorted. ‘Tell me, if you can, upon what facts you have
been able to base such fantastic opinions?”
“Gladly,” Kandron assented. “I have been able to come to no really valid
conclusions, and it may very well be that your fresh viewpoint will enable us to succeed
where I alone have failed. I will therefore summarize very briefly the data which seem to
me most significant. Attend closely, please:
“For many years, as you know, everything progressed smoothly. Our first set-
back came when a Tellurian warship, manned by Tellurians and Valerians, succeeded
in capturing almost intact one of the most modern and most powerful of our vessels.
The Valerians may be excluded from consideration, insofar as mental ability is
concerned. At least one Tellurian escaped, in one of our own, supposedly derelict,
vessels. This one, whom Helmuth thought of, and reported, as ‘the’ Lensman, eluding
all pursuers, went to Velantia; upon which planet he so wrought as to steal bodily six of
our ships sent there specifically to hunt him down. In those ships he won his way back
to Tellus in spite of everything Helmuth and his force could do.
“Then there were the two episodes of the Wheelmen of Aldebaran I. In the first
one a Tellurian Lensman was defeated—possibly killed. In the second our base was
destroyed—tracelessly. Note, however, that the base next above it in order was, so far
as we know, not visited or harmed.
“There was the Boyssia affair, in which the human being Blakeslee did various
unscheduled things. He was obviously under the control of some far more powerful
mind; a mind which did not appear, then or ever.
“We jump then to this, our own galaxy—the sudden, inexplicable disappearance
of the planet Medon.
“Back to theirs again—the disgraceful and closely-connected debacles at
Shingvors and Antigan. Traceless both, but again neither was followed up to any higher
headquarters.”
Nadreck grinned at that, if a Palainian can be said to grin. Those matters were
purely his own. He had done what he had been requested to do—thoroughly—no
following up had been either necessary or desirable.
“Then Radelix.” Kandron’s summary went concisely on. “The female agents,
Bominger, the Kalonian observers—all wiped out. Was or was not some human
Lensman to blame? Everyone, from Chester Q. Forsyce down to a certain laborer upon
the docks, was suspected, but nothing definite could be learned.
“The senselessly mad crew of the 27L462P—Wynor— Grantlia. Again
completely traceless. Reason obscure, and no known advantage gained, as this
sequence also has dropped.”
Nadreck pondered briefly over this material. He knew nothing of any such
matters nor, he was pretty sure, did Kinnison. THE Lensman apparently was getting
credit for something that must have been accidental or wrought by some internal
enemy. QX. He listened again:
“After the affair of Bronseca, in which so many Lensmen were engaged that
particularization was impossible, and which again was not followed up, we jump to the
Asteroid Euphrosyne, Miner’s Rest, and Wild Bill Williams of Aldebaran II. If it was a
coincidence that Bill Williams became William Williams and followed our line to Tressilia,
it is a truly remarkable one—even though, supposedly, said Williams was so stupefied
with drugs as to be incapable either of motion or perception.
“Jalte’s headquarters was, apparently, missed. However, it must have been
invaded—tracelessly—for it was the link between Tressilia and Jarnevon, and Jarnevon
was found and was destroyed.
“Now, before we analyze the more recent events, what do you yourself deduce
from the above facts?” Kandron asked.
While the tyrant was cogitating, Nadreck indulged in a minor gloat. This
psychologist, by means of impeccable logic and reasoning from definitely known facts,
had arrived at such erroneous conclusions! However, Nadreck had to admit, his own
performances and those in which Kinnison had acted indetectably, when added to those
of some person or persons unknown, did make a really impressive total.
“You may be right,” Alcon admitted finally. “At least two entirely different
personalities and methods of operation. Two Lensmen are necessary to satisfy the
above requirements . . . and, as far as we know, sufficient. One of the necessary two is
a human being, the other an unknown. Caitiff was, of course, the human Lensman. A
masterly piece of work, that —but, with the cooperation of the Patrol, both logical and
fairly simple. This human being is always in evidence, yet is so cleverly concealed by
his very obviousness that nobody ever considers him important enough to be worthy of
a close scrutiny. Or . . . perhaps . . .”
“That is better,” Kandron commented. “You are beginning to see why I was so
careful in saying that the known Tellurian factor ‘may be’, not ‘is’, of any real