"What you're suffering from is the shattering of your basic faith in the solidity of solid ground," remarked Billy. "Well, the project will land upside down, and we'll take hold tight with the anchor-projectors. Long enough, at least, to scrape a sample off of Eureka, here, to take back and analyze."
"If this whole space is made of the same stuff, I can see a minor industry springing up, gathering metal and stuff for gravity-proof gadgets."
"Wonder—probably good for something. Well, we're as close as we can go, all of us standing with our heads pointing at the planet and held to the floor of our project by centrifugal force caused by the planet's rotation. We won't stay long. None of us can stand the mental strain of looking out of the window and seeing solid ground a few feet above our heads and a million million miles of sky to fall down into if we step out of the door.Brrrrr."
"Close the sun proof shutters and don't look," suggested Billy. "I'm taking a nice large bromide to chill off a few screaming nerves and then I am going out and take me a shovelful of that dirt and rock up there. Gosh, it's going to feel funny diggingdownsomething that wants to rise. Let's make it quick."
Billy emerged from the lock completely clad in spacesuit. He took air samples, and then, with the catch-knob between his shoulder blades firmly in the focal sphere of a tractor-pressor beam, Billy was shoved up to the surface of the planet. Reaching up over his head, Billy pulled down a few stones and dropped them upward into the bucket he held inverted. They fell upward to the surface of the planet, and the bucket was held by their weight.
They never did know whether there were any Eurekans, but if there were, and the Terrans were watched, it was a strange sight they saw. A sixty-foot rectangular building of steel, one story high, resting upside down with the planet-side to the sky. Projectors dug into the ground, pulled by the anchoring tractors that pulled the upside-down building even tighter to their planet.
From a spacedoor, a pale green beam was fastened to the knob on the creature's back. He was head down, suspended on the beam, and carrying a bucket that must have been filled with antigravity material for the bail was free and the bucket actually hung upward!
The creature was lowered, still head down, to the surface of Eureka. He reached down below his head and lifted a few stones, dropping them into the bucket, which he held right-side up. Naturally the bucket dropped properly enough to the ground.
Working by digging down, Billy filled the bucket and was returned down to the door.
"Cut 'em!" he said hoarsely.
They cut the anchors and the project was thrown from the surface of Eureka by centrifugal force. And as they left Eureka, and headed for the Sun, they held a council and decided that another attempt—blind though it would be—to warp space would be in order.
XX.
"Get every recording gadget we've got on the thing," said Billy. "Maybe we can find out something that will give us a directional trend. And anybody who thinks he won't be struck by lightning if he makes a prayer, go to it. We could use a bit of Divine Assistance."
The detectors were set up and the recorders started. The tripod of anchors set themselves in the star's core. The solar intake beams worked well and the torrents of power increased as the automatic control slid up the scale.
"The stuff may be different," observed Hendricks, "but we can still get power from their stars."
"Darned good thing, too," said Thompson. "I don't know how else we'd swing it."
Again came that feeling of wrenching. And it increased as before.
"Does it feel left-handed or right-handed?" asked Lane nervously.
"I don't know and if I did I wouldn't remember which way it was the last time," grumbled Downing.
And then the warp formed, and there was the impression, just before it snapped-quick, that the stars in that universe were flowing like spots on a watery surface.
And they emerged into a space completely devoid of anything. Not a star, not a speckle in the complete sphere of utter blackness.
"Obviously went the other way again," grunted Lane.
Jack Rhodes looked up from his calculations. "We had a fifty-fifty chance, according to the Law of Probabilities. But tossing one head does not make the next toss any better than fifty-fifty chance for tails. In fact," mused Rhodes, "tossing a hundred coins may bring you forty heads and sixty tails—plus or minus ten percent of the true chance. Tossing a thousand coins may give you four hundred seventy against five hundred thirty—a three percent error. But though the latter is more to the true division, the numerical deviation from zero is only ten in the first case but thirty in the second."
"I hate mathematicians," grunted Downing. "They're all pessimists. So the longer we try the more distant we get, huh?"
"Unless we can get something to upset the Law of Probability."
"And," added Hendricks sourly, "something to pull against. This universe is completely devoid of anything material."
"Let's put that as a matter of our being able to detect it at present. It might be teeming with suns indigenous to this universe and completely invisible to us."
"We're wasting time," said Thompson. "What's with the detectors and recorders?"
"About the only thing I can determine from here is a definite lengthening of the wave length that the puller-sphere propagates on."
"Huh?" asked Billy.
"Definitely."
"When did it lengthen?"
"Its wave length increased on an exponential curve to the time of warp—"
"Well, now we know—I think—how to get back."
"How?"
"Instead of pulling, we'll push."
Hendricks shook his head. "I think I get you, but I'm not too certain. Has to do with the wave length-propagation factor, hasn't it?"
"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."
"An agreement? What agreement can we possibly reach? Tlembo has devoted her life to the job of stopping the Loard-vogh. Terra, when she had victory within her power, threw it away."
"I have come to tell you that Tlembo has failed in her mission in life. That Tlembo will always fail. That Tlembo will be better off if she recognizes that fact and accepts the inevitable."
