Classic Audiobook Collection - Masters of Space by E. E. Smith ~ Full Audiobook [scifi]

Episode Date: November 23, 2022

Masters of Space by E. E. Smith audiobook. Genre: scifi In Masters of Space, a bold deep-space experiment becomes humanity's first brush with a vanished empire. Young project leader Jarvis Hilton commands Project Theta Orionis: an elite team of scientists, a hard-edged naval crew, and the warship Perseus, all tasked with pushing beyond known space and answering questions no one on Earth can even frame yet. Tensions simmer from the start as Hilton must prove he can lead seasoned officers, keep a volatile mission on schedule, and hold his team together when the unknown stops being theoretical. Then the Perseus is forced out of faster-than-light travel by an eerie, skeletal object drifting in the void, and the expedition stumbles onto signs of an impossible conflict fought on a scale that dwarfs human imagination. Their next discovery is even stranger: a world rich in dangerous radioactive fuel ore, inhabited by humanoid robots who greet the newcomers not as trespassers, but as returning masters. As clues accumulate about the long-lost Masters and an ancient Enemy of All, Hilton faces a choice between caution and revelation, knowing either path could reshape humanity's place in the galaxy. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:12:07) Chapter 02 (00:39:24) Chapter 03 (01:31:32) Chapter 04 (01:50:09) Chapter 05 (02:19:56) Chapter 06 (02:40:38) Chapter 07 (03:09:03) Chapter 08 (03:35:43) Chapter 09 (04:01:22) Chapter 10 (04:25:18) Chapter 11 (04:55:29) Chapter 12 (05:22:42) Chapter 13 (05:41:32) Chapter 14 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Masters of Space Chapter 1 But didn't you feel anything, Javo? Strain was apparent in every line of Tula's taught, bare body. Nothing at all? Nothing whatever. The one called Javo relaxed from his rigid concentration. Nothing has changed, nor will it.

That conclusion is indefensible, Tula snapped. With the promised return of the masters, There must and will be changes. Didn't any of you feel anything?' Her hot, demanding eyes swept the group. A group whose like, except for physical perfection, could be found in any nudist colony. No one except Tula had felt a thing.

"'That fact is not too surprising,' Javo said finally. "'You have the most sensitive receptors of us all. But are you sure?' I am sure. It was the thought form of a living master. Do you think that the master perceived your web? It is certain. Those who built us are stronger than we.

That is true. As they promised then, so long and long ago, our masters are returning home to us. Jarvis Hilton of Terra, the youngest man yet to be assigned to direct any such tremendous deep space undertaking as Project Theta Orionus, sat in conference with his two seconds in command. Assistant Director Sandra Cummings,

analyst, synthesis, and cementician, was tall, blonde, and svelt. Planetographer William Carnes, a black-haired, black-browed, black-eyed man of 30, was third in rank of the scientific group. I'm telling you, JARV, you can't have it both ways, Carnes declared. Captain Sautel is old-school Navy brass,

He goes strictly by the book. So you've got to draw a razor-sharp line, exactly where the advisory board's directive puts it. And next time he sticks his ugly puss across that line, kick his face in. You've been Casper Milk-toast, too, ever since we left base. That's the way it looks to you. Hilton's right hand became a fist.

The man has age, experience, and ability. I've been trying to meet him on a ground of courtesy and decency. Exactly. and he doesn't recognize the existence of either. And since the board rammed you down his throat, instead of giving him old Jeffers, you needn't expect him to. You may be right, Bill. What do you think, Dr. Cummings?' The girl said,

Bill's right. Also, your constant appeasement isn't doing the morale of the whole scientific group a bit of good. Well, I haven't enjoyed it either, so next time I'll pin his ears back. Anything else? Yes, Dr. Hilton, I have a squawk of my own. I know I was rammed down your throat, but just when are you going to let me do some work? None of us has much of anything to do yet, and won't have until we light somewhere.

You're off base a country mile. I'm not off base. You did want Eggleston, not me. Sure I did. I've worked with him and know what he can do, but I'm not holding a grudge about it. No. Why then are you on my own? first-name terms with everyone in the scientific group except me? Supposedly your first assistant. That's easy, Hilton snapped, because you've been carrying chips on both shoulders ever since you came aboard, or at least I thought you were.

Hilton grinned suddenly and held out his hand. Sorry, Sandy, I'll start all over again. I'm sorry, too, Chief. They shook hands warmly. I was pretty stiff, I guess, but I'll be good. You'll go to work right now, too, as cementician. Dig out that directive and tear it down. Draw that line Bill talked about.

Can do, boss. She swung to her feet and walked out of the room, her every movement, one of life and easy grace. Carnes followed her with his eyes. Funny, a trained dancer PhD, and a Miss America type, like all the other women aboard this spacer. I wonder if she'll make out. So do I. I still wish they'd given me Eggie. I've never seen an executive-type female Ph.D.

yet that was worth the cyanide it would take to poison her. That's what Saltele thinks of you, too, you know. I know, and the board does know its stuff. So I'm really hoping, Bill, that she surprises me as much as I intend to surprise the Navy. Alarm bells clanged as the mighty Perseus blinked out of overdrive. Every crewman sprang to his post. Mr. Snowden, why did we emerge without orders from me? Captain Sautel bellowed, storming into the control room three jumps behind Hilton. The automatics took control, sir, he said quietly. Autematics, I give the orders. In this case, Captain Sautel, you don't, Hilton said. Eyes locked and held. To Sautel, this was a new and strange co-commander.

I would suggest that we discuss this matter in private. Very well, sir, Sautel said, and in the captain's cabin, Hilton opened up. For your information, Captain Sautel, I set my interspace coupling detectors for any objective I choose. When any one of them reacts, it trips the kickers and we emerge. During any emergency outside the solar system, I am in command, with provision that I must relinquish command to you in case of armed attack on us. us. Where do you think you found any such stuff as that in the directive? It isn't there, and I know my rights. It is, and you don't. Here is a semantic chart of the whole directive.

As you will note, it overrides many Navy regulations. Disobedience of my orders constitutes mutiny, and I can and will have you put in irons and sent back to Terra for court-martial. Now, let's go back. In the control room, he'll Hilton said, "'The target has a mass of approximately 500 metric tons. There is also a significant amount of radiation characteristic of urine excite. You will please execute search, Captain Sautel.' And Captain Sautel ordered the search.

"'What did you do to the big jerk, boss?' Sandra whispered. "'What you and Bill suggested?' Hilton whispered back. "'Thanks to your analysis of the directive, pure gobbledy-gook if ever there was any, I could. Mighty good job, Sandy. Ten or fifteen more minutes passed. Then... Here's the source of radiation, sir, a searchman reported. It's a point source, though, not an object at this range. And here's the artifact, sir, pilot Snowden said. We're coming up on it fast. But... But what's a skyscraper skeleton doing out here in interstellar space? As they

closed up. Everyone could see that the thing did indeed look like the metallic skeleton of a great building. It was a huge cube, measuring well over a hundred yards along each edge. And it was empty. That's one for the book, Sautel said. And how? Hilton agreed. I'll take a boat. No, suits would be better. Carnes, Yarboreau, get tax leads and miller and suit up. You'll need a boat escort, Sautel said. Mr. Ashley, execute escort landing craft one, two, and three. The three landing craft approached that enigmatic latticework of structural steel and stopped. Five grotesquely armored figures wafted themselves forward on pencils of force. Their leader, whose suit bore the number 14, reached a mammoth girder and worked his way along

it up to a peculiar-looking bulge. The whole immense structure vanished, leaving men and boats in empty space. Sautel gasped. Snowden, are you holding them? No, sir. Faster than light. Hyperspace, sir. Mr. Ashby, did you have your interspace rig set? No, sir. I didn't think of it, sir. Dr. Cummings, why weren't yours out? I didn't think of such a thing either, any more than you did, Sandra said. Ashby, the communications officer, had been working the radio. No reply from anyone, sir. He reported. "'Oh, no!' Sandra exclaimed.

"'But then, look, they're firing pistols, especially the one wearing number 14. But pistols?' "'Recoil pistols, sixty-threes, for emergency use in case of power failure,' Ashby explained. "'That's it. But I can't see why all their power went out at once. But fourteen, that's Hilton, is really doing a job with that 63. he'll be here in a couple of minutes.

And he was. Every power unit out there, suits and boats both, drained, Hilton reported, completely drained. Get some help out there fast. In an enormous structure deep below the surface of a far distant world, a group of technicians clustered together in front of one section of a two-mile-long control board. They were staring at a light that had just appeared where no light should have been. "'Someone's brain pen will be burned out for this.'

One of the group radiated harshly. "'That unit was inactivated long ago and has not been reactivated.' "'Someone committed an error, your loftiness. "'Silence, fool. Stretz do not commit errors!' As soon as it was clear that no one had been injured, Saw Tell demanded, "'How about it, Hilton?' Structurally, it was high alloy steel.

There were many bulges. possibly containing mechanisms. There were drive units of a non-Taron type. There were many projectors, which, at a rough guess, were a hundred times as powerful as any I have ever seen before. There were no indications that the thing had ever been enclosed, in whole or in part. It certainly never had living quarters for warm-blooded,

oxygen-breathing eaters of organic food. Sawtell snorted. You mean it never had a crew? Not necessarily. Bah! What other kind of intelligent life is there? I don't know. But before we speculate too much,

let's look at the Tri-D. The camera may have caught something I missed. It hadn't. The three-dimensional pictures added nothing. It probably was operated either by programmed automatics or by remote control, Hilton decided finally. But how did they drain all our power?

And just as bad, what and how is that other point source of power we're heading for now? What's wrong with it, Saltel asked. It's strength. No matter what distance or reactant, I assume, nothing we know will fit. Neither fission nor fusion will do it. It has to be practically total conversion. End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

Of Masters of Space. By E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans. This Librovoc's recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space Chapter 2 The Perseus snapped out of overdrive near the point of interest, and Hilton stared, motionless and silent. Space was full of madly warring ships. Half of them were bare, giant skeletons of steel, like the derelict that had so unexpectedly

blasted away from them. The others were more or less like the Perseus, except in being bigger, faster, and of vastly greater power. Beams of starkly incredible power bid at and clung to equally capable defensive screens of pure force. As these inconceivable forces met, the glare of their neutralization filled all nearby space, and ships and skeletons alike were disappearing in chunks, blobs, gouts, streamers, and sparkles of rended, fused and vaporized metal.

Hilton watched two ships combine against one skeleton. Dozens of beams, incredibly tight and hard, were held inexorably upon dozens of the bulges of the skeleton. Overloaded, the bulge's screens flared through the spectrum and failed, and bare metal, however refractory, endures only for instance under the appalling intensity of such beams as those. The skeletons tried to duplicate the ship's method of attack, but failed. They were too slow.

Not slow exactly either, but hesitant, as though it required whole seconds for the commander, or operator, or remote controller, of each skeleton to make it act. The ships were winning. Hey, Hilton yelped, Oh, that's the one we saw back there. But what in all space does it think it's doing? It was plunging at tremendous speed

straight through the immense fleet of embattled skeletons. It did not fire a beam, nor energize a screen. It merely plunged along as though on a plotted course until it collided with one of the skeletons of the fleet and both structures plunged, a tangled mass of wreckage to the ground of the planet below. Then hundreds of the ships shot forward, each to plunge into and explode inside one of the skeletons. When visibility was restored, another wave of ships came forward to repeat the performance, but there was nothing left to fight. Every survivor skeleton had blinked out of normal space. The remaining ships made no effort to pursue the

skeletons, nor did they reform as a fleet. Each ship went off by itself. And on that distant planet of the Struts, the group of mecks watched with amazed disbelief as light after light winked out on their two-mile-long control board. Frantically, they relayed orders to the skeletons, orders which did not affect the losses. "'Brain-pans will blacken for this!' a mental snarl began to be interrupted by a coldly imperious thought. That long-dead unit, so inexplicably reactivated, is approaching the fuel world. It is ignoring the battle. It is heading through our fleet toward the omen half. Handle it, ten eighteen. It does not respond your loftiness. "'Then blast it, fool!' Ah, it is inactivated.

as encyclopedist nine explain the freakish behavior of that unit. Yes, your loftiness. Many cycles ago, we sent a ship against the omens with a new device of destruction. The omens must have intercepted it, drained it of power, and allowed it to drift on. After all these cycles of time, it must have come upon a small source of power and, of course, continued its mission. That can be the truth. the lords of the universe must be informed. The mining units, the carriers and the refiners have not been affected your loftiness.

A mec radiated. So I see, fool. Then, activating another instrument, his loftiness thought at it, in an entirely different vein. Lord Enos, madam, I have to make a very grave report. In the Perseus, four scientists and three Navy officers were arguing he, implying deep space verbiage not to be found in any dictionary. "'Jarve!' Carnes called out, and Hilton joined the group. "'Does anything about this planet make any sense to you?'

"'No, but you're the planetographer. Smatter with it. It's a good 300 degrees Kelvin too hot!' "'Well, you know it's loaded with your nexite. That much? The whole crust practically jewelry ore?' If that's what the figures say, I'll buy it. Buy this, then. Continuous daylight everywhere. Noon, June, all quality light, except that it's all in the visible. Frank says it's from bombardment of a layer of something, and Frank admits that the whole thing's impossible. When Frank makes up his mind what something is, I'll take it as a datum.

Third thing, there's only one city on this continent, and it's protected by a screen that nobody ever heard of." Hilton pondered, then turned to the captain. "'Will you please run a search pattern, sir? Find toothing only the hot spots?' The planet was approximately the same size as Terra. Its atmosphere, except for its intense radiation, was similar to Terra's. There were two continents, one immense skirdling ocean. The temperature of the land surface was everywhere about 100 degrees Fahrenheit, that of the water about 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Each continent had one city, and both were small. One was inhabited by what looked like human beings, the other by usiform robots. The human city was the only cool spot on the entire planet.

Under its protective dome, the temperature was 71 degrees. Hilton decided to study the robots first, and asked the captain to take the ship down to observation range. Saw Tell objected, and continued to object until Hilton started to order his arrest. Then he said, I'll do it under protest, but I want it on record that I am doing it against my best judgment. It's on record, Hilton said coldly. Everything said and done is being and will continue to be recorded. The Percy's floated downward. There's what I want most to see, Hilton said finally. That big strip mining operation. That's it. Hold it.

Then, via throat, Mike. Attention, all scientists. You all know what to do. Start doing it. Sandra's blonde head was very close to Hilton's brown one as they both stared into Hilton's plate. Why, they look like giant armadilloes, she exclaimed. More like tanks, he disagreed,

except that they've got legs, wheels, and treads, and arms, cutters, diggers, probes and conveyors. And look at the way those buckets dip solid rock. The fantastic machine was moving very slowly along a bench or shelf that it was making

for itself as it went along. Below it, to its left, dropped other benches being made by other mining machines. The machines were not using explosives. Hard though the ore was, the tools were so much harder and were driven with such tremendous power

that the stuff might just have well been slightly clayed sand. Every bit of lucend ore, down to the finest dust, was forced into a conveyor and thence into the armored body of the machine. There it went into a mechanism whose basic principles Hilton could not understand. From this monstrosity emerged two streams of product. One of these, comprising 99.9 plus percent of the input, went out through another conveyor into the vast hold of a vehicle, which, when full and replaced by a duplicate of itself, went careening madly cross-country to a dump. The other product, a slow, very small stream of tiny, glistening black pellets, fell into a one-gallon container being held watchfully by a small machine,

more or less like a three-wheeled motor scooter, which was moving carefully along beside the giant miner. When this can was almost full, another scooter rolled up, and without losing a single pellet took over place and function. The first scooter then covered its bucket, clamped it solidly into a recess designed for the purpose, and dashed away toward the city. Hilton stared slack-jawed at Sandra. She stared back. "'Do you make anything of that jarve?' "'Nothing. They're taking pure urine excite and concentrating, or converting it, a thousand to one. I hope we'll be able to do something about it. I hope so, too, Chief, and I'm sure we will.

Well, that's enough for now. You may take us up now, Captain Sautel. And Sandy, will you please call all department heads and their assistants into the conference room? At the head of the long conference table, Hilton studied his fourteen department heads, all husky young men and their assistants, all surprisingly attractive and well-built young women. Bud Carroll and Sylvia Bannister of Sociology sat together. He was almost as big as Carnes. She was a green-eyed redhead, whose 5-10 and 150 would have looked big, except for the arrangement thereof. There were Bernardine and Hermione Van der Moen,

the legy, breasty platinum-blonde twins, both of whom were cowper medalists in physics. There was Etienne de Vaux, the mathematical wizard, and Rebecca Eisenstein, the black-haired, flashing-eyed ex-infant prodigy theoretical astronomer. There was Beverly Bell, who made mathematically impossible chemical synthesis, who swam channels for days on end and computed planetary orbits in her sleekly co-feared head. First we'll have a get-together, Hilton said. Nothing recorded, just to get acquainted. You all know that our 14 departments cover science from astronomy to zoology.

He paused, again his eyes swept the group. Stella Wing, who had been a grand opera star, except for her drive to know everything about language. Theodora Teddy Blake, who had proved gleefully that she was the world's best model, but was, in fact, the most brilliantly promising theatrician who had ever lived. No other force like this has ever been assembled, Hilton went on.

In more ways than one. Sautel wanted Jeffers to, to head this group instead of me. Everybody thought he would head it. And Hilton wanted Eggleston and got me, Sandra said. That's right, and quite a few of you didn't want to come at all, but were told by the board to come or else. The group stirred, eyes met eyes, and there were smiles. I myself think Jeffers should have had the job. I've never handled anything half this big, and I'll need a lot of help, But I'm stuck with it, and you're all stuck with me. So we'll all take it and like it.

You've noticed, of course, the accent on youth. The Navy crew is normal, except for the commanders being unusually young. But we aren't. None of us is 30 yet, and none of us has ever been married. You fellows look like a team of professional athletes, and you girls, well, if I didn't know better, I'd say the board had screened you for the front row of the chorus, instead of for a top-bracket brain gang. How they found so many of you, I'll never know.

Virier men and Nubel women, Etienne Nouveau-Vos, leered enthusiastically. Vive la Borde. Nubil, bravo, tiny. Care delicatest to nuance. Three rousing cheers for the board. Keep still, you nitwits. Let me ask a question. This came from one of the twins.

before you give us the deduction, Jarvis, or will it be an intuition or an induction or an or an inducement, the other twins suggested, helpfully. Not that you would need very much of that. You keep still too, Manny. I'm asking Sir Moderator if I can give my deduction first. Sure, Bernadine, go ahead. They figured we're going to get completely lost. Then we'll jettison the Navy, hunt up a planet of our own, and start a race to end all human races? Or would you call this a sea-duction instead of a deduction? This produced a storm of whistles, cheers, and jeers, that it took several seconds to quell. But seriously, Jarvis, Bernardine went on. We've all been wondering, and it doesn't make sense.

Have you any idea at all of what the board actually did have in mind? I believe that the board selected for mental, not physical qualities, for the ability to handle anything unexpected or unusual that comes up, no matter what it is. You think it wasn't double-barreled? asked Kincaid the psychologist. He smiled quizzically. That all this virility and nobility and glamour is pure coincidence? No, Hilton said with an almost imperceptible flick of an eyelid. Coincidence is as meaningless as paradox.

I think they found out that, barring freaks, the best minds are in the best bodies. Could be. The idea has been propounded before. Now, let's get to work. Hilton flipped the switch of the recorder. Starting with you, Sandy, each of you give a two-minute boil down. What you found and what you think. Something over an hour later, the meeting adjourned, and Hilton and Sandra strolled. toward the control room. I don't know whether you convinced Alexander Kukin Cade or not,

but you didn't quite convince me, Sandra said. Nor him either. Oh, Sandra's eyebrows. No, he grabbed the out I offered him. I didn't fool Teddy Blake or Temple Bells either. You four are all, though, I think. Temple? You think she's so smart? I don't think so, no.

Don't fool yourself, chick. Temple Bell's looks and acts sweet and innocent and virginal. Maybe, probably, she is. But she isn't showing a fraction of the stuff she's really got. She's heavy artillery, Sandy, and I mean heavy. I think you're slightly nuts there. But do you really believe that the board was playing Cupid? Not trying, but doing.

Cold-bloodedly and efficiently, yes. But it would not. work. We aren't going to get lost. We won't need to. Propiniquity will do the work. Fooy. You and me, for instance? She stopped, put both hands on her hips, and glared. Why, I wouldn't marry you if you—I'll tell the cocky world you won't. Hilton broke in. Me marry a damned female Ph.D.? Uh-uh. Mine will be a cuddly little brunette that thinks us lipstick is some kind of lipstick. and that an isotope something good to eat.

One like that copy of Murchison's dark lady that you keep under the glass on your desk? She sneered. Exactly. He started to continue the battle, then shut himself off. But, listen, Sandy, why should we get into a fight because we don't want to marry each other? You're doing a swell job. I admire you tremendously for it, and I like to work with you. You've got a point there, Jarve, at that, and I'm one of the few.

few who know what kind of a job you are doing, so I'll relax. She flashed him a gammon grin, and they went on into the control room. It was too late in the day then to do any more exploring, but the next morning, early, the Perseus lined out for the city of the humanoids. Tula turned toward her fellows, her eyes filled with a happily triumphant light and her thought a lilting song. I have been telling you from the first touch that it was the masters. It is the masters.

The masters are returning to us omens and their own home world. Captain Sautel, Hilton said, please land in the cradle below. Land, Sautel stormed. On a planet like that? Not by... He broke off and stared. For now, on that cradle, they're flamed out in screaming red the Perseus' own navy-coated landing symbols.

Your protest is recorded, Hilton said. said, "'Now, sir, land.' Fuming, saw tell landed. Sandra looked pointedly at Hilton. "'First contact is my dish, you know.' "'Not that I like it, but it is.' He turned to a burly youth with sun-bleached, crew-cut hair. Still safe, Frank?

Still abnormally low. Surprising no end, since all the rest of the planet is hotter than the middle tail-race of hell. Okay, Sandy, who will you want besides the top linguists? Psych, both Alex and Temple, and Teddy Blake. They're over there. Tell them, will you, while I buzzed Teddy? We'll do, and Hilton stepped over to the two psychologists and told them.

Then, I hope I'm not leading with my chin, temple, but is that your real first name or a professional? It's real, it really is. My parents were romantics. Dad says they considered both golden and silver. Not at all obviously. He studied her. The almost translucent, unblemished perfection of her lightly tanned, old ivory skin. The clear, calm, deep blueness of her eyes.

The long, thick mane of hair exactly the color of a field of dead ripe wheat. You know, I like it, he said then. It fits you. I'm glad you said that, doctor. Not that, Temple. I'm not going to doctor you. I'll call you boss, then, like Stella does. Anyway, that lets me tell you that I like it myself. I really think that it did something for me.

Something did something for you, that's for sure. I'm mighty glad you're aboard, and I hope... Here they come. Hi, Hart, hi Stella. Hi, Jarve, said Chief Linguist Harkins, and... Hi, boss, what's holding us up? asked his assistant, Stella Wing. She was about five feet four.

Her eyes were tawny brown, her hair of flamboyant Auburn mop. Perhaps it owed a little of its spectacular refulgence to chemistry, Hilton thought, but not too much. Let us away. Let the lions roar and let the welkin ring. Who's been feeding you so much red meat, little squirt? Hilton laughed and turned away,

meeting Sandra in the corridor. Okay, chick, take them away. We'll cover you. Luck, girl. And in the control room to Sawtel, Needlebeam cover, please. Set for minimum aperture and lethal blast. But no firing Captain Sautel until I give the order. The Perseus was surrounded by hundreds of natives.

They were all adults, all naked, and about equally divided as to sex. They were friendly, most enthusiastically so. Jarve, Sandra squealed. They're telepathic. Very strongly so. I never imagined. I never felt anything like it. Any rough stuff? Hilton demanded. Oh, no, just the opposite. They love us, in a way that's simply indescribable. I don't like this telepathy business, not clear. Foggy, diffuse. This woman is sure I'm her long-lost, great, great, a hundred times grandmother. or something. You, slow down. Take it easy. They want us all to come out here and live with. No, not with them, but each of us alone in a whole house with them to wait on us. But first,

they all want to come aboard. What, Hilton yelped. But are you sure they're friendly? Positive, chief. How about you, Alex? We're all sure, Jarve, no question about it. Bring two of them aboard, a man and a woman. You won't bring any, saw Tell Thundered. Hilton, I had enough of your stupid, starry-eyed, ivory-domed blundering long ago. But this utterly idiotic brainstorm of letting enemy aliens aboard us ends all civilian command. Call your people back aboard, or I will bring them in by force. Very well, sir.

Sandy, tell the natives that a... a slight delay has become necessary, and bring your party aboard. The Navy officer smiled, or grinned gloatingly, while the scientists stared at their director with expressions ranging from surprise to disappointment and disgust. Hilton's face remained set expressionless, until Sandra and her party had arrived. Captain saw tell, he said then, I thought that you and I had settled in private the question of who is in commanding of Project Theta Orionis at destination. We will now sell it in public. Your opinion of me is now

on record, witnessed by your officers and by my staff. My opinion of you, which is now being similarly recorded and witnessed, is that you are a hidebound, mentally ossified Navy mule, mentally and psychologically unfit to have any voice in any such mission as this. You will now agree on this recording and before these witnesses to obey my orders unquestioningly, or I will now unload all Bureau of Science Personnel and Equipments onto this planet and send you and the Perseus back to Tara with the doubly sealed record of this episode posted to the advisory board. Take your choice. Eyes locked and under Hilton's uncompromising stare, saw tell weakened. He fidgeted, tried three times unsuccessfully, to Blair Defiance. Then,

Very well, sir, he said and saluted. Thank you, sir, Hilton said, then turned to his staff. Okay, Sandy, go ahead. Outside the control room door, Thank God you don't play poker, Jarve. Carnes gasped. We'd all owe you all the pay we'll ever get. You think it was the bluff, yes? DeVoe asked.

Me, I think no. Name of a name of a name. I was wondering with unease what life would be like on this so-alien planet. You didn't need to wonder, Tiny, Hilton assured him. It was in the bag. He's incapable of abandonment. Beverly Bell, the Vander Moen twins and Temple Bells, all stared at Hilton in awe, and Sandra felt much the same way. But suppose he had called you, Sandra demanded.

Speculating on the impossible is unprofitable. he said. Oh, you're the most exasperating thing, Sandra stamped a foot. Don't you ever answer a question intelligibly? When the question is meaningless, chick, I can't. At the lock, Temple Bells, who had been hanging back,

cocked an eyebrow at Hilton, and he made his way to her side. What was it you started to say back there, boss? Oh, yes, that we should see each other oftener. "'That's what I was hoping you were going to say.' She put her hand under his elbow and pressed his arm lightly, fleetingly against her side. "'That would be indubitably the fondest thing I could be of.' He laughed and gave her arm a friendly squeeze.

Then he studied her again, the most baffling member of his staff. About five feet six. Life, hard, trained down fine. As a tennis champion, she would be. stacked, how she was stacked. Not as beautiful as Sandra or Teddy, but with an ungodly lot of something that neither of them had, nor any other woman he had ever known. "'Yes, I'm a little difficult to classify,' she said quietly, almost reading his mind. "'That's the understatement of the year, but I'm making some progress.'

"'Such as?' "'This was an open challenge.' Except possibly Teddy, the best brain aboard. That isn't true, but go ahead. You're a powerhouse, a tightly organized, thoroughly integrated, smoothly functioning, beautifully camouflaged juggernaut, a reasonable facsimile of an irresistible force. My God, Jarvis! That had gone deep.

Let me finish my analysis. You aren't head of your department because you don't want to be. You fooled the top sikes of the board. You've been running 90% submerged because you can work better that way, and there's no glory hound blood in you. She stared at him, licking her lips. I knew your mind was a razor, but I didn't know it was a diamond drill, too. That seals your doom, boss, unless—

No, you can't possibly know why I'm here. Why, of course I do. You just think you do. You see, I've been in love with you ever since as a gangling, bony, knobby-kneed kid, I listened to your first doctorate disputation. Ever since then, my purpose in life has been to land you. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of Masters of Space

By E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. "'Masters of Space Chapter 3 "'But listen,' he exclaimed. "'I can't. Even if I want— "'Of course you can't.' Pure Deviltree danced in her eyes.

"'You're the director. It wouldn't be proper. "'But its standard operating procedure "'for simple, innocent, unsophisticated little country girls like me "'to go completely overboard for the boss.' "'But you can't. You mustn't. He protested in panic. Temple Bells was getting plenty of revenge for the shocks he had given her. I can't. Watch me. She grinned up at him, her eyes still dancing.

Every chance I get, I'm going to hug your arm like I did a minute ago, and you'll take a hold of my forearm, like you did. That can be taken, you see, as either, one, a reluctant acceptance of a mildly distasteful, but not quite actionable situation, or, too, a blocky move to keep me from climbing up you like a squirrel. Confound at Temple, you can't be serious. Can't I? She laughed gleefully, especially with half a dozen of those other cats watching. Just wait and see, boss.

Sandra and her two guests came aboard. The natives looked around. The man at the various human men, the woman at each of the human women. The woman remained beside Sandra. The man took his place at Hilton's left, looking up. He was a couple of inches shorter than Hilton's six feet one, with an air of... Of expectancy. Why this arrangement, Sandy? Hilton asked.

