XLI
Zebadiah
When we started our Odyssey, I would have rated us in this order: Jake, me, Deety, Sharpie. A good thing I’m not a real CO who makes out efficiency reports; I would have been tearing them up and doing them over again and again. If a table has four legs, which one can you afford to throw away?
Each of us is very different from the other three—equals only in each being dependent on the others, we could not have made it if any of us had stayed behind.
But it took endless time to get it through my skull that Sharpie was the most unusual of the three geniuses I had for crew. I had known her for four years as a campus widow, a playgirl, a Sybarite. I revised my opinion again and again, especially one fine day in the Bay of Blood.
But long-held opinions die hard. I continued subconsciously to think of her as the lightweight in our team merely because she was physically a light weight and looked like a kitten.
Could Sharpie read minds? Possibly Sharpie’s “mind reading” was like that of a carny mentalist who picked up minor clues, put them together, then went ahead on sheer brass.
As may be, when I told her to “go deep” into the mind of a Gray Lensman, I knew she would not let me down.
Nor did she. If I need “mind reading” again, I’ll call on “Doctor” Hilda—I won’t pretend I can do it myself; I don’t have the gall to put it over. Whether her talent is cold nerve or true telepathy, Sharpie will deliver.
Ted Smith in Gray with his Lens back where it belonged was a heart-warming sight. I hadn’t been surprised when he kicked over his career to stand up for what he felt was right. Real officers did that. I felt no urge to interfere; Ted had not done it for us, he had obeyed his sense of honor and duty. But I had felt sick! Sometimes a man forced to that drastic action gets away with it; more often he does not—while the bootlickers, the brown-noses, the eager ones with their fingers on their numbers, got promoted. In peacetime, that was standard.
But this was wartime and the Galactic Patrol was no ordinary outfit. Ted got promoted.
A promotion party was a happy occasion, but I’m glad the Patrol did it with fayalin rather than Aussie beer—I needed to hang on to what judgment I had. Sir Austin Cardynge arrived shortly before we sat down to eat—and as soon as I met him I resolved to insulate him from Jake even if I had to crowd it, with me on one side and Deety or Hilda on the other, and Jake at the far side of the table.
I’ve met Sir-Austins on a dozen campuses. They acted as if your presence was an intrusion on their valuable time, one they tolerated only under duress—and wouldn’t put up with much longer. But they expected you to tolerate their boorish rudeness … because they were so important.
This Sir Austin was a tall, thin, elderly chap, with a hatchet face and a chronic expression, as if he had just whiffed a bad odor—probably you. He managed to dismiss me as being beneath notice even as he was (barely) shaking hands and saying, “Howjuh do, Captain Cartwright.” I didn’t mind, I’d been insulted by experts. But I resolved not to put him in the same cage with Jake without me there to stop biting in the clinches.
But I wasn’t host and couldn’t swing it; there were place cards and Haynes (or his flag lieutenant) had arranged an unbalanced table (nine) with exact protocol for the luncheon’s triple purpose: 1) hospitality to distinguished guests (the Port Admiral was bound by the ambassadorial honors we had received); 2) wetting-down of Ted’s promotion; and 3) a social meeting between mathematicians before they got down to work.
Following protocol was usually sensible. But protocol is as automatic as a computer and can be just as stupid—this was how it worked out:
Haynes
Hilda, Sir Austin
Dr. Lacy, Jake
Capt. Fernandez
Me, Deety
Ted Smith
Most faced the guest of honor, newly Released Gray Lensman Smith; senior female guest on host’s right; junior female guest on the right of the guest of honor; senior male guest (Sir Austin) on host’s left; senior male guest of our party on the left of the guest of honor (“senior” being me, not Jake, because I “commanded”); Jake placed next to the big-brain he was to meet; and the two officers Haynes had picked to help him entertain guests opposite each other.
An embassy’s chief of protocol could not have done it more neatly.
And it was all wrong!
Jake was mild and sensible, unless someone pushed his “mad” button. While we were dressing, I had suggested that mathematical theory be postponed until socializing was over, and Jake had agreed. He told me he tried to avoid the subject.
But Sir Austin didn’t give a hoot for social amenities.