"Get out!" snapped Indan Ko. "You dare to force yourself into my presence and insult me!"
"Before you make any rash motions," said Billy calmly, "such as having me shot on sight—yes, I perceive the modine-ports in the walls—I wish to warn you and all of Tlembo that primates are gregarious and resent the destruction of one of their band. Kill me and Terra will descend in all of her power. We, who you claim could have been victorious over the Loard-vogh will find little difficulty in wiping Tlembo right out of the universe itself!"
"Providing that you have the support of your fellows—those whom your defeatist practice must have betrayed. Will those you failed now come to your rescue?"
"Hotang Lu is quite familiar with the Terran action," said Billy. "Did he report one single cry—from any Terran—for me to order retaliation?"
"You claim that the entire Solar Sector was in agreement with your surrender-policy?"
"I do."
"Then I understand our defeat. Terra has not the honor nor the willingness to fight for the freedom that is her right."
"Terra retains her integrity."
"At the will of a conquering race."
"We are leaving the subject," said Billy. "I made a statement to the fact that Tlembo has failed and will never be able to do otherwise. You are the one that can not face facts, Indan Ko."
"We shall fight to the last."
"To the last gullible alien," snapped Thompson. "Indan Ko, how can you possibly delude yourself into the belief that you will some day be victorious?"
"Because it is our belief that slavery and conquest are evil. And I define 'evil' as any factor working against the advance of civilization."
"Can you view both sides of a personal question dispassionately?
"I have that belief."
"Then view the Loard-vogh dispassionately. Civilization throughout the Galaxy will be nothing unless the worlds are united. Stellar empires, discreet and belligerent, will result in chaos. Sectors such as Terra controlled would be embattled against sectors such as Sscantoo controls, and there would be a never-ending flurry of pacts and agreements and aggressions between one sector and others, against still others. That is chaos, Indan Ko."
"Perhaps you are right. But is the right to rule because of might a proper answer?"
"No. It is not. But I want you to understand that the Loard-vogh mental strategy is entirely selfish. The only thing that kept the Loard-vogh from sweeping through the Galaxy five thousand years ago, or next year, is the fact that they cannot conquer and hold any system until there are enough of them to control it. They expand through the Galaxy in direct proportion to their birth rate. Since they enslave those systems conquered, and become high lords of creation in their conquered territory, there is nothing for them to do except procreate. The factors that inhibit racial expansion on any democratic world are numerous, but most of them stem from financial insecurity. Since the Loard-vogh have no financial insecurity, and a family with a horde of children are as well educated, well fed, and well clothed as a family with none, why not? Especially when there are slaves to tend and care, feed and provide. The system has its advantages, Indan Ko, which I am pointing out to you. Its disadvantages are also there, too. Those we know. They include lack of personal responsibility and a complete and utter disregard of the rights of another race to live as it wishes to live."
"Granted. But where is this leading us?"
"Merely to the acceptance of the statement that the Galaxy must be united. The Loard-vogh are uniting the Galaxy, and as such are doing the right thing. They are going about it in a rough-shod manner, but it is far swifter than the treaty-join-and-wrangle method. The Galaxy must be united!"
"Go on. I accept that but reject the Loard-vogh as racial saviors."
"My visit with you, Indan Ko, is to impress upon your mind that you are doing harm to the Galaxy."
"A matter of opinion," snapped the little man.
"Perhaps. You've heard my statements to Hotang Lu. Were it not for Tlembo, we would have lived in cheerful ignorance for another three thousand years. Now, because of you, we are awakened, with terrific responsibility, and must forever work like slaves to maintain that which we did not need before. You will continue, you swear. That means that Tlembo will go back and forth through the Galaxy, always hiding, always keeping ahead of the Loard-vogh conquested areas, and always seeking a race of ability, power, and freedom. Again and again you will find them. And again and again you will set them to fighting the Loard-vogh. And yet, to the Loard-vogh, you are nothing more than a gnat, whipping madly about the ears of a mastodon. Annoying but far from dangerous. How do you hope to win with such a plan?"
"We will find a race with sufficient power—"
"And when that race has the sufficient intelligence, that same race will understand the true worth of conquest. Terra was no real menace."
"The Loard-vogh thought so."
"The Loard-vogh were ignorant of our intellect. And," smiled the Terran cheerfully, "they were forced to collect us. Terra, in a long-time fight, could have beaten them."
XXII.
Indan Ko scowled and thought for a moment. This huge Terran that crowded his palace like a giant in a doll's house was not making sense.
"I do not understand."
"Terra is known as the Planet of Terror," said Billy, "because of the evolutionary system caused by the hard radiation in that district. You have seen the viciousness of our fungus, our micro-organisms, of our life itself. Could the Loard-vogh stand up against a bombardment, planet by planet, of fungus-spores so tenacious that they grow on synthetic resins? Stellor Downing held a Sscantovian guinea pig in one hand for a moment and it died a most horrible death within minutes because of fungi that were innocuous to him. In my ship there is a slab of rare cheese. Delicious stuff, and what Terrans call 'quite high' because it is growing a full beard of mold. Could you—or the Loard-vogh—spread it on a slice of bread and eat it with impunity?"
