Part 6

"They have some stuff that'll come in handy in fighting the Loard-vogh," nodded Thompson. "But we're not running off half-cocked. We're heading back to Sol right now, to make plans."

X.

Stellor Downing's hard fist came down on the table with a shattering crash. "I will not!" he said in a powerful tone.

"And I agree," echoed Cliff Lane.

Kennebec smiled patiently. "So far as I know it is the first time you've ever agreed on anything."

"The future--?" pleaded Toralen Ki.

Kennebec nodded at the Tlemban. "He's willing to die. He thinks enough of the future to die for it. You two might sublimate your lives just a little for it."

"Get a couple of others!"

"There are none suitable."

"What a stinking set-up," grunted Lane. "I've got to forget my identity and become a sheer hyphen."

"Look," snapped Downing, "it happens that you're sneering at my personality, remember?"

"I wouldn't have your personality for a gift."

"You couldn't--it's too big for the like of you!"

"All right," said Kennebec. "Stop it."

Toralen Ki said, sorrowfully: "I might have been dishonest, Co-ordinator Kennebec. I should have told them that the mental transformation would prove who was the better man."

"A convincing lie for the benefit of mankind is often better than the disquieting truth," observed Kennebec.

Thompson looked up. "What they need is to have their heads knocked together," he said sourly. "A fine rotten pair."

"Look," started Downing.

"Now listen," grated Lane.

"Shut up!" snapped Thompson. "You've both heard what Toralen Ki said. You know what's heading this way. You are aware of just what can happen on Sol if Sol isn't smart. And you sit there like a pair of flat-headed imbeciles, prating about your own petty fight. Patricia was right. It is a sorry day for civilization when it must depend upon the likes of you. Why don't you get smart? Where is your good sense?"

"You've no right--"

"Shut up!" snapped Thompson. "I have every right in the world and by thunder I'm going to use it! It was funny, for years now, that you two were running all over your respective worlds, crowing like a pair of bantam roosters. The Favorite Son of Mars and the Pride of Venus! A bright pair of grown-up juvenile delinquents! Well, bright boys, civilization still depends on you."

Stellor Downing turned on Thompson and snarled: "No one is asking you to give up your identity. I haven't noticed any passion for anonymity in you, Thompson."

"You won't find any," gritted Thompson. He turned to Toralen Ki and asked: "Is there any way in which I may take either of their places?"

"Mine," offered Stellor Downing.

"Over my corpse!" shouted Cliff Lane.

"That I can arrange," ground Downing at Lane.

Toralen Ki shook his head, part in negation and part in the hopelessness of the situation. "No, on two counts," he said slowly. "One, your mind is not of an extreme nature. Second, your mind is already energized."

"Hm-m-m," mused Thompson. "Energized but still slumbering, I gather. Thanks for the tip, Toralen Ki."

He turned and bore his gaze on the battling pair.

"Listen--and carefully," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I tell you so," he said in a hard voice. "I'm tired--as everyone is--of your foolishness. I'll say no more about it. I've said my last." He opened his eyes slightly, and caught their gaze. He said nothing, but held their eyes as though what they saw must not be lost from sight lest disaster follow. For minutes he held them, and then he said in a quiet, low voice: "You will become mental twins. The battle for supremacy between you will and can become one of sheer mental force. You will each have that which you sneer at in the other. With all factors in the mind, you will struggle. Whichever of you is best fitted for existence under such circumstances will emerge victor. Understand. There will never be a public admission of mediocrity on the part of either one of you, for you will both change toward the one that is victorious. Now if you really want to finish that fight, this is a way to do it."

He turned to Kennebec. "At this point, they'll do it or I'll strap 'em both down--"

Toralen Ki interrupted. "They must enter it willingly."

Thompson looked the pair over. "Shall I call in the Interplanetary Press?"

Downing had been thinking deeply. He looked up and shook his head. "Lane, I'm willing to bet my mind against yours. Put up or shut up."

"Anything you can do I can do better--and faster!"

"Baloney. Toralen Ki can start right now, if the other half isn't afraid."

"Afraid--!"

"Well, are you?" sneered Downing.

"That doesn't even rate an answer. I'll take your mind over."

