Galactic Patrol (34 page)

He had more than half expected that he would have to search that cluster, world by world, but in that, at least, he was pleasantly disappointed. One corner of one of his plates began to show a dim glow of detection. A bell tinkled and Kinnison directed his most powerful master plate into the region indicated. This plate, while of very narrow field, had tremendous resolving power and magnification, and in it he saw that there were eighteen small centers of radiation surrounding one vastly larger one.

There was no doubt then as to the location of Helmuth's base, but there arose the question of approach. The Lensman had not considered the possibility of a screen of lookout ships-if they were close enough together so that the electromagnetics had even a fifty percent overlap, he might as well go back home. What were those outposts, and exactly how closely were they spaced? He observed, advanced, and observed again, computing finally that, whatever they were, they were so far apart that there could be no possibility of any electro overlap at all. He could get between them easily enough-he wouldn't even have to baffle his flares. They could not be guards at all, Kinnison concluded, but must be simply outposts, set far outside the solar system of the planet they guarded, not to ward off one-man speedsters, but to warn Helmuth of the possible approach of a force large enough to threaten Grand Base.

Closer and closer Kinnison flashed, discovering that the central object was indeed a base, startling in its immensity and completely and intensively fortified, and that the outposts were huge, floating fortresses, practically stationary in space relative to the sun of the solar system they surrounded. The Lensman aimed at the center of the imaginary square formed by four of the outposts and drove in as close to the planet as he dared.

Then, going inert, he set his speedster into an orbit-he did not care particularly about its shape, provided that it was not too narrow an ellipse-and cut off all his power. He was now safe from detection. Leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, he hurled his sense of perception into and through the massed fortifications of Grand Base.

For a long time he did not find a single living creature. Hundreds of miles he traversed, perceiving only automatic machinery, bank after towering, miles-square' bank of accumulators, and remote-controlled projectors and other weapons and apparatus.

Finally, however, he came to Helmuth's dome, and in that dome he received' another severe shock. The-personnel in that dome were to be numbered by the hundreds, but he could not make mental contact with any one of them. He could not touch their minds at all, he was stopped cold. Every member of Helmuth's band was protected by a thought-screen as effective as the Lensman's own!

Around and around the planet the speedster circled, while Kinnison struggled with this new and entirely unexpected setback. This looked as though Helmuth knew what was coming. Helmuth was nobody's fool, Kinnison knew, but how could he possibly have suspected that a mental attack was in the book? Perhaps he was just playing safe. If so, the Lensman's chance would come. Men would be careless, batteries weakened and would have to be changed.

But this hope was also vain, as continued watching revealed that each battery was listed, checked, and timed. Nor was any screen released, event for an instant, when its battery was changed, the fresh power source being slipped into service before the weakening one was disconnected.

"Well, that tears it-Helmuth knows," Kinnison cogitated, after watching vainly several such changes. "He's a wise old bird. The guy really has jets-I still don't see what I did that could have put him wise to what was going on."

Day after day the Lensman studied every detail of construction, operation, and routine of that base, and finally an idea began to dawn. He shot his attention toward a barracks he had inspected frequently of late, but stopped, irresolute.

"Uh uh, Kim, maybe better not," he advised himself.

"Helmuth's mighty quick on the trigger, to figure out that Boyssian thing so fast . . .

. .

His projected thought was sheared off without warning, thus settling the question definitely. Helmuth's big apparatus was at work, the whole planet was screened against thought.

"Oh well, probably better, at that," Kinnison went on arguing with himself. "If I'd tried it out maybe he'd've got onto it and laid me a stymie next time, when I really need it."

He went free and hurled his speedster toward Earth, now distant indeed. Several times during that long trip he was sorely tempted to call Haynes through his Lens and get things started, but he always thought better of it. This was altogether too important a thing to be sent through so much subether, or even to be thought about except inside an absolutely thought-tight, room. And besides, every waking hour of even that long trip could be spent very profitably in digesting and correlating the information he had obtained and in mapping out the salient features of the campaign that was to come. Therefore, before time began to drag, Kinnison landed at Prime Base and was taken directly to Port Admiral Haynes.

