Subject: Doomed Lensmen - Chapter 5 Date: Fri, 10 Nov 2000 08:19:12 -0800 From: Lee Gold To: mobrien@dnaco.net Chapter 5: Lensman DuQuesne For one brief moment, Zagan nearly gave way to total despair. To sink in one day from High Tyrant of Nergal to a hunted refugee fleeing from Gharlane's vengeance had been no short fall. Yet the mysterious arrival of this arrogant being who called himself DuQuesne seemed to presage still greater disasters in store. And then suddenly the full possibilities of his present situation dawned on the cunning Nergalian. All was not yet lost. On the contrary, this situation, if properly handled, could yet ensure his eventual triumph. He unhurriedly replaced the useless DeLameter in his holster, then said calmly, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. DuQuesne. My most sincere apologies for having thoughtlessly attempted to attack you. My name is Zagan, Emperor of Nergalia, and in what you have termed this plenum's political jigsaw puzzle, my allegiance is - to myself. "I have come here alone to make a personal inspection of this once-powerful world in order to see what, if any, fruits of Arisian science have survived the fall of Arisia." He paused briefly, studied DuQuesne's impassive countenance, then continued, "To tell the truth, I have come here searching for a weapon which would enable me to preserve my Empire from the hands of an invader, a pirate chieftain of Boskonia who dreams of becoming Supreme Ruler of the Macrocosmic All. Already four of my outlying worlds have fallen under his attack." He hesitated, unsure of how best to proceed. DuQuesne remarked coldly, "An interesting story. Why haven't you asked the Galactic Patrol to repel this invader?" "Because I would rather die than beg for their help," Zagan said haughtily. "They have tried too often to absorb Nergalia into their sphere of influence, to violate our sovereign rights as an independent stellar empire. I will never appeal to that gang of warmongering imperialists for help." He paused once more, then continued in a changed tone of voice, "I do, however, greatly need allies in my fight. Tell me, how many others of your people have you brought with you into this plenum?" "I am alone here at the present," said DuQuesne. "Just as you are. Do emperors commonly travel undefended in this plenum?" "I can understand how my mode of travel might well seem strange to an outsider," replied Zagan. "Actually, this ship is equipped with every means of defensive and offensive weaponry known to my people. I am in no danger whatsoever from any conventional form of attack. Your projector, of course, as you yourself have already said, has not been invented in this plenum. It sounds like a very interesting device. What is its range of operation?" "Its practical limit is roughly a thousand times the long diameter of this galaxy," said DuQuesne. Why do you ask? Are you thinking of renting it?" he asked bluntly. "It might come in handy," said Zagan unabashed. "I'd be willing to offer you a position in my realm second only to my own, if you'd allow me to use it during this present time of crisis." DuQuesne laughed derisively. "You expect me to become your subject? Being a small-time emperor must have given you delusions of grandeur. Maybe you don't realize it, but I could kill you right now with my bare hands, and there isn't a thing you could do to stop me. The only reason I've let you live this long is because I want to learn a little more about the power structure of this universe before I start upsetting it. "You say you need an ally. Well, I need a base of operations. I can't stay here on Arisia indefinitely. I don't want the Patrol to find out about me until I'm fully prepared to deal with them. So we might be able to strike some kind of bargain - but there's one condition. If you want my help, if you want to be able to use my projector of any of the other devices I've brought over here with me, you're going to have to start taking your orders from me. You're going to do what I tell you and like it - or else there's no deal. That okay with you?" "Under the present circumstances, yes," said Zagan. "And now that we are agreed, I should like to get out of my ship and have a closer look at what remains of Arisia." "All in good time," said DuQuesne. "First I want to have a closer look at you - in person." And Zagan abruptly found himself no longer standing in the familiar control room of his space cruiser. Instead, he now stood in the center of a large room, one end of which was evidently some kind of scientific laboratory. At the other end of the room, seated beside a highly intricate control panel, was DuQuesne, this time presumably in the flesh. And on a