[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Without another
thought they cleared ether.
"Ready, Tong? And you, Kallatra, ready?" Worsel's thoughts were like whispers.
He felt
Tong insinuating himself into the one compartment of his mind which was
psychologically
ready, like a launch pad, to beam into Kallatra's. The girl's mind was
drifting closer and
closer to theirs, taking split-seconds which seemed like minutes, offering
itself like a living
funnel for the beam of mental power Worsel had shaped from the two Velantian
brains.
Worsel for a moment felt his inner self being siphoned out of his head and
into Kallatra's
until the Velantians' accumulating power backed up and filled the vacuum. Now,
paradoxically, instead of his mind being emptier, it was fuller; together they
were far
stronger than a mere sum of three; Tong and Kallatra and himself were one
functional
unit, a gun in which Kallatra was the barrel, Tong was the double charge of
powder and
Worsel was the bullet.
The electro-psychic energies of Kallatra again seemed like a dark tunnel into
deep space
of another kind. Through it-going not upward, nor down, nor out, but
inward--sped their
mental projectile, elongating more and more until it had the shape of a
javelin rather than
a pellet. Worsel didn't need the girl's urging to focus on the target-the ugly
lizard face of
the Boskonian Lensman-and to concentrate on developing one raw emotion:
hatred,
spiked with detestation and saturated with loathing. The tunnel ended.
Suddenly, pre-
posterously, the hurtling javelin was not deep down, but far out, beyond the
end of the
Universe, where it disappeared like smoke into and among, not one, but a
billion billion
billion figures-an infinity of creatures.
Their consciousness was back on the Cheenus and the mental gun was gone.
"Obviously we missed," Worsel said simply. "But what did we expect to find? A
body? Or
a spirit? A Black Lensman? Or perhaps something worse-a mastermind behind a
Lens-
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man pawn?"
Kallatra was too tired to reply.
"Can we try again, Kallatra?" Worsel asked. All his eyes studied the
perspiring face
behind the bandage in search of her emotions; his disengaged mind gently
brushed the
tumultuous unreadable thoughts of a drained and exhausted young girl.
"Not now," she said. "Perhaps soon-perhaps never." Though he could feel her
strength
gently rebuilding, he sensed fear, but not for herself.
"What did you see?" she asked.
He told her his impressions, of the trip and of the vague vision of infinity.
So did Tong,
identical in every way. And she herself confirmed what they had all seen,
"What do you
fear?" Worsel asked.
"I don't know," Kallatra said in an unruffled, matter-of-fact way. "We were
some place
I've never been before. It is not bad-it is not good-I simply know it is
wrong. I also know
it is a place of danger."
"Another dimension?" Worsel suggested, and an alarming image of billions upon
undetermined billions of creatures invading the galaxy swept like a lightning
flash across
his mind.
"Possibly another dimension," Kallatra replied. "But not a physical one."
"Not physical?" Worsel snorted in instinctive denial of a supernatural
phenomenon. "A
dream world?"
"We had a psychic encounter," Kallatra said, in shock. "The realm we saw is
not a
dream. It is real, inhabited by a multitude of non-existent entities."
"A spirit world?" Worsel said, thunderstruck. "That must be where the Black
Lensman
dwells."
"No, no," Kallatra protested. "That can't be. You must be wrong, Worsel.
Perhaps his
psyche travels there, as ours just did, but his body must be somewhere along
the line we
traveled."
"I hope you're right, Kallatra. Otherwise we'll never catch him. If we missed
him in our
headlong pursuit, then the only way we can catch him is to make him come to
us."
Worsel, without warning or invitation, suddenly pressed into the young
Lensman's upper
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brain, as tightly as possible for utmost security. "Perhaps it's not the Black
Lensman we
seek( It may be his master we fought and pursue! You're close to death, my
young
friend. Examine yourself. This is no simple Black Lensman we're fighting-it's
a demon or
a fiend. It's like a ghost from the worst of the nine hells of Valeria. You're
the exorcist it
has to fear. It will-I'm utterly convinced-it will come back and strike at you
any moment
now. You're marked for death."
Kallatra's mind blazed high in a surge of energy, with an intensity Worsel had
not felt
before. "You're right, Worsel! I'm vulnerable now! Look at my Lens!" The
appearance of
her Lens of Arisia was startling. Instead of the lustrous, gleaming
wholesomeness of
crystals rippling with pseudo life, there were sullen purple patches over half
the surface.
"Life has been drained from it despite the transfusion of our combined
life-forces. Beyond
some point the crystals will wither to death. And you others may soon
afterwards be
destroyed, too."
