Part 4

Lynne probed the girl’s thoughts and found she was holding nothing back. She was heartsick at the tragic result, for her companion, of an experiment for which she felt herself responsible. Lynne lay back and did some thinking while the dark girl slept and had reached a number of conclusions by the time Rolf appeared that afternoon.

He, it seemed, had been terribly busy since their return to the Red Planet. All sorts of crises had come or were coming to a head. There had been a localized reappearance of the disembodied aborigines that had for so long threatened all communications on Mars--and a campaign had had to be organized to exterminate them.

There had been a squabble over efficiency credits between the communications crews of New Walla Walla and Cathayville which had had to be settled. Earth Interplanetary Authority was anxious for Rolf and Lynne to visit their Rio de Janeiro Headquarters as soon as possible to discuss the ramifications of the Callisto incident. And the problem of decreasing moisture in the Martian atmosphere table was becoming critical.

_Which is why I have not been able to stay here at your side_, VINRAL, he told Lynne silently. _And now, I must leave you again._

_Oh, Rolf!_ Lynne was desolate. _I have so much to tell you. I think I’m beginning to understand a little about our--entity._

_Hold it_, VINRAL, was the reply. _Right now, I haven’t even the_ FARBISH _time to give it a thought. It will keep till I get back from New Samarkand. I’ve got to address a council meeting there tonight._

And he was gone. Resentfully, Lynne thought she might as well have gotten herself married to the legendary old-fashioned country general practitioner of nineteenth century America. She eyed her messed-up face in a hand mirror and wondered when, if ever, she was going to look like herself again. Goldberg’s poison! Poor Goldberg....

The next day, with Rolf still in New Samarkand, she had the practitioner patch her up and, with the aid of makeup, managed to present a passable front to the world. She had made up her mind to get busy. According to Rana, there might be an entity in the New Woomera district, and New Woomera Station was where Lynne’s one-time cabin-mate, Joanna, had her home. And Joanna had invited Lynne to pay her a visit at the weddings. Lynne managed to get the use of a somewhat battered runabout and took off from the Depot, shortly before noon.

Mars might be considered a small planet, she thought as she sped low over its level plains and prairies, but it was a planet of vast distances. Without oceans, it actually had a far greater land surface than Earth. And its lack of real mountains added to the illusion of vastness. It was, she thought, like flying over an ocean of land. Woomera Station, when she sighted it, looked like a small oblate bit of green and yellow, around a cluster of red-and-white farm structures, stuck like a postage stamp in the middle of an immense envelope.

Yet, as she walked from the landing field, she realized as never before what an imposing plant it was. Here were hundreds of hectares of hydroponic greenhouses, some five square kilometers in all of lush grassland for cattle raising, interspersed with long stretches of barns, barracks and storehouses. Here, wonder of wonders on Mars, was even a small pond where the pigs, long-staple mutton and musk-oxen could drink. Truly a man-made oasis, in the midst of desolation.

The pond was Joanna’s special pride and joy. “We just got our atomic transmuter three months ago,” she said, “and already it is turning the sand into drinking water for the cattle. Maybe someday, we shall all have swimming pools on Mars, quite as wonderful as those in Joberg or Rio on Earth.”

Lynne said, “It’s pretty expensive, isn’t it? And aren’t you afraid that the water may be radioactive and poisonous?”

The girl’s face fell. She said, “I guess it _is_ expensive. But it’s better than draining the atmosphere of moisture. And in time, our scientists will learn to cut the cost drastically.”

Lynne read the sternly suppressed lack of assurance in the girl’s mind. She had pinned her hopes on the transmuter, which was in truth a remarkable invention for turning dry mineral matter into water. But, as an ex-brain team coordinator, Lynne saw clearly that the expense must outstrip any real benefit which might accrue, except in special isolated instances. She kept her conclusion to herself, however, and said, “I’m awfully glad you asked me to visit you, Joanna. I’m tremendously impressed.”

