by E. E. Smith
CHAPTER XI
The Vorkul-Hexan War
Vorkulia, the city of the Vorkuls, was an immense seven-pointedstar. At its center, directly upon the south pole of Jupiter, rose atremendous shaft--its cross-section likewise a tapering seven-pointedstar--which housed the directing intelligence of the nation. Radiatingfrom the seven cardinal points of the building were short lanes leadingto star-shaped open plots, from which in turn branched out ways to otherstellate areas; ways reaching, after many such steps, to the toweringinner walls of the metropolis. The outer walls, still loftier and evenmore massive ramparts of sullen gray-green metal, formed a seamless,jointless barrier against an utterly indescribable foe; a barrier whoseouter faces radiated constantly a searing, coruscating green emanation.Metal alone could not long have barred that voracious and implacablyrelentless enemy, but against that lethal green emanation even thatravening Jovian jungle could not prevail, but fell back, impotent.Writhing and crawling, loathesomely palpitant with an unspeakableexuberance of foul and repellent vigor, possible only to suchmeteorological conditions as obtained there, it threw its mosthideously prolific growths against that radiant wall in vain.
The short, zig-zag lanes, the ways, and the seven-pointed areaswere paved with a greenish glass. This pavement was intended solelyto prevent vegetable growth and carried no traffic whatever, since fewindeed of the Vorkuls have ever been earth-bound and all traffic was inthe air. The principal purpose of the openings was to separate, andthus to render accessible by air, the mighty buildings which, levelupon level, towered upward, with airships hovering at or anchored todoorways and entrances at every level. Buildings, entrances, everythingvisible--all replicated, reiterated, repeated infinite variations inthe one theme, that of the septenate stelliform.
Color ran riot; masses varied from immense blocks of awe-inspiringgrandeur to delicate tracery of sheerest gossamer; lights flamed andflared in wide bands and in narrow, flashing pencils--but in all,through all, over all, and dominating all was the Seven-Pointed Star.
In and almost filling the space, at least a mile in width,between the inner and the outer walls were huge, seven-sidedstructures--featureless, squat, forbidding heptagons of dull greenmetal. No thing living was to be seen in that space. Its pavement wasof solid metal and immensely thick, and that metal, as well as that ofthe walls, was burned and blackened and seared as though by numberlessexposures to intolerable flame. In a lower compartment of one of theseenormous heptagons Vortel Kromodeor, First Projector Officer, restedbefore a gigantic and complex instrument board. He was at ease--his hugewings folded, his sinuous length coiled comfortably in slack loops abouttwo horizontal bars. But at least one enormous, extensible eye wasalways pointed toward the board, always was at least one nimble andbat-like ear cocked attentively in the direction of the signal panel.
A whistling, shrieking ululation rent the air and the officer's coilstightened as he reared a few feet of his length upright, shooting outhalf a dozen tentacular arms to various switches and controls upon hisboard, while throughout the great heptagon, hundreds of other Vorkulssprang to attention at their assigned posts of duty. As the howling wailcame to a climax in a blast of sound Kromodeor threw over a lever, asdid every other projector officer in every other heptagon, and there wasmade plain to any observer the reason for the burns and scars in thetortured space between the lofty inner and outer walls of Vorkulia.For these heptagons were the monstrous flying fortresses which Czuvhad occasionally seen from afar, as they went upon some unusual errandabove the Jovian banks of mist, and which Brandon was soon to see inhis visiray screen. The seared and disfigured metal of the pavementand walls was made so by the release of the furious blasts of energynecessary to raise those untold thousands of tons of mass against theattraction of Jupiter, more than two and a half times the gravity of ourown world! Vast volumes of flaming energy shrieked from the ports. Waveupon wave, flooding the heptagons, it dashed back and forth upon theheavy metal between the walls. As more and more of the inconceivablepower of those Titanic generators was unleashed, it boiled forth ina devastating flood which, striking the walls, rebounded and leapedvertically far above even those mighty ramparts. Even the enormousthickness of the highly conducting metal could not absorb all theenergy of that intolerable blast, and immediately beneath the ports newseven-pointed areas of disfigurement appeared as those terrific flyingfortresses were finally wrenched from the ground and hurled upward.
