E. E. SMITH Boxed Set. E. E. Smith
Trenconian animal will, at any time, eat practically anything—but it was merely food; nothing to rave about.
Knowing now what to do, Kinnison led his assistant out into the howling, shrieking gale and released him from control, throwing a lump of sugar up-wind as he did so. The trenco seized it in the air, ate it, and went into a very hysteria of joy.
“More! More!” he insisted, attempting to climb up the Lensman’s armored leg.
“You must work for more of it, if you want it,” Kinnison explained. “Break off broad-leaf plants and carry them over into that empty thing over there, and you get more.”
This was an entirely new idea to the native, but after Kinnison had taken hold of his mind and had shown him how to do consciously that which he had been doing unconsciously for an hour, he worked willingly enough. In fact, before it started to rain, thereby putting an end to the labor of the day, there were a dozen of them toiling at the harvest and the crop was coming in as fast as the entire crew of Rigellians could process it. And even after the space-port was sealed they crowded up, paying no attention to the rain, bringing in their small loads of leaves and plaintively asking admittance.
It took some little time for Kinnison to make them understand that the day’s work was done, but that they were to come back tomorrow morning. Finally, however, he succeeded in getting the idea across; and the last disconsolate turtle-man swam reluctantly away. But sure enough, next morning, even before the mud had dried, the same twelve were back on the job; and the two Lensmen wondered simultaneously—how could those trencos have found the space-port? Or had they stayed near it through the storm and flood of the night.
“I don’t know,” Kinnison answered the unasked question, “but I can find out.” Again and more carefully he examined the minds of two or three of them. “No, they didn’t follow us,” he reported then. “They’re not as dumb as I thought they were. They have a sense of perception, Tregonsee, about the same thing, I judge, as yours—perhaps even more so. I wonder . why couldn’t they be trained into mighty efficient police assistants on this planet?”
“The way you handle them, yes. I can converse with them a little, of course, but they have never before shown any willingness to cooperate with us.”
“You never fed them sugar,” Kinnison laughed. “You have sugar, of course—or do you? I was forgetting that many races do not use it at all.”
“We Rigellians are one of those races. Starch is so much tastier and so much better adapted to our body chemistry that sugar is used only as a chemical. We can, however, obtain it easily enough. But there is something else—you can tell these trencos what to do and make them really understand you. I can not.”
“I can fix that up with a simple mental treatment that I can give you in five minutes. Also, I can let you have enough sugar to carry on with until you can get in a supply of your own.”
In the few minutes during which the Lensman had been discussing their potential allies, the mud had dried and the amazing coverage of vegetation was springing visibly into being. So incredibly rapid was its growth that in less than an hour some species were large enough to be gathered. The leaves were lush and rank in color or a vivid crimsonish purple.
“These early morning plants are the richest of any in thionite—much richer than broad-leaf—but the zwilniks can never get more than a handful of them because of the wind,” remarked the Rigellian. “Now, if you will give me that treatment, I will see what I can do with the flats.”
Kinnison did so, and the trencos worked for Tregonsee as industriously as they had for Kinnison—and ate his sugar as rapturously.
“That’s enough,” decided the Rigellian presently. “This will finish your fifty kilograms and to spare.”
He then paid off his now enthusiastic helpers, with instructions to return when the sun was directly overhead, for more work and more sugar. And this time they did not complain, nor did they loiter around or bring in unwanted vegetation. They were learning fast.
Well before noon the last kilogram of impalpable, purplish blue powder was put into its impermeable sack. The machinery was cleaned; and untouched leaves, the waste, and the contaminated air were blown out of the space-port; and the room and its occupants were sprayed with antithionite. Then and only then did the crew remove their masks and air-filters. Trenco Space-port was again a Patrol post, no longer a zwilnik’s paradise.
“Thanks, Tregonsee and all you fellows .” Kinnison paused, then went on, dubiously, “I don’t suppose that you will .”
“We will not,” declared Tregonsee. “Our time is yours, as you know, without payment; and time is all that we gave you, really.”
“Sure—that and a thousand million credits’ worth of thionite.”
“That, of course, does not count, as you also know. You have helped us, I think, even more than we have helped you.”
“I hope I’ve done you some good, anyway. Well, I’ve got to flit. Thanks again—I’ll see you again sometime, maybe,” and again the Tellurian Lensman was on his way.
CHAPTER 24
Kinnison Bores from Within
Kinnison approached star cluster AC 257-4736 warily, as before; and as before he insinuated his speedster through the loose outer cordon of guardian fortresses. This time, however, he did not steer even remotely near Helmuth’s world. He would be there too long—there was altogether too much risk of electromagnetic detection to set his ship into any kind of an orbit around that planet. Instead, he had computed a long, narrow, elliptical orbit around its sun; well inside the zone guarded by the maulers. He could compute it only approximately, of course, since he did not know exactly either the masses involved or the perturbing forces; but he thought that he could find his ship again with an electro. If not, she would not be an irreplaceable loss. He set the speedster, then, into the outward leg of that orbit and took off in his new armor.
He knew that there was a thought-screen around Helmuth’s planet, and suspected that there might be other screens as well. Therefore, shutting off every watt of power, he dropped straight down into the night side, almost halfway around the planet from Grand Base. His flares were of course heavily baffled, but even so he did not put on his brakes until it was absolutely necessary. He landed heavily, then sprang away in long, free hops, until he reached his previously-selected destination; a great cavern thickly shielded with iron ore and within working range of his objective. Deep within the cavern he hid himself, then searched intently for any sign that his approach had been observed. There was no such sign—so far, so good.
But during his search he had perceived with a slight shock that Helmuth had tightened his defenses even more. Not only was every man in the dome screened against thought, but also each was now wearing full armor. Had he protected the dogs, too? Or killed them? No real matter if he had—any kind of a pet animal would do; or, in a pinch, even a wild rock-lizard! Nevertheless he shot his perception into the particular barracks he had noted so long before, and found with some relief that the dogs were still there, and that they were still unprotected. It had not occurred, even to Helmuth’s cautious mind, that a dog could be a source of mental danger.
With all due precaution against getting even a single grain of the stuff into his own system, Kinnison transferred his thionite into the special container in which it was to be used. Another day sufficed to observe and to memorize the personnel of the gateway observers, their positions, and the sequence in which they took the boards. Then the Lensman, still almost a week ahead of schedule, settled down to wait the time when he should make his next move. Nor was this waiting unduly irksome; now that everything was ready he could be as patient as a cat on duty at a mousehole.
The time came to act. Kinnison took over the mind of the dog, which at once moved over to the bunk in which one particular observer lay asleep. There