Gray Lensman. E. E. Smith
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near future, for we are driving Boskonia out of our galaxy.”
“What you think of as ‘semi-peace’ would be tranquility incarnate to us,” the old man replied with feeling. “We have in fact considered long that very move. We decided against it for two reasons: first, because we knew nothing about conditions there, and hence might be going from bad to worse; and second and more important, because of lack of reliable data upon the density of matter in inter-galactic space. Lacking that, we could not estimate the time necessary for the journey, and we could have no assurance that our sources of power, great as they are, would be sufficient to make up the heat lost by radiation.”
“We have already given you an idea of conditions and we can give you the data you lack.”
They did so, and for a matter of minutes the Medonians conferred. Meanwhile Kinnison went on a mental expedition to one of the power-plants. He expected to see super-colossal engines; bus-bars ten feet thick, perhaps cooled in liquid helium; and other things in proportion. But what he actually saw made him gasp for breath and call Tregonsee’s attention. The Rigellian sent out his sense of perception with Kinnison’s, and he also was almost stunned.
“What’s the answer, Trig?” the Earthman asked, finally. “This is more down your alley than mine. That motor’s about the size of my foot, and if it isn’t eating a thousand pounds an hour I’m Klono’s maiden aunt. And the whole output is going out on two wires no bigger than number four, jacketed together like ordinary parallel pair. Perfect insulator? If so, how about switching?”
“That must be it, a substance of practically infinite resistance,” the Rigellian replied, absently, studying intently the peculiar mechanisms. “Must have a better conductor than silver, too, unless they can handle voltages of ten to the fifteenth or so, and don’t see how they could break such potentials... Guess they don’t use switches—don’t see any—must shut down, the prime sources... No, there it is—so small that I overlooked it completely. In that little box there. Sort of a jam-plate type; a thin sheet of insulation with a knife on the leading edge, working in a slot to cut the two conductors apart—kills the arc by jamming into the tight slot at the end of the box. The conductors must fuse together at each make and burn away a little at each break, that’s why they have renewable tips. Kim, they’ve really got something! I certainly am going to stay here and do some studying.”
“Yes, and we’ll have to rebuild the Dauntless...”
The two Lensmen were called away from their study by Worsel—the Medonians had decided to accept the invitation to move to the First Galaxy. Orders were given, the course was changed and the planet, now a veritable spaceship, shot away in the new direction.
“Not as many legs as a speedster, of course, but at that, she’s no slouch—we’re making plenty of lights,” Kinnison commented, then turned to the president. “It seems rather presumptuous for us to call you simply ‘Wise,’ especially as I gather that that is not your name...”
“That is what I am called, and that is what you are to call me,” the oldster replied. “We of Medon do not have names. Each has a number; or, rather, a symbol composed of numbers and letters of our alphabet—a symbol which gives his full classification. Since these things are too clumsy for regular use, however, each of us is given a nickname, usually an adjective, which is supposed to be more or less descriptive. You of Earth we could not give a complete symbol; your two companions we could not give any at all. However, you may be interested in knowing that you three have already been named?”
“Very much so.”
“You are to be called ‘Keen.’ He of Rigel IV is ‘Strong,’ and he of Velantia is ‘Agile’.”
“Quite complimentary to me, but...”
“Not bad at all, I’d say,” Tregonsee broke in. “But hadn’t we better be getting on with more serious business?”
“We should indeed,” Wise agreed. “We have much to discuss with you; particularly the weapon you used.”
“Could you get an analysis of it?” Kinnison asked, sharply.
“No. No one beam was in operation long enough. However, a study of the recorded data, particularly the figures for intensity—figures so high as to be almost unbelievable—lead us to believe that the beam is the result of an enormous overload upon a projector otherwise of more or less conventional type. Some of us have wondered why we did not think of the idea ourselves...”
“So did we, when it was used on us,” Kinnison grinned and went on to explain the origin of the primary. “We will give you the formulae and also the working hook-up—including the protective devices, because they’re mighty dangerous without plenty of force-backing—of the primaries, in exchange for some lessons in power-plant design.”
“Such an exchange of knowledge would be helpful indeed,” Wise agreed.
“The Boskonians know nothing whatever of this beam, and we do not want them to learn of it,” Kinnison cautioned. “Therefore I have two suggestions to make.
“First, that you try everything else before you use this primary beam. Second, that you don’t use it even then unless you can wipe out, as nearly simultaneously as we did out there, every Boskonian who may be able to report back to his base as to what really happened. Fair enough?”
“Eminently so. We agree without reservation—it is to our interest as much as yours that such a secret be kept from Boskone.”
“QX, Fellows, let’s go back to the ship for a couple of minutes.” Then, aboard the Dauntless: “Tregonsee, you and your crew want to stay with the planet, to show the Medonians what to do and to help them along generally, as well as to learn about their power system. Thorndyke, you and your gang, and probably Lensman Hotchkiss, had better study these things too—you’ll know what you want as soon as they show you the hook-up. Worsel, I’d like to have you stay with the ship. You’re in command of her until further orders. Keep her here for say a week or ten days, until the planet is well out of the galaxy. Then, if Hotchkiss and Thorndyke haven’t got all the dope they want, leave them here to ride back with Tregonsee on the planet and drill the Dauntless for Tellus. Keep yourself more or less disengaged for a while, and sort of keep tuned to me. I may not need an ultra-long-range communicator, but you never can tell.”
“Why such comprehensive orders, Kim?” asked Hotchkiss. “Who ever heard of a commander abandoning his expedition? Aren’t you sticking around?”
“Nope—got to do a flit. Think maybe I’m getting an idea. Break out my speedster, will you, Allerdyce?” and the Gray Lensman was gone.
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