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Masters of Space by E.E Doc Smith

her off, God knows what she’d do. I still say it’s disgusting. And the way she dances

with him! She ought to be ashamed of herself. He ought to fire her.” “She’s never been

caught outside the safety zone, and we’ve all been watching her like hawks. In fact,

she’s the only one of us all who has never been alone with him for a minute. No,

darling, she isn’t playing games. She’s playing for keeps, and she’s a mighty smooth

worker.”

“Huh!” Beverly emitted a semi-ladylike snort. “What’s so smooth about showing off

man-hunger that way? Any of us could do that-if we would.”

“Miaouw, miaouw. Who do you think you’re kidding, Bev, you sanctimonious

hypocrite-me? She has staked out the biggest claim she could find. She’s posted

notices all over it and is guarding it with a pistol. Half your month’s salary gets you all of

mine if she doesn’t walk him up the center aisle as soon as we get back to Earth. We

can both learn a lot from that girl, darling. And I, for one, am going to.”

“Uh-uh, she hasn’t got a thing I want,” Beverly laughed again, still lightly. Her friend’s

barbed shafts had not wounded her. “And I’d much rather be thought a hypocrite, even

a sanctimonious one, than a ravening, slavering-I can’t think of the technical-name for a

female wolf, so-wolfess, running around with teeth and claws bared, looking for another

kill.”

“You do get results, I admit.” Stella, too, was undisturbed. “We don’t seem to convince

each other, do we, in the matter of technique?”

At this point the Hilton-Bells tete-a-tete was interrupted by Captain Sawtelle. “Got half

an hour, Jarve?” he asked. “The commanders, especially Elliott and Fenway, would like

to talk to you.”

“Sure I have, Skipper. Be seeing you, Temple,” and the two men went to the captain’s

cabin, in which room, blue with smoke despite the best efforts of the ventilators, six full

commanders were arguing heatedly.

“Hi, men,” Hilton greeted them.

“Hi, Jarve,” from all six, and: “What’ll you drink? Still making do with ginger ale?” asked

Elliott (Engineering).

“‘That’ll be fine, Steve. Thanks. You having as much trouble as we are?”

“More,” the engineer said, glumly. “Want to know what it reminds me of? A bunch of

Australian bushmen stumbling onto a ramjet and trying to figure out how it works. And

yet Sam here has got the sublime guts to claim that he understands all about their

detectors-and that they aren’t anywhere nearly as good as ours are.”

“And they aren’t!” blazed Commander Samuel Bryant (Electronics). “We’ve spent six

solid weeks looking for something that simply is not there. All they’ve got is the

prehistoric Whitworth system and that’s all it is. Nothing else. Detectors-hell! I tell you I

can see better by moonlight than the very best they can do. With everything they’ve got

you couldn’t detect a woman in your own bed!”

“And this has been going on all night,” Fenway (Astrogation) said. “So the rest of us

thought we’d ask you in to help us pound some sense into Sam’s thick, hard head.”

Hilton frowned in thought while taking a couple of sips of his drink. Then, suddenly, his

face cleared. “Sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but-at any odds you care to name

and in anything from split peas to C-notes–Sam’s right.”

Commander Samuel Bryant gasped in surprise and the six other officers exploded as

one. When the clamor had subsided enough for him to be heard, Hilton went on: “I’m

very glad to get that datum, Sam. It ties in perfectly with everything else I know about

them.”

“How do you figure that kind of twaddle ties in with anything?” Sawtelle demanded.

“Strict maintenance of the status quo,” Hilton explained, flatly. “That’s all they’re

interested in. You said yourself, Skipper, that it was a hell of a place to have a

space-battle, practically in atmosphere. They never attack. They never scout. They

simply don’t care whether they’re attacked or not. If and when attacked, they put up just

enough ships to handle whatever force has arrived. When the attacker has been

repulsed, they don’t chase him a foot. They build as many ships and Omans as were

lost in the battle-no more and no less-and then go on about their regular business. The

Masters owned that half of the Fuel Bin, so the Omans are keeping that half. They will

keep on keeping it for ever and ever. Amen.”

