counterattack.”
“If not exactly surprised at least did not anticipate that Jelmi would or could act with
practically Llurdan logic,” the Llurd conceded
“We can. And when we think it best, we do We suggest that you cut off your attack. We
will then put on air-suits and return here in person, to discuss recent developments as
reasoning and logical entities should.”
The Llurd was fast on the uptake. He knew that, given time, he could crush this threat;
but he knew that he would not have the time. He could see ahead as well as Mergon
could to the total destruction of two hundred forty more planets. Wherefore he barked a
couple of syllables at a com and the furiously incandescent screens of the Mallidaxian
went cold and dark.
Jelmi and bomb disappeared. Mergon and Luloy donned gas-tight, self-contained,
plastic-helmeted coveralls and reappeared in the Llanzlan’s study. Klazmon seated
them courteously in two Jelman easy-chairs-which looked atrociously out of place in
that room-and the peace conference, which was to last for days, began.
“First,” the llanzlan said, “this breakthrough that you have accomplished. At what stage
in the negotiations do you propose to give me the complete technical specifications of
it?”
“Now,” Mergon said, and a yard-high stack of tapes appeared on the floor beside the
Llurd’s desk. It was the entire specs and description of the fourth-dimensional
translator. Nothing was omitted or obscured.
“Oh? I see. There is, then, much work yet to be done on it. Work that only you Jelmi
can do.”
“That is true, as you will learn from those tapes. Now,” said Mergon, settling down to
the bargaining session, “first, we have shown you that Jelmi capable of doing genius-
type work cannot be coerced into doing it. Second, the fact is that` it is psychologically
impossible for us to do such work under coercion. Third, we believe firmly that free and
in dependent Jelmi can coexist with the Llurdi. Fourth, we believe equally firmly that for
the best good of both races they should so coexist . . .”
And at that first day’s end, after supper, Luloy said, “Merg, I simply would not have
believed it. Ever. I’m not sure I really believe it now. But you know I almost like – I
actually admire that horrible monster in some ways!”
Seaton called Rovol of Rays, on Norlamin, as soon as he could reach him. He told him
the story of what he had done on Ray-See-Nee, and what he hoped to gain by it, in
detail, then went on to ask his help on the control of the fourth-dimensional translator.
“You see, Rovol, at perfect sync . it would-theoretically-take zero power. I don’t expect
the unattainable ideal, of course-” he winked at Dorothy-“just close enough so we can
pack enough stuff into the Valeron to handle everything they can throw at us and still
have enough left over to fight back with.”
“Ah, youth, a fascinating problem indeed. I will begin work on it at once, and will call in
certain others in whose provinces some aspects of it lie. By the time you arrive here we
will perhaps have determined whether or not any solution is at present possible.”
“What?” Seaton yelped. “Why-I thought-surely-” he almost stuttered. “I thought you’d
have it done by then-. maybe be sending it out to meet us, even.”
The old Norlaminian’s paternally forbearing sigh was highly expressive. “Still the
heedless, thoughtless youth, in spite of all our teachings. You have not studied the
problem yourself at all.”
“Well, not very much, I admit.”
“I advise you to do so. If you devote to it every period of labor between now and your
arrival here you may perhaps be able to talk about it intelligently,” and Rovol cut com.
Dorothy whistled. She didn’t whistle very often, but she could do it very expressively.
“Yeah,” Seaton said, ruefully. “And the old boy wasn’t kidding, either.”
“Not having a sense of humor, he can’t kid. He really slapped you on the wrist, friend.
But why would it be such a horrible job to sync a few generators in?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” He went, worked for four solid hours with the Brain, and
came back wearing a sheepish grin. “It’s true,” he reported. “I knew it’d be tricky, but I
had no idea. You have to work intelligently, manipulably and reproducibly in time units
of three times ten to the minus twenty-eighth of a second-the time it takes light to travel
a billionth of a billionth of a centimeter.”
“Hush. You don’t expect me to understand that, do you?”
“I’ll say I don’t. I don’t expect to even really understand it myself.”
Seaton did not work on the problem every day until arrival, but he worked on it for over
a hundred hours enough so that be began to realize how difficult it was.
The Skylark of Valeron entered the Green System, approached Norlamin, and went into
orbit around it. The travelers boarded a shuttle, which thereupon began to slide down a
landing-beam toward Rovol’s private dock.
The little craft settled gently into a neoprene-lined cup. The visitors disembarked and
walked down a short flight of metallic steps, at the foot of which the ancient,
whitebearded sage was waiting for them. He greeted them warmly-for a Norlaminian-
and led them through the “garden” toward the metal-and-quartz palace that was his
home.
“Oh, Dick, isn’t it wonderful!” Dorothy pressed his arm against her side. “It’s so much
like Orlon’s and yet so different . . . ”
And it was both. The acreage of velvet-short, springy grass was about the same as that
upon which they had landed so long before. The imperishable-metal statuary was
similar. Here also were the beds of spectacular flowers and the hedges and sculptured
masses of gorgeously vari-colored plant life. The tapestry wall, however-composed of
millions upon millions of independently moving, flashing, selfluminous jewels of all the
colors of the rainbow-ran for a good three hundred yards beside the walk. It was evident
that the women of the Rovol had been working on it for hundreds of centuries instead of
for mere hundreds of years. Instead of being only form and color, as was the wall of the
Orlon it was well along toward portraying the entire history of the Family Rovol.
Rovol wanted to entertain his guests instead of work, but Seaton objected. “Shame on
you, Rovol. The Period of Labor is just starting, and remember how you fellows used to
bat my ears down about there being definite and noninterchangeable times for work
and for play and so forth?”
“That is of course true, youth,” Rovol agreed, equably enough. “I should not have
entertained the idea for a moment. My companion will welcome the ladies and show
them to your apartments. We will proceed at once to the Area of Experiment,” and he
called an aircar by fingering a stud at his belt.
“I’ve been studying, as you suggested,” Seaton said then. “Can the thing be solved?
The more I worked on it the more dubious I got.”
“Yes, but the application of its solution will be neither easy nor simple.” The aircar
settled gently to the walk a few yards ahead of the party and Rovol and Seaton boarded
it; Rovol still talking. “But you will be delighted to know that, thanks to your gift of the
metal of power, what would have been a work of lifetimes can very probably be
accomplished in a few mere years.”
Seaton was not delighted. Knowing what Rovol could mean by the word “few,” he was
appalled; but there was nothing whatever he could do to speed things up.
He spent a couple of weeks rebuilding the Skylark of Valeron-with batteries of offensive
and defensive weaponry where single machines had been-then stood around and
watched the Norlaminians work. And as day followed day without anything being
accomplished he became more and more tense and impatient. He concealed his
feelings perfectly, he thought; but he should have known that he could hide nothing
from the extremely percipient mind of the girl who was in every respect his other half.
“Dick, you’ve been jittering like a witch,” she said one evening, “about something I can’t
see any reason for. But you have a reason, or you wouldn’t be doing it. So break down
and tell me.”
“I can’t, confound it. I know I’m always in a rush to get a thing done, but not like this. I’m
all of a twitter inside. I can’t sleep . . .”
Dorothy snickered. “You can’t? If what you were doing last night wasn’t sleeping it was
the most reasonable facsimile thereof I’ve ever seen. Or heard.”
“Not like I ought to, I mean. Nightmares. Devils all the time sticking me with pitchforks.
Do you believe in hunches?”
“No,” she said, promptly. “I never had any. Not a one.”
“I never did, either, and if this is one I never want to have another. But it could be a