Part 12

"Sure," grinned Billy. "For a given frequency, and a given velocity of propagation, there will be only one possible wave length to suit the conditions. That, essentially means that a given distance will have a definite number of wave lengths so long as the frequency and speed of propagation is maintained. The puller-sphere we were using is propagated on a tractor beam. The characteristics of a tractor beam are that once established, the number of wave lengths between projector and object remain the same. Then the projector presents a leading signal phase, and the phase of the tractor beam moves toward the projector to bring the two waves into zero phase difference. The projector maintains the leading phase all the time, and thus draws the object. It is just like turning a nut on a threaded rod, sort of. The wave length is analogous to the distance between the threads, and the frequency is the number of threads that pass a point when the rod is moved at the velocity of propagation.

"Now, suppose we consider the threaded rod as being fixed at the far end, and pulling at the projector end with sufficient power to stretch the rod. The frequency happens to be definitely fixed by the primary standard in the control rack. The distance between remains the same by the constants set up in the tripod and puller beams. The wave length-factor, striving to satisfy the demands of the tractor beam, and maintain the correct number of wave lengths as the beam pulls, will cause the wave length to lengthen. But that tends to change the frequency-velocity factors. Result, if I'm getting obscure again, return to the thread analogy. A standard ten thirty-two screw has thirty-two threads per inch. Stretch it evenly, and disregard the distortion, and you have, say twenty-four threads per inch. Our pulling against the sun resulted in a distortion of the wave length-frequency-velocity factor, and we pull ourselves into the next notch in space that fits the increased wave length-frequency-velocity argument.

"So," concluded Billy, "by pushing instead of pulling, we can cram the wave length down again, and warp space in the other direction. Think?"

"I'll buy it--if you can find something to push against," said Hendricks.

"Shucks," grinned Billy. "Shove out your tripod a short distance, but focus them all together. Then shove against that field of focus."

"Said is as good as done," said Hendricks. "Better work, too. Right now it is raining gold coins and we're wearing a pair of boxing gloves."

"And while we're on the way back--I hope--we might consider this: Suppose we take two tractors and face them at one another, hold 'em apart with a trio of pressors, and let the thing go to work. That's providing that we find any use for this subspace stuff. It might--"

The wrenching took place at that point. It was much as before; as far as physical evidence went there was no means of telling whether this again was "up" or "down." There was apparently no drift between universes, for their subspace star was not far away.

"This might not be too good," said Billy nervously. "What happens if we land in the middle of a star?"

"We have a far better chance of landing in the royal middle of intergalactic space," observed Hendricks. "We may have been in that position in the sub-subspace. Well, Billy, it is obvious that you hit the right answer. Shall we take hold of Eureka's sun there and shove?"

"Why bother. Let's be independent."

Rhodes nodded. "The thing is still set up."

"Well, give it the works."

The space warp started again, and again the project was wrenched through the barrier.

* * * * *

"VanMaanen's Star must be that one back there," observed Hendricks. "Hard to say, but we hit it up about that far to get to Eureka."

Rhodes looked up from the sub-radio. "That's them," he said. "And they want to know how in the name of the seven devils we got out here so far in such a short time."

"Short time? Nonsense. They flew in subspace for an hour, it took us a half hour to land on Eureka, and Billy spent another half hour digging pay-dirt. After which we raced off for, say a half hour or maybe an hour before we went into space two. Our stay in space two was about fifteen minutes, and the passage through space one was made in less than a minute. Call it a total of three hours."

Rhodes checked his chronometer. "We've been gone about three hours," he said into the set. The answer came back immediately, for all to hear. "Like the devil. You've been fifteen minutes since you fastened on to the star and were jerked off of VMS I."

"What's your nav-chronometer say?" asked Billy.

"Seventeen-forty-three."

"And we left the scene about seventeen twenty-eight?"

"Approximately."

"Well, chew this over. Our nav-chron says twenty fifty-one."

"Snap on the differential timer," suggested Hendricks.

Microsecond pulse signals crossed space, both ways. The timer started counting. Three hours and twenty-three minutes and eleven seconds went by before the timers stopped. There Hendricks and Thompson went into another conference.