* * * * *
High in the air, another signal wailed up and down a peculiar scale ofsound and the mighty host of vessels formed smoothly into symmetricalgroups of seven. Each group then moved with mathematical precision intoits allotted position in a complex geometrical formation--a gigantic,seven-ribbed, duplex cone in space. The flagship flew at the apex ofthis stupendous formation; behind, and protected by, the full powerof the other floating citadels of the forty-nine groups of seven.Due north, the amazing armada sped in rigorous alignment, flying alonga predetermined meridian--due north!
At the end of his watch Kromodeor relinquished his board to the officerrelieving him and shot into the air, propelled by the straightening ofthe powerful coils of his snake-like body and tail. Wings half spread,lateral and vertical ruddering fins outthrust, he soared across the roomtoward a low opening. Just before they struck the wall upon either sideof the doorway the great wings snapped shut, the fins retracted, and thelong and heavy body struck the floor of the passage without a jar. Witha wriggling, serpentine motion he sped like a vibrant arrow along thehall and into a wardroom. There, after a brief glance around the room,he coiled up beside a fellow officer who, with one eye, was negligentlyreading a scroll held in three or four hands; while with another eye,poised upon its slender pedicle, he watched a moving picture upon atelevision screen.
"Hello, Kromodeor," Wixill, Chief Power Officer[2] greeted the newcomerin the wailing, hissing language of the Vorkuls. He tossed the scrollinto the air, where it instantly rolled into a tight cylinder and shotinto an opening in the wall of the room. "Glad to see you. Books andshows are all right on practice cruises, but I can't seem to work upmuch enthusiasm about such things now."
[Footnote 2: In order to avoid all unnecessary strain upon the memory ofthe reader, all titles, etc., have been given in the closest possibleEnglish equivalent, instead of in an attempted transliteration of theforeign word. This particular officer has no counterpart upon Tellurianvessels. He is the second in command of a Vorkulian fortress, hisfunction being to supervise all expenditure of power.--E. E. S.]
Kromodeor elevated an eye and studied the screen, upon which, to theaccompaniment of whistling, shrieking sound, whirled and gyrated aninterlacing group of serpentine forms.
"A good show, Wixill," the projector officer replied, "but nothing tohold the attention of men engaged in what we are doing. Think of it!After twenty years of preparation--two long lifetimes--and for the firsttime in our history, we are actually going to war!"
"I have thought of it at length. It is disgusting. Compelled to trafficwith an alien form of life! Were it not to end in the extinction ofthose unspeakable hexans, it would be futile to the point of silliness.I cannot understand them at all. There is ample room upon this planetfor all of us. Our races combined are not using one seven-thousandthof its surface. You would think that they would shun all strangers.Yet for ages have they attacked us, refusing to let us alone, untilfinally they forced us to prepare means for their destruction. Theyseem as senselessly savage as the jungle growths, and, but for theirvery evident intelligence, one would class them as such. You wouldthink that, being intelligent and being alien to us, they would nothave anything to do with us in any way, peacefully or otherwise.However, their intrusions and depredations are about to end."
"They certainly are. Vorkulia has endured much--too much--but I am gladthat our forefathers did not decide to exterminate them sooner. If theyhad, we could not have been doing this now."
"There speaks the rashness of youth, Kromodeor. It is
a violation of allour instincts to have any commerce with outsiders, as you will learn assoon as you see one of them. Then, too, we will lose heavily. Since wehave studied their armaments so long, and have subjected every phase ofthe situation to statistical analysis, it is certain that we are tosucceed--but you also know at what cost."