Joanna got a two-place tracto-scooter and took Lynne on a tour of the entire project. She admired the plump hogs and flocks of turkeys, the long-staple sheep and the small, furry musk-oxen, imported to endure the arctic cold of the Martian winters. She admired the artificial drinking pond, where the animals clustered to slake their thirst. Finally she asked, “How do you shield the transmuter?”

Joanna waved toward the northeastern corner of the station. “The transmuter has its own shield on three sides,” she explained. “We keep the open side facing away from the station. There are some odd sort of radioactive deposits out that way but our chief figures a bit more radiation isn’t going to hurt anything. Come on, I’ll show you the out-of-bounds markers. The whole area--about fifty square kilometers--is fenced off. A few years ago, a couple of prospectors went in there to dig. They were never seen again.”

“Let’s go,” said Lynne a trifle grimly. A distant thrumming inside her head grew more intense as they neared the northeast corner of the grazing grounds. She opened her mind a little--and was once more in an unearthly cathedral, full of dread and love and clamor.

“Let’s go back, Joanna,” she said tightly. Her nerves were singing like guitar strings and it seemed impossible the black girl shouldn’t feel it too. But Joanna’s dark face remained amiably impassive. At the Station proper, Lynne said, “I’d like to talk to your chief.”

* * * * *

Ultimately, to get him to turn off the transmuter, Lynne had to communicate with Rolf and New Samarkand, and tell him that she had discovered another deposit of the super-entity on Mars. In the end it was Agriculture Boss Radchev who ordered the disconnection. The worst of it was, she could not explain her reasons to Joanna and the Station chief in terms they were capable of understanding.

All the chief said was, “You know, without the pool, the Station will perish. We are no longer allowed to draw the water we need from the atmosphere.”

“You keep that transmuter on much longer, and the whole Station will be wiped out--just as Callisto Project was wiped out,” Lynne warned. “I’m not trying to wreck you. I’m trying to save your lives.”

“I wish I’d never asked you to come here!” Joanna cried passionately. “Why couldn’t you have left us alone?”

Relations remained strained until Rolf and Radchev, a swarthy giant with an unexpected, and quite startling shock of corn-white hair, arrived on the scene. A gingerly magnetic-tracer investigation was conducted over the suspected area until the eroded entrance of the narrow mine-shaft the prospectors had sunk was located. Then Rolf and a couple of Station hands, leaving all electronic gadgets turned off, approached via tracto-scooter and went down the shaft. When they got back, Rolf nodded.

“It’s sunk a lot deeper under the ground surface here,” he said. “I’m becoming convinced there’s at least one of them on every stable planet and satellite. In some frightening, inexplicable fashion, they’re interrelated--which is why we got sent tracking off to Callisto.”

Radchev said, “You think there’s one on Earth then?”

Rolf nodded. “Probably buried far underground. The more eroded the area, the closer they lie to the surface. On Callisto, the creature was actually exposed. Here, it’s buried just under the subsoil.”

“Then why hasn’t one been found on Luna?” Radchev asked. “I thought Earth’s moon was completely charted for mineral elements.”

Rolf hesitated, but Lynne came up with the answer. “I think it’s because the creature needs the gaseous elements of an atmosphere to survive. The atmosphere is thick on Earth, thin here. On Callisto it lies frozen on the ground. But it’s there. The Moon has none--just as Deimos and Phobos have none. We know it doesn’t exist on them.”

“I think you’re right,” said Rolf, his face grim. “Somehow, this mysterious entity has to breathe. I have a hunch that otherwise it’s nothing more than a sort of super-brain, which has long since surrendered all other physical properties.”

“Then,” said Redchev, puzzled, “why is it we haven’t stumbled across a single one of the creatures. This one must have--”

“It has probably been here forever by our measure of time,” Lynne interrupted eagerly. “Can’t you see, Mr. Radchev, that it hasn’t been discovered sooner because non-telepathic human mental processes were too far below its reception or broadcast level to make contact with it?”

The Agriculture boss shook his massive head. “That won’t do, I’m afraid,” he said. “The coincidence is too steep. Don’t you think it remarkable to put it mildly that, almost to the moment when you discover your new life-form telepathically the non-telepathic E.I.A. should have stumbled into it on Callisto? I tell you--I’m not convinced.”