I was keeping fingers crossed and talking shop with Ted Smith while Deety was chatting with Carlos Fernandez. Hilda was keeping Surgeon-Marshal Lacy busy. This left Jake on his own with Sir Austin, with Haynes on the other side of Sir Austin. Maybe the Port Admiral tried to keep the ship steady—Jake said he did—but was unsuccessful.
We hadn’t reached the entrée when I heard: “Utter bilge, sir! Childish nonsense! Any schoolboy knows that normal space is rectilinear.”
Jake answered (his voice not high yet); “How did you measure it, Sir Austin?”
“Measure it? I’m a mathematician, not a surveyor! I proved it.”
“So? Perhaps—after lunch—you will show me your proof.”
“What? It’s not my business to prove anything to you!” Sir Austin turned his head away from Jake. “Haynes, I told you you were wasting my time. I told you!”
Hilda had her ear cocked; she cut in: “Sir Austin ….”
“What? What, madam?”
Hilda used her schoolmistress manner, one notch milder than her top-sergeant act: “I am Doctor Hilda Burroughs, Chief Science Officer of our exploration party—you called me ‘Burns’ when we were introduced.”
“What? What, what? Perhaps I did. High noise level and so forth. No offense intended. What do you want, Doctor … Burrow?”
“I had no trouble hearing your name, Sir Austin Cardynge. I find that in social life, as in science, attention to detail is essential. You still do not have my name right. Dr. Hilda Burroughs. That is Dr. Jacob Burroughs by you. I suggest you address me as Dr. Hilda.”
That got his attention; he turned from pink to red—and the heat was off Jake and on him. “ ‘Dr. Hilda Burroughs,’ ” he repeated stiffly. “Very well, Dr. Hilda, what is it you wish to ask me?”
“I have no wish to ask you anything, Sir Austin; I intend to tell you something … if you can keep quiet long enough to listen.”
Apparently he had no heart trouble; he didn’t conk out. He paused about two beats, then said tensely, “Ma … Dr. Hilda—I am listening.”
“If you are a scientist, sir, as well as a mathematician, you know that in science—true science—one verifiable fact can destroy the most elegant mathematical theory … if that theory is mistaken.”
“Eh? Stipulated. What are you getting at?”
“If you are truly a scientist, sir, I suggest that you stop bickering with my husband and ask the Port Admiral where our ship was found, then ask Gray Lensman Smith what sort of ship it is. If you do that, then follow up by seeking other facts instead of plonking your theories at us, you may learn something … even at your age.”
Maybe Sharpie didn’t need to twist the dagger. But maybe she did—nothing gravels an old man like being told that he was too old to learn.
Sir Austin still hadn’t realized that he was fighting out of his weight. Obviously he was in the habit of bullying others … but Sharpie has raised bullying to a high art. She had used that sharp blade; she was now offering him the pinch of snuff. Would he take it?
He took it. “I’ve heard that preposterous story! Poppycock! Hallucinations!”
Sharpie didn’t answer, she didn’t need to—she now had him flanked with her heavy artillery. Her mouth twitched in the fashion that suggested suppression of a snicker; she looked at Admiral Haynes and kept her
gaze on him, ignoring Sir Austin.
Haynes saw that she had tossed the play to him; he must either back her up or surrender. He couldn’t surrender; he had already declared for us, indirectly but unmistakably, in putting Gray on Ted Smith—a Lensman wasn’t awarded Gray for “hallucinating.” But Sir Austin didn’t know all the circumstances. He arrived late and was too self-centered.
Haynes came out slugging, as he had at us. That time, it had annoyed me and angered Jake—this time we could enjoy the carnage. “Cardynge, don’t be silly. Even the Overlords of Delgon can’t hallucinate a ship into space. Last night I didn’t argue with you … but today that ship has been fetched here from beyond Neptune and Pluto by one of my own vessels. It’s here now, in Prime Base. Go look at it. Touch it, bite it. Then tell me you are hallucinating, too. Otherwise, stop talking about ‘hallucinations.’ Either way, stop using such words as ‘poppycock,’ ‘nonsense,’ and ‘bilge’ to my guests.”
Cardynge fumed a moment; I think he felt tongue-tied by being deprived of billingsgate. “What’s so wonderful about a ship being out there?”
Ted Smith answered him. “It’s not a spaceship, Sir Austin. It’s a very small atmosphere craft, aerodynamic.”