"Two-sevenths of our force, with a probable error of one in seven,"replied the younger Vorkul. "And because that figure cannot be improvedwithin the next seven years and because of the exceptional weakness ofthe hexans due to their unexpectedly great losses upon Callisto, we areattacking at this time. Their spherical vessels are nothing, of course.It is in the reduction of the city that we will lose men and vessels.But at that, each of us has five chances in seven of returning, which isgood enough odds--much better than we had in that last expedition intothe jungle. But by the Mighty Seven, I shall make myself wrap around onehexan, for my brother's sake," and his coils tightened unconsciously."Hideous, repulsive monstrosities! Creatures so horrible should notbe allowed to live--they should have been tossed over the wall tothe jungle ages ago!" Kromodeor curled out an eye as he spoke, andcomplacently surveyed the writhing cylinder of sinuous, supple powerthat was his own body.
"Better avoid contact work with them if possible," cautioned Wixill."You might not be able to unwrap, and to touch one of them is almostunthinkable. Speaking of wrapping, you know that they are putting on thefinals of the contact work in the star this evening. Let's watch them."
They slid to the floor and wriggled away in perfect "step"--undulatingalong in such nice synchronism that their adjacent sides, only a fewinches apart, formed two waving rigidly parallel lines. Deep in thelower part of the fortress they entered a large assembly room, providedwith a raised platform in the center and having hundreds of short,upright posts in lieu of chairs; most of which were already taken byspectators. The two officers curled their tails comfortably around twoof the vacant pillars, elevated their heads to a convenient level ofsight and directed each an eye or two upon the stage. This was, ofcourse, heptagonal. Its sides, like those of the mighty flying fortsthemselves, were not straight, but angled inward sufficiently to makethe platform a seven-pointed star. The edge was outlined by a low rail,and bulwark and floor were padded with thick layers of a hard but smoothand yielding fabric.
* * * * *
In this star-shaped ring two young Vorkuls were contending for thechampionship of the fleet in a contest that seemed to combine most ofthe features of wrestling, boxing, and bar-room brawling, with no holdsbarred. Four hands of each of the creatures held heavy leather billies,and could be used only in striking with those weapons, the remaininghands being left free to employ as the owner saw fit. Since the sportwas not intended to be lethal, however, the eyes and other highlyvulnerable parts were protected by metal masks, and the wing ribswere similarly guarded by leathern shields. The guiding fins, beingcomparatively small and extremely tough, required no protection.
"We're just in time," Kromodeor whistled. "The main bout is nicely on.See anyone from the flagship? I might stake a couple of korpels thatSintris will paint the symbol upon his wing."
"Most of their men seem to be across the star," Wixill replied, and bothbeings fell silent, absorbed in the struggle going on in the ring.
It was a contest well worth watching. Wing crashed against mighty wingand the lithe, hard bodies snapped and curled this way and that, almostfaster than the eye could follow, in quest of advantageous holds. Abovethe shrieking wails of the crowd could be heard the smacks and thuds ofthe eight flying clubs as they struck against the leather shields oragainst tough and scaly hides. For minutes the conflict raged, with noadvantage apparent. Now the fighters were flat upon the floor of thestar, now dozens of feet in the air above it, as one or the other soughtto gain a height from which to plunge downward upon his opponent; butboth stayed upon or over the star--to leave its boundaries was to losedisgracefully.
