Suddenly a man materialized in the air before them; a man identical with Seaton in every detail, down to the smudge of grease under one eye and the exact design of his Hawaiian sport shirt.
“Hello, folks,” he said, in Season’s tone and style. “S’prised that I know your language—huh, you would be. Don’t even understand telepathy, or the ether, or the relationship between time and space. Not even the fourth dimension.”
Changing instantaneously from Seaton’s form to Dorothy’s, the stranger went on without a break. “Electrons and neutrons and things—nothing here, either.”
The form became DuQuesne’s. “Ah, a freer type, but blind, dull, stupid; another nothing. As Martin Crane; the same. As Peggy, still the same, as was of course to be expected. Since you are all nothings in essence, of a race so low in the scale that it will be millions of years before it will rise even above death and death’s clumsy attendant necessity, sex, it is of course necessary for me to make of you nothings in fact; to dematerialize you.”
In Seaton’s form the being stared at Seaton, who felt his senses reel under the impact of an awful, if insubstantial, blow. Seaton fought back with all his mind and remained standing.
“What’s this?” the stranger exclaimed in surprise. “This is the first time in millions of cycles that mere matter, which is only a manifestation of mind, has refused to obey a mind of power. There’s something screwy somewhere.” He switched to Crane’s shape.
“Ah, I am not a perfect reproduction—there is some subtle difference. The external form is the same; the internal structure likewise. The molecules of substance are arranged properly, as are the atoms in the molecules. The electrons, neutrons, protons, positrons, neutrinos, mesons . . . nothing amiss on that level. On the third level . . .”
“Let’s go!” Seaton exclaimed, drawing Dorothy backward and reaching for the airlock switch. “This dematerialization stuff may be pie for him, but believe me, it’s none of my dish.”
“No, no!” the stranger remonstrated, “You really must stay and be dematerialized—alive or dead.”
He drew his pistol. Being in Crane’s form, he drew slowly, as Crane did; and Seaton’s Mark I shell struck him before the pistol cleared his pocket. The pseudo-body was votalized; but, just to make sure, Crane fired a Mark V into the ground through the last open chink of the closing lock.
Seaton leaped to the board. As he did so, a creature materialized in the air in front of him—and crashed to the floor as he threw on the power. It was a frightful thing—outrageous teeth, long claws, and an automatic pistol held in a human hand. Forced flat by the fierce acceleration, it was unable to lift either itself or the weapon.
“We take one trick!” Seaton blazed. “Stick to matter and I’ll run along with you ’til my ankles catch fire!”
“That is a childish defiance. It speaks well for your courage, but not for your intelligence,” the animal said, and vanished.
A moment later Seaton’s hair stood on end as a pistol appeared upon his board, clamped to it by bands of steel. The slide jerked; the trigger moved; the hammer came down. However, there was no explosion, but merely a click. Seaton, paralyzed by the rapid succession of stunning events, was surprised to find himself still alive.
“Oh, I was almost sure it wouldn’t explode,” the gunbarrel said, chattily, in a harsh, metallic voice. “You see, I haven’t derived the formula of your sub-nuclear structure yet, hence I could not make an actual explosive. By the use of crude force I could kill you in any one of many different ways. . . .”
“Name one!” Seaton snapped.
“Two, if you like. I could materialize as five masses of metal directly over your heads, and fall. I could, by a sufficient concentration of effort, materialize a sun in your immediate path. Either method would succeed, would it not?”
“I . . . I guess it would,” Seaton admitted, grudgingly.
“But such crude work is distasteful in the extreme, and is never, under any conditions, mandatory. Furthermore, you are not quite the complete nothings that my first rough analysis seemed to indicate. In particular, the DuQuesne of you has the rudiments of a quality which, while it cannot be called mental ability, may in time develop into a quality which may just possibly make him assimilable into the purely intellectual stratum.
“Furthermore, you have given me a notable and entirely unexpected amount of exercise and enjoyment and can be made to give me more—much more—as follows: I will spend the next sixty of your minutes at work upon that formula—your sub-nuclear structure. Its derivation is comparatively simple, requiring only the solution of ninety-seven simultaneous differential equations and an integration in ninety-seven dimensions. If you can interfere with my computations sufficiently to prevent me from deriving that formula within the stipulated period of time you may return to your fellow nothings exactly as you now are. The first minute begins when the sweep-hand of your chronometer touches zero; that is . . . now.”
Seaton cut the power to one gravity and sat up, eyes closed tight and frowning in the intensity of his mental effort.
“You can’t do it, you immaterial lug!” he thought, savagely. There are too many variables. No mind, however inhuman, can handle more than ninety-one differentials at once . . . you’re wrong; that’s theta, not epsilon. . . . It’s X, not Y or Z. Alpha! Beta! Ha, there’s a slip; a bad one—got to go back and start all over. . . . Nobody can integrate above ninety-six brackets . .. no body and no thing or mind in this whole, entire, cock-eyed universe! . . .”
Seaton cast aside any thought of the horror of their position. He denied any feeling of suspense. He refused to consider the fact that both he and his beloved Dorothy might at any instant be hurled into nothingness. Closing his mind deliberately to everything else, he fought that weirdly inimical entity with everything he had: with all his single-mindedness of purpose; with all his power of concentration; with all the massed and directed strength of his keen, highly-trained brain.
The hour passed.
“You win,” the gun-barrel said. “More particularly, I should say that the DuQuesne of you won. To my surprise and delight that one developed his nascent quality very markedly during this short hour. Keep on going as you have been going, my potential kinsman; keep on studying under those eastern masters as you have been studying; and it is within the realm of possibility that, even in your short lifetime, you may become capable of withstanding the stresses concomitant with the induction into our ranks.”
The pistol vanished. So did the planet behind them. The enveloping, pervading field of mental force disappeared. All five knew surely, without any trace of doubt, that that entity, whatever it had been, had gone.
“Did all that really happen, Dick?” Dorothy asked, tremulously, “or have I been having the great-great-grandfather of all nightmares?”
“It hap . . . that is, I guess it happened . . . or maybe . . . Mart, if you could code that and shove it into a mechanical brain, what answer do you think would come out?”
“I don’t know. I—simply—do—not—know.” Crane’s mind, the mind of a highly-trained engineer, rebelled. No part of this whole fantastic episode could be explained by anything he knew. None of it could possibly have happened. Nevertheless . . .
“Either it happened or we were hypnotized. If so, who was the hypnotist, and where? Above all, why? It must have happened, Dick.”
“I’ll buy that, wild as it sounds. Now, DuQuesne, how about you?”
“It happened. I don’t know how or why it did, but I believe that it did. I’ve quit denying the impossibility of anything. If I had believed that your steam-bath flew out of the window by itself, that day, none of us would be out here now.”
“If it happened, you were apparently the prime operator in saving our bacon. Who in blazes are those eastern masters you’ve been studying under, and what did you study?”
“I don’t know.” He lit a cigarette, took two deep inhalations. “I wish I did. I’ve studied several esoteric philosophies . . . perhaps I can find out which one it was. I’ll certainly try . . . for that, gentlemen, would be my idea of heaven.” He left the room.
It took some time for the four to recover from the shock of that encounter. In fact, they had not yet fully recovered from it when Crane found a close cluster of stars, each emitting a peculiar greenish light which, in the spectroscope, blazed with copper lines. When they had approached so close that the suns were widely spaced in the heavens Crane asked Seaton to take his place at the .board while he and Margaret tried to locate a planet.