"Uh-huh. This time we'll have an answer. O.K., Billy. Bring on your devil-gadget and we'll play ball."

* * * * *

Toralen Ki looked about him, his face a mask. Stonily silent, he walked to the greenhouse and looked out over the landscape. He basked in the warm sunshine, and thought how much it reminded him of the bright sunshine of Tlembo. The buildings on the edge of the clearing were vast; Toralen Ki felt dwarfed by them, and he felt all alone and utterly alien in this world of giant beings.

A phonograph was playing somewhere, a piece of Terran music that suited the Tlemban fancy, and Toralen Ki was drinking it in.

The greenhouse was slid open in one section, and mingled with the soft phonograph were the myriad sounds of living. Faintly there came the raucous rattle of a rivet gun, the rumble of a sky train passing overhead on its way to the antipodes. He slid the section shut, closing the sounds of this alien world of monsters from his ears. He pressed a button and the steel shutter closed off the light that was so much like his own Tlemban sunshine.

It seemed wrong that such a familiar sun should shine down upon buildings of such vastness, glint against skycraft of such magnitude, and give warmth and life to a race so huge and so very, very young.

He turned and ran his hand over a bookcase. He touched a favorite volume, but did not remove it from its place. He had not the time.

He ran his hand over the tiny controls of his little craft. It had carried him so many light-leagues of space faithfully and well, following the dictates of his hands on the worn plastic handles.

_End of quest!_

This was it. He had come to the end of his search, the answer to his desire. This race would carry on where he and his race could not. The flaming torch--

Toralen Ki broke off with a bitter laugh. He was sounding slightly overdramatic to himself.

He faced them. Hotang Lu, who was looking at the blank wall with intent stare, and the Extremes, Lane and Downing, whose huge frames were cramped in the tiny control room.

Even here, they were. He could not escape them--and he admitted that he did not want to escape them. Yet he felt the touch of resentment. Unthinkable light-years from his home, surrounded and overwhelmed on every side with utter bigness--slumbering giants, all of them, awaiting the touch of his mind to awaken them to their rightful place.

It might have been Tlembo's rightful place were it not for sheer size and other natural factors. Why couldn't fate have given Tlembo that gift instead of this race?

But, time went on. And there was so little time--

Toralen Ki went to his desk and took a quick drink from the tall tube, and then inhaled the aroma deeply. It had no smell to Terrans, nor taste, but Toralen Ki loved it for its powers--_not too much, Toralen Ki, you have a job to do!_

He went over and slipped the headset on.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I did want this last minute--"

He took up the hypo, inserted the needle in the vein of his arm, and pushed the plunger home.

* * * * *

Countless light-years away, Lindoo watched his meters rise higher and higher as he increased the penetration. Ever seeking, ever tuning, Lindoo strove to find another man whose mind was at balance and receptive. Given time--

And with a rush, all meters hit zero. A backlashing surge of power drove Lindoo back from his position. He turned and faced Vorgan.

"As with Kregar--" he started.

"Kregar died," said the Lord of All, ominously.

"Kregar died of mental overload. I received no such punishment. Kregar, recall, was in charge of the mind of the Susceptible One who thought of himself as Tawmpsahn. He was forced out and away, and pursued by Tawmpsahn and the Toralen Ki himself."

"So--?"

"Toralen Ki is dead."

"Good!"

Lindoo shook his head. "He did not die in vain."

Vorgan blinked. "They--?"

"I have failed. I have been trying to find another one to control. Those who may be controlled were in no political position to do any good--I found several others."

Vorgan nodded. "Time was short."

"I did not locate one controllable among those who might have done some good. And now I never will. The Extremes have joined!"

"And the shock wave?"

"Has undone all the good our suppressor did for twenty thousand years."

"Order the attack."

"Yes, Lord of All. The logisticians indicate a short period of mobilization and preparation. The Enilode Sector is being stripped of our men--they're not too hard to handle now--and a tenth of the men in all other sectors not actively fighting are being sent to the spearhead sector. I hate time. It takes so much of it to handle thirty million men and the supplies necessary for their support."

"That," grumbled Vorgan, "and the inoculations. A man undergoing them is a sick Loard-vogh for a week."