nearby table, only a few inches away from the stranger's elbow, was a LENS!!! The Lens, to Zagan's expert eye, was obviously a genuine Arisian one, differing in rhythm, chroma and aura from the Boskonian variety. DuQuesne's first action after he had finished absorbing Kinnison's account of the War against Eddore had been to cause the automatic Lensmaker to produce a Lens for him. Zagan, however, could not know that though DuQuesne's Lens was in truth an Arisian artifact, it had only been in existence for a few short hours. Instead, the uninformed Nergalian immediately concluded that the being he now confronted was not an intruder from another plenum but a LENSMAN with a new kind of transportation device called a projector. Without hesitation, Zagan reached for his DeLameter, but before he could fire it, a second DuQuesne had materialized beside him, wrestled the weapon from his hands, and rayed the hapless Nergalian in two with his own weapon. A few moments later, the projected image disappeared, letting the DeLameter drop to the floor with a thud. Then DuQuesne got up from his spaceship's control board chair and walked over to where Zagan's corpse lay. He carefully picked up the DeLameter and stuck it in his belt, then lifted up the Nergalian's head and carried it across the room to where the mechanical educator stood. Once there, he placed a thought transfer helmet on Zagan's head and began methodically exploring the labyrinthine intricacies of that worthy's brain. After several hours, he removed the headset, stretched, then went back to the control console and activated his fourth dimensional matter transporter, the same device that he had used only a short time before to transport Zagan instantaneously aboard his spaceship. Now, after having taken all the information he wanted from the dead Nergalian's brain, DuQuesne used the instrument once more, this time to transport Zagan's corpse back to that hapless wight's own spaceship. Then DuQuesne returned to the project he had had in hand before Zagan's arrival, outfitting his spaceship, recently renamed the Ultraviolet, with a Bergenholm inertialess space drive - a relatively simple task when all of the work of construction and installation could be accomplished by projector. And so, only a few hours later, DuQuesne's ship soared out into space toward its faraway destination, and Arisia was left uninhabited once more. The only mark left by the past day's events was the small Nergalian spaceship and within it the mutilated body of the luckless entity who only two days ago had been High Tyrant of Nergal. Meanwhile, back in the Tellurian solar system, selected representatives of the news media of the Two Galaxies gathered in the Grand Assembly Hall of the Directrix. They were there to witness the swearing in of the new Coordinator and Vice-Coordinator of the Galactic Patrol. The ceremony slowly unfolded with the simple dignity that characterized all Patrol activities. First was heard the stirring sound of the Patrol's own anthem, "Our Patrol." Then Tregonsee, who like all members of his species could neither hear nor produce atmospheric vibrations, took the oath of office telepathically amid a dead silence. Then, after the stocky Rigelian had sworn to uphold the authority of the Galactic Council throughout all space, Tellurian Raoul LaForge, formerly Port Admiral, stepped forward to take his own oath of office as Vice-Coordinator. After the formal ceremony was over, Gray Lensman Flewellen who had administered the oaths of office, informed the newsmen that a short press conference would now be permitted. There was a sudden change from absolute silence to hubbub as almost a hundred newsmen leapt to their feet, each crying out Tregonsee's name or his question. After a brief period of disorder, a Universal Telenews reporter was recognized; he asked, "Coordinator Tregonsee, do you have any idea yet who is responsible for these late attacks on Klovia and Antigan?" "As yet we have insufficient evidence to draw any valid conclusion about the source of these attacks," Tregonsee answered. "You can be sure, however, that neither I nor any other officer of the Patrol will give up until we have identified and destroyed the beings responsible for these two outrages." Another newsman hurriedly arose and, after being recognized, asked, "Coordinator Tregonsee, why were you and Vice-Coordinator LaForge sworn in out here in space instead of on Earth, in the Hill? Is this an indication that you feel that Earth's defenses are insufficient to protect the first Galaxy's Grand Fleet Headquarters, just as Klovia's defenses were unable two days ago to protect the Second Galaxy's Patrol Headquarters?" "The Directrix is