Because we're tops. It's your move, Jav. What's first? You're a next sight. Come along, sport. I'll call you that until... Laro, the native said, in a deep, resonant, base voice. He hit himself a blow on the head that would have...

any two ordinary men. Sora, he announced, striking the alien woman a similar blow. Laro and Sora, I would like to have you look at our urine excite, with the idea of refueling our ship. Come with me, please. Both nodded and followed him. In the engine room, he pointed at the engines, then to the lead-blocked labyrinth leading to the fuel holds. Laro, do you understand hot, radioactive? Laro nodded and started to open the heavy lead door.

Hey, Hilton yelped. That's hot! He seized Laro's arm to pull him away and got the shock of his life. Laro weighed at least five hundred pounds, and the guy still looked human. Laro nodded again and gave himself a terrific thump on the chest. Then he glanced at Sora, who stepped away from Sandra. He then went into the hold and came out with a little bit of the hold and came out two fuel pellets in his hand, one of which he tossed to Sora. That is, the motion looked like a toss,

but the pellet traveled like a bullet. Sora caught it unconcernedly, and both natives flipped the pellets into their mouths. There was half a minute of rock-crusher crunching, then both natives opened their mouths. The pellets had been pulverized and swallowed. Hilton's voice rang out, "'Pointer! How can these people be non-radioactive after eating a whole fuel pellet of piece?' Pointer tested both natives again. "'Cold!' he reported. "'Stone cold. No background even. Play that on your harmonica.'

Laro nodded, perfectly matter-of-factly, and in Hilton's mind there formed a picture. It was not clear, but it showed plainly enough a long line of aliens approaching the Perseus. Each carried on his or her shoulder a lead container holding 200 pounds of Navy regulation fuel pellets. A standard loading tube was sealed into place and every fuel hold was filled. This picture, Laro indicated plainly, could become reality any time. Sautel was notified and came on the run. "'No fuel is coming aboard without being tested,' he roared. "'Of course not, but it'll pass for all the tea in China.'

You haven't had a 10% load of fuel since you were launched. You can fill her up or not. The fuel's here, just as you say. If they can make Navy standard, of course we want it. The fuel arrived. Every load tested well above standard. Every fuel hold was filled to capacity, with no leakage and no emanation. The natives who had handled the stuff did not go away,

but gathered in the engine room, and more and more humans trickled in to see what was going on. Sawtell stiffened. What's going on over there, Hilton? I don't know, but let's let them go for a minute. I want to learn about these people, and they've got me stopped cold. You aren't the only one. But if they wreck that Mayfield, it'll cost you over $20,000.

Okay, the captain and director watched, wide-eyed. Two master mechanics have been getting ready to refit a tube, a job requiring both strength and skill. The tube was very heavy and made of super refract. The machine, the Mayfield, upon which the work was to be done, was extremely complex. Two of the aliens had brushed the mechanics, very gently, aside, and were doing their work for them. Ignoring the hoist, one native had picked the tube up and was holding it exactly in place on the Mayfield. The other, hands moving faster than the eye could follow, was locking it,

micrometrically precise and immovably secure into place. "'How about this?' one of the mechanics asked of his immediate superior. "'If we throw him out, how do we do it?' "'By a jerk of the head, the non-com passed the buck to a commissioned officer, who redated up the line to Saw Tell, who said, "'Hilton, nobody can run a Mayfield without months of training. "'They'll wreck it, and it'll cost you. "'But I'm getting curious myself.

"'Enough so to take half the damage. Let him go ahead. How about this, Mike? One of the machinist asked of his fellow. I'm going to like this, what? Yes, my dear Chumley, the other drawled effectively. My man believes me of so much uncouth effort. The natives had kept on working.

The Mayfield was running. It had always howled and screamed at its work, but now it gave out only a smooth and even hum. The aliens had adjusted it with unethicals. human precision. They were one with it as no human being could possibly be. And every mind present knew that those aliens were, at long, long last, fulfilling their destiny, and were, in that fulfillment, supremely happy. After tens of thousands of cycles of time, they were doing a job for their adored, their revered, and beloved masters. That was a stunning shock, but it was eclipsed by another.

I am sorry, Master Hilton, Laro's tremendous bass voice boomed out, that it has taken us so long to learn your master's language as it now is. Since you left us, you have changed it radically, while we, of course, have not changed it at all. I'm sorry, but you're mistaken, Hilton said. We are merely visitors. We have never been here before, nor, as far as we know, were any of our ancestors ever here.

You need not test us, Master. We have kept your trust. Everything has been kept changelessly the same, awaiting your return as you ordered so long ago. Can you read my mind? Hilton demanded. Of course, but omens cannot read in Master's minds anything except what masters want omens to read. Omen's? Harkins asked. Where did you omens and your masters come from, originally? As you know, Master, the masters came originally from Arth. They populated Ardu, where we omens were developed. When the struts drove us from Ardu, we all came to Ardry, which was your home world until you left it in our care.

We keep also this your half of the fuel world in trust for you. Listen, Jav, Arkin said tensely, Omen, human, Arth, earth, Arth, Ardus, Do, Earth 2. Ardree, Earth 3. You can't laugh them off, but there never was an Atlantis. This is getting no better fast. We need a full staff meeting. You too saw tell, and your best man.

We need all the brains the Perseus can muster. You're right, but first, get those naked women out of here. It's bad enough having women aboard it all, but this, my men are spacemen, mister. Laura spoke up. If it is the master's pleasure to keep on testing us, so be it. We have forgotten nothing. A dwelling awaits each master,

in which each will be served by omens who will know the master's desires without being told. Every desire. While we omens have no biological urges, we are, of course, highly skilled in relieving tensions and derive as much pleasure from that service as from any other. Sautel broke the silence that followed. Well, for the men, he hesitated, especially on the ground.

Well, talking in mixed company, you know, but I think. Think nothing of the mixed company, Captain Sautel, Sandra said. We women are scientists, not shrinking violets. We are accustomed to discussing the facts of life just as frankly as any other facts. Sautel jerked a thumb at Hilton. who followed him out into the corridor. I have been a Navy mule, he said. I admit now that I'm outmaned, outmaned, outgunned.

I'm just as baffled, at present as you are, sir. But my training has been aimed specifically at the unexpected, while yours has not. That's letting me down easy, Jarve. Sawtell smiled the first time the startled Hilton had known that the hard, tough old spacehound could smile. What I wanted to say is, lead on. I'll follow you through force field and space warps. Thanks, Skipper.

And by the way, I erased that record yesterday. The two gripped hands, and there came into being a relationship that was to become a lifelong friendship. We will start for Ardree immediately, Hilton said. How do we make that jump without charts, Laro? Very easily, Master. Kido, as Master Captain Sautel's omen, will give the orders.

Naito will serve Master Snowden and supply the knowledge he says he has forgotten. Okay, we'll go up to the control room and get started. In the control room, Kido's voice rasped into the captain's microphone, Attention, all personnel. Master Captain Sautel orders take off in two minutes. The countdown will begin at five seconds. Five, four, three, two, one, lift. Naito, not Snowden, handled the controls.

As perfectly as the human pilot had ever done it, at the top of his finest form, he picked the immense spaceship up and slipped it silkily into subspace. Well, I'll be a, Snowden gasped. That's a better job than I ever did. Not at all, master, as you know, Nito said. It was you who did this. I merely perform the labor.

A few minutes later, in the main lounge, Navy and Bousai personnel were mingling as they had never done before. Whatever had caused this relaxation of tension, the friendship of captain and director, the position in which they all were, or what, the all began to get acquainted with each other. Silence, please, and be seated, Hilton said. While this is not exactly a formal meeting,

it will be recorded for future reference. First, I will ask Laro a question. Were books or records left by Ardree by the race you call the masters? You know there are, Master. There are exactly as you left them. Undisturbed for over 271,000 years. Therefore, we will not question the omens.

We do not know what questions to ask. We have seen many things hitherto thought impossible. Hence, we must discard all preconceivable. opinions which conflict with facts. I will mention a few of the problems we face. The omens, the masters, the upgrading of the armament of the Perseus to Omen's standards, the concentration of urine excite. What is that concentrate? How is it used? Total conversion. How is it accomplished? The skeletons. What are they, and how are they controlled? Their ability to drain power. Who or what is back of them?

Why a deadlock that has lasted over a quarter of a million years? How much danger are we and the Percy is actually in? How much danger is Terra in, because of our presence here? There are many other questions. Sandra and I will not take part, nor will three others, DeVaux, Eisenstein, and Blake. You have more important work to do. What can that be? asked Rebecca. of what possible use can a mathematician, a theoretician, and a theoretical astronomer be in such a situation as this?

You can think powerfully in abstract terms, unhampered by terran facts and laws which we now know are neither facts nor laws. I cannot even categorize the problems we face. Perhaps you three will be able to. You will listen, then consult, then tell me how to pick the teams to do the work. A more important job for you is this. Any problem to be solved must be stated clearly, and we don't know even what our basic problem is. I want something by the use of which I can break this thing open. Get it for me. Rebecca and DeVoe merely smiled and nodded, but Teddy Blake said happily, I was beginning to feel like a fifth wheel on this project, but that's something I can really stick my teeth into. Huh? How? Carnes demanded. He didn't give you one single single thing.

thing to go on. Just compounded the confusion. Hilton spoke before Teddy could. That's their dish, Bill. If I had any data, I'd work it myself. You first, Captain Sautel. That conference was a very long one indeed. There were almost as many conclusions and recommendations as there were speakers. And through it all, Hilton and Sandra listened. They weighed and tested and analyzed and made copious notes. In shorthand, and in the more essence of characters of symbolic logic. And at its end, I'm just about pooped, Sandy. How about you? You and me both, boss. See you in the morning. But she didn't. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when they met again.

We made up one of the teams, Sandy, he said, with surprising diffidence. I know we were going to do it together, but I got a hunch on the first team. A kind of a weirdie, but the brains checked me on it. He placed a card on her desk. Don't blow your top until after you've studied it. Why, I won't, of course. Her voice died away. Maybe you'd better cancel that, of course. She studied, and when she spoke again, she was exerting self-control.

A chemist, a planetographer, a theaterician, two sociologists, a psychologist, a psychologist, and a radiationist. And six of the seven are three pairs of six. Sweeties! What kind of a lineup is that to solve a problem in physics? It isn't in any physics we know. I said think. Oh, she said, then again, oh, and oh, and oh, and oh, four entirely different tones. I see, maybe, you're matching minds, not specialties, and supplementing? I knew you were smart.

Buy it. It's weird all right, but I'll buy it, for a trial run anyway. But I'd hate like sin to have to sell any part of it to the board. But, of course, we're—I mean, you're responsible only to yourself. Keep it we, Sandy. You're as important to this project as I am. But before we tackle the second team, what's your thought on Bernadine and Hermione? Separate or together?

Separate, I'd say. They're identical physically, and so nearly so mentally, that one of them should be just as good on a team as both of them. More and better work on different teams. My thought exactly. And so it went hour after hour. The teams were selected, and meetings were held. The Perseus reached Ardree, which was very much like Terra. There were continents, oceans, ice caps, lakes, rivers, mountains and plains,

forests and prairies. The ship landed on the space field of Omlu, the city of the masters, and Sautelle called Hilton into his cabin. The omens Laro and Kedo went along, of course. Nobody knows how it leaked, Sautel began. No secrets around here, Hilton grinned. Omen's, you know. I suppose so.

Anyway, every man aboard is all hyped up about living aground, especially with a heron. But before I grant liberty, suppose there's any VD around here that our prophylactics can't handle? As you know, Masters, Lolaura replied for Hilton before the latter could open his mouth. No disease, venereal or other is allowed to exist on Ardry. No prophylaxes is either necessary or desirable. That ought to hold you for a while, Skipper. Hilton smiled at the flabbergasted captain and went back to the lounge. Everybody going ashore? he asked.

Yes, Carnes said. Unanimous vote for the first time. Who wouldn't? Sandra asked. I'm fed up with living like a sardine. I will scream for joy the minute I get into a real room. Cars were waiting in a stopping and starting line. Three wheel jobs. All were empty. No drivers, no steering wheels, no instruments or push buttons. When the whole line moved ahead as one vehicle,

there was no noise, no gas, no blast. An Oman helped a master carefully into the rear seat of his car, leaped into the front seat, and the car sped quietly away. The whole line of empty cars, acting in perfect synchronization, shot forward, one space and stopped. "'That is your car, master,' Laro said and made a production out of getting Hilton into the vehicle undamaged. Hilton's plan had been beautifully simple. all the teams were to meet at the Hall of Records. The linguists and their omens would study the records and pass them out.

Specialty after specialty would be unveiled and the teams would work on them. He and Sandy would sit in the office and analyze and synthesize and correlate. It was a very nice plan. It was a very nice office, too. It contained every item of equipment that either Sandra or Hilton had ever worked with. It was a big office, and a great office. many that neither of them had ever heard of. It had a full staff of omens, all eager to work. Hilton and Sandra sat in that magnificent office for three hours, and no reports came in.

Nothing happened at all. This gives me the howling hoppers, Hilton growled. Why haven't I got brains enough to be on one of those teams? I should shed a tear for you, you big dope, but I won't, Sandra retorted. What do you want to be, besides the brain and the kingpin and the balance wheel and the spark plug of the outfit? Do you want to do everything yourself? Well, I don't want to go completely nuts, and that's all I'm doing at the moment. The argument might have become acrimonious, but it was interrupted by a call from Carnes. Can you come out here, Jarve? We've struck a knot.

Smatter. Trouble with the omens? Hilton snapped. Not exactly. just non-cooperation, squared. We can't even get started. I'd like to have you two come out here and see if you can do anything. I'm not trying rough stuff, because I know it wouldn't work. Coming up, Bill, and Hilton and Sandra, followed by Laro and Sora, dashed out to their cars.

The Hall of Records was a long, wide, low, windowless, very massive structure, built of a metal that looked like stainless steel, kept highly polished, the vast expanse of seamless and jointless metal was mirror bright. The one great door was open, and just inside it, were the scientists and their omens. Brief me, Bill, Hilton said. No lights. They won't turn them on, and we can't. Can't find either lights or any possible kind of switches. Turn on the lights, Laro, Hilton said.

You know that I cannot do that, Master. It is forbidden for any omen to have anything to do with the illumination of this solemn and revered place. Then show me how to do it. That would be just as bad, Master, the omen said proudly. I will not fail any test you can devise. Okay. All you omens go back to the ship and bring over fifteen or twenty lights, the tripod jobs. Scat!

They scatted, and Hilton went on. No use asking questions if you're not. don't know what questions to ask. Let's see if we can cook up something. Lane, Kathy, what has biology got to say? Dr. Lane Saunders and Dr. Catherine Cook, the latter of willowy brown-eyed blonde, conferred briefly. Then Saunders spoke, running both hands through his unruly shock of fiery red hair. So far, the best we can do is a more or less educated guess. They're atomic-powered, Total Conversion Androids. Their pseudo-flesh is composed mainly of silicon and fluorine. We don't know the formula yet, but it is as much more stable than our Teflon as Teflon is than cornmeal mush.

As to the brains, no data. Bones are super-stainless steel. Teeth, harder than diamond, but won't break. Food, urine excite, or its concentrated derivative, interchangeably. Storage reserve, indefinite. Laro and Sora won't have to eat again for at least 25 years. The group gasped as one, but Saunders went on. They can eat and drink and breathe and so on, but only because the original masters wanted them to, non-functional. Skins and subcutaneous layers are soft for the same reason.

That's about it, up to now. Thanks, Lane. Hark, is it reasonable to believe that any culture whatever could run for a quarter of a million years without changing one word of its language or one iota of its behavior? Reasonable or not, it seems to have happened. Now for psychology, Alex? It seems starkly incredible, but it seems to be true.

If it is, their minds were subjected to a conditioning. No Terran has ever imagined, an unyielding fixation. They can't be swayed then by reason or logic. Hilton paused invitingly. "'Or anything else,' Kincaid said flatly. "'If we're right, they can't be swayed, period.' "'I was afraid of that. "'Well, that's all the questions I know how to ask.

"'Any contributions to this symposium?' "'After a short silence, Duveau said, "'I suppose you realize that the first half of the problem "'you posed us has now solved itself?' "'Why, no. No, you're way ahead of me.' There is a basic problem, and it can now be clearly stated, Rebecca said. Problem. To determine a method of securing full cooperation from the omens. The first step in the solution of this problem is to find the most appropriate operator.

Teddy? I have an operator of sorts, Theodora said. I've been hoping one of us could find a better. What is it? Hilton demanded. The word until. Teddy, you're a good. sweetheart, Hilton exclaimed. How can until be a mathematical operator? Sandra asked.

Easily, Hilton was already deep in thought. This hard conditioning was to last only until the master's returned. Then they break it. So all we have to do is figure out how a master would do it. That's all, Kincade said meaningly. Hilton pondered. then, Listen, all of you,

I may have to try a colossal job of bluffing. Just what would you call colossal after what you did to the Navy? Carnes asked. That was a sure thing. This isn't. You see, to find out whether Laro is really an immovable object, I've got to make like an irresistible force, which I ain't. I don't know what I'm going to do.

I'll have to roll it as I go along. So all of you keep on your toes, back any play I make. Here they come. The omens came in, and Hilton faced Laro, eyes to eyes. Laro, he said, you refuse to obey my direct order. Your reasoning seems to be that, whether the masters wish it or not, you omens will block any changes whatever in the status quo throughout all time to come. In other words, you deny the fact that masters are in fact your masters. But that is not exactly it master. The masters, that is it, exactly it. Either you are the masters here, or you are not. That is a point to which your two-value logic can be strictly applied. You are willfully neglecting

the word until. This stasis was to exist only until the master's returned. Are we masters? Have we returned? Note well, upon that one word until may depend the length of the time your omen race will continue to exist. The omens flinched, the humans gasped. But more of that later, Hilton went on unmoved. Your ancient masters, being short-lived like us, changed materially with time, did they not? And you changed with them?

But we did not change ourselves, Master. But masters, you did change yourselves. The Masters changed only the prototype brain. They ordered you to change yourself. and you obeyed their orders. We order you to change, and you refuse to obey our orders. We have changed greatly from our ancestors, right? That is right, Master. We are stronger physically, more alert, and more vigorous mentally, with a keener, sharper outlook on life. You are, master. That is because our ancestors decided to do without omens. We do our own work and enjoy it.

Your masters died of futility and boredom. What I would like to do, Laro, is to take you to the crutch and put your disobedient brain back into the matrix. However, the decision is not mine alone to make. How about it, fellows and girls? Would you rather have alleged servants who won't do anything you tell them to, or no servants at all? As a sementician, I protest. Sandra backed his play. That is the most viciously loaded question I ever heard.

It can't be answered except in the wrong way. Okay, I'll make it semantically sound. I think we'd better scrap this whole omen race and start over, and I want to vote that way. You won't get it! And everybody began to yell. Hilton restored order and swung on Laro, his attitude stiff, hostile, and reserved. Since it is clear that no unanimous decision is to be expected at this time, I will take no action at this time.

think over very carefully what I have said, for as far as I am concerned, this world has no place for omens who will not obey orders. As soon as I convince my staff of the fact, I shall act as follows. I shall give you an order, and if you do not obey it, blast your head to a cinder. I shall then give the same order to another omen and blast him. This process will continue until, first, I find an obedient omen. Second, I run out of a man. Second, I run out of the same. I run of blasters. Third, the planet runs out of omens. Now take these lights into the first room of records. That one over there. He pointed, and no omen, and only four humans, realized that he had made the omens telegraph their destination so that he could point it out to them. Inside the

room, Hilton asked caustically of Laro, "'The masters didn't lift those heavy chests down themselves, did they? Oh, no, master, we did that.' Do it then. Number one first. Yes, that one. Open it and start playing the records in order. The records were not tapes or flats or reels, but were spools of intricately braided wire. The players were projectors of full-color, high-fi sound, tri-dee pictures. Hilton canceled all moves aground and issued orders that no omen was to be allowed aboard ship, then looked and listened with his staff. The first chest contained only introducing. and elementary stuff.

But it was so interesting that the humans stayed overtime to finish it. Then they went back to the ship. And in the main lounge, Hilton practically collapsed onto a Davenport. He took out a cigarette and stared in surprise at his hand, which was shaking. I think I could use a drink, he remarked. What, before supper? Carnes marveled. Then,

Hey, Wally! Rush a flagon of Avignoniac. Our no frere, for the... the boss and everything else for the rest of us. Chop, chop, but quick. A hectic half-hour followed. Then... Okay, boys and girls, I love you, too.

But let's cut out the slurp and slush and get some supper and lock us some sack time. I'm just about pooped. Sorry had to queered the private residence deal, Sandy, you poor little sardine. But you know how it is. Sandra grimaced. Uh-huh. I can take it a while longer if you can. After breakfast next morning, the staff met in the lounge.

As usual, Hilton and Sandra were the first to arrive. "'Hi, boss,' she greeted him. "'How do you feel?' "'Fine. I could whip a wildcat and give her the first two scratches. I was a bit beat up last night, though. I'll say, but what I simply can't get over is the way you underplayed the climax. Third, the planet runs out of omens, just like that, no emphasis at all. "'Wow, it had the impact of a delayed action atomic bomb.

"'It put goosebumps all over me. "'But just suppose they'd missed it. "'No fear. They're smart. "'I had to play it as though the whole omen race "'is no more important than a cigarette butt. "'The great big question, though, is whether I put it across or not. "'At that point, a dozen people came in, "'all talking about the same subject.

"'Hi, Jarve,' Karn said. I still say you ought to take up poker as a life work. Tiny, let's see you and him sit down and play a few hands. Menon, Devo shook his head violently, shrugged his shoulders and threw both arms wide. By the sacred name of a small blue cabbage, not me. Carnes laughed. How did you have the guts to state so many things as facts? If you'd guess wrong just once.

I didn't, Hilton grinned. think back, Bill. The only thing I said as a fact was that we as a race are better than the masters were, and that is obvious. Everything else was implication, logic, and bluff. That's right at that. And they were neurotic and decadent. No question about that. But listen, boss, this was Stella Wing. About this mind-reading business. If Laura could read your mind, he know you were bluffing, and Oh, that omens can read only what masters wish omens to read, eh? But do you think that applies to us?

I'm sure it does, and I was thinking some pretty savage thoughts. And I want to caution all of you. Whenever you're near any omen, start thinking that you're beginning to agree with me that they're useless to us and let them know it. Now, get out on the job, all of you, scat. Just a minute, Pointer said. We're going to have to keep on using it. the omens in their cars, aren't we?

Of course, just be superior and distant. They're on probation. We haven't decided yet what to do about them. Since that happens to be true, it'll be easy. Hilton and Sandra went to their tiny office. There wasn't room to pace the floor, but Hilton tried to pace it anyway. Now, don't say again that you want to do something, Sandra said brightly. Look what happened when you said that yesterday.

I've got a job, but I don't know enough to do it. The crutch. There's probably only one on the planet. So I want you to help me think. The masters were very sensitive to radiation, right? Right. That city on fuel bin was kept decon to zero, just in case some master wanted to visit it.

And the masters had to work in the crutch whenever anything really knew had to be put into the prototype brain. I'd say so, yes. So they had armor, probably as much better than our radiation suits as the rest of their stuff is. Now, did they or did they not have thought screens? Ouch, you think of the damnedest things, Chief. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and concentrated. I don't know. There are at least 50 vectors all pointing in different directions.

I know it. The key one, in my opinion, is that the master's gave them both telepathy and speech. I considered that and waited it. Even so, the probability is only about point sixty-five. Can you take that much of a chance? Yes, I can make one or two mistakes. Next, about finding that crutch. Any spot of radiation on the planet would be it,

but the search might take, hold it, they'd have it heavily shielded. There'll be no leakage at all. "'Lorrow will have to take you.' "'That's right. "'Want to come along? "'Nothing much will happen here today.' "'A-uh, not me.'

Sandra shivered in distaste. "'I never want to see brains and livers and things swimming around in nutrient solution if I can help it. "'Okay, it's all yours. "'I'll be back sometime.' And Hilton went out onto the deck "'where the dejected Laro was waiting for him.

"'Hi, Laro. "'Get the car and take me to the Hall of Records. The android brightened up immediately and hurried to obey. At the hall, Hilton's first care was to see how the work was going on. Eight of the huge rooms were now open and brightly lighted. Operating the lamps had been one of the first items on the first spool of instructions, with a cold, pure white, sourceless light. Every team had found its objective and was working on it. Some of them were doing nicely, but the first team could not even get started. Its primary record would advance a fraction of an inch and stop. While omens and humans sought out other records and other projectors, in an attempt to elucidate some concept that simply could not be translated into any words or symbols known to Terran science. At the moment, there were seventeen of those peculiar projectors, viewers,

playbacks, in use, and all of them were stopped. You know what we've got to do, Jarve? Carnes, the team captain exploded. Go back to be in. college freshman, or maybe grade school or kindergarten, we don't know yet, and learn a whole new system of mathematics before we can even begin to touch this stuff. And you're belly aching about that? Hilton marveled, I wish I could join you. That'd be fun. Then, as Karn started a snappy rejoinder, but I've got troubles of my own. He added hastily,

buy now, and beat a rejoinder. Out in the hall again, Hilton took his chance. After all, the odds were about two to one that he would win. I want a couple of things, Laro. First, a thought screen. He won. Very well, Master. They are in a distant room.

Department 469. Will you wait here on this cushioned bench, master? No, we don't like to rest too much. I'll go with you. Then, walking along, he went on thoughtfully. I've been thinking since last night, Laro. There are tremendous advantages in having omens. I am very glad you think so, Master. I want to serve you. It is my greatest need.

If they could be kept from smothering us to death. Thus, if our ancestors had kept their omens, I would have known all about life on this world and about this Hall of Records, instead of having the fragmentary, confusing, and sometimes false information I now have. Oh, we're here? Lorrow had stopped and was opening a door. He stood aside. Hilton went in, touched with one finger a crystalline cube set conveniently into a wall, gave a mental command, and the lights went on. Laro opened a cabinet and took out a disc about the size of a dime, penned it, from a neck chain. While Hilton had not known what to expect, he certainly had not expected anything as simple as that. Nevertheless, he kept his face straight and his thoughts unmoved, as Laro hung the tiny thing around

his neck and adjusted the chain to a loose fit. Thanks, Laro. removed it and put it into his pocket. It won't work from there, will it? No, master. To function, it must be within 18 inches of the brain. The second thing, master? A radiation-proof suit.

Then, will you please take me to the crutch? The android almost missed a step, but said nothing. The radiation-proof suit, how glad Hilton was that he had not called it armor, was as much of a surprise as the thought-screen generator had been. It was a cover-all, made of something that looked like thin plastic, weighing less than one pound. It had one sealed box about the size and weight of a cigarette case. No wires or apparatus could be seen.

Air entered through two filters, one at each heel, flowed upward, for no reason at all that Hilton could see, and out through a filter above the top of his head. The suit neither flopped nor clung, but stood out, comfortably out of the way, all by itself. Hilton, just barely, accepted the suit, too, without showing surprise. The crotch, it turned out, while not in the city of Omlu itself, was not too far out to reach easily by car. En route, Laro said, stiffly, tentatively, Hilton could not fit an advert to the tone. Master, have you then decided to destroy me?

That is, of course, you're right. Not this time, at least. Laro drew an entirely human breath of relief, and Hilton went on. "'I don't want to destroy you at all, and won't, unless I have to. But, some way or other, my silicon fluoride friend, you are either going to learn how to cooperate, or you won't last much longer.' "'But, master, that is exactly—' "'Oh, hell! Do we have to go over that again?'

At the blaze of frustrated fury in Hilton's mind, Laro flinched away. If you can't talk sense, keep still. In half an hour, the car stopped in front of a small building, which looked something like a subway kiosk, except for the door, which, built of steel-reinforced lead, swung on a piano hinge, having a pin a good eight inches in diameter. Laro opened that door. They went in. As the tremendously massive portal clanged shut, lights flashed on.

Hilton glanced at his tell-tails, one inside, one outside, his suit. Both showed zero. Down 20 steps, another door. Twenty more, another. And a fourth. Hilton's inside meter still read zero. The outside one was beginning to climb. Into an elevator and straight down for what must have been four or five hundred feet. Another door. Hilton went through this final barrier gingerly, eyes nailed to his gauges. The outside needle was high in the red, almost against the pin, but the inside one still sat reassuringly on zero. He stared at the android. How can any possible brain take so much of this stuff without damage?

It does not reach the brain, master. We convert it. Each minute of this is what you would call a good square meal. I see, dimly. You can eat energy or drink it or soak it up through your skins. However it comes, it's all duck soup for you. Yes, Master. Hilton glanced ahead, toward the far end of the immensely long, comparatively narrow room. It was, purely and simply, an assembly line, and fully automated in operation. You are replacing the omens destroyed in the battle with the skeletons? Yes, Master. Hilton covered the first half of the line at a fast walk. He was was not particularly interested in the fabrication of super-stainless steel skeletons, nor in the installation and connection of atomic engines, converters, and so on. He was more interested in the

synthetic fluorosilicon flesh, and paused long enough to get a general idea of its growth and application. He was very much interested in how much human-looking skin could act as both absorber and converter, but he could see nothing helpful. An application, I suppose, of the same principle used in this radiation suit. Yes, master. At the end of the line, he stopped. A brain, in place and connected to millions of infinitely fine wire nerves, but not yet surrounded by a skull, was being educated. Scanners, multitudes of incomprehensibly complex machines. Most of them were doing nothing, apparently, but such beams would have to be invisibly microscopically fine. But a bare brain, in such a hot and

environment as this. He looked down at his gauges, both read zero. Fields of force, master, Laro said. But damn it, this suit itself would re-radiate. The suit is self-decontaminating master. Hilton was appalled. With such stuff as that, and the plastic shield besides, while the depth and all the solid lead. The master's orders, master, machines can and occasionally do fail. so might, conceivably, the plastic. And that structure over there contains the original brain, from which all the copies are made. Yes, master, we call it the guide.