"Our initial attack may be some time in coming. But it will be complete, throughout that entire sector. We'll destroy the menace immediately, and from then on, all we'll have to do is to hold that sector against any possible enemy."

"A long and dismal prospect," said Vorgan. "But we must not give them time."

"They will have no time to do more than plan," said Lindoo. "It takes time to put a new skill into practice. We shall conquer them!"

"We shall conquer them," echoed Vorgan, the Lord of All.

"And we shall have to force the catmen, too, Lord of All."

"Why?" thundered the Lord of All.

"Because the catmen of Sscantoo are unsympathetic to all forms of alliance."

"They need never know."

"They will be told. Sol will ask their help."

"But ... I see," agreed Vorgan. "Being against all forms of alliance means that they will form an alliance, temporarily, in order to keep from being included in an everlasting tie. Yes, you are right. We may have to force them. But let us conquer Sol at any cost. And soon."

"As soon as we can prepare."

"Better cut the preparation somewhat. Let the initial attack come before full preparation. Only in that way will we gain time."

"It is a gamble."

"I know it is a gamble," agreed Vorgan. "But one must gamble if the Galaxy is worth the fight."

"I wonder if we could convince the Sscantovians that our interests--No, it would not work. I like not that idea."

"Sscantoo would demand proof. It is far easier to prove that we have been all-conquering than otherwise. An alliance with them could not be made. To do so would require that we give them full confidence. And we cannot control a quarter of a galaxy of Loard-vogh slaves so well that they must not speak. And their weapons are less efficient than ours--we could gain nothing but manpower which we do not need.... No, Lindoo, we must go forward alone as we always have."

* * * * *

Lindoo smiled. "We must be on the everlasting lookout for spies."

"We shall. I wonder if it would not be best to exterminate them completely."

"I could do it alone."

"I know. I wonder. They are a hardy race, though, and ambitious workers. Extermination--"

"Merely eliminates one menace."

"I don't think it would work."

"May I try?"

"May I have your head if you fail?" snarled Vorgan.

"Then I shall not try, Lord of All."

Vorgan nodded cryptically. "Losing faith in your own ability?"

"No. I merely have reason to respect your judgment."

"You are a true diplomat, Lindoo. Someday it will get you into trouble."

"When it does, that is a sign that I am not as good a diplomat as I thought I was."

"Or that someone has exceeded you, Lindoo."

"I might wear out--"

"No. When you fail, Lindoo, it will be because you have confronted yourself with your superior."

"And then?"

"Then the Lord of All will have a new Head of Strategy."

Lindoo laughed. "At that time I shall expect you to need one. Well, I must start preparation. I have much to do."

"You have," nodded Vorgan.

Throughout the lands and planets of the Loard-vogh there started a slow and gradual crawl. The forces of the Loard-vogh began to move slowly, like the rivers of the ocean. They could be felt; slowly and inexorably, though they could not be seen. Throughout a thousand suns the soldiery left their billets in twos and threes. They bade good-by to their temporary homes, kissed their slave-lovers and serf-women farewell and faced new fields. They collected along the frontier, planets full of brawling Loard-vogh that swarmed like the all-consuming locusts. They fought among themselves. They stole and they looted, and they took souvenirs of value. Native women--some of them the intellectual superiors of the Loard-vogh--were not safe on the streets, and the fighting was not without its overwhelming toll of innocent bystanders.

Somehow it was very few of the Loard-vogh that got hurt.

And the planets began to pile deep with equipment. It was a real springboard, this planet frontier. Like a storm cloud collecting electrons, they would pile up to the bursting point and then with a crackle and a flash of lightning, they would hurl themselves across space to blast the focal point.

Terra!

XI.

Cliff Lane and Stellor Downing faced one another. They had spent hours in complete slumber after the incident, and their awakening had been almost simultaneous. They were both in a mental tizzy; they knew that Something Must Be Done but were slightly foggy as to what. Their former animosity seemed gone, or at least secondary to the urgency of the present situation.

They did not ask the usual question upon awakening, they knew that they had been removed from Toralen Ki's ship and hospitalized.

They did not mention Toralen Ki--not openly. But they felt it. Perhaps it was a sort of mental maturity, this Transformation. They kept their counsel until they could discuss it together--and they seemed to know that the other preferred it that way.