Then, high in air, the visiting warrior thought that he saw an openingand grappled. Wings crashed in fierce blows, hands gripped and furiouslywrenched. Two powerful bodies, tapering smoothly down to equallypowerful tails, corkscrewed around each other viciously, winding up intosomething resembling tightly twisted lamp cord; and the two Vorkuls,each helpless, fell to the mat with a crash. Fast as was Zerexi, thegladiator from the flagship, Sintris was the merest trifle faster.Like the straightening of a twisted spring of tempered steel that longbody uncoiled as they struck the floor, and up under those shieldingwings--an infinitesimal fraction of a second slow in interposing--thatlithe tail sped. Two lightning loops flashed around the neck of thevisitor and tightened inexorably. Desperately the victim fought to breakthat terrible strangle hold, but every maneuver was countered as soonas it was begun. Beating wings, under whose frightful blows the very airquivered, were met and parried by wings equally capable. Hands and clubswere of no avail against that corded cable of sinew, and Sintris, hishead retracted between his wings and his own hands reenforcing thatimpregnable covering over his head and neck, threw all his power intohis tail--tightening, with terrific, rippling surges, that alreadythrottling band about the throat of his opponent. Only one result waspossible. Soon Zerexi lay quiet, and a violet beam of light flared froma torch at the ringside, bathing both contenders. At the flash thewinner disengaged himself from the loser, and stood by until the latterhad recovered the use of his paralyzed muscles. The two combatants thentouched wing tips in salute and flew away together, over the heads ofthe crowd; plunging into a doorway and disappearing as the two officersuncoiled from their "seats" and wriggled out into the corridor.
"Fine piece of contact work," said Wixill, thoughtfully. "I'm glad thatSintris won, but I did not expect him to win so easily. Zerexi shouldn'thave gone into a knot so early against such a fast man."
"Oh, I don't know," argued Kromodeor. "His big mistake was in thatsecond body check. If he had blocked the sixth arm with his fifth, takenout the fourth and second with his third, and then gone in with...." andso, quite like two early experts after a good boxing match, the friendsargued the fine points of the contest long after they had reached theirquarters.
Day after day the vast duplex cone of Vorkulian fortresses spedtoward the north pole of the great planet, with a high and constantvelocity. Day after day the complex geometrical figure in space remainedunchanged, no unit deviating measurably from its precise place in theformation. Over rapacious jungles, over geysers spouting hot water,over sullenly steaming rivers and seas, over boiling lakes of mud, andhigh over gigantic volcanoes, in uninterrupted eruptions of cataclysmicviolence, the Vorkulian phalanx flew--straight north. The equatorialregions, considerably hotter than the poles, were traversed withpractically no change in scenery--it was a world of steaming fog,of jungle, of hot water, of boiling, spurting mud, and of volcanoes.Not of such mild and sporadic volcanic outbreaks as we of green Terraknow, but of gigantic primordial volcanoes, in terrifyingly continuousperformances of frightful intensity. Due north the Vorkulian spearheadwas hurled, before the rigorous geometrical alignment was altered.
"All captains, attention!" Finally, in a high latitude, the flagshipsent out final instructions. "The hexans have detected us and our longrange observers report that they are coming to meet us in force. We willnow go into the whirl, and proceed with the maneuvers exactly as theyhave been planned. Whirl!"
At the command, each vessel began to pursue a tortuous spiral path.Each group of seven circled slowly about its own axis, as though eachstructure were attached rigidly to a radius rod, and at the same timespiraled around the line of advance in such fashion that the wholegigantic cone, wide open maw to the fore, seemed to be boring its waythrough the air.
"Lucky again!" Kromodeor, in the wardroom, turned to Wixill as the twoprepared to take their respective watches. "It looks as though the firstaction would come while we're on duty. I've got just one favor to ask,if you have to economize on power, let Number One alone, will you?"
"No fear of that," Wixill hi
ssed, with the Vorkulian equivalent of achuckle. "We have abundance of power for all of your projector officers.But don't waste any of it, or I'll cut you down five ratings!"
"You're welcome. When I shine old Number One on any hexan work, oneflash is all we'll take. See you at supper," and, leaving his superiorat the door of the power room, Kromodeor wriggled away to his stationupon the parallel horizontal bars before his panel.