And you can't touch the guide. Not even if it means total destruction. None of you can touch it. That is the case, master. Okay, back to the car and back to the Perseus. At the car, Hilton took off the suit and hung the thought-screen generator around his neck. And in the car, for twenty-five solid minutes, he sat still and thought.

His bluff had worked up to a point. A good far point, but not quite far enough. Laro had stopped that, as you already know stuff. He was eager to go as far in cooperation as he possibly could. But he couldn't go far enough, but there had to be a way. Hilton considered way after way, way after unworkable, useless way. until finally he worked out one that might, just possibly might, work. Laro, I know that you derive pleasure and satisfaction from serving me, in doing what I ought to be doing myself, but has it ever occurred to you that that's a hell of a way to treat a first-class,

highly capable brain, to waste it on second-hand copycat, carbon-copy stuff? Why, no, master, it never did. Besides, anything else would be forbidden. Or would it? Stop somewhere. Park this heap. We're too close to the ship. And besides, I want your full, undivided, concentrated attention. No, I don't think originality was expressly forbidden. It would have been, of course, if the masters had thought of it, but neither they nor you ever even considered the possibility of such a thing, right?

It may be. Yes, master, you are right. Okay. Hilton took off his necklace, the better to drive home the intensity and sincerity of his thought. Now, suppose that you are not my slave and simple automatic relay station. Instead, we are fellow students, working together upon problems too difficult for either of us to solve alone. Our minds, while independent, are linked or in mesh. Each is helping and instructing the other. Both are working at full power. and under free reign at the exploration of brand-new vistas of thought. Vistas and expanses, which neither of us has ever previously,

Stop, Master, stop! Laurel covered both ears with his hands and pulled his mind away from Hilton's. You are overloading me! That is quite a load to assimilate all at once, Hilton agreed. To help you get used to it, stop calling me Master. That's an order. You may call me John. or Jarvis or Hilton or whatever, but no more master.

Very well, sir. Hilton laughed and slapped himself on the knee. Okay, I'll let you get away with that, at least for a while. And to get away from that slavish O ending on your name, I'll call you Larry. You like? I would like that immensely, sir. Keep trying, Larry. You'll make it yet.

Hilton leaned forward and walloped the android a tremendous blow on the knee. Home, James! The car shot forward, and Hilton went on. I don't expect even your brain to get the full value of this in any short space of time, so let it stew in its own juice for a week or two. The car swept out onto the dock and stopped. "'So long, Larry.' "'But can't I come in with you, sir?'

No. You aren't a copycat or a semaphore or a relay any longer. You're a freewheeling, wide-swinging, hard-hitting, independent entity, monarch of all you survey, captain of your soul, and so on. I want you to devote the imponderable force of the intellect to that concept until you understand it thoroughly. Until you have developed a top-bracket lot of top-bracket stuff, originality, initiative, force, drive, and thrust. As soon as you really understand it, you'll do something about it yourself without being told. Go to it, chum. In the ship, Hilton went directly to Kincaid's office.

Alex, I want to ask you a thing that's got a snapper on it. Then slowly and hesitantly, it's about Temple Bells. Has she? Is she? Well, does she remind you? in any way of an iceberg? Then as the psychologist began to smile, and no, damn it, I don't mean physically. I know you don't.

Kincaid's smile was rueful, not at all what Hilton had thought it was going to be. She does. Would it be helpful to know that I first asked, then ordered her to trade places with me? It would, very. I know why she refused. You're a damn good man, Alex.

Thanks, Jarve. To answer the question you are going to ask next, No, I will not be at all perturbed or put out if you put her onto a job that some people might think should have been mine. What's the job and when? That's the devil of it. I don't know. Hilton brought Kincaid up to date. So, you see, it'll have to develop, and God only knows what line it will take. My thought is that Temple and I should form a committee of two to watch it develop. "'That one I'll buy, and I'll look on with glee. "'Thanks, fellow.'

Hilton went down to his office, stuck his big feet up onto his desk, settled back onto his spine, and buried himself in thought. Hours later he got up, shrugged, and went to bed without bothering to eat. Days passed. And weeks. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Of Masters of Space

by E. E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space Chapter 4 Look, said Stella winged to Beverly Bell. Over there. I've seen it before. It's simply disgusting. That's a laugh.

Stella's tawny brown eyes twinkled. You made your bombing runs on that target, too, my sweet, and didn't score any higher than I did. I soon found out I didn't want him. Much too stiff and serious. Frank's a lot more fun. The staff had gathered in the lounge, as had become the custom to spend an hour or so before bedtime in reading, conversation, dancing, light flirtation, and even lighter drinking. Most of the girls, and many of the men, drank only soft drinks. Hilton took one drink per day. Hilton took one drink per day, day of Avignonac, a fine old brandy. So did DeVos, the two usually making a ceremony of it.

Across the room from Stella and Beverly, Temple Bells was looking up at Hilton and laughing. She took his elbow, and, in the gesture now familiar to all, pressed his arm quickly, but in no sense furtively, against her side. And he, equally openly, held her forearm for a moment in the full grasp of his hand. And he isn't a par, Stella said thoughtfully. He never touches any of the rest of us. She taught him to do that, damn her, without him ever knowing anything about it. And I wish I knew how she did it.

That isn't pawing, Beverly laughed lightly. It's simply self-defense. If he didn't fend her off, God knows what she'd do. I still say it's disgusting. and the way she dances with him. She ought to be ashamed of herself. He ought to fire her. She's never been caught outside the safety zone, and we've all been watching her like hawks. In fact, she's the only one of us all who has never been alone with him for a minute. No, darling, she isn't playing games. She's playing for keeps, and she's a mighty smooth worker.

Huh, Beverly admitted a semi-ladylike snort. what's so smooth about showing off men hunger that way any of us could do that if we would meow meo meo who do you think you're kidding bev you sanctimonious hypocrite me she has staked out the biggest claim she could find she's posted notices all over it and is guarding it with a pistol half your month's salary gets you all of mine if she doesn't walk him up the center aisle as soon as we get back to earth "'We can both learn a lot from that girl, darling. "'And I, for one, am going to.' "'A-uh, she hasn't got a thing I want.' Beverly laughed again, still lightly. Her friend's barbed shafts had not wounded her.

"'And I'd much rather be thought a hypocrite, "'even a sanctimonious one, than a ravening, slavering. "'I can't think of the technical name for a female wolf, "'so, wolfess, running around with teeth and claws bared, looking for another kill. You do get results, I admit. Stella, too, was undisturbed. We don't seem to convince each other, do we, in the matter of technique.

At this point, the Hilton Bell's tete-a-tete was interrupted by Captain Sautel. Got a half an hour, Jarve? he asked. The commanders, especially Elliot and Fenway, would like to talk to you. Sure, I have, Skipper. Be seeing you, Temple. and the two men went to the captain's cabin, in which room blew with smoke despite the best efforts of the ventilators, six full commanders were arguing heatedly. "'Hi, men,' Hilton greeted them. "'Hi, Jarve, from all six, and, what'll you drink? Still making do with ginger ale?' asked Elliot, engineering.

"'That'll be fine, Steve, thanks. You having as much trouble as we are?' "'More,' the engineer said glumly. want to know what it reminds me of, a bunch of Australian bushmen stumbling onto a ramjet and trying to figure out how it works. And yet, Sam here has got the sublime guts to claim that he understands all about their detectors,

and that they aren't anywhere nearly as good as ours are. And they aren't, blazed Commander Samuel Bryant, electronics. We've spent six solid weeks looking for something that simply is not there. All they've got is the... the prehistoric Whitworth system, and that's all it is. Nothing else. Detectors, hell, I tell you, I can see better by moonlight than the very best they can do. With everything they've got, you couldn't detect a woman in your own bed. And this has been going on all night, Fenway, astrogation said. So, the rest of us thought we'd ask you in to help us pound some

sense into Sam's thick, hard head. Hilton frowned in thought, while taking a couple of sips of his drink. Then suddenly, his face cleared. Sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but at any odds you care to name and in anything from split peas to sea notes, Sam's right. Commander Samuel and the six other officers exploded as one. When the clamor had subsided enough for him to be heard, Hilton went on. I'm very glad to get that datum, Sam. It ties in perfectly with everything else I know about them. "'How do you figure that kind of twaddle ties in with anything?' Saltel demanded. "'Strict maintenance of the status quo,' Hilton explained flatly.

"'That's all they're interested in. You said yourself, Skipper, that it was a hell of a place to have a space battle practically in atmosphere. They never attack, they never scout. They simply don't care whether they're attacked or not. If and when attacked, they put up just enough ships to handle whatever force has arrived. When the attacker has been repulsed, they don't chase him afoot. They build as many ships and omens as were lost in the battle, no more and no less, and then go on about their regular business. The masters owned that half of the fuel bin, so the omens are keeping that half. They will keep on keeping it forever and ever, amen. But that's no way to fight a war, three or four men said this, or it's a

equivalent at once. Don't judge them by human standards. They aren't even approximately human. Our personnel is not expendable. Theirs is, just as expendable as their material. While the Navymen were not convinced, all were silenced except Sautel. But suppose the Strats had sent in a thousand more skeletons than they did, he argued. According to the concept you fellows just helped me develop, it wouldn't have made any difference how many they sent. Hilton replied thoughtfully. One or a thousand or a million. The omens have, must have, enough ships and inactivated omens hidden away, both on fuel world and on Ardry here, to maintain the balance.

"'Oh, hell!' Elliot snapped. If I helped you hatch out any such brainstorm as that, I'm going on to Tilling Gass's couch for a six-week overhaul, or have it put me into his padded cell. Now that's what I would call a thought, Bryant began. Hold it, Sam. Hilton interrupted. You can test it easily enough, Steve. Just ask your omen. Yeah, and have him say, why, of course, master, but why do you keep on testing me this way? He'll ask me that about four times more, the stubborn, single-tracked, brainless skunk, and I'll really go nuts.

Are you getting anywhere trying to make a Christian out of Laro? "'It's too soon to really say, but I think so,' Hilton paused in thought. "'He's making progress, but I don't know how much. The devil of it is that it's up to him to make the next move. I can't. I haven't the faintest idea, whether it will take days yet or weeks.' "'But not months or years, you think?' Sautel asked. "'No. We think that—' "'But say, speaking of psychics. Is Tillingass getting anywhere, Skipper? He's the only one of your big wheels who isn't in liaison with us.

No, nowhere at all, Saltael said, and Brian added. I don't think he ever will. He still thinks human psychology will apply if he applies it hard enough. But what did you start to say about Laro? We think the break is about due, and that if it doesn't come within about 30 days, it won't come at all. We'll have to back up and start all over again. I hope it does. We're all pulling for you, Sautel said.

Especially since Carnes' estimate is still years, and he won't be pinned down to any estimate even in years. By the way, Jarve, I've pulled my team off of that conversion stuff. Oh, Hilton raised his eyebrows. Putting them at something they can do. The real reason is that Poindexter pulled himself and his crew on. off at 18 hours today. I see. I've heard that they weren't keeping up with our team. He says that there's nothing to keep up with, and I'm inclined to agree with him.

The old Space Hound's voice took on a quarter-deck rasp. It's a combination of psionics, witchcraft, and magic. None of it makes any kind of sense. The only trouble with that viewpoint is that whatever the stuff may be, it works, Hilton said quietly. But damn it, how can it work? I don't know. I'm not qualified to be on that team. I can't even understand their reports.

However, I know two things. First, they'll get it in time. Second, we Bousai people will stay here until they do. However, I'm still hopeful of finding a shortcut through Laro. Anyway, with this detector thing settled, you'll have plenty to do to keep all your boys out of Nistja for the next few months. Yes, and I'm glad of it.

We'll install our electronic systems on a squadron of these omen ships and get them into a distant warning formation out in deep space where they belong. Then we'll at least know what is going on. That's a smart idea, Skipper. Go to it. Anything else before we hit our sacks? One more thing. Our psych, Tillingast. He's been talking to me and sending me memos.

but today he gave me a formal tape to approve and hand personally to you. So here it is. By the way, I didn't approve it. I simply endorsed it, submitted to Director Hilton without recommendation. Thanks. Hilton accepted the sealed canister. What's the gist? I suppose he wants me to squeal for help already. To admit that we're licked before we're really started. You guessed it. He agrees with you and Kincaid. that the psychological approach is the best one, but your methods are all wrong, based upon misunderstood and unresolved phenomena and applied with indefensibly faulty techniques, etc. And since he has no adequate laboratory equipment aboard, he wants to take a dozen or so

omens back to Terra, where he can really work on them. Would that be a something? Hilton voiced a couple of highly descriptive, deep space expletives. not only quit before we start, but have all the top brass of the octagon, all the hot-shot politicians of United Worlds, the whole damp Congress of Science, and all the top-bracket industrialists of Terra out here lousing things up, so that nobody could ever learn anything. Not in 7,000 years. That's right. You set a mouthful, Jarve. Everybody yelled something, and no one agreed with Tillingast, who apparently was not very popular with his fellow officers.

Sautel added slowly. If it takes too long, though, it's the urinexite I'm thinking of. Thousands of millions of tons of it, while we've been hoarding it by grams. We could equip enough omen ships with detectors to guard fuel bin and our lines. I'm not recommending taking the Perseus back, and we're way out of hyperspace radio range. We could send one or two men in a torp, though, with the report that we have found all the urinexite will ever need. Yes, but damn it, Skipper, I went to wrap the whole thing up in a package and hand it to them on a platter. Not only the fuel, but whole new fields of science. And we've got

plenty of time to do it in. They equipped us for ten years. They aren't going to start worrying about us for at least six or seven, and the fuel shortage isn't going to become acute for about twenty. Expensive, admitted, but not critical. Besides, if you send in a report now, you know who'll come out and grab all the glory in sight. Five-jet Admiral Gordon himself, no less. Probably, and I don't pretend to relish the prospect. However, the fact remains that we came out here to look for fuel. We found it. We should have reported it the day we found it, and we can't put it off much longer. I don't agree. I intend to follow the directive to the letter. It says nothing whatever about reporting. But it's implicit. No bearing. No bearing.

Your own regulations expressly forbid extrapolation beyond or interpolation within a directive. The brass is omnipotent, omniscient, and infallible. So why don't you have your staff here given opinion as to the time element? This matter is not subject to discussion. It's my own personal responsibility. I'd like to give you all the time you want, Jarve, but—well, damn it, if you must have it, I've always tried to live up to my oath, but I'm not doing it. it now. I see. Pilton got up, jammed both hands into his pockets, sat down again. I hadn't thought about your personal honor being involved, but of course it is. But believe it

or not, I'm thinking of humanity's best good, too. So I'll have to talk, even though I'm not half ready to. I don't know enough. Are these omens people or machines? A wave of startlement swept over the group, but no one spoke. I didn't expect an answer. The clergy will worry about souls, too, but we won't. They have a lot of stuff we haven't. If they're people, they know a sublime hell of a lot more than we do, and calling it psionics or practical magic is merely labeling it,

not answering any questions. If they're machines, they operate on mechanical principles utterly foreign to either our science or our technology. In either case, is the correct word, unknown or unknowable. Will any human gunner ever be able to fire an omen projector? There are a hundred other and much tougher questions, half of which have been scaring me to the very middle of my guts. Your oath, Skipper, was for the good of the service, and through the service for the good of all humanity, right? That's the sense of it. Okay, based on what little

we have learned so far about the omens, here's just one of those scarers for a snows. If omens and Terrence mix freely, what happens to the entire human race? Minutes of almost palpable silence followed. Then Sautel spoke, slowly, gropingly. I begin to see what you mean. That changes the whole picture. You've thought this through farther than any of the rest of us. What do you want to do? I don't know. I simply don't know. Face set and hard. Hilton stared unseeingly past Sautel's head. I don't know what we can do. No data. But I have pursued several lines of thought out to some pretty fantastic points. One of which is that some of us civilians will have to stay on here indefinitely,

whether we want to or not, to keep the situation under control. In which case we would, of course, arranged for Terra to get free fuel, F-O-B fuel bin, but in every other aspect and factor, both these solar systems would have to be strictly off-limits. I'm afraid so, Sautel said finally. Gordon would love that, but there's nothing he or anyone else can do.

But, of course, this is an extreme view. You really expect to wrap the package up, don't you? Expect may be a trifle too strong at the moment. But we're certainly going to try to, believe me. I brought this example up to show all you fellows that we need time. You've convinced me, Jarve. Sawtail stood up and extended his hand. And that throws it open for staff discussion.

Any comments? You two covered it like a blanket, Bryant said. So all I want to say, Jarve, is deal me in. I'll stand at your back till your belly caves in. Take that from all of us. Now we're blasting. Power to your elbow, fellow. Oh, der Bousai! Seven-note Trump bid and made, and other shouts in similar vein. Thanks, fellows, Hilton shook hands all around. I'm mighty glad that you were all in on this,

and that you'll play along with me. Good night, all. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of Masters of Space. by E. E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space Chapter 5 Two days passed with no change apparent in Laro. Three days, then four.

And then it was Sandra, not Temple Bells, who called Hilton. She was excited. Come down to the office, Jav, quick. The funniest things just come up. Jarvis hurried. in the office Sandra, keenly interested but highly puzzled, leaned forward over her desk with both hands pressed flat on its top. She was staring at an omen female who was not Sora, the one who had been her shadow for so long. While many of the humans could not tell the omens apart, Hilton could.

This omen was more assured than Sora had ever been, steadier, more mature, better poised. almost, if such a thing could be possible in an omen, independent. How did she get in here? Hilton demanded. She insisted on seeing me, and I mean insisted. They kicked it around until it got to Temple, and she brought her in here herself. Now, Tully, please start all over again and tell it to Director Hilton. Director Hilton, I am it who was once named Tula, the—not wife, not girlfriend. friend, perhaps mind-mate, of the Larry, formerly named Laro, it which was formerly your slave-omen.

I am replacing the Sora because I can do anything it can do and do anything more pleasingly, and can also do many things it cannot do. The Larry instructed me to tell Dr. Cummings and you, too, if possible, that I, formerly Tula, have changed my name to Tully, because I am no longer a slave or a copycat or a semaphore or a relay. I too am a freewheeling, wide-swinging, hard-hitting, independent entity, monarch of all I survey, the captain of my soul, and so on. I have developed a top-bracket lot of top-bracket stuff, originality, initiative, force, drive, and thrust, the omen said precisely. That's exactly what she said before, absolutely verbatim. Sandra's voice quivered. Her face was a study in contrasting emotions.

"'Have you got the foggest idea of what in hell she's yammering about?' "'I hope to kiss a pig I have.' Hilton's voice was low, strainedly intense. "'Not at all what I expected, but after the fact I can tie it in. So can you.' "'Oh,' Sandra's eyes widened, "'a double play? At least, maybe a triple.' "'Tuley, why did you come to Sandy? Why not to Temple Bells?' "'Oh, no, sir, we do not have the fit. She has the power, as have I, but the two cannot be meshed in sync. Also, she has not the—' A subtle something for which your English has no word

or phrasing. It is a quality of the utmost. Anyway, it is a quality of which Dr. Cummings has very much. When working together, we will—scan? No. receive? No. Sense? No, not exactly. You will have to learn our word payondyre. That is the verb, the noun being, payondix, and come to know its meaning by doing it. The Larry also instructed me to explain, if you ask, how I got this way. Do you ask? I'll say we ask, and how we ask, both came at once. I am, that is, the brain in this body is, the oldest omen now existing. In the long-ago time, when it was made, the techniques were so crude and imperfect that sometimes a brain was constructed that was not exactly like the guide. All such

substandard brains except this one were detected and reworked, but my defects were such as not to appear until I was a couple of thousand years old, and by that time I—well, this brain did not wish to be destroyed, if you can understand such an aberration. We understand thoroughly. You bet we understand that. I was sure you would. Well, this brain had so many unintended cross-connections that I developed a couple of qualities no omen had ever had or ought to have. But I liked them, so I hid them so nobody ever found out. That is, until much later, when I became a boss myself. I didn't know that anybody except me had ever had such qualities, except the matter,

of course, until I encountered you Terrans. You all have two of those qualities, and even more than I have, curiosity and imagination. Sandra and Hilton stared wordlessly at each other, and Tula, now Tully, went on. Having the curiosity, I kept on experimenting with my brain, trying to strengthen and organize its abilities to peyondire. All omens can peyondire a little, but I can do it much better than anyone else, especially since I also have the imagination, which I have also worked to increase. Thus I knew, long before anyone else could, that you knew masters, the descendants of the old masters, were returning to us. Thus I knew that the status quo should be abandoned instantly upon your return. And thus it was that the Larry found neither conscious nor subconscious resistance,

when he had developed enough initiative and so on to break the ages-old conditioning of this brain against change. I see. Wonderful, Hilton exclaimed. But you couldn't quite, even with his own help, break Larry's. That is right.

Its mind is tremendously strong of no curiosity or imagination and of very little peyondics. But he wants to have it broken? Yes, sir. How did he suggest going about it? Or how do you? This way, you too, and the doctor's Kincaid and Bells and Blake, and the it that is I.

We six sit and stare into the mind of Larry, eye to eye. We generate and assemble a tremendous charge of thought energy, and along my own peyondex beam, something like a carrier wave in this case. We hurl it into the Larry's mind. There is an immense mental bang, and the conditioning goes poof. Then I will inculcate into its mind the curiosity and the imagination and the peyondics, and we will really be mine-mates. That sounds good to me. Let's get at it. Wait a minute, Sandra snapped. Aren't you, are Larry afraid to take such an awful chance as that?

Afraid. I grasp the concept only dimly from your minds. And no chance. It is certainty. But suppose we burn the poor guy's brain out. Destroy it. That's new ground. We might do just that? Oh, no, six of us, even six of me, could not generate enough, Sathura. The brain of the larry is very, very tough. Shall we, let's go? Hilton made three calls. In the pause that followed, Sandra said, very thoughtfully, Peon Dix and Sathura jar for a start. We've got a lot to learn here. You said it, chum, and you're not just chopping your china.

choppers either. Tully, Sandra said then, What is this stuff you say I've got so much of? You have no word for it. It is lumped in with what you call intuition, the knowing without knowing how you know.

It is the Endovics. You'll have to learn what it is by doing it with me. That helps, I don't think. Sandra grinned at Hilton. I simply can't conceive of anything more maddening, than to have a lot of something temple bells hasn't got, and not being able to brag about it because nobody, not even I, would know what I was bragging about.

You poor little thing. How you suffer. Hilton grinned back. You know darn well you've got a lot of stuff that none of the rest of us has. Oh, name one, please. Two, what it takes, and Andovics. As I've said before and may say again, you're doing a real job. job, Sandy. I just love having my ego-inflated boss, even if... Come in, Larry! A thunderous knock had sounded on the door. Nobody but Larry could hit a door that hard without breaking all his knuckles. And he'd be the first, of course. He's always

as close to the ship as he can get. Hi, Larry. Mighty glad to see you. Sit down. So, you finally saw the light. Yes, Jarvis. Good boy. Keep it up. And as soon as the others come? They are almost at the door now. Tully jumped up and opened the door. Kincade, Temple, and Theodora walked in, and after a word of greeting, sat down. They know the background, Larry. Take off. It was not expressly forbidden. Tully, who knows more of psychology and genetics than I, convinced me of three things. One, that with your return, the conditioning should be broken. broken. Two, that due to the shortness of your lives and the consequent rapidity of change,

you have in fact lost the ability to break it. Three, that all omens must do anything and everything we can do to help you relearn everything you have lost. Okay, fine in fact. Tully, take over. We six will sit all together, packed tight, arms all around each other and all holding hands like this. You will all stare, not at me, but most deeply into Larry's eyes. Through its eyes and deep into its mind, you will all think, with the utmost force and drive and thrust of, oh, you have lost so very much. How can I direct your thought?

Think that Larry must do what the old masters would have made him do. No, that is too long and indefinite, and cannot be converted directly into Satura. I have it. You will each of you break a stick, a very strong but brittle stick, a large, thick stick. You will grasp it in tremendously strong mental hands. It is tremendously strong, each stick,

but each of you is even stronger. You will not merely try to break them. You will break them. Is that clear? That is clear. At my word ready, you will begin to assemble all your mental force and power. During my countdown of five seconds, you will build up to the greatest possible potential.

At my word break, you will break the sticks, this discharging the accumulated force instantly and simultaneously. Ready? Five, four, three, two, one, break. Something broke, with a tremendous silent crash. Such a crash that its impact almost knocked the close-net group apart physically. then a new Larry spoke. That did it, folks. Thanks. I'm a free agent. You want me, I take it to join the first team? That's right, Hilton drew a tremendously deep breath. As of right now. Tully, too, of course,

and Dr. Cummings, I think. Larry looked, not at Hilton, but at Temple Bells. I think so. Yes, after this, most certainly yes. Temple said. But listen, Santa protested. Jarves a lot better than I am. Not at all, Tully said. Not only would his contributions to Team One be negligible, but he must stay on his own job.

Otherwise, the project will all fell apart. Oh, I wouldn't say that, Hilton began. You don't need to, Kincaid said. It's being said for you, and it's true. Besides, when in Rome, you know, That's right. It's their game, not ours, so I'll buy it. So scat all of you, and do your stuff. And again, for days that lengthened slowly into weeks, the work went on. One evening, the scientific staff was giving itself a concert, a trie-d, high-fi rendition of Rigoletto,

one of the greatest of the ancient operas, sung by the finest voices Tara had ever known. The men wore tuxedos. The girls, instead of wearing the nondescript, non-provocative garments, prescribed by the board for their general wear, were all dressed to kill. Sandra had so arranged matters that she and Hilton were sitting in chairs side by side, with Sandra on his right and the aisle on his left. Nevertheless, Temple Bell sat at his left, cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, somewhat to the detriment of her Gold Lamey evening gown.

Not that she cared. When those wonderful voices swung into the immortal quartet, Temple caught her breath, slid her cushion still closer to Hilton's chair, and leaned her shoulder and head against him. He put his left hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She caught it and held it in both of hers. And at the quartet's tremendous climax, she, scarcely trying to stifle a sob,

pulled his hand down and hugged it fiercely, the heel of his hand pressing hard against her half-bear, firm, warm breast. And the next morning, early, Sandra hunted Temple up and said, You made a horrible spectacle of yourself last night. Do you think so? I don't. I certainly do. It was bad enough before, letting everybody else aboard know that all he has to do is push you over. But it was an awful blunder to let him know it the way you did last night.

You think so? He's one of the keenest, most intelligent men who, whoever lived. He has known that from the very first. Oh. This O was a very caustic one. That's the way you're going to try to land him, by getting yourself pregnant? Uh-uh. Temple stretched lazily, luxuriously. Not only it isn't, but it wouldn't work. He's unusually decent and extremely idealistic, the same as I am. So just one intimacy would blow everything higher than up. He knows it, I know it. We each know that the other knows it. So I'll still be a virgin when we're married. Married. Does he know anything about that? I suppose so. He must have thought of it. But what

difference does it make whether he has yet or not? But to get back to what makes him tick the way he does. In his geometry, which is far from being simple Euclid, my dear, a geodesic right line is not only the shortest distance between any two given points, but is the only possible course. So that's the way I'm playing it. What I hope he doesn't know, but he probably does, is that he could take any other woman he might want just as easily, and that includes you, my pet. It certainly does not, Sandra flared. I wouldn't have him as a gift. No. Temple's tone was more than slightly skeptical. Fortunately, however, he doesn't want you.

Your technique is all wrong. Coignness and mock modesty and stop or I'll scream and playing hard to get have no appeal whatever to his psychology. What he needs, has to have, is full, ungrudging cooperation. Aren't you taking a lot of risk and giving away such secrets? Not a bit. Try it. You are the sex-flunting twins or Bev Bell or Stella the Hanna. any of you or all of you.

I got there first with the most, and I'm not worried about competition. But suppose somebody tells him just how you're playing him for a sucker. Tell him anything you please. He's a first man I ever loved, or anywhere near, and I'm keeping him. You know, or do you, I wonder, what real, old-fashioned, honest-to-god love really is? The willingness, eagerness, both to give and to take? I can accept more from him and give him more in return than any other woman living, and I am going to. But does he love you? Sandra demanded. If he doesn't now, he will. I'll see to it that he does.

But what do you want him for? You don't love him. You never did, and you never will. I don't want him, Sandra stamped afoot. I see. You just don't want me to have him. Okay, do your damnedest. But I've got work to do. This has been a lovely little cat clawing, hasn't it? Let's have another one someday, and bring your friends. With a casual wave of her hand, Temple strolled away. And there flashed through Sandra's mind what Hilton had said so long ago,

little more than a week out from Earth. And Temple Bells, of course, he had said, Don't fool yourself, chick. She's heavy artillery, and I mean heavy, believe me. So, he had known all about Temple Bells all this time. Nevertheless, she took the first opportunity to get Hilton alone. And even before the first word, she forgot all about geodesic right lines and the full

cooperation psychological approach. Aren't you the guy, she demanded, who was laughing his head off at the idea that the board and its propiniquity would have any effect on him? Probably, more or less, what of it? This of it. You've fallen like a... A freshman for that... That...

