Part 2

"Sister," snapped McBride, "you keep that up and we'll jolly well tell you where you _can_ go!" McBride hung up and redoubled his efforts on the charge-reversal generator. "Women," he snarled, twisting the generator controls as though he had the Drake woman by the throat.

Ten minutes before they landed at 6, McBride picked up the phone and called 1. He spoke to his apartment. "Hello Enid," he said.

"John! What's all the shouting about?"

"La Drake tried to run her crate through the lens. She broke it."

"Who's la Drake?"

"Some dame. Look, Enid, what do you do to handle a headstrong female? Besides giving her enough rope to commit self-destruction?"

"What's her purpose in life?" asked Enid McBride.

"Proving that men are inferior animals."

"I won't answer that one," chuckled McBride's wife. "Look, John, where is this man-killer?"

"At 10."

"That's negative, isn't it?"

"Bright woman, yes," laughed McBride.

"Well, I'm no space-warp expert. How would I know?"

"Look, dear," said McBride patiently, "you divide them by two, as I've said before a million times, and if they come out with nothing left over, they're negative."

"But we're on 1--and you can't even divide one by two--"

"I know. One's positive anyway, Enid. Look, kiddo, leave things like screwdrivers and volt-meters and calipers to me and you continue with the can opener as your only tool. What are we going to do to Drake?"

"You stop on your way back and pick her up. I'll take care of Drake. What did you say her first name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Sandra."

"Oh! You mean Sandra Drake, the novelist-adventuress?"

"I mean Sandra Drake, the she space-barnacle on the hull of progress."

"Oh, I've heard of her. And, John, I'll take care of her!"

"O.K., Enid. I'll see you when I get there."

"'By."

* * * * *

Six was as silent as the proverbial tomb. They breached the lock from the outside and went in slowly, to find the station a shambles. Fred Atlock, the superintendent of 6, they found after some search. He was unconscious, suffering from superficial shock, and he had a four-inch cut on his shoulder which was slowly seeping blood from a large clot. Dan Wilkins, the only other man on that station, they discovered in the generator room, clinging speechlessly to the output terminals of the alphatronic power supply. McBride cut the switch, which was one of the few that hadn't welded shut, and the generator stopped immediately, permitting Wilkins to free himself. "Great Lord," he gasped. "I've been sitting there for nine years!"

"By actual count, it's been one hour and twenty-three minutes," McBride told him. "How do you feel?"

"O.K.," said Wilkins in a matter-of-fact tone, and with a slight eye-brow-raising look of surprise on his face that anyone should ask. "After all, anything under twelve hundred alphons merely paralyzes all of the voluntary muscles. The involuntary muscles are as good as gold up to that figure. I just feel a little stiff, like I'd been sitting in one position for an hour and better--which I have. I did everything but explode when that phone rang, but I couldn't will myself loose. When you're across one of those things, you can't even wink an eye at will, but must wait until the involuntary nervous system winks it for you. And, funny thing, you can't even stop your own breath; you just go on breathing automatically, since that's what the involuntary system demands."

"O.K. Where's the gang from 4 and 8?"

"I dunno. Are they coming?"

"Coming? I thought they were here by now."

McBride found the telephone and called 8. "Jimmy? Where is that gang you were going to send to 6?"

"Sorry, Mac," answered Jimmy. "They were needed here to do a heavy job, and so I kept them for a bit. They're on their way now."

"O.K., as long as they're on their way."

McBride's call to 4 was less productive. "Pete? Where is your crowd for 6?"

"Can't send more than one," returned Pete. "Still want him?"

"Why didn't you contact me?"

"Line was busy."

"O.K., send one man. The gang at 6 was indisposed, that's all, and Dan can work now. Fred is going to be out of commission for the duration, but he can still direct as soon as we get him patched."

To Wilkins, he said: "Dan, we're going to trot. There'll be help out here soon. Tommy and I are needed on 10."

The flitter took off again and began to cross the lens for 10.

Allison, at 2, called and said: "McBride? Good news. Two and 3 are ready for service."

