E. E. SMITH Boxed Set. E. E. Smith
keel. Since it was Earthlike in climate, age, atmosphere, and mass, its people were of course more or less similar to humanity in general characteristics, both of body and of mind. If anything, they were even more intelligent than Earthlings, and their Patrol base was a very strong one indeed. His spy-ray would be useless, since all Patrol bases were screened thoroughly and continuously—he would see what a sense of perception would do. From Tregonsee’s explanation, it ought to work at this range.
It did. When Kinnison concentrated his attention upon the base he saw it. He advanced toward it at the speed of thought and entered it; passing through screens and metal walls without hindrance and without giving alarm. He saw men at their accustomed tasks and heard, or rather sensed, their conversation: the everyday chat of their professions. A thrill shot through him at a dazzling possibility thus revealed.
If he could make one of those fellows down there do something without his knowing that he was doing it, the problem was solved. That computer, say; make him uncover that calculator and set up a certain integral on it. It would be easy enough to get into touch with him and have him do it, but this was something altogether different.
Kinnison got into the computer’s mind easily enough, and willed intensely what he was to do; but the officer did not do it. He got up; then, staring about him in bewilderment, sat down again.
“What’s the matter?” asked one of his fellows. “Forget something?”
“Not exactly,” the computer still stared. “I was going to set up an integral. I didn’t want it, either—I could swear that somebody told me to set it up.”
“Nobody did,” grunted the other, “and you’d better start staying home nights—then maybe you wouldn’t get funny ideas.”
This wasn’t so good, Kinnison reflected. The guy should have done it, and shouldn’t have remembered a thing about it. Well, he hadn’t really thought he could put it across at that distance, anyway—he didn’t have the brain of an Arisian. He’d have to follow his original plan, of close-up work.
Waiting until the base was well into the night side of the planet and making sure that his flare-baffles were in place, he allowed the speedster to drop downward, landing at some little distance from the fortress. There he left the ship and made his way toward his objective in a rapid series of long, inertialess hops. Lower and shorter became the hops. Then he cut off his power entirely and walked until he saw before him, rising from the ground and stretching interminably upward, an almost invisibly shimmering web of force. This, the prowler knew, was the curtain which marked the border of the Reservation; the trigger upon which a touch, either of solid object or of beam, would initiate a succession of events which he was in no position to stop.
To the eye that base was not impressive, being merely a few square miles of level ground, outlined with low, broad pill-boxes and studded here and there with harmless-looking, bulging domes. There were a few clusters of buildings. That was all—to the eye—but Kinnison was not deceived. He knew that the base itself was a thousand feet underground; that the pill-boxes housed lookouts and detectors; and that those domes were simply weathershields which, rolled back, would expose projectors second in power not even to those of Prime Base itself.
Far to the right, between two tall pylons of metal, was a gate; the nearest opening in the web. Kinnison had avoided it purposely; it was no part of his plan to subject himself yet to the scrutiny of the all-inclusive photo-cells of that entrance. Instead, with his new sense of perception, he sought out the conduits leading to those cells and traced them down, through concrete and steel and masonry, to the control room far below. He then superimposed his mind upon that of the man at the board and flew boldly toward the entrance. He now actually had a dual personality; since one part of his mind was in his body, darting through the air toward the portal, while the other part was deep in the base below, watching him come and acknowledging his signals!
A trap lifted, revealing a sloping, tunneled ramp, down which the Lensman shot. He soon found a convenient store-room; and, slipping within it, he withdrew his control carefully from the mind of the observer, wiping out all traces of that control as he did so. He then watched apprehensively for a possible reaction. He was almost sure that he had performed the operation correctly, but he had to be absolutely certain; more than his life depended upon the outcome of this test. The observer, however, remained calm and placid at his post; and a close reading of his thoughts showed that he had not the faintest suspicion that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.
One more test and he was through. He must find out how many minds he could control simultaneously, but he’d better do that openly. No use making a man feel like a fool needlessly—he’d done that once already, and once was one time too many.
Therefore, reversing the procedure by which he had come, he went back to his speedster, took her out into the ether, and slept. Then, when the light of morning flooded the base, he cut his detector nullifier and approached it boldly.
“Radelix base! Lensman Kinnison of Tellus, Unattached, asking permission to land. I wish to confer with your commanding officer, Lensman Gerrond.”
A spy-ray swept through the speedster, the web disappeared, and Kinnison landed, to be greeted with a quiet and cordial respect. The base commander knew that his visitor was not there purely for pleasure—Gray Lensmen did not take pleasure jaunts. Therefore he led the way into his private office and shielded it.
“My announcement was not at all informative,” Kinnison admitted then, “but my errand is nothing to be advertised. I’ve got to try out something, and I want to ask you and three of your best and—’stubbornest,’ if I may use the term—officers to cooperate with me for a few minutes. QX?”
“Of course.”
Three officers were called in and Kinnison explained. “I’ve been working for a long time on a mind-controller, and I want to see if it works. I’ll put your books on this table, one in front of each of you. Now I would like to try to make two or three of you—all four of you if I can—each bend over, pick up his book, and hold it. Your part of the game will be for each of you to try not to pick it up, and to put it back as soon as you possibly can if I do make you obey. Will you?”
“Sure!” three of them chorused, and “There will be no mental damage, of course?” asked the commander.
“None whatever, and no after-effects. I’ve had it worked on myself, a lot.”
“Do you want any apparatus?”
“No, I have everything necessary. Remember, I want top resistance.”
“Let her come! You’ll get plenty of resistance. If you can make any one of us pick up a book, after all this warning, I’ll say you’ve got something.”
Officer after officer, in spite of strainingly resisting mind and body, lifted his book from the table, only to drop it again as Kinnison’s control relaxed for an instant. He could control two of them—any two of them—but he could not quite handle three. Satisfied, he ceased his efforts; and, as the base commander poured long, cold drinks for the sweating five, one of his fellows asked:
“What did you do, anyway, Kinnison—oh, pardon me, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Sorry,” the Tellurian replied uncomfortably, “but it isn’t ready yet. You’ll all know about it as soon as possible, but not just now.”
“Sure,” the Radeligian replied. “I knew I shouldn’t have blasted off as soon as I spoke.”
“Well, thanks a lot, fellows.” Kinnison set his empty glass down with a click. “I can make a nice progress report on this do-jig now. And one more thing. I did a little long-range experimenting on one of your computers last night .”
“Desk Twelve? The one who thought he wanted to integrate something?”
“That’s the one. Tell him I was using him for a mind-ray subject, will you, and give him this fifty-credit bill? Don’t want the boys needling him too much.”
“Yes, and thanks . and . I wonder .” the Radeligian