"Lalla Kallatra." The big, solemn Velantian hesitantly spoke. "We must risk
our lives here
and now. We've broken through to a place of death. It has touched us,
especially you. All
who wear the Lens of Arisia are now threatened by an immaterial force. All of
Civilization
is exposed to destruction."
"You are right, dear dragon," Kallatra said, choking with emotion, which she
always so
determinedly avoided. "This fiendish Boskonian thing stalks us. I don't fear
death for
myself, but for you and Deuce and the others. My death will take away from you
the best
weapon Civilization has, my el-sike power. I sense that if we fail and fall,
each and every
Lens could become a sinkhole into another dimension and drain away the
vitality of the
Patrol and Civilization itself."
The agony in Worsel's mind was great, intensified by the unexpected
sentimental youth.
To think that even the Lens might fail!
"Mentor is here!" Mentor!
There flooded into Worsel's mind the calming presence of the Mentor fusion, so
high in
frequency and so finely tuned that . the others, not even Kallatra, suspected
it was there.
"So, Worsel of Velantia, your foe draws you into its web" Worsel's spirits
rose; Mentor
had come unbidden, all-knowing the moment of greatest need.
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"And now," Mentor continued, unruffled, "you distrust the Lens. Be reassured.
The Lens
of Arisia can never, even unwittingly, harm you or Civilization. As for your
foe, you will
find it because it will find you. You are right about it. It is not a Black
Lensman whom you
fight. You fight a Lensman illusion. A lensman-Fiend. It is a frightful force
for evil from a
realm where even we cannot go. Wearers of the Lens and all of Civilization are
indeed in
great peril. As for help from Arisia, Mentor can give no special help because
it is not
within our plan or scope. Frightful things are destined to happen, so be it.
You will, of
course, confront and fight again because you must. Kallatra the psychic, in
our trust, will
find the way. Indications are that a costly victory will be yours."
The deep, soundless voice was gone. Snap! without a further thought or word,
so typical
of the Arisians. "Kallatra," Worsel said, "I've heard from Mentor. Our Lenses
will not be
the means of our destruction. We're not fighting the Black Lensman, we're up
against the
real Boskonian power, that which Mentor calls a lensman-Fiend. " Kallatra had
been
slumped against a headless robot, on guard, but as Worsel turned to her she
roused [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
Without another
thought they cleared ether.
"Ready, Tong? And you, Kallatra, ready?" Worsel's thoughts were like whispers.
He felt
Tong insinuating himself into the one compartment of his mind which was
psychologically
ready, like a launch pad, to beam into Kallatra's. The girl's mind was
drifting closer and
closer to theirs, taking split-seconds which seemed like minutes, offering
itself like a living
funnel for the beam of mental power Worsel had shaped from the two Velantian
brains.
Worsel for a moment felt his inner self being siphoned out of his head and
into Kallatra's
until the Velantians' accumulating power backed up and filled the vacuum. Now,
paradoxically, instead of his mind being emptier, it was fuller; together they
were far
stronger than a mere sum of three; Tong and Kallatra and himself were one
functional
unit, a gun in which Kallatra was the barrel, Tong was the double charge of
powder and
Worsel was the bullet.
The electro-psychic energies of Kallatra again seemed like a dark tunnel into
deep space
of another kind. Through it-going not upward, nor down, nor out, but
inward--sped their
mental projectile, elongating more and more until it had the shape of a
javelin rather than
a pellet. Worsel didn't need the girl's urging to focus on the target-the ugly
lizard face of
the Boskonian Lensman-and to concentrate on developing one raw emotion:
hatred,
spiked with detestation and saturated with loathing. The tunnel ended.
Suddenly, pre-
posterously, the hurtling javelin was not deep down, but far out, beyond the
end of the
Universe, where it disappeared like smoke into and among, not one, but a
billion billion
billion figures-an infinity of creatures.
Their consciousness was back on the Cheenus and the mental gun was gone.
"Obviously we missed," Worsel said simply. "But what did we expect to find? A
body? Or
a spirit? A Black Lensman? Or perhaps something worse-a mastermind behind a
Lens-
Page 158
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
man pawn?"
Kallatra was too tired to reply.
"Can we try again, Kallatra?" Worsel asked. All his eyes studied the
perspiring face
behind the bandage in search of her emotions; his disengaged mind gently
brushed the
tumultuous unreadable thoughts of a drained and exhausted young girl.
"Not now," she said. "Perhaps soon-perhaps never." Though he could feel her
strength
gently rebuilding, he sensed fear, but not for herself.
"What did you see?" she asked.
He told her his impressions, of the trip and of the vague vision of infinity.
