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completely.
Won't know definitely, though, until after they catch the ship, and that won't
be for ten
minutes yet. We'll be landed by then."
A world now loomed beneath them, a pleasant, Earthly-appearing world of
scattered clouds, green forests, rolling plains, wooded and snow-capped
mountain-
ranges, and rolling oceans. Here and there were to be seen what looked like
cities, but
Kinnison gave them a wide berth, electing to land upon an open meadow in the
shelter
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of a black and glassy cliff.
"Ah, just in time, they're beginning to talk," Kinnison announced.
"Unimportant
stuff yet, opening the ship and so on. I'll relay the talk as nearly verbatim
as possible
when it gets interesting." He fell silent, then went on in a singsong tone, as
though he
were reciting from memory, which in effect he was.
"'Captains of ships PQ263 and EQ69B47 calling Helmuth! We have stopped
and
have boarded the F47U596. Everything is in order and as deduced and reported
by
your observers. Everyone aboard is dead. They did. not all die at the same
time, but
they all died from the effects of the collision. There is no trace of outside
interference
and all the personnel are accounted for.'
"'Helmuth, speaking for Boskone. Your report is inconclusive. Search the
ship
minutely for tracks, prints, scratches. Note any missing supplies or misplaced
items of
equipment. Study carefully all mechanisms, particularly converters and
communicators,
for signs of tampering or dismantling.'
"Whew!" whistled Kinnison. "They'll find where you took that communicator
apart,
Bus, just as sure as hell's a mantrap I"
"No, they won't," declared vanBuskirk as positively. "I did it with
rubber-nosed
Pliers, and if I left a scratch or a scar or a print on it I'll eat it, tubes
and all!"
A pause.
"'We have studied everything most carefully, Oh Helmuth, and find no
trace of
tampering or visit'
"Helmuth again. `Your report is still inconclusive. Whoever did what has
been
done is probably a Lensman, and certainly has brains. Give me the present
recorded
serial number of all port openings, and the exact number of times you have
opened
each port.'
"Ouch!" groaned Kinnison. "If that means what I think it does, all hell's
out for
noon. Did you see any numbering recorders on those ports? I didn't -- of
course neither
of us thought of such a thing. Hold it -- here comes some more stuff.
" `Port-opening recorder serial numbers are as follows' . . . don't mean
a thing to
us . . . . . `we have opened the emergency inlet port once and the starboard
main lock
twice. No other port at all.'
"And here's Helmuth again. `Ah, as I thought. The emergency port was
opened
once by outsiders, and the starboard cargo port twice. The Lensman came
aboard,
headed the ship toward Sol, took his lifeboat aboard, listened to us, and
departed at his
leisure. And this in the very midst of our fleet, the entire personnel of
which was
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supposed to be looking for him! How supposedly intelligent spacemen could be
guilty of
such utter and indefensible stupidity . . . . ' He's tellin' 'em plenty, Bus,
but there's no
use repeating it. The tone can't be reproduced, and it's simply taking the
hide right off
their backs . . . . here's some more . . . . . 'General broadcast! Ship
F47U596 in its
supposedly derelict condition flew from the point of destruction of the Patrol
ship, on
course . . . . . ' No use quoting, Bus, he's simply giving directions for
scouring our whole
line of flight . . . . . Fading out -- they're going on, or back. This outfit,
of course, is good
for only the closest 'kind of close-up work."
"And we're out of the frying pan into the fire, huh?"
"Oh, no, we're a lot better off than we were. We're on a planet and not
using any
power they can trace. Also, they've got to cover so much territory that they
can't comb it
very fine, and that gives the rest of the fellows a break. Furthermore . . . .
. ."
A crushing weight descended upon his back, and the Patrolmen found
themselves fighting for their lives. From the bare, supposedly evidently safe
rack face of
the cliff there had emerged rope-tentacled monstrosities in a ravenously
attacking
swarm. In the savage blasts of DeLameters hundreds of the gargoyle horde
vanished in
vivid flares of radiance, but on they came, by thousands and, it seemed, by
millions.
Eventually the batteries energizing the projectors became exhausted. Then
flailing coil
met shearing steel, fierce-driven parrot beaks clanged against space-tempered
armor,
bulbous heads pulped under hard-swung axes, but not for the fractional second
necessary for inertialess flight could the two win clear. Then Kinnison sent
out his SOS.
"A Lensman calling help! A Lensman calling help!" he broadcast with the
full
power of mind and Lens, and Immediately a sharp, clear voice poured into his
brain.
"Coming, wearer of the Lens! Coming at speed to the cliff of the Catlats.
Hold
until I come! I arrive in thirty. . . ."
Thirty what? What possible intelligible relative measure of that unknown
and
unknowable concept, Time, can be conveyed by thought alone?
"Keep slugging, Bus !" Kinnison panted. "Help is on the way. A local cop
-- voice
sounds like it could be a woman -- will be here in thirty somethings. Don't
know
whether it's thirty minutes or thirty days, but we'll still be there."
"Maybe so and maybe not," grunted the Dutchman. "Something's coming
besides help. Look up and see if you see what I think I do."
Kinnison did so. Through the air from the top of the cliff there was
hurtling
downward toward them a veritable dragon, a nightmare's horror of hideously
reptilian
head, of leathern wings, of viciously fanged jaws, of frightfully taloned
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feet, of multiple
knotty arms, of long, sinuous, heavily-scaled serpent's body. In fleeting
glimpses
through the writhing tentacles of his opponents Kinnison perceived little by
little the full
picture of that unbelievable Monstrosity, and, accustomed as he was to the
outlandish
denizens of worlds scarcely known to man, his very senses reeled.
CHAPTER 5
Worsel to the Rescue
As the quasi-reptilian organism descended the cliff-dwellers went mad. Their
attack
upon the two Patrolmen, already vicious, became insanely frantic. Abandoning
the
gigantic Dutchman entirely, every Catlat within reach threw himself upon
Kinnison and
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