"We have the following observations regarding subspace: One is that the matter is unlike Terrene matter. The other is that there is a differential in time passage. The latter may be quite useful. We'll have the gang check everything possible, of course, and probably even set up a laboratory in the lower spaces. This lack of gravity--has me stopped cold," said Hendricks.

"Excepting for the observation that Newton's Law mentioned every particle in the universe--"

"I don't think Newton was trying to be snobbily semantic," laughed Hendricks. "Besides, his Law is a translation from the Latin, and at that time they weren't even sure of space, let alone subspace and space two, et cetera."

"I've always wondered about the conservation of energy and the problem of how gravitic attraction couples into that. It could be, of course, that the universal attraction comes from the fact that all the universe was once a single body that exploded because of its own mass-warp. Energy driving the mass apart during the formation of the universe--which is still expanding--and because it took work to separate one body from another, the conservation of energy dictates that they undo that work to get them back together. Since our project was not a part of subspace, no expanding work had been done on it, and therefore no potential energy had been stored which would be released by gravity taking place."

Hendricks smiled. "It's as good a theory as the next," he said. "But is it solving the Sscantovian problem?"

"No, but I have an idea that may. We can set up our warping beam and transfer the resultant forces in the same manner as we transmit other energy. We can't jerk the insides out of a star, nor can we compress the matter there. But there is nothing that says that we cannot change the physical constants prevailing in a certain sphere of influence, and thus warp anything within that sphere into subspace."

"Sounds good. So instead of pulling the middle out of a star we'll just rotate the middle into subspace. Well we have our work cut out for us," smiled Hendricks. "I'll get a corps of techs on subspace, and a gang working on the space two. We'll run up a couple of spaces, too, just in case. I'll have a crew go to work on the subspace matter, and we'll eventually have a crew working on admixtures of extra spatial matter with spatial matter. We have enough work for ten lifetimes. Y'know, Billy, I'm going to set a slew of brand new college kids to tinkering with the subspace problem under the direction of a hand-picked crew of elders. They've got a field that isn't over-crowded, anyway."

Billy scratched his head. "Look, Jim, I have an idea. Superdrive is fine stuff for batting around the Solar Sector. A run of fifty light-years, though, is a reasonable jaunt, and Sscantoo is off about a hundred and fifty light-years. Now if this time-difference in subspace is workable, we might be able to get to Sscantoo in jig time."

"I suppose so. But remember that this jig time you speak of is real time to you. To someone in space, you'll make the hop in record time, but to someone on the ship with you, the same time of a spatial trip will ensue."

"It's no great advantage as goes time or power," agreed Billy, "but when you're fighting a time limit, as we are, time in this space is what counts and if we have to go into subspace and study until we are a hundred years old before we find the answer, to come back with only a year gone, that's it. So see what you can do about tacking a warper into a spaceship, will you? And take another swing at the core of VanMaanen's Star. As soon as you have something, drop everything and bring it to Terra. I've got to get back, but quick."

* * * * *

Hotang Lu's return to Tlembo was hailed with silence. It was the silence of defeat, the sympathetic attitude for one who has tried, succeeded in his attempt, and found that his attempt lacked a vital factor. Hotang Lu had done his part. It was Terra that failed. Tlembo had guessed wrong. Yet Tlembo must try again and again until they became successful. The Little People were tenacious. They wanted their liberty, not slavery to the Loard-vogh.

And they would fight to the last Tlemban for it.

Not for Hotang Lu were parades and hordes of people to cheer him on his march up the broad avenue of his home city. He was whisked to the temple of government almost invisibly, yet the mental rapport of all Tlembans told them that Hotang Lu had returned--unsuccessfully.

Indan Ko, their ruler, gave Hotang Lu immediate audience.

"I've mentioned none of our plans," said the ruler, "because I fear interception."

"Plans?" asked Hotang Lu bitterly. "With success in our grasp, they throw it away. What more can we ask?"

"Your tone is that of defeat. We must not admit it, even to ourselves."

"Self-delusion," spat Hotang Lu.

"Not at all. We know a set-back when we see one. But we must not dwell upon it, lest we become single-minded and believe that our cause is doomed."

