Children of the Lens

by Edward E Smith

  “Everything except for a few minor details, which we can put in later.”

  Smoothly the four girls linked their minds with their brother’s; effortlessly the Unit’s thought surveyed all nearby space. No hyper-spatial tube, nor any trace of one, was there. Tuned to Kinnison’s pattern, the Unit then scanned not only normal space and the then present time, but also millions upon millions of other spaces and past and future times; all without finding the Gray Lensman.

  Again and again the Unit reached out, farther and farther; out to the extreme limit of even its extraordinary range. Every space and every time was empty. The Children of the Lens broke their linkage and stared at each other, aghast.

  They knew starkly what it must mean, but that conclusion was unthinkable. Kinnison—their dad—the hub of the universe—the unshakable, immutable Rock of Civilization—he couldn’t be dead. They simply could not accept the logical explanation as the true one.

  And while they pondered, shaken, a call from their Red Lensman mother came in.

  “You are together? Good! I’ve been so worried about Kim going into that trap. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him, but I can’t reach him. You children, with your greater power…”

  She broke off as the dread import of the Five’s surface thoughts became clear to her. At first she, too, was shaken, but she rallied magnificently.

  “Nonsense!” she snapped; not in denial of an unwelcome fact, but in sure knowledge that the supposition was not and could not be a fact. “Kimball Kinnison is alive. He’s lost, I know—I last heard from him just before he went into that tube—but he did not die! If he had, I would most certainly have felt it. So don’t be idiots, children, please. Think—really think! I’m going to do something—somehow—but what? Mentor? I’ve never called him and I’m terribly afraid he might not do anything. I could go there and make him do something, but that would take so long—what shall I do? What can I do?”

  “Mentor, by all means,” Kit decided. “He’ll do something—he’ll have to. However, there’s no need of you going to Arisia in person.” Now that the Eddorians had ceased to exist, inter-galactic space presented no barrier to Arisian thought, but Kit did not go into that. “Link your mind with ours.” She did so.

  “Mentor of Arisia!” the clear-cut thought flashed out. “Kimball Kinnison of Klovia is not present in this, his normal space and time; nor in any other continuum we can reach. We need help.”

  “Ah; ’tis Lensman Clarrissa and the Five.” Imperturbably, Mentor’s mind joined theirs on the instant. “I have given the matter no attention, nor have I scanned my visualization of the Cosmic All. It may therefore be that Kimball Kinnison has passed on from his plane of exist…”

  “He has NOT! It is stark idiocy even to consider such a possibility!” the Red Lensman interrupted violently, so violently that her thought had the impact of a physical blow. Mentor and the Five alike could see her eyes flash and sparkle; could hear her voice crackle as she spoke aloud, the better to drive home her passionate conviction. “Kim is ALIVE! I told the children so and now I tell you so. No matter where or when he might be, in whatever possible extra-dimensional nook or cranny of the entire macro-cosmic universe or in any possible period of time between plus and minus eternity, he couldn’t die—he could not possibly die—without my knowing it. So find him, please—please find him, Mentor—or, if you can’t or won’t, just give me the littlest, tiniest hint as to how to go about it and I’ll find him myself!”

  The Five were appalled. Especially Kit, who knew, as the others did not, just how much afraid of Mentor his mother had always been. To direct such thoughts to any Arisian was unthinkable; but Mentor’s only reaction was one of pleased interest.

  “There is much of truth, daughter, in your thought,” he replied, slowly. “Human love, in its highest manifestation, can be a mighty, a really tremendous thing. The force, the power, the capability of such a love as yours is a sector of the truth which has not been fully examined. Allow me, please, a moment in which to consider the various aspects of this matter.”

  It took more than a moment. It took more than the twenty-nine seconds which the Arisian had needed to solve an earlier and supposedly similar Kinnison problem. In fact, a full half hour elapsed before Mentor resumed communication; and then he did so, not to the group as a whole, but only to the Five; using an ultra-frequency to which the Red Lensman’s mind could not be attuned.