Making sure that his tail coils were so firmly clamped that no possiblelurch or shock could throw him out of position, he set an eye towardeach of his sighting screens, even though he knew that it would be longbefore those comparatively short range instruments would show anythingexcept friendly vessels. Then, ready for any emergency, he scanned hisone "live" screen--the one upon which were being flashed the picturesand reports secured by the high-powered instruments of the observers.
* * * * *
With the terrific acceleration employed by the hexan spheres, itwas not long until the leading squadron of fighting globes nearedthe Vorkulian war-cone. This advance guard was composed of the new,high-acceleration vessels. Their crews, with the innate blood-lustand savagery of their breed, had not even entertained the thought ofaccommodating their swifter pace to that of the main body of the fleet.These vast, slow-moving structures were no more to be feared than thosesimilar ones whose visits they had been repulsing for twenty longJovian years--by the time the slower spheres could arrive upon the scenethere would be nothing left for them to do. Therefore, few in numberas were the vessels of the vanguard, they rushed to the attack. In oneblinding salvo they launched their supposedly irresistible planes offorce--dazzling, scintillating planes under whose fierce power thestudying, questing, scouting fortresses previously encountered had fledback southward; cut, beaten, and crippled. These spiraling monsters,however, did not pause or waver in their stolidly ordered motion.As the hexan planes of force flashed out, the dull green metal wallsbroke into a sparkling green radiance, against which the Titanicbolts spent themselves in vain. Then there leaped out from the weirdbrilliance of the walls of the fortresses great shafts of pale greenluminescence--tractor ray after gigantic tractor ray, which seizedupon the hexan spheres and drew them ruthlessly into the yawningopen end of that gigantic cone.
Then, in each group of seven, similar great streamers of energy reachedout from fortress to fortress, until each group was welded into onemighty unit by twenty-one such bands of force. The unit formed, a rayfrom each of its seven component structures seized upon a designatedsphere, and under the combined power of those seven tractors, theluckless globe was literally snapped into the center of mass of theVorkulian unit. There seven dully gleaming red pressor rays leaped uponit, backed by all the power of seven gigantic fortresses, held rigidlyin formation by the unimaginable mass of the structures and by theirtwenty-one prodigious tractor beams. Under that awful impact, thescreens and walls of the hexan spheres were exactly as effective as somany structures of the most tenuous vapor. The red glare of the vortexof those beams was lightened momentarily by a flash of brighter color,and through the foggy atmosphere there may have flamed briefly a drop ortwo of metal that was only liquefied. The red and green beams snappedout, the peculiar radiance died from the metal walls, and the giganticduplex cone of the Vorkuls bored serenely northward--as little marked oraffected by the episode as is a darting swift who, having snapped up achance insect in full flight, darts on.
"Great Cat!" Far off in space, Brandon turned from his visiray screenand wiped his brow. "Czuv certainly chirped it, Perce, when he calledthose things flying fortresses. But who, what, why, and how? We didn'tsee any apparatus that looked capable of generating or handling thosebeams--and of course, when they got started, their screens cut usoff at the pockets. Wish we could have made some sense out of theirlanguage--like to know a few of their ideas--find out whether we can'tget on terms with them some way or other. Funny-looking wampuses, butthey've got real brains--their think-tanks are very evidently full ofbubbles. If they have it in mind to take us on next, old son, it'll bejust ... too ... bad!"
"And then some," agreed Stevens. "They've got something--no fooling. Itlooks like the hexans are going to get theirs, good and plenty, prettysoon--and then what? I'd give my left lung and four front teeth for onelong look at their controls in action."
"You and me both--it's funny, the way those green ray-screens stick tothe walls, instead of being spherical, as you'd expect ... should thinkthey'd _have_ to radiate from a center, and so be spherical," Brandoncogitated. "However, we've got nothing corkscrewy enough to go throughthem, so we'll have to stand by. We'll stay inside whenever possible,look on from outside when we must, but all the time picking up whateverinformation we can. In the meantime, now that we've got our passengers,old Doctor Westfall prescribes something that he says is good for whatails us. Distance--lots of distance, straight out from the sun--andI wouldn't wonder if we'd better take his prescription."
