Galactic Patrol (9 page)

For the cavern was not a torture-chamber, as they had supposed. It was in reality a hospital, and the beings they had thought victims of brutalities unspeakable were in reality patients undergoing treatments and operations for various ills. In proof whereof the patients -- who should have been dead by this time were the early ideas well founded

-- were now being released from the screen-like operating theater. And not only was each one completely whole and sound in body, but he was also possessed of a mental clarity, power, and grasp undreamed of before his hospitalization and treatment by Delgon a super-surgeons!

Also the intruders had misunderstood completely the audience and its behavior.

They were really medical students, and the beams which had seemed to be devouring rays were simply visibeams, by means of which each student could follow, in close-up detail, each step of the operation in which be was most interested. The patients themselves were living, vocal witnesses of the visitors' mistakenness, for each, as he made his way through the assemblage of students, was voicing his thanks for the marvelous results of his particular treatment or operation.

Kinnison now became acutely aware that be himself was in need of immediate surgical attention. His body, which he had always regarded so highly, he now perceived to be sadly inefficient, his mind was in even worse shape than his physique, and both body and mind would be improved immeasurably if he could get to the Delgonian hospital before the, surgeons departed. In fact, he felt an almost irresistible urge to rush away toward that hospital, instantly, without the lose of a single precious second. And, since he had had no reason to doubt the evidence of his own senses, his conscious mind was not aroused to active opposition. However, in his -- in his subconscious, or his essence, or whatever you choose to call that ultimate something of file that made him a Lensman -- a

"dead slow bell" began to sound.

"Release me and we'll all go, before the surgeons leave the hospital," came an insistent thought from Worse!. "But hurry -- we haven't much time!"

VanBuskirk, completely under the influence of the frantic compulsion, leaped toward the Velantian, only to ix checked bodily by Kinnison, who was foggily trying to isolate and identify one thing about the situation that did not ring quite true.

"Just a minute, Bus -- shut that door first!" he commanded.

`Never mind the door!" Worsel's thought came in a roaring crescendo. "Release me instantly l Hurry l Hurry, or it will be too late, for all of us I"

"All this terrific rush doesn't make any kind of sense at all," Kinnison declared, closing his mind resolutely to the clamor of the Velantian's thoughts. "I want to go just as badly as you do, Bus, or maybe more so -- but I can't help feeling that there's something screwy somewhere. Anyway, remember the last thing Worse! said, and let's shut the door before we unsnap a single chain."

Then something clicked in the Lensman's mind.

"Hypnotism, through Worsel!” he barked, opposition now aflame. "So gradual that it never occurred to me to build up a resistance. Holy Klono, what a fool I've been! Fight

'em,
Bus -- fight 'em!
Don't let 'em kid you any more, and pay no attention to anything Worse! sends at you I" Whirling around, he leaped toward the open door of the tent.

But as he leaped his brain was invaded by such a concentration of force that he fell flat upon the floor, physically out of control. He must not shut the door. He must release the Velantian. They must go to the Delgonian cavern. Fully aware now, however, of the source of the waves of compulsion, he threw the sum total of his mental power into an intense negation and struggled, inch-wise, toward the opening.

Upon him now, in addition to the Delgonians' compulsion, beat at point-blank range the full power of Worsel's mighty mind, demanding release and compliance. Also, and worse, he perceived that some powerful mentality was being exerted to make vanBuskirk kill him. One blow of the Valerian's ponderous mace would shatter helmet and skull, and all would be over -- once more the Delgonians would have triumphed. But the stubborn Dutchman, although at the very verge of surrender, was still fighting. One step forward he would take, bludgeon poised aloft, only to throw it convulsively backward. Then in spite of himself, he would go over and pick it up, again to _ step toward his crawling chief.

Again and again vanBuskirk repeated his futile performance while the Lensman struggled nearer and nearer the door. Finally he reached it and kicked it shut. Instantly the mental turmoil ceased and the two white and shaking Patrolmen released the limp, unconscious Velantian from his bonds.