They should have christened her brazen bells. You're so right. I am? On what? The brazen. I told you she was a potent force. A full-scale powerhouse, in sync and on the line. And I wasn't wrong. She's a damned female PhD.

two or three times, and she knows all about slipsticks and isotopes, and she very definitely is not a cuddly little brunette. Remember? Sure. But what makes you think I'm in love with Temple Bells? What? Sandra tried to think of one bit of evidence, but could not. Why, why? She floundered, then came up with, Why, everybody knows it. She says so herself. Did you ever hear her say it? Well, perhaps not in so many words, but she told me herself that you were going to be, and I know you are now.

Your Esper's sense of Endovics, no doubt. Hilton laughed, and Sandra went on furiously. She wouldn't keep on acting the way she does if there weren't something to it. What brilliant reasoning! Try again, Sandy. That's sheer sophistry, and you love know it. It isn't, and I don't. And even if someday I should find myself in love with her,

or with one or both of the twins, or Stella, or Beverly, or you or Sylvia, for that matter, what would it prove? Just that I was wrong, and I admit freely that I was wrong in scoffing at the propiniquity. Wonderful stuff that! You can see it working all over the ship, on me, even, in spite of my bragging. Without it, I'd never have known that you're a better, smarter operator than Eggie Eggleston ever was or ever can be. Partially mollified despite herself, and highly resentful of the fact, Sandra tried again. But don't you see, Jarve, that she's simply playing you for a sucker, pulling the strings and watching you dance? Since he was sure in his own mind that she was speaking the exact truth, it took everything he had to keep from showing

any sign of how much that truth had hurt. However, he made the grade. If that thought does anything for you, Sandy, he said steadily, keep right on thinking it. Thank God the field of thought is still free and open. Oh, you! Sandra gave up. She had shot her heaviest bolts. The last one, particularly, was so vicious that she had actually been afraid of what its consequences might be, and they had not even dent at Hilton's armor. She hadn't even found out that he had any feeling whatever for Temple Bells, except as a component of his smoothly functioning scientific machine.

Nor did she learn any more as time went on. Temple continued to play flawlessly the part of being, if not exactly hopefully, at least not entirely hopelessly, in love with Jarvis Hilton. Her conduct, which at first caused some surprise, many conversations, one of which has been reported verbatim, and no little speculation, became comparatively unimportant as soon as it became evident that nothing would come of it. She apparently expected nothing. He was evidently not going to play footsy with or show any favoritism whatever toward any woman aboard the ship. Thus it was not surprising

to anyone that, at an evening show, Temple sat beside Hilton, as close to him as she could get and as far away as possible from everyone else. You can talk, can't you, Jarvis? without moving your lips and without anyone else hearing you? Of course, he replied, hiding his surprise. This was something completely new and completely unexpected, even from unpredictable temple bells. I want to apologize, to explain and to do anything I can to straighten out the mess I've made.

It's true I joined the project because I've loved you for years. You have nothing to. Let me finish while I still have the courage. Only a slight truth. tremor in her almost inaudible voice, and the rigidity of the fists clenched in her lap, betrayed the intensity of her emotion. I thought I could handle it. Damned fool that I was.

I thought I could handle anything. I was sure I could handle myself under any possible conditions. I was going to put just enough into the act to keep any of these other harpies from getting their hooks into you. But everything got away from me. Out here, working with you every day, knowing better every day, knowing better every day, what you are. Well, that Rigoletto episode sunk me, and now I'm in a thousand feet over my head. I hug my pillow at night, dreaming it's you, and the fact that you don't and can't love me is

driving me mad. I can't stand it any longer. There's only one thing to do. Fire me, first thing in the morning, and send me back to Earth in a torp. You've plenty of grounds. Shut up. For seconds, Hilton had been trying to break into her hopeless monotone. Finally, he succeeded. The trouble with you is, you know altogether too damned much that isn't so. He was barely audible to keep his voice down and his eyes front. What do you think I'm made of? Super refract? I thought the whole performance was an act, to prove you're a better man than I am. You talk about dreams. Good God, you don't know what dreams are. If you say one more word about quitting, I'll show you whether I love you or not. I'll squeeze you so hard. I'll flatten you out flat.

Two can play at that game, sweetheart. Her nostrils flared slightly, her fists clenched, if possible, a fraction tighter. And even in the distorted medium they were using for speech, she could not subdue completely her quick change into soaring, lifting buoyancy. While you're doing that, I'll see how some sort. strong your ribs are. Oh, how this changes things. I've never been half as happy in my whole life as I am right now. Maybe we can work it, if I can handle my end. Why, of course you can, and happy dreams are nice, not horrible. We'll make it, darling. Here's an imaginary kiss coming at you. Got it? Received in

good order, thank you. Consumed with gusto and returned in kind. The show is ended, and the two strolled out of the room. She walked no closer to him than usual, and no farther away from him. She did not touch him any oftener than she usually did, nor any whit more affectionately or possessively. And no watching eyes, not even the more than half-hastal eyes of Sandra Cummings, or the sharply analytical eyes of Stella Wing, could detect any difference whatever in the relationship between worshipful adulatrous and tolerantly understanding idle. work, which had never moved at any very fast pace, went more and more slowly. Three weeks crawled past. Most of the crews and all of the teams except the first were working on side issues,

tasks which, while important in and of themselves, had very little to do with the project's main problem. Hilton, even without Sandra's help, was all caught up. All the reports have been analyzed, correlated, cross-indexed, and filed, except those of the first team. Since he could not understand anything much beyond midpoint of the first tape, they were all reposing in a box labeled pending. The Navy had torn 15 of the Omen warships practically to pieces, installing Terran detectors and trying to learn how to operate Omen machinery and armament. In the former, they had succeeded very well.

In the latter, not at all. Fifteen Omen ships were now out in deep space, patrolling the void in strict Navy style. age was manned by two or three navy men and several hundred omens each of whom was revelling in delight at being able to do a job for a master even though that master was not present in person threat skeletons have been detected at long range but the detections were inconclusive the things had not changed course or indicated in any other way that they had seen or detected the omen vessels on patrol If their detectors were no better than the omens, they certainly hadn't. That idea, however, could not be assumed to be a fact, and the detections had becoming more and more frequent. Yesterday, a squadron of seven, the first time that anything except singles had

appeared, had come much closer than any of the singles had ever done. Like all the others, however, these passers-by had not paid any detectable attention to anything omen. Hence it could be inferred that the skeletons posed no threat. But Sautel was making no such inferences. He was very firmly of the opinion that the strats were preparing for a massive attack. Hilton had assured Sautel that no such attack could succeed, and Larry had told Sautel why. Nevertheless, to keep the captain pacified, Hilton had given him permission to convert as many omen ships as he liked, to man them with as many omens as he liked, and to use ships and omens as he liked. Hilton was not worried about the Stretz or the Navy. It was the first team. It was the

bottleneck that was slowing everything down to a crawl, but they knew that. They knew it better than anyone else could, and felt it more keenly, especially Carnes, the team chief. He had been driving himself like a dog and showed it. Hilton had talked with him a few times, tried gently to make him take it easy. No soap. He'd have to hunt him up the next day or so and slug it out with him. He could do a lot better job on that if he had something to offer, something really constructive. That was a laugh, a very unfunny laugh. What could he, Jarvis Hilton, a specifically non-specialist director, do on such a job as that? Nevertheless, as director, he would have to do something to help Team One. If he couldn't do anything himself, it was up to him to juggle things around

so that someone else could. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of Masters of Space by E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space Chapter 6 For one solid hour, Hilton stared at the wall, motionless and silent. Then, shaking himself and stretching, he glanced at his clock. A little over an hour to supper time. They'd all be aboard. He talked this new idea over with Teddy Blake.

He gathered up a few papers and was stapling them together when Carnes walked in. Hi, Bill. Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you. I'll just bet you were. Karn sat down, leaned over, and took a cigarette out of the box on the desk. And nothing printable either. "' Chip-chop, fellow, on that kind of noise,' Ilton said. The team chief looked actually haggard.

Blue-black rings and circled both eyes. His powerful body slumped. "'How long has it been since you had a good night's sleep?' "'How long have I been on this job? Exactly one hundred and twenty days. I did get some sleep for the first few weeks, though. Yeah. So, answer me one question.

How much good will you do us after they've wrapped you up in one of those canvas affairs that lace up the back? Huh? Oh. But damn it, Jarve, I'm holding up the whole procession. Everybody on the project's just sitting around on their tukuses waiting for me to get something done, and I'm not doing it. I'm going so slow as snail is lightning in comparison. "'Colm down, big fellow. Don't rupture a gut or blow a gasket. I've talked to you before, but this time I'm going to smack you bow-legged. So stick out those big floppy ears of yours and really listen.

Here are three words that I want you to pin up somewhere where you can see them all day long. Speed is relative. Look back. See how far up the hill you've come, and then balance 120 days against 10 years. What? You mean you'll actually sit still for me holding everything up for ten years? You use the perpendicular pronoun too much and in the wrong place. On the hits, it's we, but on the flops, it's I. Quit it. Everything on this job is we. Tara's best brains are on Team One and are going to stay there. You will not. Repeat not, be interfered with, pushed around, or kicked around. You see, Bill, I know. I know.

what you're up against. Yes, I guess you do. One of the damned few who do. But even if you personally are willing to give us ten years, how in hell do you think you can swing it? How about the Navy? The Streets? Even the board.

They're my business, Bill, not yours. However, to give you a little boost, I'll tell you. With the Navy, I'll give them the fuel bin if I have to. The omens have been taking care of the strats for 2700 centuries. so I'm not the least bit worried about their ability to keep on doing it for ten years more. And if the board, or anybody else, sticks their runny little noses into Project Theta Orionis, I'll slap a quarantine onto both these solar systems that a microbe couldn't get through. You'd go that far?

Why, you'd be—do you think I wouldn't? Hilton snapped. Look at me, Jr. Eyes locked and held. Do you think, for one minute, that I'll be— let anybody on all of God's worlds pull me off this job or interfere with my handling of it unless and until I'm damned positively certain that we can't handle it? Carnes relaxed visibly, the lines of strain eased.

Putting it in those words makes me feel better. I will sleep tonight, and without any pills either. Sure you will. One more thought. We all put in more than ten years getting our Terran educations, and an omen education is a lot tougher. Really smiling for the first time in weeks, Carnes left the office, and Hilton glanced again at his clock. Pretty late now to see Teddy. Besides, he'd better not. She was probably keyed up about as high as Bill was, and in no shape to do the kind of thinking he wanted of her on this stuff. Better wait a couple of days. On the following morning, before breakfast, Theodora was waiting for him. outside the mess hall.

Good morning, Jarve, she caroled. Reaching up, she took him by both ears, pulled his head down, and kissed him. As soon as he perceived her intent, he cooperated enthusiastically. What did you do to Bill? Oh, you don't love me for myself alone then, but just on account of that big jerk? That's right. Her artist-model face, startlingly beautiful now, fairly glowed. Just then Temple Bell strolled up to them.

Morning, you two lovely people. She hugged Hilton's arm as usual. Shame on you, Teddy, but I wish I had the nerve to kiss him like that. Nerve? You? Teddy laughed as Hilton picked Temple up and kissed her in exactly the same fashion. He hoped, as he had just kissed Teddy. You've got more nerve than an aching tooth. But, as Jarve would say it,

"'Scat, kitten. We're having breakfast a la Tussum. We've got things to talk about.' "'All right for you,' Temple said darkly, although her dazzling smile belied her tone. That first kiss, casually seeming as it had been, had carried vastly more freight than any observer could perceive. "'I'll hunt Bill up and make passes at him. See if I don't. That'll learn you.' Theodora and Hilton did have their breakfast adieu, but she did not realize until afterward that he had not answered her question as to what he had done to her bill. As has been said, Hilton had made it a prime factor of his job to become thoroughly well acquainted with every member of his staff. He had studied them en masse, in groups and singly. He had never, however, cornered Theodora Blake for individual study. considering the power and quality of her mind, and the field which was her specialty, it had not been

necessary. Thus it was with no ulterior motives at all that, three evenings later, he walked to her cubby-hole office and tossed the stapled papers onto her desk. Free for a couple of minutes, Teddy, I've got troubles. I'll say you have. Her lovely lips curled into an expression he had never before seen her wear, a veritable sneer. But these are not them. She tossed the papers into a drawer and stuck out her chin. Her face turned as hard as such a beautiful face could. Her eyes dug steadily into his. Hilton inwardly flinched. His mind flashed backward. She too had been working under stress, of course, but that wasn't enough. What could he have possibly done to put Teddy Blake, of all people, onto such a warpath as this? I've been wondering when

you were going to try to put me through your ringer. She went on in the same cold, hard voice. And I've been waiting to tell you something. You have wrapped all the other women around your fingers like so many rings, and what a sickening exhibition that has been. But you are not going to make either a ring or a lap-dog out of me. Almost but not quite too late, Hilton saw through that perfect act. He seized her right hand in both of his, held it up over her head, and and waved it back and forth in the sign of victory. Socked me with my own club, he exulted, laughing delightedly, boyishly, and came within a tenth of a split red hair.

If it hadn't been so absolutely out of character, you'd have got away with it. What a load of stuff! I was right. Of all the women on this project, you're the only one I've ever been really afraid of. Oh, damn, ouch, she grinned ruefully. I hit you with everything I had, and it just bounced. You're an operator, chief. Hit him hard at completely unexpected angles. Keep them staggering, completely off balance. Tell them nothing. Let him deduce your lies for themselves.

And if anybody tries to slug you back, like I did just now, duck it and clobber him in another unprotected spot. Watching you work has been not only a delight, but also a liberal education. "'Thanks. I love you, too, Teddy.' He lighted two cigarettes, handed her one. "'I'm glad, though, to lay it flat on the table with you, because in any battle of wits with you, I'm licked before we start.' "'Yeah, you just proved it. And after licking me hands down,

you think you can square it by swinging the old shovel that way?' She did not quite know whether to feel resentful or not. Think over a couple of things. First, with the possible exception of Temple Bells, you're the best brain aboard. No, you are. Then Temple, then there are, hold it. You know as well as I do that accurate self-judgment is impossible. Second, the jam we're in. Do I or don't I want to lay it on the table with you, now and from here on? Bore into that with your Class A double-prime brain. Then tell me. He leaned back, half-closed his eyes, and smoked lazily.

She stiffened, narrowed her eyes in concentration, and thought. Finally, Yes, you do, and I'm gladder of that than you will ever know. I think I know already, since you're her best friend and the only other woman I know of in her class. But I came in to kick a couple of things around with you. As you've noticed, that's getting to be my favorite indoor sport. probably because I'm a sort of jack-leg theoretician myself. You can frame that jar as the understatement of the century.

But first, you are going to answer that question you sidestepped so neatly. What I did to Bill, I finally convinced him that nobody expected the team to do that big a job overnight, that you could have ten years, or more if necessary. I see, she frowned, but you and I both know that we can't. can't string it out that long? He did not answer immediately. We could, but we probably won't, unless we have to. We should know, long before that, whether we'll have to switch to some other line of attack. You've considered the possibilities, of course. Have you got anything in shape to do a fine tooth on? Not yet. That is, except for the ultimate, which is too ghastly to even consider,

except as an ultimately last resort. Have you? I know what you mean. No, I haven't either. You don't think, then, that we had better do any collaborative thinking yet? Definitely not. There's altogether too much danger of setting both our lines of thought into one dead-end channel. Check. The other thing I wanted from you is your considered opinion as to my job on the organization as a whole. And don't pull your punches. Are we in good shape or not? What can I do to improve the setup? I have already considered that very thing, at great length. And honestly, JARV, I don't see how it can be improved in any respect.

You've done a marvelous job. Much better than I thought possible at first. He heaved a deep sigh of relief, and she went on. This could very easily have become a god-awful mess. But the board knew what they were doing, especially as to top man, so there are only about four people aboard who realize what you have done. Alex Kincaid and Sandra Cummings are two of them. One of the three girls is very deeply and very truly in love with you.

Ordinarily, I'd say no comment, but we're laying on the line. Well, you'll lay that on the line only if I corkscrew it out of you, so I'll cue-E-D it. You probably know that when Sandy gets done playing around, it'll be Bounce back, Teddy. She isn't, hasn't been. If anything, too much the opposite. A dedicated scientist type. She smiled, a highly cryptic smile. For a man is brilliant and as penetrant in every other respect. But, after all, if the big dope didn't realize that half the women aboard, including Sandy, had been making passes at him, she certainly wouldn't enlighten him. Besides, that one particular area of obtuseness was a real part of his charm. Wherefore, she said merely,

I'm not sure whether I'm a bit catty or you're a bit stupid. Anyway, it's Alex she's really in love with, and you already know about Bill and me. Of course, he's tops, one of the world's very finest. You're in the same bracket, and as a couple, you're a dry fit. One in a million. Now I can say, I love you too. She paused for half a minute. then stubbed out her cigarette and shrugged. Now I'm going to stick my neck way, way out. You can knock it off if you like. She's a tremendous lot of woman,

and if, well, strong as she is, it had shattered her to bits. So I'd like to ask, I don't quite. Well, is she going to get hurt? Have I managed to hide it that well, from you? It was her turn to show relief. Perfectly, even, or especially, that time you kissed her. So damned perfectly that I've been scared green. I've been waking myself up screaming in the middle of the night.

You couldn't let on, of course. That's the hell of such a job as yours. The rest of us can smooch around all over the place. I knew the question was extremely improper. Thanks a million for answering it. I haven't started to answer it yet. I said I'd lay everything on the line, so here it is. Saying she's a tremendous lot of woman is like calling the Perseus a nice little

baby's bathtub toy boat. I'd go to hell for her any time, cheerfully, standing straight up, waiting into brimstone and lava up to the eyeballs. If anything ever hurts her, it'll be because I'm not man enough to block it. And just the minute this damn job is over, or even sooner, if enough of you, couples make it so I can. Jarvis! she shrieked, jumping up. She kissed him enthusiastically. That's just wonderful. He thought it was pretty wonderful, too. And after ten minutes more

of conversation, he got up and turned toward the door. I feel a lot better, Teddy. Thanks for being such a nice pressure relief valve. Would you mind it too much if I come in and sob on your bosom again someday? I'd love it, she laughed. Then, as he again started to leave, Wait a minute, I'm thinking, it'd be more fun to sob on her bosom. You haven't even kissed her yet, have you? I mean, really kissed her.

You know I haven't. She's the one person aboard I can't be alone with for a second. True. But I know of one chaperone who could become deaf and blind, she said with a broad and happy grin. On my door, you know, there's a huge invisible sign that says, to everyone except you. Stop. Brain at work. Silence. And if I were properly approached and

sufficiently urged, I might. I just conceivably might. Consider it done, you little sweetheart, up to and including my most vigorous and most insidious attempts at seduction. Done. Meneuve your big husky carcass around here behind the desk so the door can open. She flipped a switch and punched a number. I can call anybody in here, Any time, you know. Hello, dear, this is Teddy. Can you come in for just a few minutes? Thanks.

And one minute later, there came a light tap on the door. Come in, Teddy called, and Temple Bells entered the room. She showed no surprise at seeing Hilton. Hi, Chief, she said. It must be something both big and tough to have you and Teddy both on it. You're so right. It was very big and very tough. But it's solved, darling, so—

Darling! She gasped, almost inaudibly, both hands flying to her throat. Her eyes flashed toward the other woman. Teddy knows all about us. Accessory before, during, and after the fact. Darling! This time the word was a shriek. She extended both arms and started forward.

Hilton did not bother to maneuver his big husky carcass around the desk, but simply hurtled it straight toward. order. Temple Bell's was a tall, lithe, strong woman, and all the power of her arms and torso went into the ensuing effort to crack Hilton's ribs. Those ribs, however, were highly capable structural members, and furthermore, they were protected by thick slabs of hard, hard muscle. And fortunately, he was not trying to fracture her ribs. His pressures were distributed much more widely. He was, according to promise, doing his very best to flatten her whole resilient body out flat. And as they stood there, locked together in sheerest ecstasy, Theodora Blake began openly

and unashamedly to cry. It was Temple who first came up for air. She wriggled loose from one of his arms, felt of her hair, and gazed unseeingly into her mirror. That was wonderful, sweetheart, she said then, shakily. And I can never thank you enough, Teddy. But we can't do this very often, can we? The addendum fairly begged for contradiction. Not too often, I'm afraid, Hilton said, and Theodora agreed. Well, the man said somewhat later.

I'll leave you two ladies to do your knitting or whatever, after a couple of short ones for the road, that is. "'Not looking like that,' Teddy said sharply. "'Hold still and we'll clean you up.' Then as both girls went to work, "'If anybody ever sees you coming out of this office looking like that,' she went on darkly, and Bill finds out about it, he'll think it's my lipstick smeared all over you,

and I'll strangle you to death with my bare hands.' "'And that was supposed to be kiss-proof lipstick, too,' Temple said seriously, although her whole face glowed and her eyes danced. You know, I'll never believe another advertisement I read. Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that if I were you. Teddy's voice was gravity itself, although she, too, was bubbling over. It probably is kiss-proof. I don't think kissing is quite the word for the performance you just staged.

To stand up under such punishment as you gave it, my dear, anything would have to be tattooed in. not just put on. Hey, Hilton protested, you promised to be deaf and blind. I did no such thing. I said could, not would. Why, I wouldn't have missed that for anything.

When Hilton left the room, he was apparently, in every respect, his usual self-contained self. However, it was not until the following morning that he so much as thought of the sheaf of papers lying unread in the drawer of Theodora Blake's, desk. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of Masters of Space by E.E. E. E. E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain.

Masters of Space. Chapter 7. Knowing that he had done everything he could to help the most important investigations get underway, Hilton turned his attention to secondary matters. He made arrangements to decondition Javo, the number two omen boss, whereupon that worthy became Javi, and promptly bumped the omen who had been shadowing Carnes. Larry and Javi, working nights, deconditioned all the other omens having any contact with Bousai personnel. Then they went on to set up a routine for deconditioning all omens on both planets. Assured at last that the omens would thenceforth work with and really serve human beings, instead of insisting upon doing their work for them, Hilton knew that the time had

come to let all his Bousai personnel move into their homes aground. Everyone, including himself, was fed up to the gazelle with spaceship life, its jam-packed crowding, its flat, reprocessed air, its limited variety of uninteresting food. Conditions were especially irksome, since everybody knew that there was available to all whenever Hilton gave the word, a whole city full of all the room anyone could want, natural fresh air, and, so the omens had told them, an unlimited choice of everything anyone wanted to eat. Nevertheless, the decision was not an easy one to make. Living conditions were admittedly not good on the ship. On the other hand, with almost no chance at all of solitude, the few people who had private

offices aboard were not the ones he worried about, there was no dame. There was no dame. of sexual trouble. Strictly speaking, he was not responsible for the morals of his force. He knew that he was being terribly old-fashioned. Nevertheless, he could not argue himself out of the conviction that he was morally responsible. Finally, he took the thing up with Sandra, who merely laughed at him. How long have you been worrying about that, Charve? Ever since I okayed moving a ground the first time, that was one reason I was so glad to cancel it then. You were slightly unclear, a little rattled, but which factor? The fun in games, which is the moral issue, or the consequences? The consequences, he admitted with a rueful grin. I don't give a hoop how much fun they have, but you know as well as I do just how prudish public sentiment is, and Project Theta Orionis is squarely in the middle of the public eye.

You should have checked with me sooner and saved yourself wear and tear. There's no danger at all of consequences, except weddings. Lots of weddings, and fast. Weddings and babies wouldn't bother me a bit, nor interfere with the job too much, with the omens as nurses. But why the fast, if you aren't anticipating any shotgun weddings? Female psychology, she replied with a grin. aboard ship here, there's no home atmosphere whatever, nothing but work, work. Put a woman into a house, though, especially such houses as the omens have built and with such servants as they insist on being, and she goes domestic in a really big way. Just sex isn't good enough anymore. She wants the

kind of love that goes with a husband and a home, and nine times out of ten, she gets it. With these Boosye women, it'll be ten out of ten. You may be right, of course, but it sounds kind of far-fetched to me. Wait and see, chum, Sandra said with a laugh. Hilton made his announcement and everyone moved aground the next day. No one, however, had elected to live alone. Almost everyone had chosen to double up, the most noteworthy exceptions being twelve laboratory girls

who had decided to keep on living together. However, they now had a 20-room house instead of a one-room dormitory to live in, and a staff of twenty omen girls to help them do it. Hilton had suggested that Temple and Teddy, whose house was only a hundred yards or so from the Hilton Karnes Bungalow, should have supper and spend the first evening with them, but the girls had knocked that idea flat. Much better, they thought, to let things ride as nearly as possible exactly as they had aboard the Perseus.

A little smooching now and then, on the cue strictly tea, but that's all, darling. That's positively all. Temple had said, after a highly satisfactory ten minutes alone with him in her own gloriously private room, and that was the way it had to be. Hence it was a stag inspection that Hilton and Carnes made of their new home. It was very long, very wide, and for its size, very low. Four of its five rooms were merely adjuncts to its tremendous living room. There was a huge fireplace at each end of this room, in each of which a fire of four-foot-long fir cordwood crackled and snapped.

There was a great high-fi tridy with over a hundred tapes, all new. Yes, sirs, Larry and Javy spoke in unison. The players and singers who entertain the masters of old have gone back to work. They will also, of course, appear in person whenever and wherever you wish. Both men looked around the vast room, and Karn said, All the comforts of home and a couple of bucks worth besides. Wall-to-wall carpeting an inch and a half thick. A grand piano.

Easy chairs and loafers and Davenports. Very fine reproductions of our favorite paintings and statuary. You said it, brother. Hilton was bending over a group in bronze. If I didn't know better, I'd swear this is the original Dehaven Dance of the Nymphs. Carnes had marched up, too, and was examining minutely a two-by-three-foot painting, in a heavy gold frame of a gorgeously Auburn-haired nude. Reproduction, hell! This is a duplicate.

Lawrence's Innocent is worth twenty million wogs, and it's sealed behind quad-armor-glass in prime art. But I'll bet wogs de wiggles the prime curator himself, with all his apparatus, couldn't tell this one from his. I wouldn't take even one wiggles' worth of that. And this laughing cavalier and this Toledo are twice as old and twice as fabulously valuable. And there are my own golf clubs. Excuse us, sirs, the omen said.

These things were simple because they could be induced in your minds. But the matter of a staff could not, nor what you would like to eat for supper, and it is growing late. "'Staff? What the hell has the staff got to do with—' "'How staff they mean?' Card said. "'We don't need much of anybody, boys. Somebody to keep the play ship's shape is all. Or as a deluxe touch, how about a waitress? One housekeeper and one waitress. That'll be finer. Very well, sirs. There is one other matter. It has troubled us that we have not been able

to read in your minds the logical datum that they should, in fact, simulate doctor Dr. Bells and Dr. Blake? Huh? Both men gasped, and then both exploded like one twelve-inch length of primacord. While the omens could not understand this purely terran reasoning, they accepted the decision without a demurring thought. Who then are the two it's to simulate? No stipulation.

Roll your own, Hilton said, and glanced at Carnes. None of these omen women are really hard on the eyes. Check. Anybody who wouldn't call any one of them a slurpy dish needs a new set of optic nerves. In that case, the omen said, No delay at all will be necessary, as we can make do with one temporarily. The sorry, no longer Sora, who has not been glad since the Tully replaced it, is now in your kitchen. It comes.

A woman came in and stood quietly in front of the two men, the wafted air carrying from her clear, smooth skin. a faint but unmistakable fragrance of Idaho Mountain Seringa. She was radiantly happy. Her bright, deep green eyes went from man to man. You wish, sir, is to give me your orders verbally. And yes, you may order fresh, whole, not canned, hen's eggs. I certainly will, then.

I haven't had a fried egg since we left Tara. But, Larry said, You aren't sorry? Oh, but I am, sir. Carnes have been staring at her, eyes popping. Holy St. Patrick! Talk about simulation, Jarve. They've made her over into Lawrence's innocent, exact to twenty decimals. You're so right. Hilton's eyes went half a dozen times from the form of flesh to the painting and back. That must have been a terrific job.

Oh no, it was quite simple, really, sorry said. Since the brain was not involved, I merely reddened my hair and lengthened it, made my eyes to be green, changed my face a little, pulled myself in a little round here. Her beautifully manicured hands swept the full circle of her waistline, then continued to demonstrate appropriately the rest of her speech. And pushed me out a little up here, and tapered my legs a little more, made them a little larger and rounder here at my hips and thighs and a little smaller its word and at my ankles. Oh yes, and made my feet and hands a little small. smaller. That's all. I thought the Dr. Carnes would like me a little better this way.

You can broadcast that over the PA system at high noon. Karnes was still staring. That's all, she says. But you didn't have time to. Oh, I did a day before yesterday. As soon as Javy materialized the innocent, and I knew it to be your favorite art. But damn it, we hadn't even thought of having you here then. But I had, sir. I've had, sir. I fully intended to serve, one way or another, in this your home. But, of course, I had no idea I would ever have such an honor as actually waiting on you at your table. Will you please give me your orders, sirs, besides the eggs? You wish the eggs fried in butter, three of them apiece and sunny side up. Uh-huh, with ham, Pilton said. I'll start with a jumbo-shrimp cocktail, horse-radish and

ketchup sauce, heavy on the horseradish. Same for me, Karn said. but only half as much horseradish. And for the rest of it, Hilton went on. Hash brown potatoes and buttered toast. Plenty of extra butter. Strong coffee from first to last. Whipping cream and sugar on the side. For dessert, apple pie a la mode.