"Swell," said McBride. "Now look, call the stations and ask who needs help. You and Fellowes go out and assist."

"Right."

McBride hung up the phone, and it rang almost immediately.

"Mac? This is Caldwell."

"Yes, Doc?"

"Look, Carlson is in bad shape."

"Can you jack him up? Not now, but say in three hours?"

"Probably, but not more than a few minutes. He'd be better in twenty-four hours."

"Gad, Doc, Pluto'll be forty-eight degrees colder in that time! Knock forty-eight degrees off of the temperature on any planet, and you'll probably knock the whole thing for a loop. Better patch him up, Doc, because he's one of the mainsprings that'll be needed when we're about to restore the lens."

"O.K.--and say, John, you don't mind my making a hospital out of your lab?"

"Go ahead. How's the casualty situation?"

"Nothing fatal. Mostly an assortment of cuts, bruises, fractures, and shock. I've been checking the stations, and we've been calling all bad injuries in here for treatment. Takes a little longer, but I can keep my eye on more men if they come than I could if I went traveling. Never can tell what'll happen."

"Have you contacted the after stations? They got a shaking up, but I don't believe that it was anything compared to the fore element stations."

"No, most of the trouble in the back was due to being hit by slowly moving objects of high inertia. They're mostly annoyed, back there. The front system got it, though, what with flying spots of molten metal, electrical discharges that convulsed muscles, and burns from the alphatrons when they went load-free. A few of the boys got hurt when the mechano-gravitic generators collected the full load of the power sources and let them have anything from 10 to 15-G until the gravity-switches cut out. That did more than haul the men to the floor; it also hauled a lot of what would have been light stuff down on top of them at weights from ten to fifteen times normal. That's what hurt the most of them."

"What fell, mostly?"

"Light fixtures, and ceiling equipment. The busbar hangers on 7 gave way and dropped a bus line on one fellow, breaking both legs. Eleven's mechano-gravitic generator misfocused and hauled everything slaunchwise into a corner of every room. The men picked themselves out of a pile of material; everything from loose generators to odds and ends of wire. The latter didn't hurt, but the heavy machinery did."

"Fine business, Doc. Keep 'em patched!"

"That's my business," said Caldwell. McBride could hear him muttering as the doctor hung up.

* * * * *

McBride's flitter landed at 10, and inside of the lock, he was met by a picturesque red-headed woman of extreme beauty. There was green fire in her eyes, and her anger possibly made her more beautiful. McBride took everything from her expensively-shod feet to her exquisitely coiffed hair in one sweeping glance and decided immediately that it was a shame that a woman like Sandra Drake should have been a stinker.

"Mr. McBride, I assume?" she said in that contralto voice.

"Dr. McBride," he corrected, standing upon his dignity for the first time in seven years.

"Doctor?" said Sandra scornfully. "Doctor of what?"

"Doctor of Philosophy, major in sublevel energies including the gravitic spectrums; electro, magnetic, and mechanical. Master of Mathematics, Bachelor of Arts, and Doctor of Language and Literature Honorary. Is that sufficient weight to gain me a modicum of respect?"

"I have no respect for someone who stands in my way!"

"I see that. Nor anything, either. Do you know what stopped you?"

"No, but--"

"Your precious Dr. Holmann is an old goat who is still living in the past. But even he should have known that you can't ram a space-ship made of cupralum alloy through a magneto-gravitic space warp. Permalloy, or alnico, or anything diamagnetic will zip through such a warp and pick up velocity on the way--probably enough in this case to crush you flat against the bottom of your ship. But a paramagnetic alloy such as cupralum has about as much penetrative power as a forty-five caliber slug of wet soap against tungsten-carballoy. But at your velocity, not only did you stop in something short of nothing flat--God knows what your deceleration added up to--but you fractured the space warp, too."

"A man will do anything to prove his point," snapped Sandra. "And I have no doubt that you would do anything, too. What did you use on the _Lady Luck_?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't give a care! You want to go to Station 1? Then come along!"

"You lead in your ship, I'll drive the _Lady Luck_," said Sandra.

"Not on your life. You're going to leave the _Lady Luck_ right here."