“But you will be!” Lynne persisted. “We know it can be irritated by human physical and mental contact under some conditions, and that when the irritation is sufficient, it strikes back at its tormentor. Think of the unexplained blasts and disasters that have killed men and destroyed their works all through known history. Isn’t it possible, even probable, that some of those disasters were caused by our new friend under the stimulation of physical irritation?”

Radchev rumbled like an incipient Krakatoa, then subsided to a querulous, “But if this is so, how are we going to combat it?”

And Rolf and Lynne, thinking in concert, spoke in unison, “We aren’t going to try to combat it. We’re going to put it to use.”

VI

Rolf flew back to Nampura Depot with Lynne in the runabout but they were unable to enjoy their brief respite alone together. In the first place, Lynne was still too severely bruised from her bout with Goldberg’s poison to endure an embrace--and in the second, they were too preoccupied with her discovery of the entity and its possible consequences for even the lighter aspects of love-making.

_Think we’ll ever make it_, VINRAL_?_ Rolf projected wryly as the runabout settled down on the fluorescent-lit landing field.

_You just wait till I get over this_, Lynne replied.

Then they were in the restored Rec Room, with its translucent walls and recorder and amplification devices and other aids to telepathic relay extension. Revere joined them there, as did Rana, for a long and intensive conference. After all, along with Lynne and Rolf they had had closer contact with the entity than any of the other telepaths in the depot. It was Lynne who summed the problem up for them, speaking aloud for the benefit of the recorder.

“What do we know about E-for-Entity and its properties?” she began quietly. “In the first place, since we have discovered that E exists and have made contact with it, Problem Outpost must be considered a success. It was set up to establish contact with life-forms hitherto unreached by mechanical means of communication. And certainly, we have learned enough to feel certain E is a life-form.”

She paused to marshal her thoughts, then went on with, “Admitting that E exists and is a form of life, what do we know of its properties? We know that E exists on both Mars and Callisto and, by inference, on other planets and satellites throughout the universe. We know that its various units are in constant intercommunication with one another and that while it has taken a mineral form, it is highly sentient both mentally and physically.

“We know that it has a definite effect upon humans who attain even remote contact with it through the mind. It has an inhibiting effect upon the control centers of the human mind, causing the man or woman in contact with it to lose self restraint and become in some ways childish. If E effects non-telepaths in a similar way, we have no clear record to prove it. But, in view of human behavior throughout history, there is every reason to suspect that such effects can be ascribed to it.

“We know that E is sensitive to mental suggestion, beamed its way, especially when such suggestion is stepped up by electronic or atomic machines. We know that its sensitivity increases in direct ratio with its physical exposure to such impulses and stimuli. And we know that while E, in effect, seems to be some sort of super-brain in mineral form, it is highly sensitive to physical disturbance, such as attempts to dig into its substance.”

She paused again, received encouraging thoughts from the others, and continued. “We know further that when E is irritated beyond endurance, it can and does strike back. To our knowledge, since the inauguration of Problem Outpost, it has killed one telepath, rendered another unconscious, and frustrated all efforts to mine its substance on both Callisto and Mars. It is probable that this killing is neither aggressive nor malicious--that it is rather like an elephant, stepping on an annoying insect.”

She hesitated, said, “Well, from here on in, I think we’ll do better off the record. We’re flying by the seat of our clouts.”

“_Crehut_, Lynne,” said her twin brother. “Now that we’ve uncovered this interplanetary monster, what are we going to do about it? I know, I’m receiving you--so you’re going to put it to work. But how do you propose to go about harnessing something we know almost nothing about?”

Rolf said, “Don’t be a _czanworm_, Revere. What do we actually know about electricity? Nothing. Yet men have harnessed and used electricity for centuries. If they hadn’t, we’d still be Earthbound. In E, we have the greatest potential power-source in history. Are we going to sit around and call it out of bounds, merely because a few of us have been killed, or may be killed, in the process?”

“Yes,” said Rana in her small voice. “But what are we going to do with it? All my impressions were of mighty ideas and themes.”