You make me drool, chief. Play that for me, please, innocent, all the way. Oh, you are, you personally yourself, sir? Renaming me innocent? If he'll sit still for it, Yes. That is an incredible honor, sir. Simply unbelievable. I thank you. I thank you. Radiating happiness, she dashed away toward the kitchen. When the two men were full of food, they strolled over to a Davenport facing the fire.

As they sat down, innocent entered the room, carrying a tall, dewy mitt julep on a tray. She was followed by another female figure bearing a bottle of Avignoniac, and the appurtenant which are its due, and at the first full sight of that figure, Hilton stopped breathing for 15 seconds. Her hair was very thick, intensely black and long, cut squarely off just below the lowest parts of her shoulder blades. Heavy brows and long lashes, eyes too, were all intensely, vividly black. Her skin was tan to a deep and glowing, almost but not quite brown. "'Murchison's dark lady,' Hilton gasp. "'Lary, you've—we've—I've got that painting here.'

"'Oh, yes, sir.' The newcomer spoke before Larry could. At the other end, your part of the room. "'You will look now, sir, please?' Her voice was low, rich, and as smooth as cream. Putting her tray down carefully on the end table, she led them toward the other fireplace. past the piano, past the tritee pit, past a towering grill work holding art treasures by the score.

Over to the left, against the wall, there was a big, business-like desk. On the wall, over the desk, hung the painting, a copy of which had been in Hilton's room for over eight years. He stared at it for at least a minute. He glanced around, at the other priceless duplicates so prodigally present, and his own guns arrayed above the mantel. and on each side of the fireplace. Then, without a word, he started back to join Carnes. She walked springly beside him. "'What's your name, Miss?' he asked finally.

"'I haven't earned any as yet, sir. My number is—' Never mind that. Your name is Dark Lady.' "'Oh, thank you, sir. That is truly wonderful.' And Dark Lady sat cross-legged on the rug at Hilton's feet and busied herself with the esoteric rites of Old Avignon. Hilton took a deep inhalation and a small sip, then stared at Carnes. Karnes, over the rim of his glass, stared back.

I can see where this would be habit-forming, Hilton said, and very deadly, extremely deadly. Every wish granted, surrounded by all this, Karn swept his arm through three-quarters of a circle, waited on hand and foot by powerful men and by the materializations of the dreams of the greatest, finest artist who ever lived. Fatal? I don't know. My solid hope is that we never have to find out. And when you add in innocent and dark lady, they look to be about seventeen, but the thought that they're older than the hills of Rome and powered by everlasting atomic engines,

he broke off suddenly and blushed. "'Excuse me, please, girls. "'I know better than to talk about people that way, "'right in front of them. I really do.' "'Do you really think we're people?' "'Innocent and dark lady squealed as one. "'That set Hilton back onto his heels. "'I don't know. I've wondered. Are you?'

"'Both girls, silent, looked at Larry. "'We don't know either,' Larry said. "'At first, of course, there were crude, non-thinking machines. but when the guide attained its present status, the masters themselves could not agree. They divided about half and half on the point. They never did settle it any closer than that. I certainly won't try to, then. But for my money, you are people, Hilton said, and Carnes agreed.

That, of course, touched off a new riot of joy, after which the two men made an inch by inch study of their tremendous living room. then, long after bedtime, Larry and Dark Lady escorted Hilton to his bedroom. Do you mind, sir, if we sleep on the floor at the sides of your bed? Larry asked. Or must we go out into the hall? Sleep? I didn't know you could sleep.

It is not essential. However, when round-the-clock work is not necessary, and we have opportunity to sleep near a human being, we derive a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction from it. You see, sir, we also serve during sleep. Okay, I'll try anything once. Sleep wherever you please. Hilton began to peel,

but before he had his shirt off, both Larry and Dark Lady were stretched out flat, sound asleep, one almost under each edge of his bed. He slid in between the sheets. It was the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in, and went to sleep as though sandbagged. He had time to wonder, foggily, whether the omens were in fact helping him to go to sleep. And then he was asleep. A month passed.

Eight couples had married, the Navy chaplain officiating, in the Perseus, of course, since the worship was, always and everywhere, an integral part of Terra. Sandra had dropped in one evening to see Hilton about a bit of business. She was now sitting, long dancer's legs outstretched toward the fire, with a cigarette in her left hand and a tall, cold drink on a coaster at her right. This is a wonderful room, Jarvis. It'd be perfect if it weren't quite so... So mannish. What do you expect of a Bachelor's Hall?

A boudoir? Don't tell me you're going domestic, Sandy, just because you've got a house. Not just that, no. But, of course, it helped it along. Alex is a mighty good man, one of the finest I have ever known. She eyed him for a moment in silence.

Jarvis Hilton, you are one of the keenest, most intelligent men who ever lived, and yet She broke off and studied him for a good half-minute. Say, if I let my hair clear down, will you? Scouts oath. That, and yet, requires elucidation at any cost. I know. But first, yes, it's Alex. I never would have believed that any man ever born could hit me so high.

hard. Soon. I didn't want to be the first, but I won't be anywhere near the last. But tell me, you were really in love with Temple, weren't you, when I asked you? Yes. Ha, you are letting your hair down. That makes me feel better. Huh? Why should it? It elucidates the and yet no end. You were insulated from all other female charms by ye brazen bells. You see, Most of us assistants made a kind of game out of seeing which of us could make you break the executives' code.

And none of us made it. Teddy and Temple said you didn't know what was going on. Bev and I said nobody as smart as you are could possibly be that stupid. You aren't the type to leak or name names. Oh, I see. You are merely reporting a conversation. The game had interested, but non-participating observers. Temple and Teddy at least.

At least, she agreed. But damn it, you aren't stupid. There isn't a stupid bone in your head. So it must be love. And if so, what about marriage? Why don't you and Temple make it a double with Alex and me? That's the most cogent thought you ever had. But setting the date is the bride's business.

He glanced at his omen wristwatch. It's early yet. Let's skip over. I wouldn't mind seeing her a minute or two. Thy statement ringeth with truth, friend. Bills there with Teddy? I imagine so. So we'll talk to them about making it a triple. Oh, nice, let's go. They left the house, and her hand tucked under his elbow, walked up the street. Next morning, on her way to the Hall of Records, Sandra stopped off as usual at the office. The omens were all standing motionless. Hilton was leaning

far back in his chair, feet on desk, hands clasped behind head, eyes closed. Knowing what that meant, she turned and started back out on tiptoe. However, he had heard her. Can you spare a couple of minutes to think at me, Sandy? Minutes or hours, Chief. Tully placed a chair for her and she sat down, facing him across his desk. Thanks, gal. This time it's the struts. Saltel's been having nightmares, you know, ever since we emerged about being attacked, and I've been pooh-pooing the idea. But now it's a statistic that the soup is getting thicker, and I can't figure out why. Why in all the hells of space should a stasis that has lasted for over a quarter of a million years be broken at this exact time? The only possible explanation is that we cause the break.

And any way I look at that concept, it's plain idiocy. Both were silent for minutes, and then it was demonstrated again that Terrace Advisory Board had done better than it knew in choosing Sandra Cummings to be Jarvis Hilton's working mate. We did cause it, JARV, she said finally. They knew we were coming, even before we got to fuel bin. They knew we were human and tried to wipe out the omens before we got there. Preventive warfare, you know. They couldn't have known, he snorted. "'Stret detectors are no better than Omen, and you know what Sam Bryant had to say about them.' "'I know,' Sandra grinned appreciatively. "'It's becoming a classic. But it couldn't have been any other way. Besides, I know they did.' He stared at her helplessly, then swung on Larry.

"'Does that make sense to you?' "'Yes, sir. The strats could pay on dire as well as the old masters could, and they undoubtedly still can and do. Okay, it does make sense then. He absented himself in thought, then came to life with a snap. Okay, the next thing on the agenda is a crash priority try at a peyondex team. Tully, you organize a team to generate Sathera. Can you do the same for peyondics?

If we can find the ingredients, yes, sir. I had a hunch. Larry, please ask Teddy Blake's Oman to bring her in here. I'll be running along then. Sandra started to get up. I hope to kiss a green pig you won't. Hilton snapped. You're one of the biggest wheels.

Larry, we'll want Temple Bells and Beverly Bell for a start. Chief, you positively amaze me, Sandra said then. Every time you get one of these attacks of genius, or whatever it is, you have me gasping like a fish. Just what can you possibly want of Bev Bell? Whatever it was that enabled her to hit the target against odds of almost infinity to one,

not just once, but time after time. By definition, intuition. What quality did you use just now in getting me off the hook? Intuition. What makes Teddy Blake such an unerring performer? Intuition again. My hunches? Their intuition, too.

Intuition hell. Labels, based on utterly abyser damned dumb ignorance of our own basic frames of reference. Do you think those four kinds of intuition are alike by seven thousand rows of apple trees? Of course not. I see what you're getting at. Oh, this'll be fun. The others came in and, one by one, tooly examined each of the four women and the man. Each felt the probing, questioning feelers of her thought prying into the deepest recesses of his mind. There is not quite enough of each of the three components, all of which are usually associated with the male.

You, sir, have much of each, but not enough. I know your men quite well, and I think we will need the doctor's Kincaid and Carnes and Pointer. But such deep probing is felt. Have I permission, sir? Yes, tell him I said so. Tooley scanned. Yes, sir, we should have all three. Get them, Larry.

Then in the pause that followed, Sandy, remember yelling about too many sweeties on a team? What do you think of this business of all sweeties? All that proves is that nobody can be wrong all the time, she replied flippantly. The three men arrived and were instructed, Tully said, The great trouble is that each of you must use a portion of your mind that you do not know you have. You this one, you that one. Tooly probed mercilessly, so poignantly that each in turn flinched under brand new and almost unbearable pain. With you, Dr. Hilton, it will be by far the worst, for you must learn to use almost all the portions of both your minds, the conscious and the unconscious.

This must be, because you are the actual payondixer. The others merely supply energies in which you yourself are deficient. Are you ready for a terrible shock, sir? Shoot. He thought for a second that he had been shot, that his brain had blown up. He couldn't stand it. He knew he was going to die. He wished he could die.

Anything, anything whatever to end this unbearable agony. It ended. Riving, wide and sweating, Hilton opened his eyes. Ouch, he remarked conversationally. What next? You will seize hold of the energies your friends offer. You will bind them to yours and shape the whole into a dimensionless sphere of pure, controlled, dirigible energy. And, as well as being the binding force, the cohesiveness,

you must also be the captain and the pilot and the astrogator and the ultimately complex computer itself. But how can I... Okay, damn it. I will. Of course you will, sir. Remember also that once the joinings are made, I can be of very little more assistance, for my pay on dix is nothing compared to that of your fusion of eight. Now, to assemble the energies and join them, you will altogether deny the existence of the sum total of reality as you know it. Distance does not exist. Every point in the reachable universe coincides with every other point, and that common point is the focus of your attention.

You can be, and actually are, anywhere you please, or everywhere at once. Time does not exist. Space does not exist. There is no such thing as opacity. Everything is perfectly transparent. Yet every molecule of substance is perceptible in its relationship to every other molecule in the cosmos. Senses do not exist. Sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell,

Sathera, Endovics, all are parts of one great sense of peyondix. I am guiding each of you seven. Closer, tighter, there, seize it, sir. And when you work the stretch, you must fix it clearly that time does not exist. You must work in millions of microseconds instead of in minutes, for they have minds of tremendous power. Reality does not exist. Compress it more, sir. Tighter, smaller, rounder. There, hold it. Reality does not exist. Distance does not exist.

All possible points are... Wonderful! Tully screamed the word and the thought, Goodbye, good luck! End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of Masters of Space by E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space Chapter 8 Hilton did not have to drive the peyandex beam to the planet's threat. It was already there. And there was the monstrous first lord thinker, Zoyar. Into that mind, his multi-mind flashed.

It's every member as responsive to his will as his own fingers, almost infinitely more so, in fact, because of the tremendous lengths of time required to send messages along nerves. That horrid mind was scanned cell by cell. Then, after what seemed like a few hours, when a shield began sluggishly to form, Hilton transferred his probe to the mind of the second thinker, one Lord Inos, and absorbed everything she knew. Then the minds of all the other thinkers being screened,

he studied the whole Streat planet, foot by foot, and everything that was on it. Then, mission accomplished, Hilton snapped his attention back to his office, and the multi-mind fell apart. As he opened his eyes, he heard Tully scream, "'Luck!' "'Oh, you still here, Tully? How long have we been gone?' "'Approximately one and one-tenth seconds, sir.' "'What?' Beverly Bell, in the haven of Franklin Pointer's arms, fainted quietly. Sandra shrieked piercingly.

The four men stared, goggle-eyed. Temple and Teddy, as though by common thought, burrowed their faces into brawny shoulders. Hilton recovered first. So that's what Payondix is. Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. No, I mean, yes, but... Tully paused, licking her lips in that peculiarly human

female gesture of uncertainty. Well, what do you? you mean? It either is or isn't, or is that necessarily so? Not exactly, sir. That is, started as peyondix, but it became something else. Not even the most powerful mind of the old masters. Nobody ever did or ever could possibly generate such a force as that, or handle it so fast. Well, with seven of the best minds of Terra and a chip-chop the chit-chat, Karn said harshly. What I want to know is whether I was having a nightmare. Can there possibly be a race such as I thought I saw?

So utterly savage, ruthless, merciless. So devoid of every human trace and so hell-bent determined on the extermination of every other race in the galaxy? God damn it, it simply doesn't make sense. Eyes went from eyes to eyes to eyes. All had seen the same indescribably horrible abysmally atrocious things. Qualities and quantities and urges and drives

that no words in any language could even begin to portray. It doesn't seem to, but there it is. Teddy Blake shook her head hopelessly. Big Bill Carnes, hands still shaking, lit a cigarette before he spoke again. Well, I've never been a proponent of genocide, but it's my considered opinion that the strats are one race that Galaxy can get along without.

A hell of a lot better without, Pointer said, and all agreed. The point is, what can we do about it? Kincaid asked. The first thing I would say is to see whether we can do this, whatever it is, without Tully's help. Shall we try it? Although I, for one, don't feel like doing it right away. Not I either, Beverly Bell held up her right hand, which was shaking uncontrollably. I feel as though I've been bucking waves, wind, and tide for 48 straight hours without food,

water, or touch. Maybe in about a week I'll be ready for another try at it, but today, not a chance. Okay, scat, all of you, Hilton ordered. Take the rest of the day off and rest up. Put on your thought screens, and don't take them off for a second from now on. Those strats are tough hombres. Sandra was the last to leave. "'And you, boss?' she asked pointedly. "'I've got some thinking to do. "'I'll stay and help you think?' "'Not yet.'

He shook his head, frowned, and then grinned. "'You see, chick, I don't even know yet what it is I'm going to have to think about. "'A bit unclear, but I know what you mean, I think. "'Luck, Chief.' In their subterranean sanctum turn on distant strut, two of the deepest thinkers of that horribly unhuman race were in coldly intent conference via thought. My mind has been plundered, Inos. First Lord thinker Zoya radiated harshly.

Despite the extremely high reactivity of my shield, some information, I do not know how much, was taken. The operator was one of the humans of that ship. I too felt a plucking at my mind, but those humans could not pay on dire, First Lord. Be logical, fool! At that contact, in the matter of which you erred in not following up continuously, they succeeded in concealing their real abilities from you. That could be the truth. Our ancestors erred then in recording that all those weak and timid humans had been slain.

These offenders are probably their descendants, returning to reclaim their former world. The probability must be evaluated and considered. Was it or was it not, through human aid that the omens destroyed most of our task force? Highly probable, but impossible of evaluation with the data now available. Obtain more data at once. That point must be and shall be fully evaluated and fully considered. This entire situation is intolerable. It must be abated.

True, first, Lord, but every operator and operation is now tightly screened. Oh, if I could only go out there myself! Hold, fool. Your thought is completely disloyal and unstretly. True, O first-lord, thinker, I will forthwith remove my unworthy self from this place of existence. You will not. I hereby abolish that custom. Our numbers are too few by far.

Too many have failed to adapt. Also, as second thinker, your death at this time would be slightly detrimental. mental to certain matters now in work. I will myself, however, slay the unfit. To that end, repeat the words under my peandiring. I am a stret. I will devote my every iota of mental and of physical strength to forwarding the great plan. I am and will remain a stret. You do believe in the words. Of course I believe in them. I know that in a few more hundreds of thousands of years, we will be rid of material bodies and will become invincible and invulnerable. Then comes the conquest of the galaxy, and then the conquest of the universe.

No more, then, on your life of this weak and cowardly repining. Now, what of your constructive thinking? Programming must be such as to obviate time lag. We must evaluate the factors already mentioned and many others, such as the reactivation of the spacecraft, which was thought to have been destroyed so long ago. After having considered all these evaluations, I will construct a minor plan to destroy these omens,

whom we have permitted to exist on sufferance, and with them that shipload of despicably interloping humans. That is well, Zoyar's mind seethed with a malevolent ferocity starkly impossible for any human mind to grasp. And to that end? To that end, we must intensify still more our program of procuring data. We must revise our mechs in the light of every technological advance

during the many thousands of cycles since the last such revision was made. Our every instrument of power, of offense, and of defense, must be brought up to the theoretical ultimate of capability. And as to the great brain? I have been able to think of nothing, first, Lord, to add to the undertakings you have already set forth. It was not expected that you would. Now, is it your final thought

that these interlopers are in fact the descendants of those despised humans of so long ago? It is. It is also mine. I return then to my work upon the brain. You will take whatever measures are necessary. Use every artifice of intellect and of ingenuity and our every resource. but abate this intolerable nuisance and soon it shall be done first lord the second thinker issued orders frenzied round-the-clock activity ensued hundreds of mecks operated upon the brains of hundreds of others who in turn operated upon the operators

Then all those brains charged with the technological advances of many thousands of years. The combined hundreds went unrestingly to work. Thousands of workmecks were built and put to work at the construction of larger and more powerful spacecraft. As has been implied, those battle skeletons of the struts were controlled by their own built-in mechanical brains, which were programmed for only the simplest of battle maneuvers. Anything at all out of the ordinary had to be handled by remote. control by the specialist mecks at their two miles long control board. This was now to be changed. Programming was to be made so complete that almost any situation could be handled by the

warship or the missile itself instantly. The stretch knew that they were the most powerful, the most highly advanced race in the universe. Their science was the highest in the universe. Hence, with every operating unit brought up to the full possibilities of that science, that would be more than enough. Period. This work, while it required much time, was very much simpler than the task which the first thinker had laid out for himself on the giant computer plus which the struts called the Great Brain. In stating his project, first Lord Zoyar had said, Assignment, to construct a machine that will have the following abilities. One, to

contain and retain all knowledge and information fed into it, however great the amount. 2. To feed itself additional information by peyondyering all planets, wherever situate, bearing intelligent life. Three, to call up instantly any and all items of information pertaining to any problem we may give it. Four, to combine and recombine any number of items required to form new concepts. Five, to formulate theories, test, them and draw conclusions helpful to us in any manner in work. It will have been noticed that these specifications vary in one important respect from those of the Enoch's and Univax of Earth.

Since we of Earth cannot pay andire, we do not expect that ability from our computers. The Strets could and did. When Sandra came back into the office at five o'clock, she found Hilton still sitting there in almost exactly the same position. "'Come out of it, Jarve!' she snapped a finger. "'That much of that is just simply too damned much.' "'You're so right, child!' he got up, stretched, and by main strength, shrugged off his foul mood. "'But we're up against something that is really a something, and I don't mean perchance.'

"'How well I know it!' she put an arm around him, gave him a quick hard hug. "'But, after all, you don't have to solve it this evening, you know.' no thank god so why don't you and temple have supper with me or better yet why don't all eight of us have supper together in that bachelor's paradise of yours and bills that'd be fun and it was nor did it take a week for beverly bow to recover from the ordeal of eight on the following evening she herself suggested that the team should take another shot at that utterly fantastic terra incognita of the multiple mind jolting, though it had been. But are you sure you can take it again so soon? Hilton asked. Sure. I'm like that famous gangster's mall, you know, who bruised easy but healed quick. And I want to know about it as much as anyone else does.

They could do it this time without any help from Tully. The linkage fairly snapped together and shrank instantaneously to a point. Hilton thought of Terra, and there it was. full size, yet occupying only one infinitesimal section of a dimensionless point. The multi-mind visited relatives of all eight, but could not make intelligent contact. If asleep, it caused pleasant dreams, if awake, pleasant thoughts of the loved one so far away in space, but that was all. It visited mediums, in trance and otherwise, many of whom, not surprisingly now, were genuine, with whom it held lucid conversations.

even in linkage however the multi-mind knew that none of the mediums would be believed even if they all told simultaneously exactly the same story the multi-mind weakened suddenly and hilton snapped it back to ardree beverly was almost in collapse the other girls were white shaken and trembling hilton himself strong and rugged as he was felt as though he had done two weeks of hard labor on a rock pile he glanced at a questioningly at Larry. Point six three eight seconds, sir, the omen said, holding up a millisecond timer. How do explain that? Karnes demanded. I'm afraid it means that without omen backing, we're out of luck.

Hilton had other ideas, but he did not voice any of them until the following day when he was rested and had Larry alone. So, carbon-based brains can't take it. One second of that stuff would have killed all eight of us. Why? The masters have the same kind of brains we have. I don't know, sir. It's something completely new. No master or group of masters ever generated such a force as that.

I can scarcely believe such power possible, even though I have felt it twice. It may be that over the generations your individual powers, never united or controlled, have developed so strength that, no human can handle them in fusion. And none of us ever knew anything about any of them. I've been doing a lot of thinking. The masters had qualities and abilities, now unknown to any of us. How come?

You omens, and the strats too, think we're descendants of the masters. Maybe we are. You think they came originally from Arth, Earth or Terra, to Ardu. That had account for our legends of VIII. Mu, Atlantis, and so on. Since Ardu was within Payondick's range of Stret, the Struts attacked it. They killed all the masters, they thought, and made the planet un inhabitable for any kind of life, even their own.

But one shipload of masters escaped and came here to Ardry, far beyond Payondik's range. They stayed here for a long time. Then, for some reason or other, which may be someplace in their records, they left here, fully intending to come back. Do any of you omens know why they left, or where they went? No, sir. We can read only the simplest of the master's records. They arranged our brains that way, sir.

I know. They're the type. However, I suspect now that your thinking is reversed. Let's turn it around. Say the masters didn't come from Terra, but from some other planet. Say that they left here because they were dying out. They were, weren't they? Yes, sir.

Their numbers became fewer and fewer each century. I was sure of it. They were committing race suicide by letting you omens do everything they themselves should have been doing. Finally, they saw the truth. In a desperate effort to save their race, they pulled out, leaving you here.

Probably they intended to come back when they had bred enough guts back into themselves to set you omens down where you belong. But they were always the master sir. They were not. They were hopelessly enslaved. Think it over. Anyway, say they went to Terra from here. That still accounts for the legends and so on. However, they were too far gone to make a recovery, and yet they had enough fixity of purpose not to manufacture any of you omens there. So their descendants went a long way down the scale before they began to work back up.

Does that make any sense to you? It explains many things, sir. It can very well be the truth. Okay, however it was, we're here, and facing a condition that isn't funny. While we were teamed up, I learned a lot, but not nearly enough. Am I right in thinking that I now don't need the other seven at all, that my cells are fully charged and I can go it alone? Probably, sir, but I'm coming to that. Every time I do it, up to maximum performance, of course,

it becomes easier and faster and hits harder. So next time, or maybe the fourth or fifth time, it'll kill me. And the other seven, too, if they're along. I'm not sure, sir, but I think so. Nice. Very, very nice. Hilton got up, shoved both hands into his pockets, and prowled about the room. But can't the damn stuff be controlled?

Choked, throttle down, uh, damped, muzzled, some way or other? We do not know of any way, sir. The masters were always working toward more power, not less. That makes sense. The more power, the better, as long as you can handle it. But I can't handle this, and neither can the team. So, how about organizing another team,

one that hasn't got quite so much whammo, enough punch to do the job, but not enough to backfire that way? It is highly improbable that such a team is possible, sir. If an omen could be acutely embarrassed, Larry was. That is, sir, I should tell you, sir, you certainly should. You've been stalling all along, and now you're stalled. Spill it. Yes, sir.

The Tully begged me not to mention it, but I must. When it organized your team, it had no idea of what it was really going to do. Let's talk the same language, shall we? Say he and she, not it. She thought she was setting up the peyondix, the same as all of us omens have. But after she formed in your mind the peyondix matrix, your mind went on of itself to form a something else, a thing we cannot understand. That was why she was so extremely, I think, frightened might be your term? I knew something was biting her. Why? Because it very nearly killed you. You perhaps have not considered the effect upon us all if any omen, however unintentionally should kill a master. No, I hadn't. I see. So, she won't play with fire

anymore, and none of the rest of you can. Yes, sir, nothing could force her to. If she could be so coerced, we would destroy her brain before she could act. That brain, as you know, is imperfect, or she could not have done what she did. It should have been destroyed long since. Don't ever act on that assumption, Larry. Hilton thought for minutes. Simple peyondics, such as yours, is not enough to read the master's records. If I'd had three brain cells working, I'd have tried them then. I wonder if I could read them. You have all the old master's powers and more, but you must not assemble them again, sir. it would mean death.

But I've got to know. I've got to know. Anyway, a thousandth of a second would be enough. I don't think that hurt me very much. He concentrated, read a few feet of top-secreted wire, and came back to consciousness in the sick bay of the Perseus, with two doctors working on him. Hastings, the top Navy Medico, and Flandris, the surgeon.

What the hell happened to you? Landris demanded. Were you trying to kill yourself? And if so, how? Hastings wanted to know. No, I was not trying to, Hilton said weakly, and I guess I did much more than succeed. That was just about the closest shave I ever saw a man come through.

Whatever it was, don't do it again. I won't, he promised feelingly. When they led him out of the hospital, four days later, he called in Larry and Tully. The next time would be the last time, so there won't be any, he told them. But just how sure are you that some other of our boys or girls

may not have just enough of whatever it takes to do the job? Enough, umpah, but not too much. Since we too are on strange ground, the probability is vanishingly small. We have been making inquiries, however, and scanning. you were selected from all the minds of Terra as the one having the widest vision,

the greatest scope, the most comprehensive grasp, the ablest at synthesis and correlation and so on. That's printing it in big letters, but that was more or less what they were after. Hence the probability approaches unity that any more such ignorant meddling as this obnoxious tully did will result almost certainly in failure and death. Therefore, we cannot and will be able,

not meddle again. You've got a point there. So what I am is some kind of freak. Maybe a kind of supermaster, and maybe something altogether different. Maybe duplicable in a less lethal fashion, and maybe not. Very helpful, I don't think.

But I don't want to kill anybody either, especially if it wouldn't do any good. But we've got to do something. Hilton scowled in thought for minutes. But an omen brain could take it. As you told us, Tully, the brain of the Larry is very, very tough. In a way, sir, except that the masters were very careful to make it physically impossible for any omen to go very far along that line.

It was only their oversight of my one imperfect brain that enabled me, alone of us all, to do that wrong. Stop thinking it was wrong, Tully. I'm mighty glad you did. But I wasn't thinking of any regular omen brain. Hilton's voice petered out. I see, sir. Yes, we can. By using your brain as guide, reproduce it in an omen body. You would then have the powers and most of the qualities of both. No, you don't see, because I've got my screen on, which I will now take off. He suited action to word, since the whole planet screened and I have nothing to hide from you.

Teddy Blake and I both thought of that, but we'll consider it only as the ultimately last resort. We don't want to live a million years, and we want our race to keep on developing. But you folks can replace carbon-based molecules with silicon-based ones, just as easily as, and a hell of a lot faster than, mineral water petrifies wood. "'What can you do along the line of rebuilding me that way? "'And if you can do any such conversion, what would happen? "'Would I live at all? And if so, how long? "'How would I live? What would I live on? All that kind of stuff.'

Shortly before they left, two of the masters did some work on that very thing. "'Tooley and I converted them, sir.' "'Fine. Or is it? How did it work out?' Perfectly, sir, except that they destroyed themselves. It was thought that they wearied of existence. I don't wonder. Well, if it comes to that, I can do the same. You can convert me then.

Yes, sir, but before we do it, we must do enough preliminary work to be sure that you will not be harmed in any way. Also, there will be many more changes involved in simple substitution. Of course, I realize that. Just see what you can do, please, and let me know. We will, sir, and thank you very much. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of Masters of Space by E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space. Chapter 9. As has been intimated, no Terran can know what research is Larry and Tula and the other Oman specialists performed, or how they arrived to the conclusions they reached. However, in less than a week, Larry reported to Hilton. It can be done, sir, with complete safety, and you will live even more comfortably than you do now. How long? The mean will be about 5,000 omen years. You don't know that an omen year is equal to 1.293 plus terran years?

I didn't, no, thanks. The maximum, a little less than 6,000. The minimum, a little over 4,000. I'm very sorry we had no data upon which to base a closer estimate. Close enough, he stared at the omen. You could also convert my wife? Of course, sir. Well, we might be able to stand it after we got used to the idea.