“What’s that got to do with it? Silly business, taking an atmosphere craft into space. But simple Bergenholms. We’ve been building them small enough for a spacesuit for years. No trick to install one in an atmosphere vehicle.”
“No Bergenholms, Sir Austin. This ship doesn’t use them, doesn’t need them. Yet it’s faster than anything we have. Much. It can do things we can’t do. Sealed into the cargo hold of Nighthawk, she left without opening cargo doors, and was a hundred thousand kilometers away before you could say ‘scat.’ Then returned just as quickly.”
“Lensman—what’s your name? Schmidt? Haynes has seen fit to deprive me of an appropriate technical term but it is well-known that an entire ship’s company can see—or think they see—impossibility. That doesn’t make it true. I stipulate that this atmosphere craft exists, since Haynes assures me that it is here. As for its alleged performance”—Cardynge shrugged—“contrary to well-established physical laws. I’m enjoined from using a one-word description.”
Ted kept his temper—still euphoric over his Grays, perhaps, but I’m not sure Ted ever lost his temper. Even when he bucked the Port Admiral and stripped off his Lens and rank, he had not raised his voice or shown the slightest discourtesy. “Sir Austin, stipulating that such mental control is possible, do you think that recording equipment can be hypnotized? As regulations require, all aspects of that contact were automatically photographed off the screens and automatically recorded in all routine ways. In particular, now that we use recording meters on all doors, the door meter and the automatic photorecords show that the ship entered the cargo hold twice—but never left in the usual way until after Nighthawk docked here. It simply vanished from the hold, did a flit, returned as quickly, was taken inside a second time. You can examine the records; it’s not necessary to depend on my memory or that of my ship’s company.”
“Your ship? What’s a Gray Lensman doing commanding a ship of the Inner Patrol?”
Haynes said quickly, “Besides the point, Cardynge. Smith was there. I’ve had those records and instruments checked by Base personnel. There’s no way to tamper with automatic recorders—Thorndyke saw to that.”
“Mmmph.” Cardynge looked back at Ted. “Well, sir? How do you explain it?”
“I can’t. We were hoping that you could.”
“So you’re stumped. Much as I dislike to waste time, I’ll inspect those recording instruments. Thorndyke is an engineer, not a mathematician. There is some simple point he’s missed.”
There was no need for me to stick in my oar—but Jake had frowned when Sir Austin had used that snide word “alleged” … and his last supercilious comment had annoyed even me. I decided that it was my pidgin—and my turn to keep the heat off Jake. “Admiral, your mention of Master Technician LaVerne Thorndyke gives me a solution to this.”
“Yes, Captain Carter? I’m glad to hear it—go ahead, please!”
“We can demonstrate our vessel to Thorndyke and to anyone you select. We will supply full working drawings of Dr. Burroughs’ invention to Thorndyke. He can build duplicates, probably with improvements. With the facilities you have here, he could breadboard his first one in a few days. The engineering isn’t hard; it’s the concept that is difficult. But Dr. Burroughs’ genius has already solved the mathematical concept. We want the Patrol to have this; you need it. Dr. Burroughs will supply full mathematical treatment for others to study. You have mathematicians who are willing to learn. Sir Austin is no help—he’s certain he knows it all and won’t look. Consequently, he can’t learn.”
Sir Austin stood up, threw down his napkin, shouted: “Haynes, I will not remain at your table to be insulted!” He started for the door ….
And found himself blocked. By a dragon.
But no one was frightened as a sweet voice rang in our minds:
“Hold it! Get back, Sir Austin; you’re off course and about to crash. New friends, I’m Worsel. I’ve been coming with speed at the request of Kimball Kinnison … and I see I’ve barely arrived in time. Oh, no, you don’t, Sir Austin; this job you must finish.” Cardynge had tried to get past Worsel, but no frail human being goes through a door blocked by solid loops of Velantian dragon. “I’ve been following this fascinating discussion via the surgeon-marshal’s Lens; I’m happy to join it in person. Hi, Deety!”
“Hi, Worsel! Golly, I’m glad you’re here!”
“Greetings, Dr. Hilda. Be assured, dear lady, that I am not in your mind; I am merely projecting human speech to you because I lack speech organs. But I must ask you to speak aloud to me—or project your thoughts if you prefer. I find I can’t read your thoughts. Most interesting! May I ask where you trained? Or is that an invasion of privacy?”