"I don't see why--or do you intend to steal my ship?"

McBride gritted his teeth. "Look, beautiful and senseless. This is Station 10. It is electronegative. One is electropositive. You haven't got a charge-reversal generator in that crate of yours, because I know darned well that the only place where they have 'em is right here in the lens itself. It's the only place they're needed. Now, Miss Drake, the lens is twenty-two million miles in diameter. It is that size because a disk of that diameter subtends the same arc as the sun does when viewed from Terra. Since the lens is situated halfway between Sol and Pluto, the magnification amounts to the projection of the sun on Pluto equal to the sun on Terra. Or don't you understand the simpler mathematics of optical systems?

"Now, out across six and a half million miles of space, from here, are Stations 9 and 1, both electropositive. It so happens, Miss Sandra Drake, that _if the density of matter in space were as high as the atmosphere of Terra at twenty thousand feet, the difference in charge between Station 9 and this one, 10, would be high enough to cause an ionization discharge_! Now put that in that jade cigarette holder and choke on it! Can you possibly--is that microscopic mind of yours large enough--conceive of the effect upon contact? Sister, you'd not only be electrocuted, but you'd light up the sky with the electronic explosion to a degree that would make some Sirian astronomer think that there was a supernova right in his back yard. Now quit acting like the spoiled brat you are, and come along."

"Nice, high-sounding, technical words," sniffed the red-headed girl. "I presume that you have such a thing in that little can of yours? I mean something that will change the charge on it while in flight?"

"I wouldn't have survived the first crossing if I hadn't," snapped McBride.

"And pray tell, how do you detect the change in the electronic charge from within?"

"The electronic charge is so great that a heavy active atom such as bromine will, under the positive charge, lose enough of the outer ring electrons as to inhibit the formation of the more complex atoms, while under the negative charge there will be such an excess of electrons that a heavy element of the zero group, such as xenon, will actually be forced to accept an additional planetary electron and will then combine with some of the more active elements. So when xenon bromide forms, we know we're highly electronegative, while the chemical dissolution of tetrachlorodibromomethane indicates a hellishly high positive charge. When we approach the station, we use a little gadget known as an electrostatic gradient indicator which is useful over short distances, and with which we adjust our charge-difference to a sane value. Pluto and the solar system in general can thank their stars that the carbon-chain molecules that go into the human system are stable enough to resist dissolution. We are able to maintain the lens on less than enough charge to kill us all, though the boys in the odd-numbered stations report a lower metabolism than those in the even numbered ones."

McBride paused. "And if you're worried about that space-warp-wrecked can of yours, I'll be more than glad to give you a receipt for it. Coming? I've got to go."

Sandra Drake was still skeptical, but she followed in spite of it.

John McBride was met at the space lock of Station 1 by one of the lesser casualties from 3, Douglas Whitlock. McBride said: "How's the arm, Doug?"

"Broken, but on the mend. Doc will put a stader on it in a couple of days and I'll be able to use it again."

"How's 3?"

"Not too bad. But, brother, there's a million miles of loose wire floating around the place. Tonk and Harry are rewinding the alphatron leader-coils which developed a shorted turn down near the core."

"How are they doing that?" asked McBride.

"It was tricky, all right. And this'll slay you. They're using the nine-inch lathe!"

"Huh?" McBride was thunder-struck.

"Well, as Tonky said, it was an emergency. So they used the acetylene torch to cut the lathe bed off right before the headstock. They moved the rest of the bed back about twelve feet and welded it to one wall of the room. Now, there's room to get that big core in the lathe. The lathe is ruined, of course, or rather the bed is, but the alphatron will be ticking them off in another couple of hours." Whitlock looked at the girl and asked McBride: "Where did you find her?"

"This," said McBride, "is Miss Sandra Drake."

"Oh yes," said Whitlock brightly, "Drake, the human cannon ball ... or is it screwball?"

"And what happened to you?" asked Sandra caustically. "Did you step into an open port in the dark?"

"Frankly, I was hit by a falling busbar--"

"Probably the real cause of this whole failure."

