E. E. SMITH Boxed Set. E. E. Smith
for it and with no better results. For the Brittania’s screens had been designed to stand up almost indefinitely against the most potent beams of any ordinary warship, and they stood up.
Kinnison had tremendously powerful beams of his own, but he did not use them. It would take the super-powerful offense of a mauler to produce a definite answer to the question seething in his mind.
Increase power as the pirate would, to whatever ruinous overload, he could not break down Kinnison’s screens; nor, dodge as he would, could he again get in position to attack his former prey. And eventually the mauler arrived; fortunately it, too, had been fairly close by. Out reached its mighty tractors. Out raved one of its tremendous beams, striking the Boskonian’s defenses squarely amidships.
That beam struck and the pirate ship disappeared—but not in a hazily incandescent flare of volatilized metal. The raider disappeared bodily, and still all in one piece. He had put out super-shears of his own, snapping the mauler’s supposedly unbreakable tractors like threads; and the velocity of his departure was due almost as much to the pressor effect of the Patrol beam as it was to the thrust of his own drivers.
It was the beginning of the stalemate Kinnison had foreseen.
“I was afraid of that,” the young captain muttered; and, paying no attention whatever to the merchantman, he called the commander of the mauler. At this close range, of course, no ether scrambler could interfere with visual apparatus, and there on his plate he saw the face of Clifford Maitland, the man who had graduated number two in his own class.
“Hi, Kim, you old space-flea!” Maitland exclaimed in delight. “Oh, pardon me, sir,” he went on in mock deference, with an exaggerated salute. “To a guy with four jets, I should say .”
“Seal that, Cliff, or I’ll climb up you like a squirrel, first chance I get!” Kinnison retorted. “So they’ve got you skippering an El Ponderoso, huh? Think of a mere infant like you being let play with so much high-power! What’ll we do about this heap here?”
“Damfino. It isn’t covered, so you’ll have to tell me, Captain.”
“Who’m I to be passing out orders? As you say, it isn’t covered in the book—it’s against G I regs for them to be cutting our tractors. But he’s all yours, not mine—I’ve got to flit. You might find out what he’s carrying, from where, to where, and why. Then, if you want to, you can escort him either back where he came from or on to where he’s going; whichever you think best. If this interference doesn’t let-up, maybe you’d better Lens Prime Base for orders. Or use your own judgment, if any. Clear ether, Cliff, I’ve got to buzz along.”
“Clear ether, spacehound!”
“Now, Hank,” Kinnison turned to his pilot, “we’ve got urgent business at Prime Base—and when I say ‘urgent’ I don’t mean perchance. Let’s see you burn a hole in the ether.”
The Brittania streaked Earthward, and scarcely had she touched ground when Kinnison was summoned to the office of the Port Admiral. As soon as he was announced, Haynes bruskly cleared his office and sealed it against any possible form of intrusion or eavesdropping. He had aged noticeably since these two had had that memorable conference in this same room. His face was lined and careworn, his eyes and his entire mien bore witness to days and nights of sleeplessly continuous work.
“You were right, Kinnison,” he began, Lens to Lens. “A stalemate it is; a hopeless deadlock. I called you in to tell you that Hotchkiss has your nullifier done, and that it works perfectly against all long-range stuff. Against electromagnetics, however, it is not very effective. About all that can be done, it seems, is to shorten the range; and it doesn’t interfere with vision at all.”
“I can get by with that, I think—I will be out of electromagnetic range most of the time, and nobody watches their electros very close, anyway. Thanks a lot. It’s ready to install?”
“Doesn’t need installation. It’s such a little thing you can put it in your pocket. It’s self-contained and will work anywhere.”
“Better and better. In that case I’ll need two of them—and a ship. I would like to have one of those new automatic speedsters.[4] Lots of legs, cruising range, and screens. Only one beam, but I probably won’t use even that one .”
“Going alone?” interrupted Haynes. “Better take your battle-cruiser, at least. I don’t like the idea of you going into deep space alone.”
“I don’t particularly relish the prospect, either, but it’s got to be that way. The whole fleet, maulers and all, isn’t enough to do by force what’s got to be done, and even two men is too many to do it in the only way it can be done. You see, sir .”
“No explanations, please. It’s on the spool, where we can get it if we need it. Are you informed as to the latest developments?”
“No, sir. I heard a little coming in, but not much.”
“We are almost back where we were before you took off in the first Brittania. Commerce is almost at a standstill. All shipping firms are practically idle, but that is neither all of it nor the worst of it. You may not realize how important interstellar trade is; but as a result of its stoppage general business has slowed down tremendously. As is only to be expected, perhaps, complaints are coming in by the thousand because we have not already blasted the pirates out of space, and demands that we do so at once. They do not understand the true situation, nor realize that we are doing everything we can. We cannot send a mauler with every freighter and liner, and mauler-escorted vessels are the only ones to arrive at their destinations.”
“But why? With tractor shears on all ships, how can they hold them?” asked Kinnison.
“Magnets!” snorted Haynes. “Plain, old-fashioned electromagnets. No pull to speak of, at a distance, of course, but with the raider running free they don’t need much. Close up—lock on—board and storm—all done!”
“Hm . . m . . m. That changes things. I’ve got to find a pirate ship. I was planning on following a freighter or liner out toward Alsakan, but if there aren’t any to follow . I’ll have to hunt around .”
“That is easily arranged. Lots of them want to go. We will let one go, with a mauler accompanying her, but well outside detector range.”
“That covers everything, then, except the assignment. I can’t very well ask for leave, but maybe I could be put on special assignment, reporting direct to you?”
“Something better than that,” and Haynes smiled broadly, in genuine pleasure. “Everything is fixed. Your Release has been entered in the books. Your commission as captain has been cancelled, so leave your uniform in your former quarters. Here is your credit book and here is the rest of your kit. You are now an Unattached Lensman.”
The Release! The goal toward which all Lensmen strive, but which so few attain! He was now a free agent, responsible to no one and to nothing save his own conscience. He was no longer of Earth, nor of the Solarian System, but of the galaxy as a whole. He was no longer a tiny cog in the immense machine of the Galactic Patrol; wherever he might go, throughout the immensity of the entire Island Universe, he would be the Galactic Patrol!
“Yes, it’s real.” The older man was enjoying the youngster’s stupefaction at his Release, reminding him as it did of the time, long years before, when he had won his own. “You go anywhere you please and do anything you please, for as long as you please. You take anything you want, whenever you want it, with or without giving reasons—although you will usually give a thumb-printed credit slip in return. You report if, as, when, where, how, and to whom you please—or not, as you please. You don’t even get a salary any more. You help yourself to that, too, wherever you may be; as much as you want, whenever you want it.”
“But, sir . . . I . you . . . I mean . that is .” Kinnison gulped three times before he could speak coherently. “I’m not ready, sir. Why, I’m nothing but a kid—I haven’t got enough