"Wonder what we can do to help him revive?" gasped Kinnison, but his solicitude was unnecessary -- the Velantian recovered consciousness as he spoke.

"Thanks to your wonderful power of resistance, I am alive, unharmed, and know more of our foes and their methods than any other of my race has ever learned," Worsel thought, feelingly. "But it is of no value whatever unless I can send it back to Valentia.

The thought-screen is carried only by the metal of these walls, and if I make an opening in the wall to think through, however small, it will now mean death. Of course the science of your Patrol has not perfected an apparatus to drive thought through such a screen?"

"No. Anyway, it seems to me that we'd better be worrying about something besides thought-screens," Kinnison suggested. "Surely, now that they know where we are, they'll be coming out here after us, and we haven't got much of any defense."

"They don't know where we are, or care . . . . ." began the Velantian.

"Why not?" broke in vanBuskirk. "Any spy-ray capable of such scanning as you showed us -- I never saw anything like it before -- would certainly be as easy to trace as an out-and-out atomic blast!”

"I sent out no spy-ray or anything of the kind," Worsel thought, carefully. "Since our science is so foreign to yours, I am not sure that I can explain satisfactorily, but I shall try to do so. First, as to what you saw. When that door is open, no barrier to thought exists. I merely broadcast a thought, placing myself en rapport with the Delgonian Overlords in their retreat. This condition established, of course I heard and saw exactly what they heard and saw -- and so, equally of course, did you, since you were also en rapport with me. That is all."

"That's all!" echoed vanBuskirk. "What a system! You can do a thing like that, without apparatus of any kind, and yet say `that's all'!”

"It is results that count," Worsel reminded him gently. "While it is true that -- we have done much -- this is the first time in history that any Velantian has encountered the mind of a Delgonian Overlord and lived -- it is equally true that it was the willpower of you Patrolmen that made it possible, not my mentality. Also, it remains true that we cannot leave this room and live."

"Why won't we need weapons?" asked Kinnison, returning to his previous line of thought.

"Thought-screens are the only defense we will require," Worsel stated positively,

"for they use no weapons except their minds. By mental power alone they make us come to them, and, once there, their slaves do the rest. Of course, if my race is ever to rid the planet of them, we must employ offensive weapons of power. We have such, but we have never been able to use them. For, in order to locate the enemy, either by telepathy or by spy-ray, we must open our metallic shields -- and the instant we release those screens we are lost. From those conditions there is no escape," Worsel concluded, hopelessly.

"Don't be such a pessimist," Kinnison commanded. "There's a lot of things not tried yet. For instance, from what I have seen of your generator equipment and the pattern of that screen, you don't need a metallic conductor any more than a snake needs hips. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think we're a bit ahead of you there. If a devil's projector can handle that screen -- and I think it can, with special tuning -- vanBuskirk and I can fix things in an hour so that all three of us can walk out of here in perfect safety -- from mental interference, at least. While we're trying it out, tell us all the new stuff you got on them just now, and anything else that by any possibility may prove useful. And remember you said this is the first time any of you had been able to cut them off. That fact ought to make them sit up and take notice -- probably they'll stir around more than they ever did before. Come on, Bus -- let's tear into all"

The deVilbiss projectors were rigged and tuned. Kinnison had been right-they worked. Then plan after plan was made, only to be discarded as its weaknesses were pointed out.

"Whichever way we look there are too many 'Ifs' and 'buts' to suit me," Kinnison summed up the situation finally. "If we can find them, and
if
we can get up close to them without losing our minds to them, we could clean them out
if
we had some power in our accumulators. So I'd say the first thing for us to do is to get our batteries charged. We saw some cities from the air, and cities always have power. Lead us to power, Worsel-almost any kind of power – and we'll soon have it in our guns."

"There are cities, yes," Worsel was not at all enthusiastic, "dwelling-places of the ordinary Delgonians, the people you saw being eaten in the cavern of the Overlords. As you saw, they resemble us Velantians to a certain extent. Since they are of a lower culture and are much weaker in life force than we are, however, the Overlords prefer us to their own slave races.