“E is an entity of ideas,” said Rolf. “In a way it is like a transmission cable--carrying thousands, perhaps millions, perhaps even more messages both ways from itself to its fellows on other planets and moons. It has the power to put its concepts to the test of reality should such a trifling idea appeal to it--which it probably won’t. It is on far too high a plane to care about concrete application.”

“And just how are we going to get it to care?” Revere Fenlay lit a skinless gasper and blew a nervous-looking smoke ring.

Lynne said, “Revere, we know one thing--it is suggestible as well as suggesting. Given the elements of an atmosphere to exist in, it lives. We know it is suggestible because, when we irritate it sufficiently, it strikes back. We can make it feel our thoughts and our muscles and our machines, however trivially, however remotely.”

“Rather destructively, I fear,” said her twin looking doubtful.

“All right,” said Lynne. “So all we can arouse is destructive force but it is a response and a predictable one. Once Ben Franklin proved he could get a response from the lightning, however destructive. He was able to create the lightning rod, And Faraday and the others who put electricity to use were not far behind him.”

“All right,” said Revere. “I’m convinced. But how in _purt_ are we going to get our new friend to say uncle when we want it to?”

Something clicked in Lynne’s trained coordinator’s brain. She said, mentally scanning the notes and records they had been consulting during the meeting, “Revere--Rolf--Rana--what is the one thing that is common to each of E’s destructive retaliations when irritated?”

Rana looked helpless. Revere scowled at the floor, then shrugged and gave up. Rolf studied the opaque ceiling of the Rec Room, then said suddenly, “Maybe this is fresh out of your mind, _vinral_, but as I get it there were two things--a flash of light and an impression of enormous, sudden sound. Certainly I got those impressions when we were up against E or his cousin on Callisto. Am I right?”

“How about it?” Lynne asked the other two. Rana, looking scared in retrospect, nodded slowly, and Revere said, “It’s on the record.”

“Doesn’t that particular combination of phenomena remind you of something? No, it wouldn’t since you’re all Martians. But as an Earthwoman, it makes me think of just one thing--a thunderstorm.”

Revere looked incredulous, said, “But that’s impossible. There isn’t enough atmosphere on Mars yet for any rain, much less for a thunderstorm. And on Callisto, the air is frozen on the ground.”

“Just a moment,” said Rolf, his dark eyes gleaming. “I think I’m beginning to understand what Mrs. Marcein is driving at.” Lynne reacted with a shaft of pure delight to his use of her new name and title, then forced herself to listen attentively as he went on with, “If E has the elements of an atmosphere around him--I call it ‘him’ by courtesy only--he is capable of transmuting them in any form he wishes for self defence. But, Lynne, there has been no sign of rain with any of E’s blasts against his irritators.”

“Let an Earth-girl speak on that,” said Lynne quietly. “If E can create an atmosphere capable of thunder and lightning, however briefly, that atmosphere must be capable of rain. Our problem is to keep E irritated long enough so rain will fall. Keep him irritated directionally so that he will harm no one and so localized that the area that needs moisture will receive the fruits of E’s irritation.”

“_Crehut!_” said Revere. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“By using the same techniques used to harness electricity on Earth,” said Lynne. “Relays of batteries using telepathic playbacks for irritants. We can set up such a relay and shield it by placing it underground. We can give it direction by placing it well upwind of Woomera Station. And we can work it by remote video control.”

Rolf looked at her and frowned. “Why put it so near the Station?” he asked. “Aren’t you running the risk of its being damaged if your experiment proves successful, _vinral?_”

Lynne said patiently, “What does Mars need most, and where does Mars need it most? The answers are rain and at Woomera Station. Since there are no hills on Mars, there’s no danger of a flash flood. And if it rains too much, we turn our gadget off. Simple?”

“No,” said Rolf with a slow smile. “It’s _farbishly_ complex. But I’ll fly to New Samarkand tonight and see what can be done about getting official permission. In the meantime, Lynne, you and Revere and Rana start getting the machinery set up. You have the full resources of the depot at your disposal.”