also a Grand Fleet Patrol Headquarters," answered Tregonsee patiently. "The difference is that it is a Patrol headquarters not for the First Galaxy nor for the Second Galaxy but for the whole of Civilization. Lensman LaForge and I chose to be sworn in aboard the Directrix to show that, according to the recent decision of the Galactic Council, our authority extends over both of the Civilized Galaxies. "In regard to your second question, there is no evidence to indicate that Earth's defenses are inadequate. In the recent Defense of Arisia, the Patrol was proved able to protect a planet against a far greater attack than that recently directed against Klovia. The forces which protected Arisia have already been summoned to protect the four chief planets of Civilization in the First Galaxy: Rigel IV, Sol III, Velantia III, and Palain VII." The newsman sat down again, with a decidedly dissatisfied expression. And a galaxy away, second stage Lensman Worsel of Velantia grimly drove his mightily armed dreadnought, the Velan, through what had two days ago been the Klovian planetary system, but which could now be best described as a gigantic asteroid belt made up of pieces of worlds disintegrated in the recent battle, none of which had yet settled down into any regular orbit. Beside him in the control room stood Constance Kinnison. And together the two concentrated, to the exclusion of all other sensations, on scanning in fine detail the cosmic wreckage of Klovia for some clue to the parties responsible for the recent catastrophe. Suddenly Worsel detected, amid the celestial flotsam, a wildly orbiting piece of planetary crust, its surface covered by a layer of fused rubble that had evidently once been some kind of artificial structure. He broke the mental silence of the control room, directing Constance's attention to the fragment. "This may be of some importance - depending on whether it comes from Klovia or from some other once-inhabited planet." "The evidence shows it comes from some other planet," the girl replied after a careful analysis of the gyrating chunk. "The percentage of carbon-14 is all wrong for Klovia. Besides, the surface has been melted by some intense heat. A fragment of Klovia might show signs of having been battered by other masses but not of having been melted. This must be a piece from one of the planets that the sunbeam was focused on. But the surface rubble can't have come from any kind of space-drive machinery; the percentage of metal is too small. Apparently the Unknown Enemy attacked Klovia by hurling inhabited planets at it." "There's nothing in this piece that indicates what planet it came from," commented Worsel, "but odds are that the sunbeam didn't have time to melt down all of the world's surface. Let's see if we can find another piece of it." Their twinned receptors sped out, scanning the entire Klovian solar system. And then Constance spotted what must - from its matching composition - have been the fragment's parent, a misshapen body that had evidently once been a planet but which was now less than a third of what must have been its former size. It bore the marks of countless collisions with the other worlds which had been used to bombard Klovia. For long moments the Velantia and his slim redheaded companion studied this world; then Worsel said grimly, "This was Antigan IV." Constance nodded curtly. "This confirms our earlier assumption that the same Unknown was behind both attacks." "All the other planets used to attack this system appear to be uninhabited ones," said Worsel. "The Unknown probably chose to use Antigan IV because-" and then the Velantian fell silent, for he had just sensed a Lensed message emanating from a totally incredible source. "Hello, Worsel of Velantia. Can you hear me?" It was - it seemed to be - Kim Kinnison. "Hello, Worsel," Kimball Kinnison's voice seemed to call. "I don't know whether or not you can hear me. My Lens got banged up a couple of days ago, and it only seems to work erratically now. Worsel, I need some taxi service. I'm stuck on a klevous planet called Dunster, and the only spaceship in sight is the Boskonian one I just got finished wrecking. How's about a lift?" "Worsel, old snake," interrupted Constance, "aren't you going to bother to finish your sentence? Boskonia chose to kidnap Antigan IV because of what?" Worsel disregarded her. "Kim," he Lensed, "your daughter Constance is here with me. You'd better speak to her. She's been afraid you were dead." "For a while back there, I almost thought I was dead myself," came back the answer. Then, "Constance honey, how are you? Think you've got time enough to make a detour and pick me up? I'm marooned over on Dunli II. I managed to take