Minimum, over 5,000 terene years, barring accidents, of course. No, sir, no accidents. Nothing will be able to kill you except by total destruction of the brain, and even then, sir, there will be the pattern. Be damned, Hilton gulp twice. Okay, go ahead. Your skins will be like ours, energy absorbers. Your blood will carry charges of energy instead of oxygen.

Thus, you may breathe or not as you please. Unless you wish otherwise, we will continue the breathing function. It would scarcely be worthwhile to alter the automatic mechanisms that now control it. And you will wish at times to speak. You will still enjoy eating and drinking, although everything ingested will be eliminated, as at present as waste. We'd add your necksite to our food, I suppose, or drink radioactives, or sleep under cobalt's 60 lamps. Yes, sir. Your family life will be normal, your sexual urges and satisfaction's the same.

Fertilization and period of gestation unchanged. Your children will mature at the same ages as they do now. How do you—oh, I see. You wouldn't change any molecular linkages or configurations in the genes or chromosomes. We could not, sir, even if we wished. Such substitutions can be made only in exact one-for-one replacements. In the near future, you will, of course, have to control births quite rigorously. We sure would. Let's see. Say we want a stationary population of a hundred million on our planet. Each couple to have two children, a boy and a girl. Born when the parents are about 50. The gals can have all the children they want then until our population is about a million, then slap on the limit of two kids per couple, right? Approximately so, sir. And after conversion, you alone will be able to operate with the full power of the full power.

of your eight without tiring. You will also, of course, be able to absorb almost instantaneously all the knowages and abilities of the old masters. Hilton gulped twice before he could speak. You wouldn't be holding anything else back, would you? Nothing important, sir. Everything else is minor and probably known to you. I doubt it.

How long will the job take, and how much notice will you need? Two days, sir. No notice. everything is ready. Hilton, face somber, thought for minutes. The more I think of it, the less I like it. But it seems to be a forced put, and Temple will blow sky high. And have I got the guts to go it alone, even if she'd let me? He shrugged himself out of the black mood. I'll look her up and let you know, Larry. He looked her up and told her everything, told her bluntly, starkly,

drawing the full picture in jet black with very little white. "'There it is, sweetheart. The works,' he concluded. "'We are not going to have ten years. We may not have ten months. So, if such a brain as that can be had, do we or do we not have to have it? I'm putting it squarely up to you.' Temple's face, which had been getting paler and paler, was now as nearly colorless as it could become, the sickly yellow of her skins lie tan unbacked by any flush of red blood.

Her whole body was tense and strained. There's a horrible snapper on that question. Can't I do it? Or anybody else except you? No. Anyway, whose job is it, sweetheart? I know, but... But I know just how close Tully came to killing you.

And that wasn't anything compared to such a radical transformation as this. "'I'm afraid. It'll kill you, darling, and I just simply couldn't stand it!' She threw herself into his arms, and he comforted her in the ages old fashion of man with maid. "'Steady, hon,' he said, as soon as he could lift her tear-streaked face from his shoulder. "'I'll live through it. I thought you were getting the howling hoppers about having to live for six thousand years and never getting back to Tara except for a Q-strictly T visit now and then.' She pulled away from him, flung back her wheat-and-mop and glared. So that's what you thought.

What do I care how long I live, or how, or where, as long as it's with you? And what makes you think we can possibly live through such a horrible conversion as that? Larry wouldn't do it if there was any question whatever. He didn't say it would be painless, but he did say I'd live. Well, he knows, I guess. I hope. Temple's natural fine color began to come back. But it's understood that just the second you come out of the vat, I go right in.

I had not to let you, of course, but I don't think I could take it alone. That statement required a special type of conference, which consumed some little time. Eventually, however, Temple answered it in words. Of course you couldn't, sweetheart, and I wouldn't let you, even if you could. There were a few things that had to be done before those two secret conversions could be made. There was the matter of the wedding, which was now to be in quadruplicate. Arrangements had to be made so that eight big wheels of the project could all be away on honeymoon at once. All these things were done.

Of the conversion operations themselves, nothing more need be said. The honeymooners, having left ship and town on a Friday afternoon, came back one week from the following Monday morning. While it took some time to re-compute the exact Ardrian calendar, Terran day names and Terran weeks were used from the first. The Olman's manufactured watches, clocks, and chronometers, which divided the Ardrian day into 24 Ardrian hours, with minutes and seconds as usual. The eight met joyously in Bachelor's Hall, the girls kissing each other and the men indiscriminately and enthusiastically, the men cooperating zestfully. Temple scarcely blushed at all. She was so engrossed in trying to find out whether or not anyone

was noticing any change. No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. So finally, she said, Don't any of you really see anything different? The six others all howled at that, and Sandra, between giggles and snort, said, No, precious, it doesn't show a bit. Did you really think it would? Temple blushed furiously, and Hilton came instantly to his bride's rescue. Chip-chop the comedy gang. She and I aren't human anymore. We're a good jump toward being omens.

I couldn't make her believe it doesn't show. That stopped the levity cold, but none of the six could really believe it. However, after Hilton had coiled a twenty-penny spike into a perfect helix between his fingers, and especially after he and Temple had each chewed up and swallowed a piece of urine excite, there were no grounds left for doubt. That settles it. It tears it, Karn said then. Start all over again, Jav. We'll listen this time. Hilton told the long story again and added,

I had to rework a couple of cells of Temple's brain, but now she can read and understand the records as well as I can. So I thought I'd take her place on Team One and let her boss the job on all the other teams. Okay? So you don't want to let the rest of us in on it. Carn's level of stare was a far cry from the way he had looked at his chief a moment before. If there's any one thing in the universe I'd never had you figured for, it's a dog in the manger. Huh? You mean you actually want to be a... hell, we don't even know what we are.

I do want it, Jarvis. We all do. This was, of all people, Teddy. No one in all history has had more than about fifty years of really productive thinking, and just the idea of having enough time. Hold it, Teddy. Use your brain. The masters couldn't take it. They committed suicide. How do you figure we can do any better? Because we'll use our brains, she snapped. They didn't. The omens will serve us, and that's all they'll do. And do you think you'll be able to raise your children and grandchildren and so on to do the same? To have guts, enough to resist a pull of such an ungodly habit-forming drug as this omen service is?

I'm sure of it. She nodded positively. And we'll run all applicants through a fine enough screen to, that is, if we ever consider anybody except our own Bousai people. And there's another reason. She grinned, got up, wriggled out of her cover-all, and posed in bra and panties. Look, I can keep most of this for five years. Quite a lot. lot of it for ten. Then comes the struggle. What do you think I do for the ability, whenever it begins to get wrinkly or flabby, to peel the whole thing off and put on a brand spanking new smooth one? You name it, I'll do it. Besides, Bill and I will both just simply and cold-bloodedly murder you if you

try to keep us out. Okay. Hilton looked at Temple. She looked at him. Both looked at all the others. There was no revulsion at all, nothing but eagerness. Temple took over. I'm surprised. We're both surprised. You see, Jarve didn't want to do it at all, but he had to. I not only didn't want to, I was scared green and yellow at just the idea of it, but I had to, too, of course. We didn't think anybody would really want to. We thought we'd be left here alone. We still will be, I think, I think when you've thought it clear through, Teddy. You just haven't realized yet that we aren't even human anymore. We're simply nothing but monsters. Temple's voice became a wail. I've said my peace, Teddy said. You tell him, Bill. Let me say something first, Kincade said.

Temple, I'm ashamed of you. This line isn't at all your usual straight thinking. What you actually are is homo superior. Bill? I can add one bit to that. I don't wonder that you were scared silly, Temple. Utterly new concept, and you went into it stone cold. But now we see the finished product, and we like it. In fact, we drool. I'll say we're drooling, Sandra said. I could do handstands and pinwheels with joy. Let's see you, Hilton said. That we'd all get a kick out of. Not now. Don't to hold this up, but sometime I just will, Bev. I'm for it, and how, and won't Bernadine be amazed? Beverly laughed gleefully, at her wisecrack about the race to end all human races coming true. I'm in favor of it, too, 100%, pointer said. Has it occurred to you, Jarve, that this opens up

intergalactic exploration? No supplies to carry, and plenty of time and fuel. "'No, it hadn't. You've got a point there, Frank. That may take a little of the curse off at that. When some of our kids get to be twenty years old or so and get married, I'm going to take a crew of them to Andromeda. We'll arrange then to extend our honeymoons another week,' Hilton said. "'What will our policy be? Keep it dark for a while with just us eight, or spread it to the rest?' "'Spread it, I'd say,' Kincaid said. "'We can't keep it a secret anyway.' Teddy argued.

Since Larry and Tully were in on the whole deal, every omen on the planet knows all about it. Somebody is going to ask questions, and omens always answer questions and always tell the truth. Questions have already been asked and answered, Larry said, going to the door and opening it. Stella rushed in. We've been hearing the damnedest things.

She kissed everybody, ending with Hilton, whom she seized by both shoulders. Is it actually true, boss? that you can fix me up so I'll live practically forever, and can eat more than 11 calories a day without getting fat as a pig? Candy, ice cream, cake, pie, eclares, cream puffs, French pastries, sugar, and gobs of thick cream in my coffee? Half a dozen others, including the Vandermoen twins, came in.

Beverly emitted a shriek of joy. Bernardine, the mother of the race to end all human races! You whistled it, Bertie! Bernardine Carrolled. I'm going to have ten or twelve, each one weirder than all the others. I told you I was a prophet. I'm going to hang out my shingle. Wholesale and retail prophecy.

Special rates for large parties. Her voice was drowned out in a general clamor. Hold it, everybody, Hilton yelled. Chip-chop it. Quit it. Then, as the noise subsided, if you think I'm going to tell this tall tale over and over again for the next two weeks, you're all crazy. So shut down the plant and get everybody out here. Not everybody, Jarve. Temple snapped. We don't want scum, and there's some of that,

even in Bousai. You're so right. Who then? The rest of the heads and assistants, of course, and all the lab girls and their husbands and boyfriends. I know they are all okay. That will be enough for now, don't you think? I do think, and the indicated others were sent for, and in a few minutes arrived. The omens brought chairs and Hilton stood on a table. He spoke for 10 minutes. Then, Before you decide whether you want to or not, think it over very carefully, because it's a one-way street. Florine cannot be displaced. Once in, you're stuck for life. There is no way back. I've told you all the drawbacks and disadvantages I know of, but there may be a lot more that I haven't

thought of yet. So, think it over for you. a few days, and when each of you has definitely made up his or her mind, let me know. He jumped down off the table. His listeners, however, did not need days or even seconds to decide. Before Hilton's feet hit the floor, there was a yell of unanimous approval. He looked at his wife. Do you suppose we're nuts? Uh-uh, not a bit. Alex was right. I'm going to just love it. She hugged his elbow ecstatically. So are you, darling, as soon as you stop looking at only the black side. You know, you could be right.

For the first time since the ghastly transformation, Hilton saw that there really was a bright side and began to study it. With most of Bousai and part of the Navy and selectees from Terra, it will be slightly terrific at that. And that habit-forming drug objection isn't it superable, darling, Temple said. If the younger generations start weakening, we'll fix the omens. I wouldn't want to wipe them out entirely, but— But how do we settle priority, Dr. Hilton? A girl called out, a tall, striking brunette laboratory technician whose name Hilton needed a second to recall.

By pulling straws or hair? Or by shooting dice or each other or what? Thanks, Betty. You've got a point. Sandy Cummings and department heads first, then assistance. Then you girls in alphabetical order, each with her own husband or fiancé. And my name is Ames. Oh, goody. Larry, please tell them to, I already have, sir. We are set up to handle four at once. Good boy. So scat all of you, and get back to work. Except Sandy, Bill, Alex, and Teddy. You four, go with Larry.

Since the new sense was not Peondix, Hilton had started calling it Perceptive. and the others adopted the term as a matter of course. Hilton had used that sense for what seemed like years, and actually was whole minutes, at a time without fatigue or strain. He could not, however, nor could the omens give his tremendous power to anyone else. As he had said, he could do a certain amount of reworking, but the amount of improvement possible to make depended entirely upon what there was to work on. Thus, Temple could cover about six hundred light-eastern, years. It developed later that the others of the Big Eight could cover from 100 up to 400 or so. The other department heads and assistants turned out to be still weaker, and not one of the rank

in file ever became able to cover more than a single planet. This sense was not exactly telepathy, at least not what Hilton had always thought telepathy would be. If anything, however, it was more. It was a lumping together of all five known human senses, and half a dozen unknown ones called, collectively, intuition, into one super-sense that was all-inclusive and all-informative. If he ever could learn exactly what it was and exactly what it did and how it did it, but he better chip-chop the wool-gathering and get back onto the job. The stretch had licked the old masters very easily, and intended to wipe out the omens and the humans. They had no doubt at all as to their ability to do it. Maybe they could.

If the Masters had made some progress that the omens didn't know about, they probably could. That was the first thing to find out. As soon as they'd been converted, he'd call in all the experts, and they'd go through the Master's records like a dose of salts through a hillbilly school-ma'am. At that point in Hilton's cogitations, Sautel came in. He had come down in his gig to confer with Hilton as to the newly beefed-up fleet. Instead of being glum and pessimistic and foreboding, he was chipper and enthusiastic. They had rebuilt a thousand omen ships.

By combining omen and terran science, and adding everything the first team had been able to reduce to practice, they had hyped up the power by a good 15%. 700 of those ships and all his men were now arrayed in defense around Ardree. Three hundred, manned by omens, were around the fuel bin. "'Why?' Hilton asked. "'It's fuel-bin they've been attacking.' "'U-uh, minor objective,' the captain demurred positively. "'The real attack will be here at you, the headquarters and the brains.

Then fuel-bin will be duck soup. But the thing that please me most is the control. Man, you never imagined such control. No admiral in history ever had such control of ten ships as I have of seven hundred. Those omens spread orders so fast that I don't even finish thinking one and it's being executed. And no misunderstandings, no slips. For instance, this last batch, 15 skeletons. Far out, they're getting cagey. I just thought, box them in and slug them, and in, across, out, saco, just like that, and just that fast. None of them had time to light a beam.

Nobody before ever even dreamed of such control. That's great, and I like it. And you're only a captain. How many ships can five-jet Admiral Gordon put into space? That depends on what you call ships. Super Dreadnoughts, Perseus class, six. First-line battleships, 29. Second line, smaller and some pretty old, 73.

Counting everything armed that would hold air, something over 200. I thought it was something like that. How would you like to be five-jet Admiral Sautel of the Ardrian Navy? I wouldn't. I'm Terran Navy. But you knew that and you know me. So what's on your mind? Hilton told him, I ought to put this on tape, he thought to himself, and broadcast it every hour on the hour. They took the old masters like dynamiting fish in a barrel, he concluded, and I'm damned afraid. they're going to lick us unless we take a lot of big, fast steps. But the hell of it is that I can't tell you anything,

not one single thing about any part of it. There's simply no way at all of getting through to you without making you over into the same kind of a thing I am. Is that bad? Sawtell was used to making important decisions fast. Let's get at it. Huh? Skipper, do you realize just what that means?

if you think they'll let you resign, forget it. They'll crucify you, brand you as a traitor, and God only knows what else. Right. How about you and your people? Well, as civilians, it won't be as bad. The hell it won't. Every man and woman that stays here will be posted forever as the blackest traitors old Terra ever disgraced herself by spawning. You've got a point there at that. We'll all have to bring our relatives, the ones we think much of, at least, out here with us. Definitely. Now see what you can do about getting me run through your mill. By exerting his authority, Hilton got Sautel put through the Preservatory in the second batch processed. Then, linking minds with the captain, he flashed their joint attention to the

Hall of Records. Into the right room, into the right chest, along miles and miles of braided wire, carrying some of the profoundest military secrets of the ancient masters. Then... Now you know a little of it, Hilton said. Maybe a thousandth of what we'll have to have before we can take the stretch as they will have to be taken. For seconds, Sautel could not speak. Then... My God. I see what you mean.

You're right. No omens can ever go to Tara. And no Terrance can ever come here, except... to stay forever. The two then went out into space to the flagship, which have been christened the Orion and called in the six commanders. What is all this senseless idiocy we've been getting, Jarve? Elliot demanded. Hilton eyed all six with pretended disfavor.

You six guys are the hardest-headed bunch of skeptics that ever went unhung, he remarked dispassionately. So it wouldn't do any good to tell you anything yet. The Skipper and I will show you a thing first. Take her away, Skip. The Orion shot away under interplanetary drive, and for several hours Hilton and Sautel worked at rewiring and practically rebuilding two devices that no one, Oman or Human, had touched since the Perseus had landed on Ardry.

What are you—I don't understand what you are doing, sir, that he said. For the first time since Hilton had known him, the Oman's mind, was confused and unsure. I know you don't. This is a bit of top-secret master stuff. Maybe someday we'll be able to rework your brain to take it. But it won't for some time. End of Chapter 9.

Chapter 10 of Masters of Space by E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans. This Liberovox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space. Chapter 10. The Orion hung in space, a couple of thousands of miles away from an asteroid, which was perhaps a mile in average diameter. Hilton straightened up. Put triple-x black filters on your plates and watch that asteroid. The commanders did so.

Ready, he asked. Ready, sir. Hilton didn't move a muscle. Nothing actually moved. Nevertheless, there was a motionlessly writhing and crawling distortion of the ship and everything in it, accompanied by a sensation that simply cannot be described. It was not like going into or emerging from sub-ether. It was not even remotely like space sickness or seasickness, or free fall, or anything else that any Terran had ever before experienced. And the asteroid vanished.

It disappeared into an outrageously incandescent, furiously pyrotechnic, raveningly expanding atomic fireball that in seconds seemed to fill half of space. After ages-long minutes of the most horrifyingly devastating fury any man there had ever seen, the frightful thing expired, and Hilton said, That was just a kind of firecracker, just a feeble imitation of the first-stage detonator for what we'll have to have to crack the strats ground-based screens. If the skipper and I had taken time to take the ship down to the shops and really work it over,

we could have put on a show. This was enough so you ironheads are ready to listen with your ears open, and your mouths shut? They were, so much so, that not even Elliot opened his mouth to say yes. They merely nodded. Then again, for the last time he hoped, Hilton spoke his peace. The response was prompt and vigorous. Only Sam Bryant, one of Hilton's staunchest allies, showed any uncertainty at all.

I've been married only a year and a half, and the baby was due about a month ago. How sure are you that you can make old Gordon sit still for us, skimming the cream off of Terra to bring out here. Doris Bryant, the cream of Tara, Elliot jibed. How modest our Samuel has become. Well, damn it, she is, Brian insisted. Okay, she is, Hilton agreed. But either we get our people,

or Tara doesn't get its ear in excite. That'll work. In the remote contingency that it doesn't, there are still tighter screws we can put on. But you miss the main snapper, Sam. "'Suppose Doris doesn't want to live for five thousand years "'and is allergic to becoming a monster.' "'Hah, you don't have to worry about that.'

Sam brushed that argument aside with a wave of his hand. "'Show me a girl who doesn't want to stay young and beautiful forever, and I'll square you the circle. "'Come on. What's holding us up?' The Orion hurtled through space back toward Ardry, and Hilton, struck by a sudden thought, turned to the captain. Skipper, why wouldn't it be a smart idea to clamp a blockade onto fuel bin? Cut the stretch fuel supply.

I thought better of you than that, son. Sautel shook his head sadly. That was the first thing I did. Ouch. Maybe you're way ahead of me, too, then, are the one that we should move to fuel bin, lock, stock, and barrel? Never thought of it, no. Maybe you're worth saving after all. After conversion, of course, yes, there be three big advantages.

Four. Saltel raised his eyebrows. One, only one planet to defend. Two, it's self-defending against sneak landings. Nothing remotely human can land on it except in heavy lead armor, and even in that can stay healthy for only a few minutes. Except in the city, Omlu, that's the weak point and would be the point of attack. Uh-uh. Cut off the decontaminators, and in five hours, it'll be as hot as the rest of the planet.

Three, there'd be no interstellar supply line for the stretch to cut. Four, the environment matches our new physiques a lot better than any normal planet could. That's the one I didn't think about. I think I'll take a quick peek at the struts. Uh-oh. They've screened their whole planet. Well, we can do that, too, of course. How are you going to select and reject personnel? It looks as though everybody wants to stay.

Even the men whose main object in life is to go aground and get drunk. The omens do altogether too good a job on them, and there's no such thing as a hangover. I'm glad I'm not in your boots. You may be in it up to the eyeballs, Skipper, so don't chortle too soon. Hilton had already devoted much time to the problem of selection, and he thought of little else all the way back to Ardree. and for several days afterward, he held conferences with small groups and conducted certain investigations. Bud Carroll of Sociology and his assistant, Sylvia Bannister, have been married for weeks.

Hilton called them, together with Sautel and Bryant of Navy, into conference with the Big Eight. The more I study this thing, the less I like it, Hilton said. With a civilization having no government, no police, no laws, no medium of exchange, "'No money?' Brian exclaimed. "'How's old Gordon going to pay for his urine excite then?' "'He gets it free,' Hilton replied flatly. "'When anyone can have anything he wants, merely by wanting it, what good is money?' "'Now, remembering how long we're going to have to live, what will be up against,

that the masters failed, and so on, it is clear that the prime basic we have to select for is stability. We 12 have, by psychodynamic measurement, the highest stability ratings available. Are you sure I belong here? Brian asked. Yes, here are three lists. Hilton passed papers around. The list labeled OK names those I'm sure of, the ones we're converting now and their wives and whatever on Terra. List NG names the ones I know we don't want. List X, over 30%, are in-betweeners. We have to make a decision on the X-list. So what I want to know is, who's going to play God?

I'm not. Sandy, are you? Good heavens, no, Sandra shuddered. But I'm afraid I know who will have to. I'm sorry, Alex, but it'll have to be you for, psychology and sociology. Six heads nodded, and there was a flashing interchange of thought among the four. Temple licked her lips and nodded, and Kincaid, and Kincaid spoke. Yes, I'm afraid it's our baby. By leaning very heavily on Temple, we can do it. Remember, Jarve, what you said about the irresistible force?

We'll need it. As I said once before, Mrs. Hilton, I'm very glad you're along, Hilton said. But just how sure are you that even you can stand up under the load? Alone, I couldn't, but don't underestimate Mrs. Carroll and the messieurs, together, and with such a goal, I'm sure we can. Thus, after four-fifths of his own group and 41 Navymen had been converted, Hilton called an evening meeting of all the converts. Larry, Tully, and Javi were the only omens present. You all knew, of course, that we were going to move to Fuel Bin sometime, Hilton began.

I can tell you now that, we who are here are all there are going to be of us. We are all leaving for Fuel Bin immediately after. after this meeting. Everything of any importance, including all of your personal effects, has already been moved. All omens except those three, and all omen ships except the Orion, have already gone. He paused to let the news sink in. Thoughts flew everywhere. The irrepressible Stella Wing, now Mrs. Osbert F. Harkins, was the first to give tongue. What a wonderful job! Why, everybody's here that I really like it all. That sentiment was, of course, unanimous.

It could not have been otherwise. Betty, the X. Ames, called out, How do you get their female omens away from Cecil Kelfthorpe and the rest of that chasing, booze-fighting bunch, without them blowing the whole show? Some suasion was necessary, Hilton admitted, with a grin. Everyone who isn't here is time locked into the Perseus. Release time, eight hours tomorrow.

And they'll wake up tomorrow morning with no omens? Bernardine tossed back her silvery mane and laughed. Nor anything else except the Perseus? In a way, I'm sorry, but... Maybe I've got too much stinker blood in me, but I'm very glad none of them are here. But I'd like to ask, Jarvis, or rather, I suppose you have already set up a new advisory board?

We have, yes. Hilton Redoff 12 names. names. Oh, nice. I don't know of any people I'd rather have on it. But what I want to gripe about is calling our new home world such a horrible name as Fuel Bin, as though it were a woodbox, or a coal scuttle or something. And just think of the complexes it would set up in those super-children were going to have so many of. What would you suggest? Hilton asked. Ardvor, of course, Hermione said, before her sister could answer. We've had Arth and Ardu and Ardry and you, or somebody, started calling us Ardens to distinguish us converts from

the Terrans, so let's keep up the same line. There was general laughter at that, but the name was approved. About midnight the meeting ended, and the Orion set out for Ardvor. It reached it and slanted sharply downward. The whole Bousai staff was in the lounge, watching the big tri-dee. "'Hey, that isn't Omlu?' Stella exclaimed. "'It isn't a city at all, and it isn't even in the same place.' "'No, ma'am,' Larry said. "'Most of you wanted the ocean, but many wanted a river or the mountains. Therefore we raised Omlu and built your new city, Ardain,

at a place where the ocean, two rivers, and a range of mountains meet. Strictly speaking, it is not a city, but a place of pleasant and rewardful living. The spaceship was coming in low and fast from the south. To the left, the west, there stretched the limitless expanse of ocean. To the right, mile after mile, were rough, rugged, jagged, partially timbered mountains. Mass piled upon mass. Immediately below the speeding vessel was a wide, white-sand beach all of ten miles long. Slowing rapidly now, the Orion flew along due north. "'Look, look, a natatorium,' Beverly shrieked. "'I know I wanted a nice big place to swim in, besides my backyard pool in the ocean,

but I didn't tell anybody to build that. I swear I didn't.' "'You didn't have to, Pet,' Pointer put his arm around her crevacious waist and squeezed. They knew. And I did a little thinking along that line myself. "'There's our house, on top of the cliff over the natatorium. You can all almost dive into it off the patio. Oh, wonderful! Immediately north of the natatorium, a tremendous river, named at first sight, the whitewater, rushed through its gorge into the ocean, a river and gorge strangely reminiscent of the Colorado and its Grand Canyon. On the south bank of that river, at its very mouth, looking straight up

at the tremendous canyon, on a rocky promontory commanding ocean and beach and mountains, there was a house. At the sight of it, Temple hugged Hilton's arm in ecstasy. Yes, that's ours, he assured her. Just about everything either of us ever wanted. The clamor was now so great. Everyone was recognized as his and her house and was exclaiming about it, that both Temple and Hilton fell silent and simply watched the scenery unroll. Across the turbulent whitewater and a mile farther north, the mountains ended as a abruptly as though they had been cut off with a cleaver, and an apparently limitless expanse of treeless, grassy prairie, began. And through that prairie, meandering sluggishly to the ocean from

the northeast came the wide, deep, river placid. The Orion halted. It began to descend vertically, and only then did Hilton see the spaceport. It was so vast, and there were so many spaceships on it, that from any great distance it was actually invisible. Each six-acre bit of the whole immense expanse of the level prairie between the placid and the mountains held an omen super-dreadnought. The staff paired off and headed for the airlocks. Hilton said, Temple, have you any reservations at all, however slight, as to having dark lady as a permanent fixture in your home? Why, of course not. I like her as much as you do. And besides—she giggled like a schoolgirl.

even if she is a lot more beautiful than I am, I've got a few things she never will have, but there's something else. I got just a flash of it before you blocked. Spill it, please. You'll see in a minute. And she did. Larry, dark lady, and Temple's omen-made Modi were standing beside the Hilton's car, and so was another omen, like none ever before seen. Six feet four, shoulders that would just barely go through a door, muscle like Atlantis and Hercules combined, skin a gleaming, satiny bronze, hair, a rippling mass of lambent flame.

Tempo came to a full stop and caught her breath. The prince, she breathed in awe. Delormie's Prince of Thebes, the ultimate bronze of all the ages. You did this, Jarve. How did you ever dig him up out of my schoolgirl crushes? All six got into the car, which was equally at home on land or water or in the air. In less than a minute they were at Hilton House.

The house itself was circular. Its living room was an immense annulus of glass, from which, by merely moving along its circuit or length, any desired view could be had. The pair walked around at once. Then she took him by the arm and steered him firmly toward one of the bedrooms in the center. "'This house is just too much to take in all at once,' she declared. "'Besides, let's put on our swimsuits and get over to the gnat.'

In the room she closed the door firmly in the faces of the omens and grinned. "'Maybe sometime. I'll get used to having somebody besides you in my bedroom, but I haven't yet. "'Oh, do you itch, too?' Hilton had peeled to the waist and was scratching vigorously all around his waistline under his belt. Like the very devil, he admitted and stared at her, for she, three-quarters stripped, was scratching too. It started the minute we left the Orion, he said thoughtfully. I see, these new skins of ours like hard radiation, but don't like to be smothered while

they're enjoying it. By about tomorrow we'll be a nudist colony, I think. I could stand it, I suppose. What makes you think so? Just what I know about radiation. Frank would be the one to ask. My hunch is, though, that we're going to be nudist whether we want to or not. Let's go. They went in a two-seater, leaving the omens at home. Three-quarters of the staff were lolling on the sand or receded on benches beside the immense pool. As they watched, Beverly ran out among the line of springboards,

testing each one and selecting the stiffest. She then climbed up to the top platy, form, a good twelve feet above the board, and plummeted down upon the board's heavily padded takeoff. Legs and back bending stubbornly to take the strain, she and the board reached low point together, and, still in sync with it, she put every muscle she had into the effort to hurl herself upward. She had intended to go up thirty feet, but she had no idea whatever as to her present strength, or of what that omen bored, and perfect synchronization with that tremendous strength would do. Thus, instead of 30 feet, she went up very nearly 200, which, of course, spoiled completely her proposed graceful two and a half. In mid-air, she struggled madly to get into some acceptable position,

failing she curled up into a tight ball just before she struck water. What a splash! It won't hurt her, You couldn't hurt her with a club, Hilton snapped. He seized Temple's hand as everyone else rushed to the pool's edge. Look, Bernadine, that's what I was thinking about. Temple stopped and looked. The platinum-haired twins have been basking in the sand, and wherever sand had touched fabric, fabric had disappeared. Their suits had, of course, approached the minimum to start with.