The next morning, Lynne, Revere, Rana and a volunteer crew of Nampura Depot experts were busily installing the relay circuits Lynne had devised in a block of non-metallic instant-concrete on the far side of a gentle rise some twenty kilometers from E area, northwest of Woomera Station.

Rolf had flashed her message that, though they had as yet no official okay, he had won them sub-rosa permission from Agriculture boss Radchev and other interested authorities to go ahead. Rolf had promised to be there within the hour, when they set the switch that would prove their mastery of E or the reverse.

Lynne had to fight hard to maintain a semblance of assurance as the zero hour approached. She was checking the relays for the irritant playback for the forty-ninth time when a government planetplane, with its blue body and bright red disc markings, circled above them and came in to a smooth landing. When Rolf appeared, followed by Radchev and other high brass, she directed toward him a thought of relief.

Once again, before pressing the switch that would put the new E project into work, she was forced to explain its theory. Weather, a tall human skeleton named Krausemeier, was frankly worried. He said, “What if it works and this artificial storm of yours wipes out the moisture in the atmosphere?”

“It can’t, and you know it,” Lynne replied promptly and was aghast at her own temerity. “There isn’t enough air around Mars right now to create a drizzle--so how can a rainstorm lessen it? It’s got to _add_ to the moisture if it works at all.”

Shaking his head, Weather subsided. There were other arguments and discussions and final check-ups against anything going wrong with the relay. When, at 1131 Mars Time, Lynne pressed the button from the control station, two kilometers away from the power plant, it was almost an anti-climax.

For a long, nervous time, lasting some twenty minutes that seemed to Lynne like as many hours, nothing happened. Then, inside herself, she felt a stirring of angry forces, a gathering tension that rose and rose until it seemed past the breaking point. She gripped Rolf’s hand tightly, and he returned the grip. Unease was evident on the faces of Revere and Rana and the other telepaths present from Nampura Station. But the rest--the non-telepathic--merely looked bored or restless or impatient or interested or hopeful as the case might be.

Lynne thought, _it has to work, it has to. I’ve made no mistake._

And Rolf returned her thought with, _don’t worry_, VINRAL, _it’s working. I can feel something happening right now!_

A sudden, long-repressed _aaaaah_ rose from a hundred throats as a blaze of light flashed on the horizon. It was followed by another, and another, and another, until the sky resembled a vidar-image of one of the ancient atomic-war battles that had so nearly destroyed humanity two centuries earlier. The ground above the spot where the relays were planted in their concrete casing, seemed to shimmer and leap.

And then came the thunderclaps, rolling like drumfire over the flat Martian plain. The air shook around them and their eardrums hurt, even from two kilometers away. But the sky remained its usual dark, undisturbed blue, with the sun small and reddish-hued near the meridian.

“Where’s your rain, young lady?” Weather wanted to know.

It was Rana who pointed in the direction of the irritated entity and cried in her small voice, “Look, here it comes.”

Again there was a gasp of excitement from the assemblage as a moving barrier appeared, first low against the horizon, then rising higher and higher as it approached. To men and women who had spent all their adult lives under the cloudless Martian sky, it was a miracle--and like all miracles, terrifying.

Lynne could sense the thoughts of panic darting about her. A scientist, checking a barometer to make sure too much moisture was not being drained from the atmosphere, suddenly shouted, “Believe it or not, the moisture-table’s rising!”

Panic faded before excitement and delight but Lynne, watching the approaching weather front, its edge ominous with the lightning flickers, felt mounting disquiet. This didn’t look like a rainstorm approaching to her. It looked at lot more like....

It _was!_ As the sun was obscured, the snowflakes fluttered down upon them, first by ones and twos, then by dozens, then in countless armies that blotted out the far horizon. And Lynne laughed, laughed wholeheartedly for the first time since her brother’s wedding. She laughed until she cried.

Why hadn’t anyone thought of it? Of course, in the chill Martian climate, it would have to be snow, except in the tropics during the height of the brief summer season. But snow was merely crystalized rain and there was sufficient power on Mars to turn it back to water by heating the ground. And once the soil was watered, it would bloom again, as it had not bloomed in millions of years.