"Mighty glad to see you, son," Haynes greeted the young Lensman cordially as he sealed the room thought-tight. "Since you came in under your own power, I assume that you are here to make a constructive report?"

"Better than that, sir-I'm here to start something in a big way. I know at last where their Grand Base is, and have detailed plans of it. I think I know who and where Boskone is. I know where Helmuth is, and I have worked out a plan whereby, if it works, we can wipe out that base. Boskone, Helmuth, and all the lesser master minds, at one wipe."

"Mentor
did
come through, huh?" For the first time since Kinnison had known him the old man lost his poise. He leaped to his feet and seized Kinnison by the arm. "I knew you were good, but not that goods He gave you what you wanted?"

"He sure did," and the younger man reported as briefly as possible everything that had happened.

"I'm just as sure that Helmuth is Boskone as I can be of anything that can't be proved," Kinnison continued, unrolling a sheaf of drawings. "Helmuth speaks for Boskone, and nobody else ever does, not even Boskone himself. None of the other big shots know anything about Boskone or ever heard him speak, but they all jump through their hoops when Helmuth, speaking for Boskone, cracks the whip. And I couldn't get a trace of Helmuth ever taking anything up with any higher-ups. Therefore I'm dead certain that when we get Helmuth we get Boskone.

"But that's going to be a job of work. I scouted his headquarters from stem to gudgeon, as I told you, and Grand Base is absolutely impregnable as it stands. I never imagined anything like it-it makes Prime Base here look like a deserted cross-roads after a hard winter. They've got screens, pits, projectors, accumulators, all on a gigantic scale.

In fact, they've got everything-but you can get all that from the tape and these sketches.

They simply can't be taken by any possible direct frontal attack. Even if we used every ship and mauler we've got they could stand us off. And they can match us, ship for ship-we'd never get near Grand Base at all if they knew we were coming . . . . .'

"Well, if it's such an impossible job, what . . . . . "

"I'm coming to that. It's impossible as ft stands, but there's a good chance that I'll be able to soften it up,' and the young Lensman went on to outline the plan upon which he had been working so long. "You know, like a worm-bore from within. That's the only possible way to do it. You'll have to put detector nullifiers on every ship assigned to the job, but that'll be easy. We'll need everything we've got."

"The important thing, as I gather it, is timing."

"Absolutely. To the minute, since I won't be able to communicate, once I get inside their thought-screens. How long will it take to assemble our stuff and put it in, that cluster?"

"Seven weeks-eight at the outside."

"Plus two for allowances. QX----at exactly hour 20, ten weeks from today, let every projector of every vessel you can possibly get there cut loose on that base with everything they can pour in. There's a detailed drawing in here somewhere . . . here-twenty-six main objectives, you See. Blast them all, simultaneously to the second. If they all go down, the rest will be possible-if not, it'll be just too bad. Then work along these lines here, straight from those twenty-six stations to the dome, blasting everything as you go. Make it last exactly fifteen minutes, not a minute more or less. If, by fifteen minutes after twenty, the main dome hasn't surrendered by cutting its screen, blast that, too, if'

you
can-it'll take a lot of blasting, I'm afraid. From then on you and the five-star admirals will have to do whatever is appropriate to the occasion."

"Your plan doesn't cover that, apparently. Where will you be-how will you be fixed-if the main dome does mot cut its screens?"

"I'll be dead, and you'll be just starting the damndest war that this galaxy ever saw."

Tregonsee Turns Zwilnik

While servicing and checking the speedster required only a couple of hours, Kinnison did not leave Earth for almost two days. He' had requisitioned much special equipment, the construction of one item of which-a suit of armor such as had never been seen before-caused almost all of the delay. When it was ready the greatly interested Port Admiral accompanied the young Lensman out to the steel-lined, sand-filled concrete dugout, in which the suit had already been mounted upon a remote-controlled dummy. Fifty feet from that dummy there was a heavy, water-cooled machine rifle, with its armored crew standing by. As the two approached the crew leaped to attention.

"As you were," Haynes instructed, and.