The two Terrestrial observers relapsed into silence, staring intotheir visiray plates, searching throughout the enormous volume of oneof those great fortresses in another attempt to solve the mystery of thegeneration and propagation of the incredible manifestations of energywhich they had just witnessed. Scarcely had the search begun, however,when the visirays were again cut off sharply--the rapidly advancing mainfleet of the hexans had arrived and the scintillant Vorkulian screenswere again in place.
True to hexan nature, training and tradition, the fleet, hundredsstrong, rushed savagely to the attack. Above, below, and around thefar-flung cone the furious globes dashed, attacking every Vorkuliancraft viciously with every resource at their command; with every weaponknown to their diabolically destructive race. Planes of force stabbedand slashed, concentrated beams of annihilation flared fiercely throughthe reeking atmosphere, gigantic aerial bombs and torpedoes were hurledwith full radio control against the unwelcome visitor--with no effect.Bound together in groups of seven by the mighty, pale-green bands offorce, the Vorkulian units sailed calmly northward, spiraling along withnot the slightest change in formation or velocity. The frightful planesand beams of immeasurable power simply spent themselves harmlesslyagainst those sparklingly radiant green walls--seemingly as absorbentto energy as a sponge is to water, since the eye could not detect anychange in the appearance of the screens, under even the fiercest blastsof the hexan projectors. Bombs, torpedoes, and all material projectileswere equally futile--they exploded harmlessly in the air far from theirobjectives, or disappeared at the touch of one of those dark, dull-redpressor rays. And swiftly, but calmly and methodically as at a Vorkulianpractice drill, the heptagons were destroying the hexan fleet. Sevenmighty green tractors would lash out, seize an attacking sphere, andsnap it into the center of mass of the unit of seven. There would be abrief flash of dull red, a still briefer flare of incandescence, and theimpalpable magnets would leap out to seize another of the doomed globes.It was only a matter of moments until not a hexan vessel remained; andthe Vorkulian juggernaut spiraled onward, now at full acceleration,toward the hexan stronghold dimly visible far ahead of them--a vastcity built around Jupiter's northern pole.
At the controls of his projector, Kromodeor spun a dial with amany-fingered, flexible hand and spoke.
"Wixill, I am being watched again--I can feel very plainly that strangeintelligence watching everything I do. Have the tracers located him?"
"No, they haven't been able to synchronize with his wave yet. Eitherhe is using a most minute pencil or, what is more probable, he is on afrequency which we do not ordinarily use. However, I agree with you thatit is not a malignant intelligence. All of us have felt it, and none ofus senses enmity. Therefore, it is not a hexan--it may be one of thosestrange creatures of the satellites, who are, of course, perfectlyharmless."
"Harmless, but unpleasant," returned Kromodeor. "When we get back I'mgoing to find his beam myself and send a discharge along it that willend his spying upon me. I do not...."
* * * *
*
A wailing signal interrupted the conversation and every Vorkul inthe vast fleet coiled even more tightly about his bars, for the realbattle was about to begin. The city of the hexans lay before them,all her gigantic forces mustered to repel the first real invasion ofher long and warlike history. Mile after mile it extended, an orderlylabyrinth of spherical buildings arranged in vast interlocking seriesof concentric circles--a city of such size that only a small part of itwas visible, even to the infra-red vision of the Vorkulians. Apparentlythe city was unprotected, having not even a wall. Outward from the low,rounded houses of the city's edge there reached a wide and verdantplain, which was separated from the jungle by a narrow moat ofshimmering liquid--a liquid of such dire potency that across it,even those frightful growths could neither leap nor creep.