"Definitely not."
"Seventeen million of the Loard-vogh died in the Battle of Sol, and more than half of them perished because Terran spores crept into chinks in their space armor. Chinks so small that they do not permit loss of air in space.
"You see, Indan Ko, the fear of Terra that drove the Loard-vogh frantic was because they thought that Terra would send out myriad after myriad of tiny spacecraft, loaded to the bomb bay doors with minute spore bombs. That we could have done. But we did not."
"That was your secret weapon?"
Billy shook his head. "Terra's secret weapon is her ability to grasp opportunity. Which brings me to the point of this interview. The Loard-vogh have a twenty-thousand year plan of conquest. No race can hope to stop them alone. No race in the course of a year, a hundred years, or even a thousand years could hope to defeat them alone."
"Terra could."
"That is not defeat. That is extermination."
"The Loard-vogh should be exterminated!" thundered Indan Ko. The little man's thunder was slightly high-pitched to the Terran and not at all awe-inspiring. Billy merely smiled.
"It is not for any race to render sterile of life one quarter of the Galaxy. Extermination is not victory. War by proper definition is a measure used to impose your will upon a non-co-operative government. Even the Loard-vogh understand that a dead slave is no good. Extermination may beyourwill, Tlemban, but you will fail in your conquest. Therefore I ask that you use intelligence. Stop lashing out like a hurt child. Stop shooting at the cliffs of living rock. The way to win is to husband your strength. Roll with the punches. Take them easy. Wait until you are set, and see the proper opening, and then drive forward. Collect allies in your stride, and play the double-game. Use your diplomatic ability."
"You plan a long-time retaliation?"
"Our plans are nebulous at present. Terra fought for one thing alone, and that was to gain the respect of a race that has only contempt for those that bow their heads willingly. Had we invited them in instead of fighting, they would have suspected foul play. We fought hard enough to convince them that we meant business. After all, our planetary heritage is such that we would be out of character if we gave in without a fight. Ergo we fought.
"Tlembo," went on Billy quietly, "has been frantic so long that she has lost perspective. That I claim, and it is deplorable, but not so damaging as to lose hope of repairing. Tlembo has been nicked again and again in her effort to find a savior. Her continued defeats have made her bitter, and ever more determined to win via the crushing defeat route. Consider this, Indan Ko, and then tell me if you think you are right in continuing to bring minor factors to bear against the Loard-vogh."
"And what would you suggest that we do?"
"Go to Vorgan. Ask immunity and audience. Vorgan is not without honor. He will respect your request for immunity. Then tell Vorgan that you fear the strength of his fighting forces, and that you will cease your constant effort to undermine the Loard-vogh. Tell him that Tlembo has certain factors that will enhance the Loard-vogh culture—you and he know what they are, as I do—and offer him those factors in exchange for Tlemban integrity."
"I dislike it."
"Naturally. But look, Indan Ko. You will be taxed terribly. You will be forced into handing over a certain percentage of your wealth. You will work for them, and for little remuneration. Yet your hardships will actually be less than the cost of fighting them. Now you must maintain a fleet, arm your cities against invasion, and always prepare for war. If you submit to the Loard-vogh banner you will be protected by the Loard-vogh, and may Heaven help any race that attacks Tlembo? The income you spend in being a nominal slave will be less than the amount spent in being an armed free-world."
"And eventual conquest?"
"Console yourselves with the certain knowledge that your hardships will all be avenged sometime. Not in your life, perhaps, but in the time of your descendants. Submit to their hard, exacting rules in outward abjection, but keep your mind forever on the future, when it will no longer prevail. And as you go, and as you find other races that are suitable, send their representatives to Terra. Terra will be the master-control of the anti-Loard-vogh combine."
"I shall think it over and discuss it with the Tlemban council. But what of Sscantoo?"
"Linzete must understand, also."
"But Hotang Lu is there now."
"What! Filling Linzete full of the theory of bombing the Loard-vogh with Solar spores?"
Indan Ko nodded.
"Then I must go—and quickly!"
"Your trip will take months," objected Indan Ko. "Meanwhile, Linzete may set his machinery in operation."
"Contact him," said Billy. "And have him smooth it down a bit. My trip will not take months. I'll be there in days."
"Days!"
"Yes. We have a new mode of space travel. It will be yours as soon as you decide to join the Loard-vogh—"
"Terran, it sounds as though you were helping them."
"Naturally it does. Until we are ready to strike, we must aid them completely—and always remember that what we find and give them we will have ourselves. No single weapon won a war, Indan Ko. But if we can match them man for man, we will win because our wits are sharper. Now I must waste no time in getting to Sscantoo."
Billy's exodus from the Tlemban capitol building was more arduous than his entry. This time he was in a hurry, and moving swiftly through corridors too small for him, brushing doll-sized furniture with his mass, and crushing not a few of the smaller and more fragile pieces in his haste—to say nothing of squeezing two doors from their hinges in his passage—they all hampered him. Tlembo was going to pay well for this visit.