over the ship that kidnapped me off of Antigan IV, but its space drive and life support system got pretty much wrecked in the process, so I set her down here on Dunster. I'd have called you before and told you, but my Lens was on the blink. It got banged up in the last few moments of the melee, and just got started working properly a couple of minutes ago." "Dad! You're alive!" Constance gasped in incredulous delight. "Are you all right?" "There's nothing wrong with me that a few days rest won't fix, but I'll feel considerably better once I get off of this planet. Dunli's a long-term variable, remember. Well, right now it's summer - and the temperature where I am is 120 degrees in the shade." Worsel, who had been consulting with the Velan's navigator, now resumed his place in the conversation. "We should be able to get there in about five hours, Kim. I know that sounds slow, but we'll have to spend nearly an hour picking ourselves out of a system-sized asteroid belt before we can start breaking the speed of light." "QX… You know, I haven't had any sleep for the last forty-eight hours - too busy fighting pirates. I'm going to put myself to sleep now with an alarm clock set to ring in four hours. Give my love to the rest of the kids, Con, and tell them they needn't have worried. Good night, all." And the voice died away in a not very successful telepathic rendition of a snore. And on Dunster, second planet of the long-term variable star of Dunli, D'zillich of Nergal glowed with satisfaction at a job well done. For a moment he luxuriated in the prospect of destroying yet another of the hated Lensmen. Then the voice of his aide Borkle burst in on his contemplations. "High Tyrant, the computer has requested an interim report on the current progress of the operation." "Very well." D'zillich turned his attention to a dullish-gray circular visiscreen on the far side of the room, one of the many communications extensions of the Nergalian Prime Computer. He thought into the visiscreen, "D'zillich, High Tyrant of Nergal, with an interim report on the progress of Operation W. Step Two - personal contact - completed. Success estimate of Step Two - 100%. "My impersonation met with total success. I simulated the dead Lensman's personality perfectly, down to his last side-band of thought. They were both completely deceived. They've promised to be here in no more than five hours from now, and they'll be completely off-guard when the attack comes." And the computer thought back, "The girl is aboard then. The probability of her presence was only 85." "She is definitely aboard. I spoke to her personally. It would have been out of character not to do so. I told her to pass on the news that Kim Kinnison was alive to her brother and sisters. Who knows, we may be able to make them all believe that their father is still alive - even after the ambush. After all, Kinnison could have been hypnotized into thinking he was alone on Dunster, made into a decoy without his knowledge." "I estimate the probability of making all of his children believe that at about 15%," replied the computer dryly. "And what are your estimates of the probability of this operation's success?" demanded D'zillich. "Current probabilities estimate for Operation W: 98% that you will be able to destroy the second stage Lensman; 44% that you will be able to destroy the third stage Lensman." "Very well. I have no further questions." D'zillich turned back to Borkle. "Go tell the crew that our visitors are estimated to arrive between four and five hours from now. Make sure that we're ready to greet them properly." Borkle obediently left, and D'zillich allowed himself once more to revel in the contemplation of the woe that he was so soon to wreak on the forces of Civilization. And only a little more than four hours later, the Velan, racing furiously through space, arrived in the neighborhood of Dunli II. Two eager calls went forth from the ship. "Dad!" "Kim, we're here!" There was no answer. "Maybe his Lens is malfunctioning again," said Worsel. "We could try to-" And at that instant the Velan's screen's suddenly flared brilliant violet, as the space around the mighty dreadnought pulsed with deadly beams. "He's attacking us!" Constance gasped. "They're attacking us," Worsel corrected her. "Kim's call for help must have been some kind of trick to get us out here into firing range. And it doesn't look as if we're going to be able to hold out much longer. We're going to have to turn tail and get out of here." Hastily, the Velantian took over tricky job of piloting the Velan out of the jaws of destruction. The massive ship executed a set of incredibly high speed evasive maneuvers, maneuvers that placed a maximum