"To visit any city of Delgon is out of the question. Every inhabitant of every city is an abject slave and his brain is an open book. Whatever he sees, whatever he thinks, is communicated instantly to his master. And I now perceive that I may have misinformed you as to the Overlords' ability to use weapons. While the situation has never arisen, it is only logical to suppose that as soon as we are seen by any Delgonian the controllers will order all the inhabitants of the city to capture us and bring us to them."

"What a guy!” interjected vanBuskirk. '"Did you ever see his top for looking at the bright side of life?"

"Only in conversation," the Lensman replied. "When the ether gets crowded, you notice, he's right in there, blasting away and not saying a word. But to get back to the question of power. I've got only a few minutes of free flight left in my battery, and with your mass, you must be just about out. Come to think of it, didn't you land a trifle hard when we sat down here?"

"Fairly-I went into the ground up to my knees."

“I thought so. We've got to get some power, and the nearest city-out of the question or not-is the best place to get it. Luckily, it isn't far.”

VanBuskirk grunted. "As far as I'm concerned it might as well be on Mars, considering what's between here and there. You can take my batteries and I'll wait here."

"On your emergency food, water, and air? That's out!”

"What else, then?"

"I can spread my field to cover all three of us," proposed Kinnison. "That will give us at least one minute of free flight-almost, if not quite, enough to clear the jungle. They have night here, and, like us, the Delgonians are night-sleepers. We start at dusk, and tonight we recharge our batteries."

The following hour, during which the huge, hot sun dropped to the horizon, was spent in intense discussion, but no significant improvement upon the Lensman's plan could be devised.

"It is time to go," Worsel announced, curling out one extensile eye toward the vanishing orb. "I have recorded all my findings. Already I have lived longer and, through you, have accomplished more, than anyone has ever believed possible. I am ready to die-I should have been dead long since."

"Living on borrowed time's a lot better than not living at all," Kinnison replied, with a grin. "Link up . . . . Ready? . . . . Got"

He snapped his switches and the close-linked group of three shot into the air and away. As far as the eye could reach in any direction extended the sentient, ravenous growth of the jungle, but Kinnison's eyes were not upon that fantastically inimical green carpet. His whole attention was occupied by two all-important meters and by the task of so directing their flight as to gain the greatest possible horizontal distance with the power at his command.

Fifty seconds of flashing flight, then.

"All right, Worsel, get out in front and get ready to pull!” Kinnison snapped. "Ten seconds of drive left, but I can hold us free for five seconds after my driver quits. Pull !”

Kinnison's driver expired, its small accumulator completely exhausted, and Worsel, with his mighty wings, took up the task of propulsion. Inertialess still, with Kinnison and vanBuskirk grasping his tail, each beat a mile-long leap, he struggled on. But all too soon the battery powering the neutralizers also went dead and the three began to plummet downward at a sharper and sharper angle, in spite of the Velantian's Herculean efforts to keep them aloft.

Some distance ahead of them the green of the jungle ended in a sharply cut line, beyond which there was a heavy growth of fairly open forest. A couple of miles of this and there was the city, their objective-so near and yet so far !

"Well either just make the timber or we just won't," Kinnison, mentally plotting the course, announced dispassionately. "Just as well if we land in the jungle, I think. It'll break our fall, anyway-hitting solid ground inert at this speed would be bad."

"If we land in the jungle we will never leave it," Worsel's thought did not slow the incredible tempo of his prodigious pinions, "but it makes little difference whether I die now or later."

"It does -to us, you pessimistic croaker!” flared Kinnison. "Forget that dying complex of yours for a minute! Remember the plan, arid follow itl We're going to strike the jungle, about ninety or a hundred meters in. If you come in with us you die at once, and the rest of our scheme is all shot to hell. So when we let go, you go ahead and land in the woods. We'll join you there, never fear, our armor will hold long enough for us to cut our way through a hundred meters of any jungle that ever grew-even this one . . . .

Get ready, Bus . . . . . Leggo!”