“But that’s no way to fight a war!” Three or four men said this, or its equivalent, at once.

“Don’t judge them by human standards. They aren’t even approximately human. Our

personnel is not expendable. Theirs is-just as expendable as their material.”

While the Navy men were not convinced, all were silenced except Sawtelle. “But

suppose the Stretts had sent in a thousand more skeletons than they did?” he argued.

“According to the concept you fellows just helped me develop, it wouldn’t have made

any difference how many they sent,” Hilton replied, thoughtfully. “One or a thousand or

a million, the Omans have-must have-enough ships and inactivated Omans hidden

away, both on Fuel World and on Ardry here, to maintain the balance.”

“Oh, hell!” Elliott snapped. “If I helped you hatch out any such brainstorm as that, I’m

going onto Tillinghast’s couch for a six-week overhaul-or have him put me into his

padded cell.”

“Now that’s what I would call a thought,” Bryant began. “Hold it, Sam,” Hilton

interrupted. “You can test it easily enough, Steve. Just ask your Oman.”

“Yeah-and have him say “Why, of course, Master, but why do you keep on testing me

this way?” He’ll ask me that about four times more, the stubborn, single-tracked,

brainless skunk, and I’ll really go nuts. Are you getting anywhere trying to make a

Christian out of Laro?”

“It’s too soon to really say, but I think so.” Hilton paused in thought. “He’s making

progress, but I don’t know how much. The devil of it is that it’s up to him to make the

next move; I can’t. I haven’t the faintest idea whether it will take days yet or weeks.”

“But not months or years, you think?” Sawtelle asked.

“No. We think that-but say, speaking of psychologists, is Tillinghast getting anywhere,

Skipper? He’s the only one of your big wheels who isn’t in liaison with us.”

“No. Nowhere at all,” Sawtelle said, and Bryant added:

“I don’t think he ever will. He still thinks human psychology will apply if he applies it hard

enough. But what did you start to say about Laro?”

“We think the break is about due, and that if it doesn’t come within about thirty days it

won’t come at all-we’ll have to back up and start all over again.”

“I hope it does. We’re all pulling for you,” Sawtelle said. “Especially since Karns’

estimate is still years, and he won’t be pinned down to any estimate even in years. By

the way, Jarve, I’ve pulled my team off of that conversion stuff.”

“Oh?” Hilton raised his eyebrows.

“Putting them at something they can do. The real reason is that Poindexter pulled

himself and his crew off it at eighteen hours today.”

“I see. I’ve heard that they weren’t keeping up with our team.”

“He says that there’s nothing to keep up with, and I’m inclined to agree with him.” The

old spacehound’s voice took on a quarter-deck rasp. “It’s a combination of psionics,

witchcraft and magic. None of it makes any kind of sense.”

“The only trouble with that viewpoint is that, whatever the stuff may be, it works,” Hilton

said, quietly.

“But, damn it, how can it work?”

“I don’t know. I’m not qualified to be on that team. I can’t even understand their reports.

However. I know two things. First, they’ll get it in time. Second, we BuSci people will

stay here until they do. However, I’m still hopeful of finding a shortcut through Laro.

Anyway, with this detector thing settled, you’ll have plenty to do to keep all your boys

out of mischief for the next few months.”

“Yes, and I’m glad of it. We’ll install our electronics systems on a squadron of these

Oman ships and get them into distant-warning formation out in deep space where they

belong. Then we’ll at least know what is going on.”

“That’s a smart idea, Skipper. Go to it. Anything else before we hit our sacks?”

“One more thing. Our psych, Tillinghast. He’s been talking to me and sending me

memos, but today he gave me a formal tape to approve and hand personally to you. So

here it is. By the way, I didn’t approve it; I simply endorsed it ‘Submitted to Director

Hilton without recommendation.’ ”

“Thanks.” Hilton accepted the sealed canister. “What’s the gist? I suppose he wants me

to squeal for help already? To admit that we’re licked before we’re really started?”

“You guessed it. He agrees with you and Kincaid that the psychological approach is the

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