"Let them come, in whatever force they care to bring. The more who attack here, the less there will be to halt your progress. This armament represents the best of that possessed by both your Patrol and the pirates, with improvements developed by your scientists and ours in full cooperation. We understand thoroughly its construction, operation, and maintenance. You may rest assured that the pirates will never levy tribute upon us, and that any pirate visiting this system will remain in it—permanently!"
"At–a–snake, Worsel—long may you wiggle!" Kinnison exclaimed. Then, more seriously, "Maybe, after this is all over, I'll see you again sometime. If not, goodbye. Goodbye, all Velantia. All set, everybody? Clear ether—blast off!" Six ships, one pirate craft, now vessels of the Galactic Patrol, hurled themselves into and through Velantian air, into and through interplanetary space, out into the larger, wider, opener emptiness of the interstellar void. Six ships, each broadcasting with prodigious power and volume an all–inclusive interference through which not even a CRX tracer could be driven.
9: Breakdown
Kimball Kinnison sat at the controls, smoking a rare festive cigarette and smiling, at peace with the entire universe. For this new picture was in every element a different one from the old. Instead of being in a pitifully weak and defenseless lifeboat, skulking and hiding, he was in one of the most powerful battleships afloat, driving boldly at full blast almost directly toward home. While the Patrolmen were so terribly few in number that most of them had to work double shifts—Kinnison and Henderson had to do all the piloting and navigating—they had under them a full crew of alert and highly–trained Velantians. And the enemy, instead of being a close–knit group, keeping Helmuth informed moment by moment of the situation and instantly responsive to his orders, were now entirely out of communication with each other and with their headquarters, groping helplessly. Literally as well as figuratively the pirates were in the dark, the absolute blackness of interstellar space.
Thorndyke entered the room, frowning slightly. "You look like the fabled Cheshire cat, Kim. I hate to spoil such perfect bliss, but I'm here to tell you that we ain't out of the woods yet, by seven thousand rows of big, green, peppermint trees."
"Maybe not," the Lensman returned blithely, "but compared to the jam we were in a little while back we're not only sitting on top of the world, we're perched right on the exact apex of the universe. They can't send or receive reports or orders. and they can't communicate. Even their detectors are mighty lame—you know how far they can get on electromagnetics and visual apparatus. Furthermore, there isn't an identification number, symbol, or name on the outside of this buzz–buggy. If it ever had one the friction and attrition have worn it off, clear down to the armor. What can happen that we can't cope with?"
'These engines can happen," the technician responded, bluntly. "The Bergenholm is developing a meter–jump that I don't like a little bit."
"Does she knock? Or even tick?" demanded Kinnison.
"Not yet," Thorndyke confessed, reluctantly.
"How big a jump?"
"Pretty near two thousandths maximum. Average a thousandth and a half."
"That's hardly a wiggle on the recorder line. Drivers run for months with bigger jumps than that."
"Yeah—drivers. But of all the troubles anybody ever had with Bergenholms, a meter–kick was never one of them, and that's what's got me guessing as to the whichness of the why. I'm not trying to scare you—yet I'm just telling you."
The machine referred to was the neutralizer of inertia, the sine qua non of interstellar speed, and it was not to be, wondered at that the slightest irregularity in its performance was to the technician a matter of grave concern. Day after day passed, however, and the huge converter continued to function, taking in and sending out its wonted torrents of power. It developed not even a tick, and the meter–jump did not grow worse. And during those days they put an inconceivable distance behind them.
During all this time their visual instruments remained blank, to all optical apparatus space was empty save for the normal tenancy of celestial bodies. From time to time something invisible or beyond the range of vision registered upon one of the electromagnet detectors, but so slow were these instruments that nothing came of their signals. In fact, by the time the warnings were recorded, the objects causing the disturbance were probably far astern.
One day, however, the Bergenholm quit—cold. There was no laboring, no knocking, no heating up, no warning at all. One instant the ship was speeding along in free flight, the next she was lying inert in space. Practically motionless, for any possible velocity built up by inert acceleration is scarcely a crawl, as free space–speeds go.
Then the whole crew labored like mad. As soon as they had the massive covers off, Thorndyke scanned the interior of the machine and turned to Kinnison. "I think we can patch her up, but it'll take quite a while. Maybe you'd be of more use in the control room—this isn't quite as safe as church, is it, lying here inert?"
"Most of the stuff is on automatic trip, but maybe I'd better keep an eye on things, at that. Let me know occasionally how you're getting along," and the Lensman went back to his controls—none too soon.
For one pirate ship was already beaming him viciously. Only the fact that his defensive armament was upon its automatic trips had saved the stolen battleship from practically instantaneous destruction. And as the surprised Lensman began to check his other instruments another spaceship flashed into being upon his other side and also went to work.
As Kinnison had already remarked more than once, Helmuth was far from being a fool, and that new and amazingly effective blanketing of his every means of communication was a problem whose solution was of paramount importance. Almost every available ship had been for days upon the fringe of that interference, observing and reporting continuously. So rapidly was it moving, however, so peculiar was its apparent shape, and so contradictory were the directional readings obtained, that Helmuth's computers had been baffled.
Then Kinnison's Bergenholm failed and his ship went inert. In a space of minutes the location of one center of interference was known. Its coordinates were determined and half a dozen warships were ordered to rush that spot. The raider first to arrive had signaled, visually and audibly, then obtaining no response, had anchored with a tractor and had loosed his bolts. Nor would the result have been different had everyone aboard, instead of no one, been in the control room at the time of the signaling. Kinnison could have read the messages, but neither he nor anyone else then aboard the erstwhile pirate craft could have answered them in kind.
The two space–ships attacking the turncoat became three, and still the Lensman sat unworried at his board. His meters showed no dangerous overload, his noble craft was taking everything her sister–ships could send.
Then Thorndyke stepped into the room, no longer a natty officer of space. Instead, he was stripped to sweat–soaked undershirt and overalls, he was covered with grease and grime, and what of his thickly smeared face was visible was almost haggard with fatigue. lie opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut as his eye was caught by a flaring visiplate.
"Holy Mono's claws!" he exclaimed, "At us already? Why didn't you yell?"
"How much good would that have done?" Kinnison wanted to know. "Of course, if I had known that you were loafing on the job and could have snapped it up a little, I would have. But there's no particular hurry about this. It'll take at least four of them to break us down, and I was hoping you'd have us traveling before they overload us. What was on your mind?"
"I came up here—One, to tell you that we're ready to blast, Two, to suggest that you hit her easy at first, and Three, to ask if you know where there's any grease–soap. But you can cancel Two and Three. We don't want to play around with these boys much longer—they play too rough—and I ain't going to wash up until I see whether she holds together or not. Blast away—and won't those guys be surprised!"