I said, “Worsel, we weren’t trained; we were born this way.”
“Still more interesting! Kinnison will be fascinated. Captain Carter, perhaps we can discuss it later. Admiral, what’s for lunch? I haven’t eaten lately.”
“Nothing you would enjoy, old snake. But I’ll see what the galley can rustle up. Will you have it in ton lots, or just in hogsheads?”
“Neither at the moment, thank you; there is too much to think about. In a day or two, perhaps. Deety, that old fraud spreads slander about me that I eat pretty girls. Isn’t that rude of him?”
Sharpie answered, “Worsel, that isn’t what the admiral said at all. He said you were fond of pretty girls. Different meaning.”
“Is it? English is so complex. In your case I could mean it both ways. I’m sure you would be tasty, without mustard.”
“Worsel, you’re an old fraud.”
The dragon sighed, almost blowing over goblets. “Nobody ever takes me seriously. Deety, will you take me seriously?”
“I do, I do! I’ve always wanted to meet you!”
“I feel better.”
XLII
Hilda
Worsel solved the trouble between my husband, Jacob, and Sir Austin Cardynge. Arguing with a ten-meter dragon who is also a Second Stage Lensman would be futile, I think. Sir Austin returned to the table, kept quiet, and toyed with his food. He wouldn’t meet my eye.
Our side of the table had one less place on it; Dr. Lacy and Cap’n Zebbie shoved down while I moved closer to Admiral Haynes, and Worsel joined us at the table on the right. He did this by bringing much of himself into the dining room and placing his head on a level with my shoulders. But he left a loop of himself blocking the door, with his scimitar tail waving gently—no one was going to use that door until he unblocked it. Admiral Haynes didn’t seem to mind. He became quite jovial—he had not been, before.
I have never had a more charming luncheon companion. Worsel was so incredibly grotesque that he is beautiful. His eyes were on stalks and he has enough of them that he kept one trained on each of us. He
also gave each of us full attention; he had enough tracks in his mind to do this—don’t ask me to explain it; I can’t think about more than three things at a time.
I became aware of this because Deety was talking to him, and I had something I wanted to say and had placed it on “hold” waiting for her to finish—when Worsel answered me while Deety was still talking. From then on I didn’t speak out loud to Worsel unless it was a matter of general interest. Worsel didn’t hear sounds; he “hears” telepathically. When he had asked us to “speak aloud” to him, he was simply ensuring that our thoughts intended as speech would reach him. But it was easy to do it the other way, and much faster.
It occurred to me that there were now five Lensmen at the table: Worsel, Admiral Haynes, Captain Carlos, Gray Lensman Ted, and Dr. Lacy. So I thought at Worsel: Are you and the other Lensmen talking with each other via your Lenses?
Yes dear new friend Hilda. But be assured that we are not discussing you or Deety or Cap’n Zebbie or your Jacob; Admiral Haynes has forbidden that other than by spoke-up words … or its equivalent in my case, a thought projected to everyone. To Admiral Haynes I have been projecting a report from Kimball Kinnison. I have been telling young Ted Smith how delighted I am to see him in Gray and he has been telling me about his experience with your wonderful ship. Sawbones and Carlos are old friends of mine; we are chatting, getting caught up, as friends do. Let me add that I am pleasured that you have learned to dispense with spoken words so quickly. Some phonic races find it awkward—but it does save time.
Worsel’s speeches were usually long, but I “heard” each one as a gestalt once I dropped speaking aloud to him. Just as a telephone call is faster than writing a letter.
Excellent analogy, pretty little girl who doesn’t need mustard. I cannot write letters or use telephones, but I know their characteristics from others.
Worsel, why do you call me ‘a pretty little girl’? To you I must be a soft white grub, hardly worth noticing.
Not at all, beautiful Doctor Hilda. Having learned to know human beauty through the minds of my human friends, it is delicious to me as it is to them. Carlos can hardly keep his eyes off you and is getting cross-eyed trying to look at Deety at the same time. Carlos needs eyestalks like mine. (Gentle chuckle.) There, I’ve lent him one so that he can look at Deety from this side while looking at you with his own eyes. He has asked me to tell you that he means no harm by it; he simply enjoys beauty.
The Pursuit of the Pankera: A Parallel Novel About Parallel Universes Page 50