So did Tong,
identical in every way. And she herself confirmed what they had all seen,
"What do you
fear?" Worsel asked.
"I don't know," Kallatra said in an unruffled, matter-of-fact way. "We were
some place
I've never been before. It is not bad-it is not good-I simply know it is
wrong. I also know
it is a place of danger."
"Another dimension?" Worsel suggested, and an alarming image of billions upon
undetermined billions of creatures invading the galaxy swept like a lightning
flash across
his mind.
"Possibly another dimension," Kallatra replied. "But not a physical one."
"Not physical?" Worsel snorted in instinctive denial of a supernatural
phenomenon. "A
dream world?"
"We had a psychic encounter," Kallatra said, in shock. "The realm we saw is
not a
dream. It is real, inhabited by a multitude of non-existent entities."
"A spirit world?" Worsel said, thunderstruck. "That must be where the Black
Lensman
dwells."
"No, no," Kallatra protested. "That can't be. You must be wrong, Worsel.
Perhaps his
psyche travels there, as ours just did, but his body must be somewhere along
the line we
traveled."
"I hope you're right, Kallatra. Otherwise we'll never catch him. If we missed
him in our
headlong pursuit, then the only way we can catch him is to make him come to
us."
Worsel, without warning or invitation, suddenly pressed into the young
Lensman's upper
Page 159
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
brain, as tightly as possible for utmost security. "Perhaps it's not the Black
Lensman we
seek( It may be his master we fought and pursue! You're close to death, my
young
friend. Examine yourself. This is no simple Black Lensman we're fighting-it's
a demon or
a fiend. It's like a ghost from the worst of the nine hells of Valeria. You're
the exorcist it
has to fear. It will-I'm utterly convinced-it will come back and strike at you
any moment
now. You're marked for death."
Kallatra's mind blazed high in a surge of energy, with an intensity Worsel had
not felt
before. "You're right, Worsel! I'm vulnerable now! Look at my Lens!" The
appearance of
her Lens of Arisia was startling. Instead of the lustrous, gleaming
wholesomeness of
crystals rippling with pseudo life, there were sullen purple patches over half
the surface.
"Life has been drained from it despite the transfusion of our combined
life-forces. Beyond
some point the crystals will wither to death. And you others may soon
afterwards be
destroyed, too."
"Lalla Kallatra." The big, solemn Velantian hesitantly spoke. "We must risk
our lives here
and now. We've broken through to a place of death. It has touched us,
especially you. All
who wear the Lens of Arisia are now threatened by an immaterial force. All of
Civilization
is exposed to destruction."
"You are right, dear dragon," Kallatra said, choking with emotion, which she
always so
determinedly avoided. "This fiendish Boskonian thing stalks us. I don't fear
death for
myself, but for you and Deuce and the others. My death will take away from you
the best
weapon Civilization has, my el-sike power. I sense that if we fail and fall,
each and every
Lens could become a sinkhole into another dimension and drain away the
vitality of the
Patrol and Civilization itself."
The agony in Worsel's mind was great, intensified by the unexpected
sentimental youth.
To think that even the Lens might fail!
"Mentor is here!" Mentor!
There flooded into Worsel's mind the calming presence of the Mentor fusion, so
high in
frequency and so finely tuned that . the others, not even Kallatra, suspected
it was there.
"So, Worsel of Velantia, your foe draws you into its web" Worsel's spirits
rose; Mentor
had come unbidden, all-knowing the moment of greatest need.
Page 160
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"And now," Mentor continued, unruffled, "you distrust the Lens. Be reassured.
The Lens
of Arisia can never, even unwittingly, harm you or Civilization. As for your
foe, you will
find it because it will find you. You are right about it. It is not a Black
Lensman whom you
fight. You fight a Lensman illusion. A lensman-Fiend. It is a frightful force
for evil from a
realm where even we cannot go. Wearers of the Lens and all of Civilization are
indeed in
great peril. As for help from Arisia, Mentor can give no special help because
it is not
within our plan or scope. Frightful things are destined to happen, so be it.
You will, of
course, confront and fight again because you must. Kallatra the psychic, in
our trust, will
find the way. Indications are that a costly victory will be yours."
The deep, soundless voice was gone. Snap! without a further thought or word,
so typical
of the Arisians. "Kallatra," Worsel said, "I've heard from Mentor. Our Lenses
will not be
the means of our destruction. We're not fighting the Black Lensman, we're up
against the
real Boskonian power, that which Mentor calls a lensman-Fiend. " Kallatra had
been
slumped against a headless robot, on guard, but as Worsel turned to her she
roused [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]