But as the Vorkulian phalanx approached--now shooting forward andupward with maximum acceleration, screaming bolts of energy flaming outfor miles behind each heptagon as the full power of its generators wasunleashed--it was made clear that the homeland of the hexans was farfrom unprotected. The verdant plain disappeared in a blast of radiance,revealing a transparent surface, through which could be seen masses ofmachinery filling level below level, deep into the ground as far as theeye could reach; and from the bright liquid of the girdling moat thereshot vertically upward a coruscantly refulgent band of intense yellowluminescence. These were the hexan defences, heretofore invulnerable andinvincible. Against them any ordinary warcraft, equipped with ordinaryweapons of offense, would have been as pitifully impotent as a nakedbaby attacking a battleship. But now those defenses were beingchallenged by no ordinary craft; it had taken the mightiest intellectsof Vorkulia two long lifetimes to evolve the awful engine of destructionwhich was hurling itself forward and upward with an already terrific andconstantly increasing speed.
Onward and upward flashed the gigantic duplex cone, its entire whirlingmass laced and latticed together--into one mammoth unit by green tractorbeams and red pressors. These tension and compression members, ofunheard-of power, made of the whole fleet of three hundred forty-threefortresses a single stupendous structure--a structure with all thestrength and symmetry of a cantilever truss! Straight through that wallof yellow vibrations the vast truss drove, green walls flaming bluedefiance as the absorbers overloaded; its doubly braced tip rearingupward, into and beyond the vertical as it shot through that searingyellow wall. Simultaneously from each heptagon there flamed downward agreen shaft of radiance, so that the whole immense circle of the cone'smouth was one solid tractor beam, fastening upon and holding in anunbreakable grip mile upon mile of the hexan earthworks.
Practically irresistible force and supposedly immovable object!Every loose article in every heptagon had long since been stored inits individual shockproof compartment, and now every Vorkul coiled hisentire body in fierce clasp about mighty horizontal bars: for the entirekinetic energy of the untold millions of tons of mass comprising thecone, at the terrific measure of its highest possible velocity, wasto be hurled upon those unbreakable linkages of force which boundthe trussed aggregation of Vorkulian fortresses to the deeply buriedintrenchments of the hexans. The gigantic composite tractor beam snappedon and held. Inconceivably powerful as that beam was, it stretched atrifle under the incomprehensible momentum of those prodigious massesof metal, almost halted in their terrific flight. But the war-cone wasnot quite halted; the calculations of the Vorkulian scientists had beenaccurate. No possible artificial structure, and but few natural ones--inpractice maneuvers entire mountains had been lifted and hurled for milesthrough the air--could have withstood the incredible violence of thatlunging, twisting, upheaving impact. Lifted bodily by that impalpablehawser of force and cruelly wrenched and twisted by its enormous coupleof angular momentum, the hexan works came up out of the ground as awaterpipe comes up in the teeth of a power shovel. The ground trembledand rocked and boulders, fragments of concrete masonry, and masses ofmetal flew in all directions as that city-encircling conduit ofdiabolical machinery was torn from its bed.
* * * * *
A portion of that conduit fully thirty miles in length was in the air,a twisted, flaming inferno of wrecked generators, exploding ammunition,and broken and short-circuited high-tension leads before the hexanscould themselves cut it and thus save the remainder of theirfortifications. With resounding crashes, the structure parted at theweakened points, the furious upheaval stopped and, the tractor beamsshut off, the shattered, smoking, erupting mass of wreckage fell inclashing, grinding ruin upon the city.
The enormous duplex cone of the Vorkuls did not attempt to repeat themaneuver, but divided into two single cones, one of which darted towardeach point of rupture. There, upon the broken and unprotected ends ofthe hexan cordon, their points of attack lay: theirs the task to eatalong that annular fortress, no matter what the opposition might bringto bear--to channel in its place a furrow of devastation until the twocones, their work complete, should meet at the opposite edge of thecity. Then what was left of the cones would separate into individualheptagons, which would so systematically blast every hexan thing intonothingness as to make certain that never again would they resume theirinsensate attacks upon the Vorkuls. Having counted the cost and beinggrimly ready to pay it, the implacable attackers hurled themselves upontheir objectives.