There was fire and blood in Whitlock's eye as he looked at Sandra Drake. Actual bloodshed was averted by a very scant margin when Enid McBride entered and stepped before Sandra, cutting off any attempt of Whitlock's to advance upon the red-headed female with intent to inflict damage.

Enid McBride was three or four years older than the other woman, and it must be reluctantly admitted that she was not the four-alarm all-out beauty that was capable of matching looks with Sandra. On the other--and most important--hand, Enid had the ability to make men and women like her; in her less boisterous way, Enid's charm and personality made itself felt even before she spoke to Sandra.

"You're needed," she told Sandra quietly.

"For what?" asked the Drake girl, and her cool contralto sounded scratchy in contrast.

"We've a number of hurt men here and we need help. You're elected."

"I've never helped a man in my life."

"You are getting no younger," said Enid with a short laugh. "I'd say it was about time you started."

"Oh men!"

Enid looked at McBride, and with that almost telepathy that seems to exist between husband and wife, John understood that he was to leave this to Enid. He thought with a smile: Enid's smaller, but I'll bet she packs a better wallop! Then he motioned to Whitlock, and they left as Enid said: "You're a complete washout, my dear, and your not knowing that makes you even more complete. Why don't you get smart?"

"Are you trying to tell me how to manage my life?"

"It's time someone did. Obviously you aren't capable of managing it."

"I do all right."

"Nuts. If this is a sample of your brilliance, I say, 'bring back the good old days!' Look, Sandra, what are you trying to prove?"

"That I'm as good as any man."

"Spinach. Ask any man and he'll probably admit it. What you're trying to prove is that you're better than all men, isn't that it?"

"Well--"

"And since you are superior to men, no doubt you'd prefer legal protection for them--marriage laws designed to assist and protect the weaker and inferior male; labor restrictions so that grasping women may not take advantage of them; protection so that avaricious women will not be able to take advantage of his lesser experience?"

"Why that's ridiculous!"

"Is it? A few hundred years ago, men set up such laws to protect women because they realized that there were among their own sex, men who would think nothing of taking advantage of an unwary woman. As soon as the women decided that they were equals, men reluctantly removed that protection. Now, Sandra, if you are equal or superior to men, you should be civic-minded enough to want to protect the weaker."

"Bah! You talk like a man!"

"Nonsense. I'd scream like a stuck pig if any man decided that I couldn't take care of myself. But I have enough sense to realize that all of the courtesies that men offer me are tokens of their affection and not gestures toward someone who cannot get in out of the rain without help. As for the weak, what would you say to a man who slugged a woman and then ran off and left her to suffer?"

"He's a rat!"

"How about the dame who does the same to a man?"

"That's--"

"Be careful, Sandra Drake. The girl I'm speaking of is you!"

"Well--" Sandra let the sentence die in midstream.

"Think it over, lady wrestler. And when you make up your mind, come on in and help."

Enid left Sandra standing in the room. She went to the improvised hospital and began to work. Her touch was gentle, but within her, Enid burned. To Enid, Sandra Drake was as representative of the female sex as poison ivy is representative of the plant family.

* * * * *

John McBride faced the men in his office. "Give it to me in rotation," he said. "Starting with Station 1."

"We're down to the ruined relays and a few hundred feet of burned cable. A half hour with help."

"Two is running O.K. on test power. She can stand a little sprucing, but that can wait."

"Three is ready for test power, or will be within the next ten minutes or so."

"Four will be O.K. as soon as we get the space-warp generator tuned. We managed to repair the input circuits."

"Five is running on test power."

"Six is ditto."

"Seven is still cleaning up some of the mess, but can go on test power as soon as the time is ripe."

"Eight is O.K. except for some burned cable and some messiness. We never were in really bad shape."

"We're still cleaning relay contacts with files. Take another hour at least, and we've got so much help that the boys on the upper panels are standing on the shoulders of the men working on the lower panels. Also, they're so close together that they need a hortator to beat time so their elbows won't clash. That's how we stand on 9."

"Ten's in shape for test."

"Eleven needs a new alphatron, which is being hooked into place right now."