  “I have not been able to reach him. Since you could not do so I knew that the problem would not be simple, but I have found that it is difficult indeed. As I have intimated previously, my visualization is not entirely clear upon any matter touching the Eddorians directly, since their minds were of great power. On the other hand, their visualizations of us were probably even more hazy. Therefore none of our analyses of each other were or could be much better than approximations.”

  “It is certain, however, that you were correct in assuming that it was the Ploorans who set up the hyper-spatial tube as a trap for your father. The fact that the lower and middle operating echelons of Boskonia could not kill him established in the Ploorans’ minds the necessity of taking him alive. That fact gave us no concern, for you, Kathryn, were on guard. Moreover, even if she alone should slip, it was manifestly impossible for them to accomplish anything against the combined powers of you Five. However, at some undetermined point in time the Eddorians took over, as is shown by the fact that you are all at a loss: it being scarcely necessary to point out to you that the Ploorans could neither transport your father to any location which you could not reach nor pose any problem, including his death, which you could not solve. It is thus certain that it was one or more of the Eddorians who either killed Kinnison or sent him where he was sent. It is also certain that, after the easy fashion in which he escaped from the Ploorans after they had captured him and had him all but in their hands, the Eddorians did not care to have the Ploorans come to grips with Kimball Kinnison; fearing, and rightly, that instead of gaining information, they would lose everything.”

  “Did they know I was in that tube?” Kathryn asked. “Did they deduce us, or did they think that dad was a superman?”

  “That is one of the many points which are obscure. But it made no difference, before or after the event, to them or to us, as you should perceive.”

  “Of course. They knew that there was at least one third-level mind at work in the field. They must have deduced that it was Arisian work. Whether it was dad himself or whether it was coming to his aid at need would make no difference. They knew very well that he was the keystone of Civilization, and that to do away with him would be the shrewdest move they could make. Therefore we still do not understand why they didn’t kill him outright and be done with it—if they didn’t.”

  “In exactness, neither do I…that point is the least clear of all. Nor is it at all certain that he still lives. It is sheerest folly to assume that the Eddorians either thought or acted illogically, even occasionally. Therefore, if Kinnison is not dead, whatever was done was calculated to be even more final than death itself. This premise, if adopted, forces the conclusion that they considered the possibility of our knowing enough about the next cycle of existence to be able to reach him there.”

  Kit frowned. “You still harp on the possibility of his death. Does not your visualization cover that?”

  “Not since the Eddorians took control. I have not consciously emphasized the probability of your father’s death; I have merely considered it—in the case of two mutually exclusive events, neither of which can be shown to have happened, both must be studied with care. Assume for the moment that your mother’s theory is the truth, that your father is still alive. In that case, what was done and how it was done are eminently clear.”

  “Clear? Not to us!” the Five chorused.

  “While they did not know at all exactly the power of our minds, they could establish limits beyond which neither they nor we could go. Being mechanically inclined, it is reasonable to assume
that they had at their disposal sufficient energy to transport Kinnison to some point well beyond those limits. They would have given control to a director-by-chance, so that his ultimate destination would be unknown and unknowable. He would of course land safely…”

  “How? How could they, possibly…?”

  “In time that knowledge will be yours. Not now. Whether or not the hypothesis just stated is true, the fact confronting us is that Kimball Kinnison is not now in any region which I am at present able to scan.”

  Gloom descended palpably upon the Five.

  “I am not saying or implying that the problem is insoluble. Since Eddorian minds were involved, however, you already realize that its solution will require the evaluation of many millions of factors and will consume a not inconsiderable number of your years…”

  “You mean lifetimes!” an impetuous young thought broke in. “Why, long before that…”

  “Contain yourself, daughter Constance,” Mentor reproved, gently. “I realize quite fully all the connotations and implications involved. I was about to say that it may prove desirable to assist your mother in the application of powers which may very well transcend in some respects those of either Arisia or Eddore.” He widened the band of thought to include the Red Lensman and went on as though he were just emerging from contemplation:

  “Children, it appears that the solution of this problem by ordinary processes will require more time than can conveniently be spared. Moreover, it affords a priceless and perhaps a unique opportunity of increasing our store of knowledge. Be informed, however, that the probability is great that in this project you, Clarrissa, will lose your life.”