They sought the eyes of the people in the room and asked, almost simultaneously: "Can this be explained now?"

Hotang Lu nodded agreeably. He explained the story in full, and completely. As he concluded Hotang Lu smiled again. "Before--you had not the ability to understand, nor had I the ability to express myself in your terms. The Transformation has made it possible for all of us to partly speak in the other's language, and partly convey thoughts."

"That should be helpful."

"You will find it so. No matter which race of whatever sun you visit in the future, you will find that faculty helpful. You will even be able to mingle with the Loard-vogh."

"'Mangle' sounds better," gritted Lane.

"That will come in time."

"Well, let's hit it," said Lane. "What do we do first?"

"First," said Hotang Lu, "is to beware. The Loard-vogh are warned. Knowing their psychology, attack will be imminent."

"Then we'd best prepare to repel boarders?"

"Yes."

"Hotang Lu has the right idea," said Lane. "If they're warned, they'll clip us first."

Kennebec objected. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you expect them to hit us? After all, they're swarming through the galaxy in this direction. If they are that powerful, why should they attack Terra?"

"We constitute a threat," said Downing. "We are a powerful threat, or I miss my guess."

"Terra is a most powerful threat," said Hotang Lu. "Terra, well, it is known to the Loard-vogh as the Planet of Terror."

"Gratifying in a nice, lethal way," smiled Kennebec. "Mind telling us why?"

"Not at all. Terra is the center of the mutation area."

"Meaning what?"

"Sol is one of a vast trinary, astronomically speaking. Or was once. It is now one of an extended binary. You have no reference to this?"

"Not that I know of," said Lane. "And I've been a student of astronomy."

"Well, it is so vast that you may probably not come to the astronomical proof for thousands of years. Sol, however, is one of a binary that used to be a trinary. The third sun was alien--contraterrene. Thirty million years ago it was struck by a stellar wanderer--of terrene matter. The explosion was mighty. It was vast. It scattered particles of the third member far and wide. A great swarm of bits of contraterrene matter range this sector of the Galaxy. They fall into Sol, into Alpha, into Procyon, into Sirius, into the other stars within thirty to forty light-years from Sol. Even Arcturus, forty light-years away, has his small share, and so it goes.

"The resulting radiation from this drift of contraterrene matter falling into the star dispersion of this sector has bathed this entire portion of the Galaxy in hard radiation. Mutation has been rapid, and evolution has taken swift advances."

"Meaning exactly what?" demanded Stellor Downing.

"I can tell you that one," laughed Thompson. "We are tougher than hell."

"Terra's evolution has been vicious and swift," said Hotang Lu. "The natural enemies of life have also evolved rapidly. Clifford Lane destroyed one of the minor animals of Sscantoo by merely holding it--so did Stellor Downing. The things that Terrans live with in peace--or even symbiosis--are feared by the rest of the Galaxy. Insect life--many thousands of kinds of insects. Fungus--a myriad of types, all hardy. I've heard of a mollusk that secretes strontium metal for a shell rather than the usual calcium, and micro-animalcules that thrive in a bath of chemically pure sulphuric acid. Terrans drink a most foul poison--ethanol--for pleasure, and inhale the combustion-products--tar and worse--of a dried weed as a fairly common habit. This habit, by the way, seems to have absolutely no effect upon life or mentality. Terrans go anywhere with immunity, and those who come here must prepare to die."

"You're not dead," objected Lane.

"No, but I expected death. I was prepared. I was innoculated and sterilized and given all sorts of treatments. I irradiate myself daily with the micro-organism killing radiations known to our doctors and scientists. Otherwise I would--well, in your slang terms--grow green hair in an hour.

"In fact," continued Hotang Lu thoughtfully, "Toralen Ki and myself were the last of several expeditions to contact Terra. We sent a first to investigate and sample the upper stratosphere. They did--and they died painfully. But they succeeded in preparing artificial antimeasures against the bacteria and fungus-spores that roam that altitude. The second expedition landed, but took only samples of the surface-atmosphere. They died, learning the secrets of the mutant microlife of Terra. They prepared antimeasures for the third expedition who emerged from the ship, protected against air-borne death, and gave their lives learning how to control the microlife that abounds and is transmitted by contact.