"Is there a better bet in the Galaxy than Terra?"

"There must be. Terra seemed a best bet. Yet perhaps their survival factor was so great that they prefer slavery to extermination. Is that rational?"

Hotang Lu nodded dumbly.

"We have Sscantoo."

"But they are almost at the pinnacle of their culture," objected the emissary. "We cannot energize their minds."

"Agreed. But they are an ungregarious race. They cling together only because civilization demands tribe-protection. They are fierce fighters. They hate every alien being. They dislike even contact between themselves, yet prefer that to traffic with an alien culture. Go to Sscantoo, Hotang Lu, and convince Linzete that his race is in danger of slavery at the hands of the Loard-vogh. Tell him, if he does not know already, that the Loard-vogh have conquered Terra. Perhaps Linzete knows what Terra's secret weapon is. Was it ever disclosed?"

"The end came too soon. It was never used. Nor--and I cannot understand--did I see anything of its manufacture."

"Linzete has most of Terra's secrets by mutual agreement. Perhaps he has also that secret."

"Again I fight time," growled Hotang Lu. "Time--and I feel, the inevitable."

"I'd suggest a consultation with Norvan Ge, the psychiatrist. He will enable you to conquer that defeatist attitude of yours."

"I shall see him," said Hotang Lu. "I admit that the shock of being plunged all the way from almost-certain victory to utter defeat in a few short minutes has shaken my faith in even myself. I shall see him. Then I shall go to Sscantoo."

"Tell me," said Indan Ko, "what was the Terran attitude?"

"They accepted defeat as the inevitable. Their statement was that they fought to gain the respect of the Loard-vogh only; they did not hope to win. This I cannot understand. If you know that you cannot win, why fight?"

Indan Ko shook his head.

"It is my belief that they are rationalizing. No one accepts defeat. They have forced themselves into the belief that since victory is impossible for them, they must bow to the Loard-vogh or die."

"They may have some deep-seated purpose."

"Name it."

"Visit your psychiatrist," smiled Indan Ko. "Then consider. You were once their mental superior. It is hard to admit inferiority to one that was one time inferior to you. Accept their mental superiority and consider that they may have some plan."

"Plan?" asked Hotang Lu bitterly. "How can they plan? How can they execute any plan? Planning and building is for a free race, without the shackles of an overseer on their people or the restrictions placed upon a servile race. Could they build a modine without the Loard-vogh knowing? Could they hope to instigate a ten thousand year plan of expansion to eventually crowd the Loard-vogh out of the Galaxy?"

"I admit your point. I was hoping against hope. Clutching at straws. Perhaps we should both go to Norvan Ge. Tlembo will stop counting on Terra and fix our hopes on Sscantoo."

"I will be in Sscantoo within seven months. It will take that long in constant flight--and with your permission I shall take Norvan Ge with me. In seven months, the psychiatrist can aid me, and give me the self-confidence necessary to convince Linzete of his danger."

"Seven months," muttered Indan Ko. "And I will wager that Vorgan has his fleet poised for a blow at Sscantoo right now."

"So long as any Tlemban lives," said Hotang Lu, with a momentary return of his determination, "we will never stop hoping and fighting to preserve ourselves and all the Galaxy from the conquering hordes of the Loard-vogh. I curse them, their name, and what they represent."

"I'll join you in that curse."

They lifted the slender tubes, inhaled deeply, and sipped the fluid. Indan Ko waved Hotang Lu farewell. "Go in haste and good fortune," said the ruler of Tlembo--the fourteenth Tlembo since the start of the Loard-vogh conquest.

XXI.

Vorgan scowled at Lindoo. "Dead, you say?"

"Starvation."

"Come now," said Vorgan derisively. "Sezare would hardly die of starvation. Assassination, yes. Overindulgence, without a doubt. Even sheer boredom I will admit. But starvation? Never."

"Deny your own medical corps, then."

"I admit it," snapped Vorgan. "But I am perplexed."

"There were no drugs."