strain on the Velantian ability to stand up to high acceleration, a strain that would have crushed any ordinary human being to pulp. He did this secure in the knowledge that Constance Kinnison had had the foresight to put on a gravity damper before boarding the Velan. The mighty dreadnought twisted at seemingly impossible angles in its attempt to elude the destructive beams from Dunster. The Nergalian forces tried to imprison the ship in a tractor zone, but the wildly whirling Velan moved too quickly for the tractor beam operators to focus the zone. And as the slow moments passed away, the Velan drew steadily away from Dunster. "I'd hoped to dispose of them more easily," said D'zillich, "but I suppose there's no alternative. We can't let them get away. It would destroy the atmosphere of despair and doom that I've worked so hard to build up. Borkle, order the operators to use the anti-Lens projector." The aide obeyed, and a moment later the most insidious of all of Nergal's weapons was focused on the fleeing ship, a weapon that turned the Lens of Civilization against its symbiotic wearer. The Lens is, of course, no mere artifact but a living entity, attuned to only one being and lethal when not in direct contact with that being. The effect of the Nergalian anti-Lens projector was to alter the relationship between Lens and Lensman so that the Lens ceased to be attuned to its wearer - and therefore killed him instantly. And so, only a few moments after D'zillich's order, as the operator of the anti-Lens projector swept its beam steadily across the sky, the sweep of its focus intercepted the Velan. And Worsel of Velantia died at the helm of his own mighty ship, died in utter agony, every atom of his being pulsating with pain, struck down by his own Lens. For a moment the Velan raced through space without direction. And then a new hand was laid on the navigation controls, and the ship again began its wildly variable evasive maneuvers under the direction of Constance Kinnison. In that hour of peril, the youngest Child of the Lens truly showed what metal she was made of. Unflinchingly she piloted the Velan out of the enemy's range of attack. And only when the moment of immediate danger was over did she permit herself to grieve for Worsel of Velantia, who had been closer to her than any other being in the two galaxies except for her parents, her sisters, and her brother. "We got the Velantian second stage Lensman," Borkle told D'zillich, "but the Kinnison brat got away safe. The anti-Lens projector didn't affect her because she wasn't wearing a Lens. She materializes her Lens when she wants it, and doesn't wear it the rest of the time. We've got to figure out some more effective way of taking care of those third stage Lensmen." And Constance grimly reported to her brother Kit, "The Enemy's struck again. This time they used Father's voice to lure Worsel and me into an ambush. And they managed to kill Worsel somehow - I don't know how. The only significant thing I noticed is that his Lens stopped glowing just before he died, not afterwards. I think somehow they killed him through his Lens." "Any sign of pursuit from Dunster?" "No. It looks as if this was a one-shot plan of action. Kit, did you notice anything funny about that 'message from Dad' when I sent it to you?" "Not at the time, but let's go over it again. After all, it's our first piece of direct contact with the Enemy." Slowly the two analyzed the message in detail. Finally Kit said, "It's almost a perfect job of impersonation. There are a couple of funny points, but I'd never have noticed them unless I was looking for trouble. If they've got somebody that good,…we're going to have to start using a couple of teaspoons of salt to every Lensed message - that and get in the habit of expecting big, small and medium-sized traps wherever we go. "You take the Velan back to Klovia, Con. I'll take a fleet and investigate Dunster. We'll probably get there too late for any action, but we've got to try." "In that case," Constance said spiritedly, "the Velan is going to stop right here and wait for your fleet. Were you actually thinking of trying to exterminate those things without inviting me?" "I wasn't quite sure you'd be in the mood for action right now," Kit apologized, "but you're certainly more than welcome to join the party. I can't think of many people I'd rather have on my side in a fight." "Well, you're not so bad yourself, brother." What a wealth of meaning there was heterodyned on that seemingly light exchange. "Clear ether, Con." "Clear ether, Kit." And the two sped towards their rendezvous, unaware of the political powder keg that had already been secretly set alight a galaxy away on Tellus.