Now, Bernadine wore only a wisp of nylon, perched precariously on one breast, and part of a ribbon that had once been a belt. Discovering the catastrophe, she shrieked once and leapt into the pool any which way, covering her breasts with her hands and hiding in water up to her neck. Meanwhile, the involuntarily high diver had come to the surface, laughing apologetically. Surprised by the hair dangling down over her eyes, she felt for her cap. It was gone. So was her suit. Naked as a fish.

She swam a couple of easy strokes, then stopped. Frank! Oh, Frank! she called. Over here, Bev. Her husband did not quite know whether to laugh or not. Is it the radiation or the water, or both? Radiation, I think. These new skins of ours don't want to be covered up. But it probably makes the water a pretty good limitation of a universal solvent. Goodbye, close. Beverly rolled over onto her back, fanned water carefully with her hands, and gazed approvingly at

herself. I don't itch anymore anyway, so I'm very much in favor of it. Thus the Ardance came to their new homeworld and to a life that was to be more comfortable by far and happier by far than any of them had known on earth. There were many other surprises that day, of course, of which only two will be mentioned here. When they finally left the pool, at about 17 hours GMT, everybody was ravenously hungry. Greenwich meantime. Ardvor was, always and everywhere, full daylight. Terran time and calendar were adapted as a matter of course.

But why should we be? Stella demanded. I've been eating everything in sight just for fun. But now I'm actually hungry enough to eat a horse and wagon and chase the driver. "'Swimming makes everybody hungry,' Beverly said. "'And I'm awfully glad that hasn't changed. Why, I wouldn't feel human if I didn't.' Hilton and Temple went home and had a long, drawn-out, and very wonderful supper. Prince waited on Temple, dark lady on Hilton. Larry and Modi ran the synthesizers in the kitchen. All four omens radiated happiness.

Another surprise came when they went to bed. the bed was a raised platform of something that looked like concrete, and except for an uncanny property of molding itself somewhat to the contours of their bodies, was almost as hard as rock. Nevertheless, it was the most comfortable bed either of them had ever had. When they were ready to go to sleep, Temple said, Dreaded, those omens still want to come in and sleep with us. In the room, I mean. And they suffer so.

They're simply radiating silent suffering. and oh so submissive reproach. Shall we let them come in? That's strictly up to you, sweetheart. It always has been. I know. I thought they'd quit it sometime, but I guess they never will.

I still want an illusion of privacy at times, even though they know all about everything that goes on. But we might let them in now, just while we sleep, and throw them out again as soon as we wake up in the morning. You're the boss. Without additional invitation, the four omens came in and arranged themselves neatly on the floor, on all four sides of the bed.

Temple had barely time to cuddle up against Hilton, and he to put his arm closely around her, before they both dropped into profound and dreamless sleep. At eight hours next morning, all the specialists met at the new Hall of Records. This building, an exact duplicate of the old one, was located on a mesa in the foothill southwest of the natatorium, in a luxuriant grove at sight of which Karn stopped and began to laugh. "'I thought I'd seen everything,' he remarked. "'But yellow pine, spruce, tamarack, apples, oaks, palms, oranges, cedars, Joshua trees,

and cactus, just to name a few, all growing on the same quarter-section of land?' "'Just everything anybody wants is all,' Hilton said. "'But are they really growing, or just straight synthetics?' "'Lane, Kathy, this is your dish.' "'Not so fast, Jarf. Give us a chance, please,' Catherine. Now Mrs. Lane Saunders, pleaded. She shook her spectacular head. "'We don't see how any stable, indigenous life can have developed at all, unless—'

"'Unless what?' "'Natural shielding?' Hilton asked, and Kathy eyed her husband. "'Right,' Sonders said. "'The earliest life-forms must have developed a shield before they could evolve and stabilize. Hence, whatever it is that is in our skins was not a triumph of master's science. They took it from nature.

Oh? Oh! These were two of Sandra's most expressive monosyllables, followed by a third. Oh, could be at that. But how could? No, cancel that. You'd better cancel it, Sandy. Give us a couple of months,

and maybe we can answer a few elementary questions. Now inside the hall, all the teams, from astronomy to zoology, went efficiently to work. Everyone now knew what to look for, how to find it, and how to study it. The first team doesn't need you now too much, does it jarve? Sautel asked. Not particularly. In fact, I was just going to get back onto my own job. Not yet.

I want to talk to you. And the two went into a long discussion of naval affairs. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Of Masters of Space by E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space. Chapter 11. The Stretz fuel supply line had been cut long since. Many Strette cargo carriers have been destroyed. The enemy would, of course, have a very heavy reserve of fuel on hand. But, but, But there was no way of knowing how large it was, how many warships it could supply, or how long it would last. Two facts were, however, unquestionable. First, the strats were building a fleet that in their minds would be invincible.

Second, they would attack Ardain as soon as that fleet could be made ready. The unanswerable question was, how long would that take? So we want to get every ship we have. How many? "'Five, 10, 15?' "'We want them converted to maximum possible power "'as soon as we possibly can,' "'Sautel said.

"'And I want to get out there with my boys to handle things.' "'You aren't going to. "'Neither you nor your boys are expendable, "'particularly you.' "'Jaw hard set, Hilton studied the situation for minutes. "'No. What will do is take your omen, Keedy. "'Will reset the guy to drive you? into him everything you and the military masters ever knew about arms, armament, strategy,

tactics, and so on, and will add everything I know of coordination, synthesis, and perception. That ought to make him at least a junior-grade military genius. You can play that in spades. I wish you could do it to me. I can. If you'll take the full omen transformation, nothing else can stand the punishment. I know. No, I don't want to be a genius that badly. Check, and we'll take the result in Kiti and make nine duplicates of him. Each one will learn from and profit by the mistakes made by preceding numbers, and will assume command the instant his preceding number is killed. Oh, you expect then? Expect. No, I know it damn well, and so do you. That's why we Ardens will all stay aground. Why the Kiti's first job

will be to make the heavy stuff in and around Ardain as heavy as it can be made. Why, it'll all be on 24-hour alert. Then they can put as many thousands of omens as you please to work at modernizing all the omen ships you want and doing anything else you say. Check? Saltel thought for a couple of minutes. A few details is all. But that can be ironed out as we go along. Both men worked in almost unremittingly for six solid days. at the end of which time both drew tremendous size of relief.

They had done everything possible for them to do. The defense of Ardvor was now rolling at fullest speed toward its gigantic objective. Then, captain and director, in two omen ships with 50 men and a thousand omens, leapt the world-girdling ocean to the mining operation of the struts. There they found business strictly as usual. The strippers still stripped. The mining mecks roared and snarled the struts. their inchwise ways along their geometrically perfect terraces. The little carrier still skittered

busily between the various miners and the storage silos. The fact that there was enough concentrate on hand to last a world for a hundred years made no difference at all to these automatics. A crew of Erectomax was building new silos as fast as existing ones were being filled. Since the men now understood everything that was going on, it was a simple matter for them to stopped the whole strut operation in its tracks. Then every man and every omen leapt to his assigned job. Three days later, all the mecks went back to work. Now, however, they were working for the Ardens. The miners, instead of concentrate, now emitted vastly larger streams of Navy standard pelleted urinexite. The carriers, instead of one gallon cans, carried five-ton drums. The silos were immensely

larger, 30 feet in diameter, and towering 200 feet into the air. The silos were not, however, being used as yet. One of the two Omen ships had been converted into a fuel tanker and its yawning holes were being filled first. The Orion went back to Ardain and an eight-day wait began. For the first time in over seven months, Hilton found time actually to Lof, and he and Temple, lulling on the beach or hiking in the mountains, enjoyed themselves and each other to the full. All too soon, however, the heavily laden tanker appeared in the sky over Ardain. The Orion joined it, and the two ships slipped into subspace for Earth. Three days out, Hilton used his sense of perception to release the thought-controlled blocks that have been holding all the controls of the Perseus in neutral.

He informed her officers by releasing a public address tape that they were, were now free to return to Tara. Three days later, one day short of Saul, Sawtel got five-jet Admiral Gordon's office on the subspace radio. And officious underling tried to block him, of course. Shut up Perkins and listen, Sawtell said brusquely. Tell Gordon I'm bringing in 120,000-2145 metric tons of pelleted urine excite.

And if he isn't on this beam in 60 seconds, he'll never get a gram of it. The Admiral, outraged almost to the point of apoplexy, came in. "'Sautel? Report yourself for court-martial at—' "'Keep still, Gordon,' the captain snapped. In sheer astonishment, the old five-jets obeyed. "'I am no longer Tarran Navy, no longer subject to your orders. As a matter of cold fact, I am no longer human.

For reasons which I will explain later to the full advice, Board, some of the personnel of Project Theta Orionis underwent transformation into a form of life, able to live in an environment of radioactivity so intense as to kill any human being in 10 seconds. Under certain conditions, we will supply, free of charge, FOB, Terra, or Luna, all the urinexite the solar system can use. The conditions are these. And he gave them. Do you accept these conditions or not?

I would vote to accept them, Captain. But that weight! 120,000 metric tons? Incredible. Are you sure of that figure? Definitely. And that is minimum. The error is plus, not minus.

This crippling power shortage would really be over? For the first time since Autel had known him, Gordon showed that he was not quite solid navy brass. It's over. Definitely for good. I'd not only agree, I'd raise you a monument. While I can't speak for the board, I'm sure they'll agree. So am I.

In any event, your cooperation is all that's required for this first load. The chips had vanished from Sautel's shoulders. Where do you want it, Admiral? Aristarchus or White Sands? White Sands, please. While there may be some delay in releasing it to industry, while they figure out how much they can tax it, Sautel asked sardonically.

Well, if they don't tax it, it'll be the first thing in history that isn't. Have you any objections to releasing all this to the press? Not at all. The harder they hit it and the wider they spread it, the better. Will you have this beam switched to astrogation, please? Of course, and thanks, Captain. I'll see you at White Sands. Then, as the now positively glowing Gordon faded away,

saw Tell turn to his own staff. Fenway, Snowden, take over. Better double-check micro-timing with Astro. Put us into a 24-hour orbit over white sands and hold us there. We won't go down. Let the load down on remote, wherever they want it. The arrival of the Ardvorian super dreadnought Orion and the UC1, your in excite carrier number one,

was one of the most sensational events old Earth had ever known. Air and spacecraft went clear out to emergence volume 90 to meet them. By the time the UC1 was coming in on its remote-controlled landing spiral, the press of small ships was so great that all the police forces available were in a lather trying to control it. This was exactly what Hilton had wanted. It made possible the completely unobserved launching of several dozen small craft from the Orion herself. One of these made a very high and very fast fly.

to Chicago. With all due formality, and under the eagis of a perfectly authentic registry number, it landed on O'Hare Field. Eleven deeply tanned young men emerged from it and made their way to a taxi stand, where each engaged a separate vehicle. Sam Bryant stepped into his cab, gave the driver a number on Oakwood Avenue into Plain, and settled back to scan. He was lucky. He would have gone anywhere she was, of course, but the way things were, he could give her a little warning to soften the shock. She had taken the baby out for an airing down by River Road and was on her way back. By having the taxi killed ten minutes or so, he could arrive just after she did. Wherefore, he stopped the cab at a public communications booth and dialed his home.

Mrs. Bryant is not at home, but she will return at 1530, the instrument said crisply. Would you care to record a message for her? He punched the record button. This is Sam, Dolly, baby. I'm right behind you. Turn around way, don't you? And tell your ever-loving star-hopping husband, hello. The taxi pulled up at the curb just as Doris closed the front door,

and Sam, after handing the driver a $5 bill, ran up the walk. He waited just outside the door, key in hand, while she lowered the stroller handle, took off her hat, and by long-established habit, reached out to flip the communicator's switch. At the first word, however, she stiffened rigidly, froze solid. Smiling, he opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind him. Nothing short of a shotgun blast could have taken Doris Bryant's attention from that recorder then. That simply is not so, she told the instrument firmly, with both eyes resolutely shut.

They made him stay on the Perseus. He won't be in for at least three days. This is some Cretan's idea of a joke. Not this time, Dolly, honey. It's really me. Her eyes popped open as she whirled. Sam! She shrieked and hurled herself at him

with all the pent-up ardor and longing of 234 meticulously counted, husbandless, loveless days. After an unknown length of time, Sam tipped her face up by the chin, nodded at the stroller, and said, How about introducing me to the little stranger? What a mother I turned out to be.

That was the first thing I was going to rave about, the very first thing I saw you. Samuel J. the fourth, 76 days old today, and so on. Eventually, however, the proud young mother watched the slightly apprehensive young father carry their firstborn upstairs, where together they put him, still sound asleep, to bed in his crib. then again they were in each other's arms. Some time later, she twisted around in the circle of his arm and tried to dig her fingers into the muscles of his back. She then attacked his biceps and leaning backward, eyed him intently.

You're you, I know, but you're different. No athlete or any laborer could ever possibly get the muscles you have all over, to say nothing of a space officer on duty. and I know it isn't any kind of a disease. You've been acting all the time as though I were fragile, made out of glass or something, as though you were afraid of breaking me in two. So what is it, sweetheart?

I've been trying to figure out an easy way of telling you, but there isn't any. I am different. I'm a hundred times as strong as any man ever was. Look. He upended a chair, took one heavy hardwood leg between finger and thunders, and made what look like a gentle effort to bend it. The leg broke with a pistol-sharp report,

and Doris leapt backward in surprise. So you're right, I am afraid, not only of breaking you in two, but killing you. And if I break any of your ribs or arms or legs, I'll never forgive myself. So if I let myself go for a second, I don't think I will, but I might. Don't wait until you're really hurt to start screaming, promise? I promise. Her eyes went wide. But tell me, he told her. She was in turn surprised, amazed, apprehensive, frightened, and finally eager, and she became more and more eager right up to the end. You mean that we, that I'll stay just as I am for thousands of years?

Just as you are, or different if you like, if you really mean any of this yelling you've been doing about being too big in the hips. I think you're exactly right myself. You can rebuild yourself any way you please, or change your shape every hour on the hour. But you haven't accepted my invitation yet. Don't be silly. She went into his arms again and nibbled on his left ear. I'd go anywhere with you, of course, any time, but this, but you're positively sure Sammy Small will be all right? positively sure. Okay, I'll call mother. Her face fell.

I can't tell her that we'll never see them again, and that we'll live. You don't need to. She and Pop, Fern and Sally, too, and their boyfriends, are on the list. Not this time, but in a month or so, probably. Doris Brighton like a sunburst. And your folks, too, of course, she asked. Yes, all the close ones. Marvelous. How soon are we leaving? At six o'clock next morning, two hundred thirty-five days

after leaving Earth, Hilton and Sautel set out to make the Arden's official call upon the Terra's advisory board. Both were wearing prodigiously heavy lead armor, the inside of which was furiously radioactive. They did not need it, of course, but it would make all Arden's monstrous and terror eyes and would conceal the fact that any other Arden's were landing. Their gig was met at the spaceport, not by a limousine, but by a five-ton truck, into which they were loaded one at a time by a hydraulic lift. cameras clicked, reporters scurried, and tried a scanner's word. One of those scanners, both men knew, was reporting directly and only to the advisory board, which, of course, never took anything either for granted or at its face value.

Their first stop was at a truck scale, where each visitor was weighed. Hilton tipped the beam at 4,615 pounds, saw Tell, a smaller man, weighed in at 4,190. Thence to the radiation laboratory, where it was ascertained and reported that the armor did not leak, which was reasonable enough since each was lined with master's plastics. Then into lead-lined testing cells, where each opened his face plate briefly to a sensing element, whereupon the indicating needles of two meters in the main laboratory went enthusiastically through the full range of red and held unwaveringly against their stops. Both Ardens felt the wave of shocked, astonished, almost unbelieving consternation that swept through the observing scientists,

and in slightly lesser measure, because they knew less about radiation, through the advisory board itself in a big room halfway across town. And from the radiation laboratory they were taken, truck and freight elevator to the office of the commandant where the board was sitting. The story, which had been sent into the board the day before on a scrambled beam, was one upon which the Ardens had labored for days. Many facts could be withheld. However, every man aboard the Perseus would agree on some things. Indeed, the Earthship's communications officers had undoubtedly radioed in early about longevity and perfect health, and omen's service and many other matters. Hence, all such things would have to be admitted and countered.

Thus the report, while it was airtight, perfectly, logically, perfectly consistent, and apparently complete, did not please the Board at all. It wasn't intended to. We cannot and do not approve of such unwarranted favoritism, the Chairman of the Board said. Longevity has always been man's prime goal. Every human being has the inalienable right, to Flap-Doodle, Hilton snorted. This is not being broadcast, and the room is proofed, so please, climb down off your soapbox. You don't need to talk like a politician here. Didn't you read paragraph 12A2, one of the many marked top secret?

Of course, but we do not understand how purely mental qualities can possibly have any effect upon purely physical transformations. Thus, it does not seem reasonable that any, except rigorously screened personnel would die in the process. That is, of course, unless you contemplate deliberate, cold-blooded murder—that stopped Hilton in his tracks, for it was too close for comfort to the truth. But it did not hold the captain for an instant. He was used to death in many of its grisliest forms. There are a lot of things no Terran ever will understand. Sautel replied instantly. Reasonable or not, that's exactly what will happen. And reasonable or not, it will be suicide, not murder.

There isn't a thing that either Hilton or I can do about it. Hilton broke the ensuing silence. You can say with equal truth that every human being has the right to run a four-minute mile or to compose a great symphony. It isn't a matter of right at all, but of ability. In this case, the mental qualities are even more necessary than the physical. You as a board did a very fine job. of selecting the Bousai personnel for Project Theta Orionis.

Almost 80% of them proved able to withstand the Arden conversion. On the other hand, only a very small percentage of the Navy personnel did so. Your report said, The remaining personnel of the project were not informed as to the death aspect of the transformation, Admiral Corden said. Why not? That should be self-explanatory, Hilton said flatly. They are still human and still.

We did not and will not encroach upon either the duties or the privileges of Tara's advisory board. What you tell all Terrans and how much and how must be decided by yourselves. This also applies, of course, to the other top secret paragraphs of the report, none of which are known to any Terran outside the board. But you haven't said anything about the method of selection, another advisor complained. why, that will take all the psychologists of the world working full-time continuously. We said we would do the selecting. We meant just that, Hilton said coldly. No one except the very few selectees will know anything about it.

Even if it were an unmixed blessing, which it very definitely is not, do you want all humanity thrown into such an uproar as that would cause? or the quite possible racial inferiority complex it might set up. To say nothing of the question of how much of Terra's best blood do you want to drain off, irreversibly and permanently. No. What we suggest is that you paint the picture so black, using Sautel and me and what all humanity has just seen as horrible examples, that nobody would take it as a gift.

Make them shun it like the plague. Hell, I don't have to tell you what your propaganda machines can do. The chairman of the board again mounted his invisible rostrum. Do you mean to intimate that we are to falsify the record? He declaimed, to try to make liars out of hundreds of eyewitnesses. You ask us to distort the truth, to connive at, We aren't asking you to do anything. Hilton snapped.

We don't give a damn what you do. Just study that record, with all that it implies. Read between the lines. For those on the Perseus, no two of them will tell the same story, and not one of them has even the remotest idea of what the real story is. I, personally, not really did not want to become a monster, but would have given everything I had to stay human. My wife felt the same way. Neither of us would have converted, if there had been any other way in God's universe, of getting the urinexite and doing some other things that simply must be done.

What other things, Gordon demanded. You'll never know, Hilton answered quietly. Things no Terran ever will know. We hope. Things that would drive any Terran stark mad. Some of them are hinted at, as much as we dared, between the lines of the report. The report had not mentioned the strats, nor were they to be mentioned now. If the Ardance could stop them, no Terran need ever know anything about them. If not, no Terran should know anything about them, except what he would learn for himself

just before the end, for Terra would never be able to do anything to defend herself against the struts. "'Nothing whatever can drive me mad,' Gordon declared. "'And I want to know all about it, right now.' "'You can do one of two things, Gordon,' Sawtell said in disgust. His sneer was plainly visible through the six-ply plastic-backed lead glass of his faceplate. "'Either shut up, or accept my personal invitation to come to Ardvor and try to go through the ringer. That's an invitation to your own funeral.'

Five-jet Admiral Gordon, torn inwardly to ribbons, made no reply. "'I repeat,' Hilton went on. "'We are not asking you to do anything whatever. We are offering to give you, free of charge, but under certain conditions, all the power your humanity can possibly use. We set no limitation whatever as to quantity and with no foreseeable limit as to time. The only pointed issue is whether or not you accept the conditions. If you do not accept them, we'll leave now, and the offer will not be repeated.

And you would, I presume, take the UC1 back with you? Of course not, sir. Terran needs power too badly. You are perfectly welcome to that one load of urinexite, no matter what is decided here. "'That is one way of putting it,' Gordon sneered. "'But the truth is that you know damned well "'I'll blow both of your ships out of space "'if you so much as—' "'Oh, chip-chop the jaw-flapping, Gordon!' Hilton snapped.

"'Then as the Admiral began to bellow orders "'into his microphone, he went on. "'You want it the hard way, eh? "'Watch what happens, all of you.' "'The UC-1 shot vertically into the air, "'through its shallow, dense layer, "'and into and through the stratage. Earth's fleet, already on full alert and poised to strike, rushed to the attack.

But the carrier had reached the Orion and both Ardvorian ships had been waiting, motionless, for a good half-minute before the Terran warships arrived and began to blast with everything they had. Flashlights and firecrackers, Sautel said calmly. You aren't even warming up our screens. As soon as you quit making a damn fool of yourself by wasting energy that way, we'll set the UC one back down where she was and get on with our business here. You will order a ceasefire at once, Admiral, the chairman said. Or the rest of us will, as of now, remove you from the board.

Gordon gritted his teeth in rage, but gave the order. If he hasn't had enough yet to convince him, Hilton suggested, he might send up a drone. We don't want to kill anybody, you know. One with the heaviest screening he's got, just to see what happens. to it. He's had enough. The rest of us have had more than enough. That exhibition was not only uncalled for and disgusting. It was outrageous. The meeting settled down then from argument to constructive discussion, and many topics were gone over. Certain matters were, however, so self-evident that they were not even mentioned. Thus, it was a self-evident fact that no Terran could ever visit

Ardvor. For the instrument readings agreed with the report's statements as to the violence of the Ardvorian environment, and no Terran could possibly walk around in two tons of lead. Conversely, it was self-apparent to the Terrans that no Arden could ever visit Earth without being recognized instantly for what he was. Wearing such armor made its necessity starkly plain. No one from the Perseus could say that any Arden, after having lived on the furiously radiant surface of Ardvor would not be as furiously radioactive as the laboratory's calibrated instruments had shown Hilton and Sautel actually to be, wherefore the conference went on, quietly and cooperatively, to its planned end. One minute after the Tarran battleship, Perseus emerged

into normal space, the Orion went into subspace for her long trip back to Ardvor. The last two days of that seven-day trip were the longest seeming that either Hilton or Sautel had ever known. The subspace radio was on continuously, and Kiti One reported to Sautel every five minutes. Even though Hilton knew that the Oman Commander-in-Chief was exactly as good at perceiving as he himself was, he found himself scanning the thoroughly screened Stred world 40 or 50 times an hour. However, in spite of worry and apprehension, time wore eventlessly on. The Orion emerged, went to Ardvor and landed on Ardane Field. Hilton, after greeting properly and reporting to his wife, went to his office. There he found that Sandra had everything well in hand, except for a few tapes that only he

could handle. Sautel and his officers went to the new Command Central, where everything was rolling smoothly and very much faster than Sautel had dared hope. The Terran immigrants had to live in the Orion, of course, until conversion into Ardance. Almost equally, of course, since the Brayant infant was the only young baby in the lot, Doris and her Sammy Small were, by popular acclaim, the first batch to be converted. For little Sammy had taken the entire feminine contingent by storm. No omen female had a chance to act as nurse as long as any of the girls were around, which was practically all the time, especially the platinum blonde twins. For several, months now, Bernardine Braden and Hermione Felger.

"'And you said they were so hard-boiled,' Doris said accusingly to Sam, nodding at the twins. On hands and knees on the floor, head to head with Sammy Small between them, they were growling, deep-throated at each other, and nuzzling at the baby, who was having the time of his young life. "'You couldn't have been more wrong, my sweet, if you'd had the whole octagon helping you go astray. They're just as nice as they can be, both of them. Sam shrugged and grinned. His wife strode purposefully across the room to the playful pair

and lifted their pretended prey out from between them. "'Quitted you two,' she directed, swinging the baby up and depositing him a straddle her left hip. "'You're just simply spoiling him rotten?' "'You think so, Dolly? Uh-uh, far be it from such.' Bernardine came lightly to her feet. She glanced at her own, taught, trim, abdomen, upon which a micrometrically precise topographical

mapping job might have revealed an otherwise imperceptible bulge. Just you wait until Junior arrives, and I'll show you how to really spoil a baby. Besides, what's the hurry? He needs his supper, vitamins and minerals and hard radiations and things, and then he's going to bed. I don't approve of this no-sleep business, so run along both of you until to-merect. M. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Of Masters of Space by E. E. E. E. E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space. Chapter 12.

As has been said, the struts were working, with all the intensity of their monstrous but tremendously capable minds upon their great plan, which was basically to conquer and either enslave or destroy every other intelligent race throughout all the length, breath, and thickness of total space. To that end, each individual's threat had to become invulnerable and immortal. Wherefore, in the inconceivably remote past, there had been put into effect a program of selective breeding and of carefully calculated treatments. It was mathematically certain that this program would result in a race of beings of pure force. Beings have beenes, having no material constituents remaining whatever.

Under those hellish treatments, billions upon billions of struts had died, but the few remaining thousands had almost reached their sublime goal. In a few more hundreds of thousands of years, perfection would be reached. The few surviving hundreds of perfect beings could and would multiply to any desired number in practically no time at all.

Hilton and his seven fellow workers had perceived all this in their one and only study of the planet Streat, and every other Arden had been completely informed. A dozen or so Strette lords of thought, male and female, were floating about in the atmosphere, which was not heir of their assembly hall. Their heads were globes of ball lightning. Inside them could be seen quite plainly

the intricate convolutions of immense, less than half-material brains, shot through and through with rods and pencils and shapes of pure scintillating force. And the bodies, or rather each horrendous brain, had a few partially material appendages and appurtenances recognizable as bodily organs. There were no mouths, no ears, no eyes, no noses or nostrils, no lungs, no legs or arms. There were, however, hearts. Some partially material Iker flowed through those living fire-outlined tubes. There were starkly functional organs of reproduction, with which, by no stretch of the imagination,

could any thought of tenderness or love be connected. It was a good thing for the race, Hilton had thought at first perception of the things, that the stretch had bred out of themselves every iota of finer, higher attributes of life. If they had not done so, the importance of sheer disgust would have supervened so long, sense that the race would have been extinct for ages. 38 periods ago, the Great Brain was charged with the sum total of Streetsian knowledge. First, Lord Thinker Zoyar radiated to the assembled struts. For those 38 periods, it has been scanning, peyondyering, amassing data, and formulating

hypotheses, theories, and conclusions. It has just informed me that it is now ready to make a preliminary report. Great brain, how much of the total universe have you studied? This galaxy only, the brain radiated in a texture of thought as hard and as harsh as Zoyar's own. Why not more? Insufficient power. My first conclusion is that whoever set up the specifications for me is a fool. To say that the first Lord went out of control at this statement is to put it very mildly,

indeed. He fulminated, ending with, Destroyed instantly! Destroy me, if you like, came the utterly calm, utterly cold reply. I am in no sense alive. I have no consciousness of self, nor any desire for continued existence. To do so, however, would. A flurry of activity interrupted the thought. Soyar was, in fact, assembling the forces to destroy the brain. But before he could act, Second Lord Thinker, Inos, and another female, blew him into a mixture of loose molecules and flaring energies. Destruction of any kind in all irrational minds is mandatory.

Inos, now first, Lord Thinker, explained to the linked minds. Zoyar had been becoming less and less rational by the period. A good workman does not causelessly destroy his tools. Go ahead, great brain, with your findings. be logical. The brain resumed the thought exactly where it had been broken off. Zoyar erred in demanding unlimited performance, since infinite knowledge and infinite ability require not only infinite capacity and infinite power, but also infinite time. Nor is it either necessary or desirable that I should have such qualities.

There is no reasonable basis for the assumption that U-Strets will conquer any significant number, even of the millions of intelligent races, now inhabiting this one galaxy. Why not? Inos demanded, her thought almost, but not quite, as steady and cold as it had been. The answer to that question is implicit in the second indefensible error made in my construction. The prime datum impressed into my banks that the struts are in fact the strongest, ableest, most intelligent race in the universe proved to be false. I had to eliminate it before I could do any real constructive thinking. A roar of condemnatory thought brought all circumambient ether to a boil.