"That I know. But look, Lindoo, Sezare was a fool, a stinking voluptuary if ever a Loard-vogh was. As sector overseer his palace rivaled mine. He carried on with a high hand. I recall my last visit. Frankly, I was slightly abashed. If Sezare had not been profitable, I'd have dropped him. He produced, therefore the lush palace and life he led were none of my business. I am not chicken-hearted, Lindoo, but to select the favorites of the home race as personal servitors to his own idea of sensuality seemed too self-indulgent. Select his choice, certainly. I can understand that." Vorgan's hard eyes softened at the memory. "But the concept that any that served him were then exalted, and must not be touched by a member of the slave race again--that was feudal."

"How did he enforce that?"

"There was seldom a need. Sezare was a voluptuary, almost a sadist. No servitor he ever had lived in health after the year he demanded. Broken in mind and in spirit and in body, they were disposed of as merciful terminations. His final act of vanity was to peacefully end the victim's life, giving the first rest in a year. Starvation, you say?"

"Yes."

"Sezare's palace ran red with wine, and the pillars groaned with the richest food that the sector bore. Overindulgence I will understand. Gout, autointoxication, acute alcoholism, drugs, or anything that comes of living in the lush manner. But starvation--how?"

"He was in complete starvation. He had dropped from three hundred and seven pounds to a scant sixty-three. He had locked himself in his suite and was constantly under the influence of a machine devised by ... by--"

"Oho!" exploded Vorgan. "A machine! Devised by--?"

"A Terran."

"A Terran! Is he here?"

"Yes--he and his machine. Partially destroyed."

"Why?"

"Terror."

"Bring in the Terran. I'll see him. And if he cannot explain to perfection, I'll see him burn!"

* * * * *

The prisoner entered. No glass separated them, for the Terran was sterile. He was forced to his knees, but if terror wracked the man, it was not evident.

"Your name?" thundered Vorgan.

"Edward Lincoln."

"Your trade?"

"Technician. Research co-ordinator for His Exalted Highness, Sezare."

"Sezare died of starvation."

"I know--it was deplorable. I fear that I was his unwitting murderer."

"You admit it?"

"I must. It is true. Had I but known--"

"Explain. Your life depends upon it."

"Sezare the Exalted directed me to devise for him a means of gaining greater sensual stimuli. Apparently the law of diminishing returns--you permit my personal opinions and observations?"

"Proceed. As you will."

Lindoo nodded and whispered: "His observations are a measure of his attitude. It is his attitude that will save or kill him, not his words."

The technician continued. "Sezare had indulged himself in every sensual manner. He was constantly on the search for something new, something more searing, something more thrilling. He directed me to devise some means of satisfying his demand for greater pleasure. That was most difficult, Lord of All, for Sezare had the entire resources of a galactic sector to provide his voluptuous demands.

"I succeeded in devising a machine that would give him dreams as he slept. Then, you see, when asleep he could indulge in his sensuous pleasures. That removed the necessity of stopping his round of pleasure to gain needed sleep; his round of lush living could go on continuously. I requisitioned the finest of artists, writers, and weavers of song to record the pleasures of life from the most fertile imaginations of the sector. Sezare, Lord of All, was imaginative, but not originally so. Soft living had made him lazy in thought, as well, and he preferred that any pleasurable thoughts be provided for him. So in having the most imaginative writers weave his dreams for him, I gave him a sensual pleasure far greater than the flesh was capable of enjoying. The power of the mind is greater than the flesh, Lord of All, and in my ambition to please Sezare, I overdid it."

"Overdid it? How?"

"I overlooked the fact that Sezare might find more pleasure in sleeping and dreaming than he would in waking and doing. He closeted himself with the machine. I ... was nearly destroyed because I breached his chamber and tried to turn the machine off."

"True?" asked Vorgan.

"True," nodded Lindoo.

"He spent all of his time under the influence of the dream machine," said Lincoln plaintively. "He scorned the best efforts of his cooking staff, and he scourged the collectors of his--women. None of them could provide for his pleasure like the machine. He retired to it, and in his strange acceptance of its pleasures, came to feel that sleep, under the machine, was real, whereas life, with its disappointments, must be sleep with bad dreams. Since the dream machine could provide only dream food, Sezare starved--his body starved, but his mind was content."

