Kinnison did so, and the trencos worked for Tregonsee as industriously as they had for Kinnison—and ate his sugar as rapturously.
"That's enough," decided the Rigellian presently. "This will finish your 'fifty kilograms' and to spare."
He then paid off his now enthusiastic helpers, with instructions to return when the sun was directly overhead, for more work and more sugar. And this time they did not complain, nor did they loiter around or bring in unwanted vegetation. They were learning fast.
Well before noon the last kilogram of impalpable, purplish blue powder was put into its impermeable sack. The machinery was cleaned, and untouched leaves, the waste, and the contaminated sir were blown out of the space–port, and the room and its occupants were sprayed with antithionite. Then and only then did the crew remove their masks and air–filters. Trench Space–port was again a Patrol post, no longer a zwilnik's paradise.
"Thanks, Tregonsee and all you fellows…" Kinnison paused, then went on, dubiously, "I don't suppose that you will…
"We will not," declared Tregonsee. "Our time is yours, as you know, without payment, and time is all that we gave you, really."
"Sure—that and a thousand million credits' worth of thionite."
"That, of course, does not count, as you also know. You have helped us, I think, even more than we have helped you."
"I hope I've done you some good, anyway. Well, I've got to flit. Thanks again—I'll see you again sometime, maybe," and again the Tellurian Lensman was on his way.
24: Kinnison Bores From Within
Kinnison approached star cluster ac 257–4736 warily, as before, and as before he insinuated his speedster through the loose outer cordon of guardian fortresses. This time, however, he did not steer even remotely near Helmuth's world. He would be there too long—there was altogether too much risk of electromagnetic detection to set his ship into any kind of an orbit around that planet. Instead, he had computed a long, narrow, elliptical orbit around its sun, well inside the zone guarded by the maulers. He could compute it only approximately, of course, since he did not know exactly either the masses involved or the perturbing forces, but he thought that he could find his ship again with an electro. If not, she would not be an irreplaceable loss. He set the speedster, then, into the outward leg of that orbit and took off in his new armor.
He knew that there was a thought–screen around Helmuth's planet, and suspected that there might be other screens as well. Therefore, shutting off every watt of power, he dropped straight down into the night side, almost halfway around the planet from Grand Base. His flares were of course heavily baffled, but even so he did not put on his brakes until it was absolutely necessary. He landed heavily, then sprang away in long, free hops, until he reached his previously– selected destination, a great cavern thickly shielded with iron ore and within working range of his Objective. Deep within the cavern he hid himself, then searched intently for any sign that his approach had been observed. There was no such sign—so far, so good.
But during his search he had perceived with a slight shock that Helmuth had tightened his defenses even more. Not only was every man in the dome screened against thought but also each was now wearing full armor. Had he protected the dogs, too? Or killed them? No real matter if he had—any kind of a pet animal would do, or, in a pinch, even a wild rock–lizard l Nevertheless he shot his perception into the particular barracks he had noted so long before, and found with some relief that the dogs were still there, and that they were still unprotected. It had not occurred, even to Helmuth's cautious mind, that a dog could be a source of mental danger.
With all due precaution against getting even a single grain of the stuff into his own system, Kinnison transferred his thionite into the special container in which it was to be used. Another day sufficed to observe and to memorize the personnel of the gateway observers, their positions, and the sequence in which they took the boards. Then the Lensman, still almost a week ahead of schedule, settled down to wait the time when he should make his next move. Nor was this waiting unduly irksome, now that everything was ready he could be as patient as a cat on duty at a mousehole.
The time came to act. Kinnison took over the mind of the dog, which at once moved over to the bunk in which one particular observer lay asleep. There would be no chance whatever of gaining control of any observer while he was actually on the board, but here in barracks it was almost ridiculously easy. The dog crept along on soundless paws—a long, slim nose reached out and up—sharp teeth closed delicately upon a battery lead—out came the plug. The thought–screen went down, and instantly Kinnison was in charge of the fellow's mind.
And when that observer went on duty his first act was to let Kimball Kinnison, Gray Lensman, into Boskone's Grand Basel Low and fast Kinnison flew, while the observer so placed his body as to shield from any chance passer–by the all too revealing surface of his visiplate. In a few minutes the Lensman reached a portal of the dome itself. That door also opened—and closed behind him. Ire released the mind of the observer and watched briefly. Nothing happened. All was still well!
Then, in every barracks save one using whatever came to hand in the way of dog or other unshielded animal, Kinnison wrought briefly but effectively. He did not slay by mental force—he did not have enough of that to spare —but the mere turn of an inconspicuous valve would do just as well. Some of those now idle men would probably live to answer Helmuth's call to extra duty, but not too many—nor would those who obeyed that summons live long thereafter.
Down stairway after stairway he dove, down to the compartment in which was housed the great air–purifier. Now let them come! Even if they had a spy–ray on him now it would be too late to do them a bit of good. And now, by Mono's golden gills, that fleet had better be out there, getting ready to blast!
It was. From all over the galaxy Grand Fleet had come, every Patrol base had been stripped of almost everything mobile that could throw a beam. Every vessel carried either a Lensman or some other highly trusted officer, and each such officer had two detector nullifiers—one upon his person, the other in his locker—either of which would protect his whole ship from detection.
In long lines, singly and at intervals, those untold thousands of ships had crept between the vessels guarding Grand Base. Nor were the outpost crews to blame. They had been on duty for months, and not even an asteroid had relieved the monotony. Nothing had happened or would. They watched their plates steadily enough—and, if they did nothing more, why should they have? And what could they have done? How could they suspect that such a thing as a detector nullifier had been invented?
The Patrol's Grand Fleet, then, was already massing over its primary objectives, each vessel in a rigidly assigned position. The pilots, captains, and navigators were chatting among themselves, jerkily and in low tones, as though even to raise their voices might reveal prematurely to the enemy the concentration of the Patrol forces. The firing officers were already at their boards, eyeing hungrily the small switches which they could not throw for so many long minutes yet.
And far below, beside the pirates' air–purifier, Kinnison released the locking toggles of his armor and leaped out. To burn a hole in the primary duct took only a second. To drop into that duct his container of thionite, to drench that container with the reagent which would in sixty seconds dissolve completely the container's substance without affecting either its contents or the metal of the duct, to slap a flexible adhesive patch over the hole in the duct, and to leap back into his armor, all these things required only a trifle over one minute. Eleven minutes to go—QX.