"Twelve is ready to go on test, according to Ben, who called just before you came."

McBride smiled wearily. "That's the fore element," he said. "They tell me that the rear element is all ready and waiting. So all we need now is Carlson. Give orders to have the propulsion operators start aligning their stations. And get me Doc Caldwell."

The phone rang and McBride picked it up. "This is Doc," said the man on the other end. "Look, Mac, can you come over to my office?"

"Sure," answered McBride. To the men in the room, he said: "Fight it out among you. Give help to any station that still needs it. We're going back in service as soon as we can--in an hour, I'd estimate. That's if Carlson is capable of handling his end."

McBride went to Doc's office. Caldwell smiled bleakly. "He's conscious. He insists on talking to you."

"Is he O.K.?"

"He's weak, but he'll be all right for a few minutes."

"Look, Doc, I don't want to kill anybody by making him work when he's likely to keel over, but we need Carlson if we ever needed any man. Darn it, why are there so very few men with supersensitive balance?"

"It's hereditary, and the human race is still mongrel by its own law," said Doc with a smile. "By which I mean that it is illegal to marry your own brother--or sister."

McBride laughed, and then went in to see Carlson.

"Carl," said McBride, "how do you feel?"

"Wobbly."

"How wobbly?"

"Not too bad. How're things?"

"We've been running around like waltzing mice for the past few hours, but we'll be ready for business in a few hours."

"I'll be needed."

"In an hour."

"I'll be up."

"He'll be up," said Doc. "How long will he be needed?"

"Perhaps an hour."

"He won't be up that long."

"What can we do?"

"Get everything ready. If he can hold out, or if you can set things so that the warp can be established in a shorter time, we're in. You couldn't hold a partial warp for any length of time?"

"Not a chance. It's one of those yes or no things. You can't stand still while building a space warp. You must either build up or let fall."

"If you could use something less than perfect, supersensitive balance, I could buck him up with a bit of dope and he'd last longer."

"Why not stand by with the needle? Or could you give him something that will wear off in a half hour and sort of increase that balance as the time passes--giving him the buck-up at the first and saving that strength for later?"

"Might work, but I sort of hate to take finely-cut chances like that," said Caldwell. "We'll try it!"

* * * * *

The last report was in, and all stations were ready and operating on test power. McBride spoke into the broadcast communicator, so that the superintendents of all stations could hear him simultaneously.

"Rear element, fore stations, set up primary warp."

Generators whined up the musical scale in the twelve stations that circled the junction between the fore and aft elements. Slowly and ponderously, the stations began to fall into a true plane, and as they began to align, the electro-gravitic generators began to work more efficiently.

Before the warp had started to form, McBride called: "Rear element, rear stations, set up secondary warp!"

The rearmost twelve began to fling their power across the circle, and the space between the two regular polygons began to take lenticular shape. As it formed, it thickened, and the massiveness of the space between the warps set the stations more firmly in place. They oscillated gently back and forth, in a damped cycle and would be moving in gentler and smaller excursions for days before they came to total rest.

"Fore ring, set up magneto-gravitic warp!"

The heavy alphatrons began to fill the space between the fore stations with alpha particles. Circling in ever-decreasing spirals, the particles set up a super-powerful magnetic field parallel to the axis of the lens. As they reached the center of the lens, the alpha particles lost velocity and with their lost speed, they also lost their effect. They died out, and to all effects, disappeared.

The space between the electro-gravitic warp and the magneto-gravitic warp decreased as the fore warp thickened, and then with a sickening swell on the part of the stations themselves, the center of the fore warp touched the center of the aft warp.

Cohesion took place, and the fore warp, not completely formed, snapped back against the electro-gravitic warp, drawing the fore stations back a few miles with it. Their mass made them pass the point of balance, and then the overly-convex surface exerted pressure against the stations, and they moved forward into damped oscillation. The oscillation continued for four long, slow swings, and then McBride decided that they were stable enough for continued action.

"Doc," he yelled. "Get Carlson, take the surface flitter, and keep an eye on him while he keeps an eye on the lens!"