"Continue."

"Continue? There is no more. I had been trying to turn off the machine for weeks. I was denied, even threatened. Finally imprisoned so that I could not appeal for help. Sezare died, and I was sent here. In terror that some other of the Loard-vogh might fall victim, I have ruined the machine, and I shall die before I rebuild it. It ... is worse ... than the most entangling of drugs."

"Dismissed," said Vorgan dryly. The technician was led away, not guilty.

* * * * *

"Lindoo, what of Sezare's sector?"

"In charge of Sezare's underling, Narolla. Narolla has full control and he is competent. Narolla is not a voluptuary; he has seen too much of the dissolution of Sezare. And, Vorgan, it may be interesting to note that Narolla's productive output has increased."

"Already?"

"Sezare has been on the trail of starvation for weeks. Narolla took charge as of Sezare's withdrawal into dream-seclusion. Regardless of the Terran's act, or motive, the Loard-vogh benefits by the change."

"I agree. That is why I freed him."

"I am beginning to feel that Terrans can be trusted," said Lindoo.

"It all depends. It will not do to trust them too far in spite of their apparent willingness to help. Until we can be sure, we must be wary. Thompson's success in selling an antisocial culture on the proposition of complete co-operation will go a long way--if he succeeds."

"We could, perhaps, harden his job," observed Lindoo. "Suppose we let Sscantoo know that the integrity of Terra depends upon Sscantoo's acceptance of defeat without resistance?"

Vorgan laughed cheerfully. "Terra would not be liked in Sscantoo. No man can do anything but hate another man who is willing to sacrifice a former ally for his own skin. Under the face of that, if Terra can sell her bill of goods, she would certainly be working for her integrity."

"Well?"

"Relax," laughed Vorgan. "I happen to have one tiny bit of information that you have not. Hotang Lu went to Sscantoo as a last resort. He hopes to stir up trouble for us."

"I think you should erect that statue to the dishonor of Mangare. He should have destroyed Tlembo."

"He should have--and I shall have to. It seems to me that the proper plan of action is to find the present Tlembo and get the little men in line before we take on anything else."

* * * * *

Indan Ko, the ruler of the fourteenth Tlembo since the Loard-vogh conquest blinked in amazement as the aide announced the formal visitor. "Thompson, the Terran?" he asked in surprise. "He who spat upon our future? What can he want with me?"

Billy Thompson entered the reception room uncomfortably. Indan Ko's presidential residence was built on a slightly more heroic mold than the normal housing plan of Tlembo, but still it left much to be desired. Tlembans stood an average of thirty-four inches high, and their lives and edifices were built upon that proportion. A Tlemban ceiling proportional to a comfortable ten-foot six Terran ceiling gave five feet three inches of clearance. That missed Billy Thompson's altitude by exactly ten inches. The formal residence of the ruler of Tlembo was of palatial build, with full seven-foot ceilings. It cleared the top of Billy's head by eleven inches.

An excellent building in which to contract claustrophobia.

And so Billy waited in the reception room uncomfortably. A large room to Tlemban thinking, its dimensions were proportionally small, and the thirty by forty feet--Tlemban--shrunk to fifteen by twenty, Terran.

The formal "court" was of more ample proportions. The proscenium arched forty feet high and the entire room was a full hundred feet in diameter. A vast room to Tlemban standards, but not much larger than a very tiny theater to the hulking Terran that had tripped over a table in one of the minute corridors.

Billy had been equally hard on the ceiling fixtures, and the doors had been somewhat of a pinch, too. But he was now in where he could take a full breath without fracturing the plaster on both sides of the room, and he took one, in relief. He felt very much like making a few pleasantries about his difficulties, but he realized that the little man on the dais before him would not appreciate any inference to size.

So Billy merely saluted formally and waited for the tiny monarch to speak first.

"You are Billy Thompson of Terra."

"I am."

"You are the man who directed the Battle for Sol?"

"I am."

"And the man responsible for the destruction of all hope for civilization."

"That I deny."

"You refused to use your secret weapon."

"It is that factor that I am here about," said Billy. "But first I wish to reach an agreement with you."