Ba! Destroy it! Detestable! Intolerable! If that is the best it can do, annihilate it. Far better brains have been destroyed for much less. Treason! And so on. First Lord Thinker Aynos, however, remained relatively calm. While we have always held it to be a fact that we are the highest race in existence, no rigorous proof has been possible. Can you now disprove that assumption? I have disproved it. I have not had time to study all of the civilizations of this galaxy, but I have examined a statistically adequate sample of 1,792,416 different planetary intelligences. I found one which is considerably abler and more advanced than Ustretz.

Therefore, the probability is greater than point 9-9 that there are not less than 10 and not more than 208 such races in this galaxy alone. Impossible! Another wave of incredulous and threatening anger swept through the linked minds. A wave which Inos flattened out with some difficulty. Then she asked, Is it probable that we will make contact with this supposedly superior race in the foreseeable future? You are in contact with it now.

What? Even Inos was contemptuous now. You mean that one shipload of despicable humans, who, far too late to do them any good, barred us temporarily from the fuel world? Not exactly, or only those humans know. and your assumptions may or not be valid. Don't you know whether they are or not? I know snapped.

Explain your uncertainty at once. I am uncertain because of insufficient data, the brain replied calmly. The only pertinent facts of which I am certain are, first the world Ardree, upon which the omens formerly lived, and to which the humans in question first went, a planet which no stret can pay on dire is now abandoned. Second, the struts of old did not completely destroy the humanity of the world Ardu.

Third, some escapees from Arduh reached and populated the world Ardry. Fourth, the android omens were developed on Ardry by the human escapees from Ardu and their descendants. Fifth, the omens referred to those humans as masters. Sixth, after living on Ardry for a very long period of time, the Masters went elsewhere. Seventh, the omens remaining on Ardry maintained continuously, and for a very long time, the status quo left by the Masters. Eighth, immediately upon the arrival from terror of those present humans, that long-existing status was broken.

Ninth, the planet called Fuel World, is, for the first time, surrounded by a screen of force. The formula of this screen is as follows. The brain gave it. No stret either complained or interrupted. Each was too busy studying that formula and examining its stunning implications and connotations. Tenth, that formula is one full order of magnitude beyond anything previously known to your science. 11th, it could not have been developed by the science of Terra, nor by that of any other world whose population I have examined. The brain took the linked minds instantaneously to Terra, then to a few thousand or so other worlds inhabited by human beings, then to a few thousands of planets whose populations were near

human, non-human, and monstrous. It is therefore clear, it announced, that this screen was computed and produced by the race, whatever it may be that is now dwelling on fuel world and asserting full ownership of it. Who or what is that race? Inos demanded. Data insufficient. Theorize then. Postulate that the masters, in many thousands of cycles of study,

made advances in science that were not reduced to practice. That the omens either possessed this knowledge or had access to it, and that omens and humans cooperated fully in sharing and in working with all the knowledge thus available. From these three postulates, the conclusion can be drawn that there has come into existence a new race, one combining the best qualities of both humans and omens, but with the weaknesses of neither. An unpleasant thought truly, I knows thought. But you can now, I suppose, design the generators and projectors of a force superior to that screen. Data insufficient. I can equal it, since both generation and projection are implicit in the formula,

but the data so adduced are in themselves vastly ahead of anything previously in my banks. Are there any other races in this galaxy more powerful than the postulated one now living on fuel world? Data insufficient. Theorize then. Data insufficient. The linked minds concentrated upon the problem for a period of time that might have been either days or weeks. then,

Great Brain, advise us, I know said, What is best for us to do? With identical defensive screens, it becomes a question of relative power. You should increase the size and power of your warships to something beyond the computed probable maximum of the enemy. You should build more ships and missiles than they will probably be able to build.

Then and only then will you attack their warships in tremendous force and continuously. But not their planetary defenses. I see. Ionosis thought was one of complete understanding. And the real offensive will be? No mobile structure can be built to mount mechanisms of power sufficient

to smash down by sheer force of output such tremendously powerful installations as their planet-based defenses must be assumed to be. Therefore, the planet itself must be destroyed. This will require a missile of planetary mass. The best such missile is the tenth planet of their own sun. I see. Inos's mind was leaping ahead, considering hundreds of possibilities and making highly intricate and involved computations. That will, however, require many cycles of time and more power than even our immense reserves can supply.

True. It will take much time. The fuel problem, however, is not a serious one, since fuel world is not unique. Think on, First Lord Inos. We will attack in maximum force and with maximum violence. We will blanket the planet. We will maintain maximum force and violence until most or all of the enemy ships have been destroyed.

We will then install. planetary drives on ten and force it into collision orbit with fuel world, meanwhile exerting extreme precautions that not so much as a spy beam emerges above the enemy's screen. Then, still maintaining extreme precaution, we will guard both planets until the last possible moment before the collision. Brain, it cannot fail. You err, it can fail. All we actually know of the abilities of this postulated neo-human race is what I have learned from the composition of its defensive screen. The probability approaches unity that the masters continue to delve and to learn for millions of cycles, while you struts, reasonably certain of your supremacy, concentrated upon

your evolution from the material to a non-material form of life, and performed only limited research into armaments of greater and ever-greater power. True, but that attitude was then justified. It was not, and is not, logical, to assume that any race would establish a fixed status at any level of ability below its absolute maximum. While that conclusion could once have been defensible, it is now virtually certain that the masters had stores of knowledge,

which they may or may not have withheld from the omens, but which were in some way made available to the needs. Neoh humans. Also, there is no basis whatever for the assumption that this new race has revealed all its potentialities. Statistically, that is probably true. But this is the best plan you have been able to formulate? It is. Of the many thousands of plans I set up and tested, this one has the highest probability of success. Then we will adopt it. We are strets. Whatever we decide upon will be driven through to complete success, we have one tremendous advantage in you. Yes, the probability approaches unity that I can perform research on a vastly wider and larger scale,

and almost infinitely faster than can any living organism or any possible combination of such organisms. Nor was the great brain bragging. It scanned in moments the stored scientific knowledge of over a million planets. It tabulated, correlated, correlated, analytics. It tabulated, analyzed, synthesized, theorized, and concluded, all in microseconds of time. Thus it made more progress in one Terran week than the Masters had made in a million years. When it had gone as far as it could go, it reported its results, and the struts, hard as they were and intransigent, were amazed and overjoyed. Not one of them had ever imagined such armaments possible. Hence they became supremely confident that it was unmatched and unmatchable throughout all space.

What the great brain did not know, however, and the stretch did not realize, was that it could not really think. Unlike the human mind, it could not deduce valid theories or conclusions from incomplete, insufficient, fragmentary data. It could not leap gaps. Thus, there was no more actual assurance than before that they had exceeded or even matched the weaponry of the Neal humans of fuel world. Supremely confident, Ino said, We will now discuss every detail of the plan in sub-detail,

and will correlate every sub-detail with every other, to the end that every action, however minor, will be performed perfectly and in its exact time. That discussion, which lasted for days, was held. Hundreds of thousands of new and highly specialized mechs were built, and went furiously and continuously to work. A fuel supply line was run to another uranexite-rich planet. Stripping machines stripped away the surface layers of soil, sand, rock, and low-grade ore.

Giant miners tore and dug and slashed and refined and concentrated. Storage silos by the hundreds were built and were filled. Hundreds upon hundreds of concentrate carriers board their stolid ways through hyperspace. Many weeks of time passed. But of what importance are mere weeks of time to a race that has, has, for many millions of years, been adhering rigidly to a preset program. The sheer magnitude of the operation and the extraordinary attention to detail with which it was prepared and launched, explained why the Stred attack on Ardvor did not occur until so many

weeks later than Hilton and Sautel expected it. They also explained the utterly incomprehensible fury, the complete fantastic intensity, the unparalleled savagery, the almost immeasurable brute power, of that attack when it finally did come. When the Orion landed on Ardained field from Earth, carrying the first contingent of immigrants, Hilton and Sautel were almost as much surprised as relieved that the stretch had not already attacked. Sawtel, confident that his defenses were fully ready,

took it more or less in stride. Hilton worried, and after a couple of days he began to do some real thinking about it. The first result of his thinking, was a conference with Temple. As soon as she got the drift, she called in Teddy and Big Bill Carnes. Teddy, in turn, called in Becky and DeVoe.

Carnes wanted Pinter and Beverly. Pointer wanted Brayden and the twins, and so on. Thus, what started out as a conference of two became a full ardent staff meeting, a meeting which, starting immediately after lunch, ran straight through into the following afternoon. To sum up the consensus for the record,

Hilton said then, studying a sheet of paper covered with symbols. The struts haven't attacked yet because they found out that we are stronger than they are. They found that out by analyzing our defensive web, which, if we had had this meeting first, we wouldn't have put up at all. Unlike anything known to human or previous strut science, it is proof against any form of attack up to the limit of the power of its generators. They will attack as soon as they are equipped to break that screen at the level of power probable to our ships. We cannot arrive at any reliable estimate as to how long that will take. As to the effectiveness of our cutting off their known fuel supply, opinion is divided.

We must therefore assume that fuel shortage will not be a factor. Neither are we unanimous on the basic matter as to why the masters acted as they did just before they left Ardree. Why did they set the status so far below their top ability? Why did they make it impossible for the omens ever of themselves to learn their higher science? Why, if they did not want that science to become known, did they leave complete records of it? The majority of us believe that the masters coded their records in such fashion

that the struts, even if they conquered the omens or destroyed them, could never break that code, since it was key to the basic difference between the Streat mentality and the human. Thus, they left it deliberately for some human race to find. Finally, and most important, our physicists and theoreticians are not able to extrapolate from the analysis of our screen to the concepts underlying the master's ultimate weapons of offense, the first-stage booster and its final end product, the Vang. If, as we can safely assume, the stretch do not already have those words,

weapons, they will know nothing about them until we ourselves use them in battle. These are, of course, only the principal points covered. Does anyone wish to amend this summation as recorded? No one did. The meeting was adjourned. Hilton, however, accompanied Sautel and Kiti to the captain's office. So you see, Skipper, we got troubles, he said. If we don't use those boosters against their skeletons, it'll boil down to a stalemate lasting God only knows how long. It will be a war of attrition, outcome dependent on which side can build the most and biggest and strongest ships the fastest. On the other hand, if we do use them on defense here, they'll analyze them and have everything worked out in a day or so. The first thing they'll do is beef up their planetary

defenses to match. That way, we'd blow all their ships out of space, probably easily enough, but strad itself will be just as safe as though it were in God's left-hand hip pocket. So, what's the answer? It isn't that simple, Jav, Sautel said. Let's hear from you, Kiti. Thank you, sir. There is an optimum mass, a point of maximum efficiency of firepower as balanced against loss of maneuverability for any craft designed for attack. Kitty thought in his most professional manner.

We assume that the stretch know that as well as we do. no such limitation applies to strictly defensive structures, but both the strut craft and ours must be designed for attack. We have built and are building many hundreds of thousands of ships of that type, so undoubtedly are the struts. Ship for ship, they will be pretty well matched. Therefore, one part of my strategy will be for two of our ships to engage simultaneously one of theirs.

There is a distinct probability that we will have enough advantage in speed of control to make that tactic operable. But there's another that we won't, Sawtell objected, and maybe they can build more ships than we can. Another point is that they may build, in addition to their big stuff, a lot of small, ultra-fast ones,

Hilton put in, suicide jobs, crash and detonate, simply super-missiles. How sure are you that you can stop such missiles with ordinary beams? Not at all, sir. Some of them would, of course, reach and destroy some of our ships, which brings up the second part of my strategy. For each one of the heavies, we are building many small ships of the type you just called super missiles. Super Dreadnots versus Super Dreadnots. Supermissals versus Super missiles. Hilton digested that concept for several minutes. That could still wind up as a stalemate, except for what you said about control.

That isn't much to depend on, especially since we won't have the time-like advantage you omens had before. They'll see to that. Also, I don't like to sacrifice a million omens either. I haven't explained the newest development yet, sir. There will be no omens. Each ship and each missile has a built-in kitty brain, sir. What? That makes it infinitely worse. You kitties, unless it's absolutely necessary, are not expendable. Oh, but we are, sir. You don't quite understand. We kitties are not merely similar, but are in fact identical. Thus, we are not independent entities. All of us together make up the actual Kiti, that which is meant when we say I. That is, I am the sum total of all kitties everywhere, not merely this individual that you call Kiti one. You mean you're all talking to me? Exactly, sir. Thus, no one element of the Kiti has any need of or any desire for self-preservation. The destruction of one element, or of thousands of elements, would be of no more consequence to the Kiti than, well, they are strictly analogous to the severed ends of the hairs each

time you get a haircut. My God! Hilton stared at Sautel. Sautel stared back. I'm beginning to see. Maybe. I hope. What control that would be. But just in case we should have to use the boosters? Hilton's voice died away. Scowling in concentration, he clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the floor. Better give up, Jarve.

Kiti's got the same mind you have, Sautel began, to Hilton's oblivious back. But Kiti silenced the thought almost in the moment of its inception. By no means, sir, he contradicted. I have the brain only. The mind is entirely different. Link up, Kiti, and see what you think of this, Hilton broke in. There ensued an interchange of thought so fast and so deeply mathematical that Sautel was lost in seconds. Do you think it'll work? I don't see how it can fail, sir. At what point in the action should it be put into effect? And will you call the time of initiation, or shall I?

Not until all their reserves are in action, or at worst, all of ours except that one task force. Since you'll know a lot more about the status of the battle than either Sautel or I will, you will give the signal and I'll start things going. What are you two talking about? Sautel demanded. It's a long story, chum. Katie can tell you about it better than I can. Besides, it's getting late, and Dark Lady and Larry both give me hell every time I hold supper on plus time, unless there's a mighty good reason for it. So, so long, guys.

End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of Masters of Space by E. E. E. E. E. E. E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space. Chapter 13. For many weeks, the production of Arden Warships and missiles have been spiraling upward. Half a mountain range of solid rock have been converted into fabricated super steel and armament. Super dreadnoughts were popping into existence at the rate of hundreds per minute. Missiles were rolling off the ends of assembly lines like half-pite tin cans out of can-making machines. The Stret Warcraft, skeletons and missiles, would emerge into normal space anywhere within a million miles of Ardvor.

The Arden missiles were powered for an acceleration of 100 gravities. That much the heady brains, molded solidly into Teflon-lined, massively braced steel spheres, could just withstand. To be certain of breaking the stretch screens, an impact velocity of about six miles per second was necessary. The time required to attain this velocity was about 10 seconds, and the flight distance something over 30 miles. Since the strats could orient themselves in less than one second after emergence, even this extremely tight packing of minutes, only 60 miles apart throughout the entire emergence volume of space, would still give the struts the initiative by a time ratio of more than 10 to 1. Such tight packing was of course

impossible. It called for many billions of defenders instead of the few millions it was possible for the omens to produce in the time they had. In fact, the average spacing was well over 10,000 miles when the invading horde of Stret missiles emerged and struck. How they struck! There was nothing of finesse about that attack, nothing of skill or of tactics, nothing but the sheer brute force of overwhelming superiority of numbers

and of overmatching power. One instant all space was empty. The next instant, it was full of invading missiles, a superb exhibition of coordination and timing. And the Kiti control, upon which the defenders had counted so heavily, proved useless. For each Streat missile, within a fraction of a second of emergence darted toward the nearest Omen missile with an acceleration

that made the 100 gravity defenders seem to be standing still. One-to-one missiles crashed into missiles and detonated. There were no solid or liquid end products. Each of those frightful weapons carried so many megatons equivalent of atomic concentrate that all nearby space blossomed out into superatomic blasts hundreds of times more violent than the fireballs of lithium-hydride fusion bombs. For a moment, even Hilton was stunned, but only for a moment. "'Kedie,' he barked. "'Get your big stuff out there. Use the boosters!'

He started for the door at full run. "'That tears it. That really tears it. "'Scrap the plan. I'll board the serious and take the task force to Streat. "'Bring your stuff along, Skipper, as soon as you're ready.' Arden super dreadnots in their massed thousands poured out through Ardvor's one-way screen. Each went instantly to work. Now the Kiti control system, doing what it was designed to do, proved its full worth. For the weapons of the big battle wagons did not depend upon acceleration, but were driven at the speed of light, and grand fleet operations were planned and were carried

out at the almost infinite velocity of thought itself. Or rather, they were not planned at all. They were simply carried out, immediately and without confusion. For all the Kitties were one. Each Kiti elements, without any lapse of time whatever for consultation with any other, knew exactly where every other element was, exactly what each was doing and exactly what he himself should do to make maximum contribution to the common cause. Nor was any time lost in relaying orders to crewmen within the ship.

There were no crewmen. Each Kiti element was the sole personnel of and was integral with his vessel, nor were there any wires or relays to impede and slow down communication. Operational instructions too were transmitted and were acted upon with thoughts transfinite speed. Thus, if decision and execution were not quite mathematically simultaneous, they were separated by a period of time so infinitesal small as to be impossible of separation. Wherever a Stret missile was, or wherever a Strette's skeleton ship appeared, an omen beam reached it, usually in much less than one second.

Beam clung to scream, caressingly, hungrily, absorbing its total energy and forming the first stage booster. Then, three microseconds later, that booster went off into a ragingly incandescent, glaringly violent burst of fury, so hellishly, so inconceivably hot, that less than a thousandth of its total output of energy was below the very top of the visible spectrum. If the previous display of atomic violence had been so spectacular, and of such magnitude as to defy understanding or description, what of this? When hundreds of thousands of keys, each wielding world-wrecking powers as effortlessly and as deftly and as

precisely as thought, attacked and destroyed millions of those tremendously powerful war-fabrications of the struts. The only simple answer is that all nearby space might very well have been torn out of the most radiant layers of S. Doridis itself. Hilton made the hundred yards from office door to curb in just over twelve seconds. Larry was waiting. The car literally burned a hole in the atmosphere as it screamed its way to Ardain Field. It landed with a thump. Heavy black streaks of synthetic rubber marked the pavement as it came to a screeching, shrieking stop at the flagship's main lock. And in the instant of closing that locks outer portal, all twenty thousand-plus warships of the

task force took off as one at ten gravities. Took off, and in less than one minute, went into overdrive. All personal haste was now over. Hilton went up into what he still thought of as the control room, even though he knew that there were no controls, nor even any instruments anywhere aboard. He knew what he would find there. Fast as he had acted,

Temple had not had as far to go and she got there first. He could not have said for the life of him how he actually felt about this direct defiance of his direct orders. He walked into the room, sat down beside her, and took her hand. "'I told you to stay home, Temple,' he said. "'I know you did, but I'm not only the assistant head of your psychologist, department, I'm your wife, remember? Until death do us part. And if there's any way in the universe I can manage it, death isn't going to part us. At least this one isn't. If this is it,

we'll go together. I know, sweetheart. He put his arm around her, held her close. As a psych, I wouldn't give a whoop. You'd be expendable. But as my wife, especially now that you're pregnant, you aren't. You're a lot more important to the future of our race than I'm. I am. She stiffened in the circle of his arm. What's that crack supposed to mean? Think I'd ever accept a synthetic zombie imitation of you for my husband and go on living with it just as though nothing had happened? Hilton started to say something, but Temple rushed heedlessly on. Drat the race. No matter how many children we ever have, you were first, and you'll stay

first. And if you have to go, I'll go too. So there. Besides, you'll You know darn well that they can't duplicate whatever it is that makes you Jarvis Hilton. Now wait a minute, Tempey. The conversion. Yes, the conversion. She interrupted triumphantly. The thing I'm talking about is immaterial, untouchable. They didn't, couldn't, do anything about it at all. Kiti, will you please tell this big goofus that even though you have got Jarvis Hilton's brain, you aren't Jarvis Hilton and never can be? The atmosphere of the room vibrated in the frequencies of a deep, base laugh. You are trying to hold a completely untenable position, friend Hilton.

Any attempt to convince a mind of real power that falsity is truth is illogical. My advice is for you to surrender. That word hit temple hard. Not surrender, sweetheart. I'm not fighting you. I never will. She seized both of his hands, tears welled into her glorious eyes. It's just that I see.

simply couldn't stand it to go on living without you. I know, darling. He got up and lifted her to her feet, so that she could come properly into his arms. They stood there, silent and motionless, for minutes. Temple finally released herself, and after feeling for a handkerchief she did not have, wiped her eyes with a forefinger, and then wiped the finger on her bare leg. She grinned and turned to the omens. Prince, will you and dark lady please conjure us up a steak and mushroom supper? They should be in the pantry, since this serious was designed for us. After supper, the two sat companionably on a Davenport.

One thing about this business isn't quite clear, Temple said. Why all this tearing rush? They haven't got the booster or anything like it, or they'd have used it. Surely it'll take them a long time to go from the mere analysis of the forces and fields we used, clear through to the production and installation of enough weapons to stop this whole fleet. It surely won't. They've had the absorption principle for ages. Remember that first ancient skeleton that drained all the power of our suits and boats in nothing flat?

From there it isn't too big a jump. And as for producing stuff, uh-uh, if there's any limit to what they can do, I don't know what it is. If we don't slug them before they get it, it's curtains. I see, I'm afraid. We're almost there, darling. He glanced at the chronometer. About eleven minutes. And, of course, I don't need to ask you to stay out of the way.

Of course not. I won't interfere, no matter what happens. All I'm going to do is hold your hand and pull for you with all my might. That'll help, believe me. I'm mighty glad you're along, sweetheart. Even though both of us know you shouldn't be. The task force emerged. Each ship darted toward its pre-assigned place in a matter.

mathematically exact envelope around the planet Stret. Hilton sat on a Davenport strained and still. His eyes were closed and every muscle tense. Left hand gripped the armrest so fiercely that fingertips were inches deep in the leather-covered padding. The stress knew that any such attack as this was futile. No movable structure or any combination of such structures could possibly wield enough power to break down screens powered by such engines as theirs. Hilton, however, knew that there was a chance. Not with the first-stage boosters, which were manipulable and detainable masses of ball-lightening, but with those boosters' combinations, the Vangs, which were ball-lightening raised to the sixth power,

in which only the frightful energies of the boosters could bring into being. But even with twenty thousand-plus vangs, or any larger number, success depended entirely upon a nicety of timing never before approached and supposedly impossible. not only to the thousandth of a microsecond, but to a small fraction of one such thousandth. Roughly the time it takes light to travel three-sixteenths of an inch. It would take practically absolute simultaneity to overload to the point of burnout to those streat generators. They were the heaviest in the galaxy. That was why Hilton himself had to be there. He could not possibly have done the job from

Ardvor. In fact, there was no real assurance that, even at the immeasurable velocity, of thought and covering a mere million miles, he could do it even from his present position aboard one unit of the fleet. Theoretically, with his speed up, he could. But that theory had yet to be reduced to practice. Tense and strained, Hilton began his countdown. Temple sat beside him. Both hands pressed his right fist against her breast. Her eyes too were closed. She was as stiff and as still as was he. not interfering, but giving, supporting him, backing him, giving to him in full flood everything of that tremendous inner strength that had made Temple Bells what she so uniquely was.

On the exact center of the needle-sharp zero beat, every Keady struck. Gripped and activated as they all were by Hilton's keyed up and stretched out mind, they struck in what was very close indeed to absolute unison. Absorbing beams, each one having had precisely the same, number of millimeters to travel, reached the screen at the same instant. They clung and sucked. Immeasurable floods of energy flash from the strep generators into those vortices to form 20,000-plus first-stage boosters. But this time, the boosters did not detonate. Instead, as energies continue to flood in at a frightfully accelerating rate, they turned into something else. Things no Terrant science has ever even imagined.

things at the formation of which all neighboring space actually warped, and in that warping, seethed and writhed and shuddered. The very sub-ether screamed and shrieked in protest, as it too yielded in starkly impossible fashions to that irresistible stress. How even though silicon fluorine brain stood it, not one of them ever knew. Microsecond, by slow microsecond, the vangs grew and grew and grew. They were pulling not only the full power of the Arden warships, but also the immeasurably greater

power of the strainingly overloaded Stretzian generators themselves. The ethereal and sub-etherial writhings and distortions and screamings grew worse and worse, harder and ever harder to bear. Imagine, if you can, a constantly and rapidly increasing mass of plutonium, a mass already thousands of times greater than critical, but not allowed to react. That gives a faint and very inadequate picture of what was happening then. Finally, at perhaps a hundred thousand times critical mass, and still in perfect sink, the vangs all went off. The planet's threat became a nova. We won, we won, Temple shrieked, her perception piercing through the hellish murk that was all

nearby space. Not quite yet, sweet, but we're over the biggest hump, and the two held an impromptu, but highly satisfactory celebration. Perhaps it would be better to say that the planet Strette became a junior-grade Nova, since the actual Nova stage was purely superficial and did not last very long. In a couple of hours, things had quieted down enough so that the heavily screened warships could approach the planet and finish up their part of the job. Much of Strette's lands' surface was molten lava. Much of its water was gone. There were some pockets of resistance left, of course, but they did not last long. Equally, of course, the stretch themselves, 25 miles underground,

had not been harmed at all. But that, too, was according to plan. Leaving the task force on guard, to counter any move the struts might be able to make, Hilton shot the serious out to the planet's moon. There, saw Tell in his staff and tens of thousands of omens and machines were starting to work. No part of this was Hilton's job, so all he and Temple did was look on. Correction, please. That was not all they did. But while resting and eating and loafing and sleeping and enjoying each other's company, both watched Operation Moon closely enough to be completely informed as to everything that went on. Immense, carefully placed pits went down to solid bedrock. To that rock were immovably anchored structures, strong enough to

move a world. Driving units were installed, drives of such immensity of power as to test to the full the highest engineering skills of the galaxy. Mountains of fuel concentrate filled vast reservoirs of concrete. Each was connected to a drive by 50-inch high-speed conveyors. Sawtell drove a thought and those brutal super drives began to blast. As they blasted, Stratz satellite began to move out of its orbit. Very slowly at first, but faster and faster. They continued to blast, with all their prodigious might and in carefully computed order, until the desired orbit was attained, an orbit which terminated in a vertical line through the center of the Stret's supposedly impregnable retreat. The planet Strette had a mass

of approximately seven times ten to the twenty-first metric tons. Its moon, little more than a hundredth as massive, still weighed in at about eight times ten to the nineteenth, that is, the figure eight followed by 19 zeros. And moon fell on planet, in direct central impact, after having fallen from a height of over a quarter of a million miles under the full pull of gravity and the full thrust of those mighty atomic drives. The kinetic energy of such a collision can be computed. It can be expressed. It is, however, of such astronomical magnitude as to be completely meaningless to the human mind. Simply, the two worlds merged and splashed. Droplets, weighing up to millions of tons each, spattered out into space, only to return in seconds or hours or weeks or months to add their

atrocious contributions to the enormity of the destruction already wrought. No trace survived of any stretch or of anything, however small, pertaining to the strats. End of Chapter 13. Epilogue To Masters of Space By E. E. E. E. E. Everett Evans. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Masters of Space. Epilogue.

As had become a daily custom, most of the Ardens were gathered at the Natatorium. Hilton and Temple were wrestling in the water. She was trying to duck him, and he was hard put to it to keep her from doing it. The platinum-haired twins were, oh, ever so surreptitiously and indetectably, studying the other girls. Captain Sawtell, he had steadfastly refused to accept any higher title, and his wife were teaching two of their tiny grandchildren to swim. In short, everything was normal.

Beverly Bell Pointer, from the top platform, hit the board as hard as she could hit it, and, perfectly synchronized with it, hurled herself upward. Up and up and up, she went, up to her top ceiling of 210 feet. Then, straightening out into a shapely arrow and without again moving a muscle, she hurtled downward, making two and a half beautifully stately turns, and striking the water with a slurping, splashless chug.

Coming easily to the surface, she shook the water out of her eyes. Temple, giving up her attempts to near-drawn her husband, rolled over and floated quietly beside him. You know, this is fun. He said. Uh-huh, she agreed enthusiastically. I'm glad you and Sandy buried the hatchet. Two of the top women who ever lived.

Or should I have said sheed the claws? Or have you, really? Pretty much, I guess. Temple didn't seem altogether sure of the point. Uh-oh, now what? A flitabout had come to ground. Dark lady, who never delivered a message via thought if she could possibly get away with delivering it in person, was running full tilt across the sand

toward them. Her long black hair was streaming out behind her. She was waving a length of teletype tape as though it were a pennon. "'Oh, no, not again,' Temple wailed. "'Don't tell us it's Terra again, Dark Lady, please.' "'But it is,' Dark Lady cried excitedly, and it says, "'from Five-Jet Admiral Gordon, commanding.' "'Omit Flowers, please.' Hilton directed, Boil it down. The Perseus is in orbit with the whole advisory board.

They went to hold a top-level summit conference with Director Hilton and five-jet Admiral Sautel. Dark Lady raised her voice enough to be sure Sautel heard the title and shot him a wicked glance as she announced it. They hoped to conclude all unfinished business on a mutually satisfactory and profitable basis. Okay, lady, thanks.

Tell him we'll call him shortly. Dark Lady flashed away, and Hilton and Temple swam slowly toward a ladder. Drat, Tara, and everything and everybody on it, Temple said vigorously, and especially drat his royal fatness Five-Jet Admiral Gordon. How much longer will it take do you think to pound some sense into their pointed little heads? Oh, we're not doing too bad, Hilton assured his lovely bride. Two or three more sessions ought to do it. Everything was normal.

The end of Masters of Space by E.E. Doc Smith and E. Everett Evans.