"The fourth expedition came to roam the planet at will, and they died because there had been a mutation in one form of spore in the years between the third expedition and the fourth. The fifth came and were safe.

"Toralen Ki and myself were the fifth expedition."

"Um-m-m, what a nice bunch of little stinkers Terrans must be," smiled Lane.

"Terrans and Venusites," amended Downing.

"Don't be bitter," laughed Lane. "You're tarred with this brush too, you know."

Kennebec smiled. "I'll be afraid of myself from now on."

* * * * *

Hotang Lu looked at Kennebec seriously. "That is your main concern," he said. "You--and all Solarians--have but that to fear."

"What?"

"You need fear only yourselves. All your other enemies fall like the wheat before the scythe. From the most minute to the most gigantic. Micro-organisms that defy your best instruments can not defy your evolution. Giants that defy your imagination can not defy your science. The cold and forbidding planets themselves bow to Terran domination. Lane, born on Venus; a world of violent insect life and rife with micro-organisms is populated by Terrans. Downing was born of Mars. Mars is cold and forbidding. Life cannot survive there. Life cannot, gentlemen. Oh, life in the sense that regeneration and self-sustenance is life, can. After all, Mars is bathed in the same radiation that produces hardy mutations. But Terran life is intelligent. Martian life can not be--"

"See?" chortled Cliff Lane.

Hotang Lu swung upon the Venusite. "Stellor Downing is Terran," he said stoutly. "Venus can not support intelligent life either," he added in a mollifying tone.

"They do," objected Kennebec.

"By support I mean spawn," said Hotang Lu. "To support does not mean to 'be converted to'."

"Oh."

"Terra controls. Terra takes over. Terra is the Planet of Terror. Her minions rule the Galaxy, her mutants are the fear and the death of all. Linzete of Sscantoo capitulated because of two things. One was Lane's ability to carry, without self-destruction, microlife that destroyed their minor animals in a matter of minutes. The other was Downing's ability to read the radiation of their weapons and return in less than a month with an improvement on them. And what is your favorite dish?" he asked Kennebec.

"Filet mignon with mushrooms."

Hotang Lu shivered visibly. "Tender, of course?"

"Tender and very, very rare."

Hotang Lu shivered again.

"Why?"

"What makes a steak tender?" he asked with an air of innocence.

"Brutally speaking, it is a matter of semiputrefication."

"Precisely. You hang it in a warm, smoky, damp place until it 'grows hair'. Then you partially cook it--not really enough to destroy the enzymes--and smother it with one of the most pernicious forms of fungi. It is served hot--a condition that enhances most chemical reactions. And you fall to, eating this deadly mixture with appetite, relish, appreciation, and, by the most holy, you complain bitterly if the tenderness is not right. You object if the micro-organisms have not had their chance to break down the toughness of the meat. About the only disease that Terrans really need fear is the ulcer, which is a case of the adaptable beginning to eat itself, or perhaps carcinoma, where local mutation takes place."

"That makes us feel very good," said Kennebec dryly. "But from what you've told us, we are on the brink of invasion by a super-race that is slowly engulfing the Galaxy."

"The Loard-vogh must be defeated."

"I should think so," remarked Kennebec.

"Our work is through," said Hotang Lu. "Tlembo is surpassed. Sscantoo was one hope of Tlembo, but the catmen are almost at the peak of their evolution, and cannot be increased in mental stature more than twice or thrice. Tlembo reached their mental ultimate ten thousand years ago and were far surpassed by the Loard-vogh. Terra now surpasses the Loard-vogh. But remember, Co-ordinator Kennebec, you have mental _ability_ not real mentality. You have the capability to increase a thousandfold above your present mental stature. But you have not increased in fact."

"I do not follow."

"Your infants have the ability to become the mentally great. Until that ability is exploited, they are mentally lower than the most unintelligent of animals. They cannot even feed themselves without help.

"Terra now has the ability," he continued. "If Terra is to rule the Galaxy--and well she might for her adaptability--she must exploit the latent mental capability."

* * * * *

"And the next plan?" suggested Kennebec.

Thompson looked at Hotang Lu. "What's yours?" he asked.

"You will be the co-ordinator. The Extremes will co-operate in gathering information and you will direct them, and all of Sol, in this effort."