"You checked those cartridges against those I brought in from Aldebaran I?"

asked Kinnison of the officer in charge, as, accompanied by the Port Admiral, he crouched down behind the shields of the control panel.

"Yes, Sir. These are twenty-five percent over, as you specified."

“QX – commence firing!" Then, as the weapon clamored out its stuttering, barking roar, Kinnison made the dummy stoop, turn, bend, twist and dodge, so as to bring its every plate joint, and member, into that hail of steel. The uproar stopped.

"One thousand rounds, sir," the officer reported.

"No holes-no dents-not a scratch or a scar," Kinnison reported, after a minute examination, and got into the thing. "Now give me two thousand rounds, unless I tell you to stop. Shoot!"

Again the machine rifle burst into its ear-shattering song of hate, and, strong as Kinnison was and powerfully braced by the blast of his drivers, he could not stand against the awful force of those bullets. Over he went, backward, and the firing ceased.

"Keep it up!” he snapped. "Think there going to quit shooting at me because I fall down?"

"But you had had nineteen hundred!" protested the officer.

"Keep on pecking until you run out of ammunition or until I tell you to stop,"

ordered Kinnison. "I've got to learn how to handle this thing under fire," and the storm of metal' again began to crash against the reverberating shell of steel.

It hurled the Lensman down, rolled him over and over, slammed him against the back-stop. Again and again he struggled upright, only to be hurled again to ground as the riflemen, really playing the game now, swung their leaden hail from part to part of the armor, and varied their attack from steady fire to short but savage bursts. But finally, in spite of .everything the gun crew could do, Kinnison learned his controls.

Then, drivers flaring, he faced that howling, chattering muzzle and strode straight into the stream of smoke-and flame-enshrouded steel. Now the air was literally full of metal. Bullets and fragments of bullets whined and shrieked in mad abandon as they ricocheted in all directions off that armor. Sand and bits of concrete flew hither and yon, filling the atmosphere of the dugout. The rifle yammered at maximum, with its sweating crew laboring mightily to keep its voracious maw full-fed. But, in spite of everything, Kinnison held his line and advanced. He was barely six feet from that yelling, steel-vomiting muzzle when the firing again ceased.

"Twenty thousand, sir," the officer reported, crisply. "We'll have to change barrels before we can give you any more."

'That's enough!" snapped Haynes. "Come out of there" Out Kinnison came. He removed heavy ear-plugs, swallowed four times blinked and grimaced. Finally he spoke.

"It works perfectly, sir, except for the noise. “It’s a good thing I've got a Lens-in spite of the plugs I won't be able to hear anything for three days !”

"How about the springs and shock-absorbers? Are you bruised anywhere? You took some real bumps."

"Perfect-not a bruise. Let's look her over."

Every inch of that armor's surface was now marked by blurs, where the metal of the bullets had rubbed itself off upon the shining alloy, but that surface was neither scratched, scored, nor dented.

"Q%, boys-thanks," Kinnison dismissed the riflemen. They probably wondered how any man could see out through a helmet built up of inches-thick laminated alloys, with neither window nor port through which to look, but if so, they, made no mention of their curiosity. They, too, were Patrolmen.

"Is that thing an armor or a personal tank?" asked Haynes. "I aged ten years while that was going on, but at that I'm glad you insisted on testing it. You can get away with anything now."

"It's much better technique to learn things among friends than enemies," Kinnison laughed. "It's heavy, of course-pretty close to a ton. I won't be walking around in it, though, I'll be flying it. Well, sir, since everything's all set, I think I'd better fly it over to the speedster and start flitting, don't you? I don't know exactly how much time I'm going to need on Trench."

"Might as well," the Port Admiral agreed, as casually, and Kinnison was gone.

"What a man!" Haynes stared after the monstrous figure until it vanished in the distance, then strolled slowly toward his office, thinking as he went.

Nurse MacDougall had been highly irked and incensed at Kinnison's casual departure, without idle conversation or formal leave-takings. Not so Haynes. That seasoned campaigner knew that Gray Lensmen-especially young Gray Lensmen-were prone to get that way. He knew, as she would one day learn, that Kinnison was no longer of Earth.