  “Better not, mother. When Mentor says anything like that, it means suicide. We don’t want to lose you, too.” Kit pleaded, and the four girls added their pleas to his.

  Clarrissa knew that suicide was against the Code—but she also knew that, as long as it wasn’t quite suicide, Lensmen went in.

  “Exactly how great?” she demanded, vibrantly. “It isn’t certain—it can’t be!”

  “No, daughter, it is not certain.”

  “QX, then, I’m going in. Nothing can stop me.”

  “Very well. Tighten your linkage, Clarrissa, with me. Yours will be the task of sending your thought to your husband, wherever and whenever in total space and in total time he may be. If it can be done, you can do it. You alone of all the entities in existence can do it. I can neither help you nor guide you in your quest; but by virtue of our relationship to him whom we are seeking, your oneness with him, you will require neither help nor guidance. My part will be to follow you and to construct the means of his return; but the real labor is and must be yours alone. Take a moment, therefore, to prepare yourself against the effort, for it will not be small. Gather your resources, daughter; assemble all your forces and your every power.”

  They watched Clarrissa, in her distant room, throw herself prone upon her bed. She closed her eyes, buried her nose in the counterpane, and gripped a side-rail fiercely in each hand.

  “Can’t we help, too?” The Five implored, as one.

  “I do not know.” Mentor’s thought was as passionless as the voice of Fate. “I know of no force at your disposal which can affect in any way that which is to happen. Since I do not know the full measure of your powers, however, it would be well for you to accompany us, keeping yourselves alert to take instant advantage of any opportunity to be of aid. Are you ready, daughter Clarrissa?”

  “I am ready,” and the Red Lensman launched her thought.

  Clarrissa Kinnison did not know, then or ever; did not have even the faintest inkling of what she did or of how she did it. Nor, tied to her by bonds of heritage, love, and sympathy though they were and of immense powers of mind though they were, did any of the Five succeed, until after centuries had passed, in elucidating the many complex phenomena involved. And Mentor, the ancient Arisian sage, never did understand.

  All that any of them knew was that an infinitely loving and intensely suffering woman, stretched rigidly upon a bed, hurled out through space and time a passionately questing thought: a thought behind which she put everything she had.

  Clarrissa Kinnison, Red Lensman, had much—and every iota of that impressive sum total ached for, yearned for, and insistently demanded her Kim—her one and only Kim. Kim her husband; Kim the father of her children; Kim her lover; Kim her other half; Kim her all in all for so many perfect years.

  “Kim! KIM! Wherever you are, Kim, or whenever, listen! Listen and answer! Hear me—you must hear me calling I need you, Kim, from the bottom of my soul… Kim! My Kim! KIM!!”

  Through countless spaces and through untellable times that poignant thought sped; driven by a woman’s fears, a woman’s hopes, a woman’s all-surpassing love; urged ever onward and ever outward by the irresistible force of a magnificent woman’s frankly bared soul.

  Outward…farther…farther out…farther…

  Clarrissa’s body went limp upon her bed. Her heart slowed; her breathing almost stopped. Kit probed quickly, finding that those secret cells into which he had scarcely dared to glance were empty and bare. Even the Red Lensman’s tremendous reserves of vital force were exhausted.

  “Mother, come back!”

  “Come back to us!”

  “Please, please, mums, come back!”

  “Know you, children, your mother so little?”

  They knew her. She would not come back alone. Regardless of any danger to herself, regardless of life itself, she would not come back until she had found her Kim.

  “But do something, Mentor—DO SOMETHING!”

  “Do what? Nothing can be done. It was simply a question of which was the greater; the volume of the required hyper-sphere or her remarkable store of vitality…”

  “Shut up!” Kit blazed. “We’ll do something! Come on, kids, and we’ll try…”

  “The Unit!” Kathryn shrieked. “Link up, quick! Cam, make mother’s pattern—hurry it!! Now, Unit, grab it—make her one of us, a six-ply Unit—make her come in, and snap it up! There! Now, Kit, drive us… DRIVE US!”

  Kit drove. As the surging life-force of the Unit pushed a measure of vitality back into Clarrissa’s inert body, she gained a little strength and did not grow weaker. The children, however, did; and Mentor, who had been entirely unmoved by the woman’s imminent death, became highly concerned.

  “Children, return!” He first ordered, then entreated. “You are throwing away not only your lives, but also long lifetimes of intensive labor and study!”

  They paid no attention. No more than their mother would those children abandon such a mission unaccomplished. Seven Kinnisons would come back or none.

  The four-ply Arisian pondered; and brightened. Now that a theretofore impossible linkage had been made, the outlook changed. The odds shifted. The Unit’s delicacy of web, its driving force, had not been enough; or rather, it would have taken too long. Adding the Red Lensman’s affinity for her husband, however… Yes, definitely, the Unit should now succeed.

  It did. Before any of the Five weakened to the danger point the Unit, again five-fold, snapped back. Clarrissa’s life-force, which had tried so valiantly to fill all of space and all of time, was flowing back into her. A tight, hard, impossibly writhing and twisting multidimensional beam ran, it seemed, to infinity and vanished.

  “A right scholarly bit of work, children,” Mentor approved. “I have arranged the means of his return.”

  “Thanks, children. Thanks, Mentor.” Instead of fainting, Clarrissa sprang from her bed and stood erect. Flushed and panting, eyes flamingly alight, she was more intensely vital than any of her children had ever seen her. Reaction might—would—come later, but she was now all buoyantly vibrant woman. “Where will he come into our space, and when?”

  “In your room before you. Now.”

  Kinnison materialized; and as the Red Lensman and the Gray went hungrily into each other’s arms, Mentor and the Five turned their attention toward the future.

>   * * * *

  “First, the hyper-spatial tube which was called the ‘Hell-Hole in Space’,” Kit began. “We must establish as fact in the minds of all Civilization that the Ploorans were actually at the top of Boskone. The story as we have arranged it is that Ploor was the top, and—which happens to be the truth—that it was destroyed through the efforts of the Second-Stage Lensmen. The ‘Hell-Hole’ is to be explained as being operated by the Plooran ‘residuum’ which every Lensman knows all about and which he will never forget. The problem of dad’s whereabouts was different from the previous one in degree only, not in kind. To all except us, there never were any Eddorians. Any objections? Will that version hold?”

  The consensus was that the story was sound and tight.

  “The time has come, then,” Karen thought, “to go into the very important matter of our reason for being and our purpose in life. You have intimated repeatedly that you Arisians are resigning your Guardianship of Civilization and that we are to take over; and I have just perceived the terribly shocking fact that you four are now alone, that all the other Arisians have already gone. We’re not ready, Mentor; you know we’re not—this scares me through and through.”

  “You are ready, children, for everything that will have to be done. You have not come to your full maturity and power, of course; that stage will come only with time. It is best for you, however, that we leave you now. Your race is potentially vastly stronger and abler than ours. We reached some time ago the highest point attainable to us: we could no longer adapt ourselves to the ever-increasing complexity of life. You, a young new race amply equipped for any emergency within reckonable time, will be able to do so. In capability and in equipment you begin where we leave off.”

  “But we know—you’ve taught us—scarcely anything!” Constance protested.

  “I have taught you exactly enough. That I do not know exactly what changes to anticipate is implicit in the fact that our race is out of date. Further Arisian teaching would tend to set you in the out-dated Arisian mold and thereby defeat our every purpose. As I have informed you repeatedly, we ourselves do not know what extra qualities you possess. Hence I am in no sense competent to instruct you in the natures or in the uses of them. It is certain, however, that you have those extra qualities. It is equally certain that you possess the abilities to develop them to the full. I have set your feet on the sure way to the full development of those abilities.”