Here were no feeble spheres of space, commanding only the limitedenergies transmitted to their small receptors through the ether. Insteadthere were all the offensive and defensive weapons developed by hundredsof generations of warrior-scientists; wielding all the incalculablepower capable of being produced by the massed generators of a mightynation. But for the breach opened in the circle by the irresistiblesurprise attack, they would have been invulnerable, and, hampered asthey were by the defenseless ends of what should have been an endlessring, the hexans took heavy toll.
The heptagons, massive and solidly braced as they were, and anchored bytractor rays as well, shuddered and trembled throughout their mightyframes under the impact of fiercely driven pressor beams. Sullenlyradiant green wall-screens flared brighter and brighter as the Vorkulianabsorbers and dissipators, mighty as they were, continued more and moreto overload; for there were being directed against them beams from theentire remaining circumference of the stronghold. Every deadly frequencyand emanation known to the fiendish hexan intellect, backed by the fullpower of the city, was poured out against the invaders in sizzlingshrieking bars, bands, and planes of frenzied incandescence. Nor wasvibratory destruction alone. Armor-piercing projectiles of enormoussize and weight were hurled--diamond-hard, drill-headed projectileswhich clung and bored upon impact. High-explosive shells, canisters ofgas, and the frightful aerial bombs and radio-dirigible torpedoes ofhighly scientific war--all were thrown with lavish hand, as fast asthe projectors could be served. But thrust for thrust, ray for ray,projectile for massive projectile, the Brobdingnagian creations ofthe Vorkuls gave back to the hexans.
The material lining of the ghastly moat was the only substance capableof resisting the action of its contents, and now, that lining destroyedby the uprooting of the fortress, that corrosive, brilliantly mobileliquid cascaded down in to the trough and added its hellish contributionto the furious scene. For whatever that devouring fluid touched flaredinto yellow flame, gave off clouds of lurid, strangling vapor, anddisappeared. But through yellow haze, through blasting frequencies,through clouds of poisonous gas, through rain of metal and throughstorm of explosive the two cones ground implacably onward, their everyoffensive weapon centered upon the fast-receding exposed ends of thehexan fortress. Their bombs and torpedoes ripped and tore into thestructure beneath the invulnerable shield and exploded, demolishingand hurling aside like straws, the walls, projectors, hexads and vastmountains of earth. Their terrible rays bored in, softening, fusing,volatilizing metal, short-circuiting connections, destroying lifefar ahead of the point of attack; and, drawn along by the relentlesslycreeping composite tractor beam, there progressed around the circumferenceof
the hexan city two veritable Saturnalia of destruction--uninterrupted,cataclysmic detonations of sound and sizzling, shrieking, multi-coloreddisplays of pyrotechnic incandescence combining to form a spectacleof violence incredible.
But the heptagons could not absorb nor radiate indefinitely thosetorrents of energy, and soon one greenishly incandescent screen wentdown. Giant shells pierced the green metal walls, giant beams of forcefused and consumed them. Faster and faster the huge heptagon became ashapeless, flowing mass, its metal dripping away in flaming gouts ofbrilliance; then it disappeared utterly in one terrific blast as someprobing enemy ray reached a vital part. The cone did not pause norwaver. Many of its component units would go down, but it would goon--and on and on until every hexan trace had disappeared or untilthe last Vorkulian heptagon had been annihilated.
In one of the lowermost heptagons, one bearing the full brunt of thehexan armament, Kromodeor reared upright as his projector controlswent dead beneath his hands. Finding his communicator screens likewiselifeless, he slipped to the floor and wriggled to the room of the ChiefPower Officer, where he found Wixill idly fingering his controls.
"Are we out?" asked Kromodeor, tersely.
"All done," the Chief Power Officer calmly replied. "We have power left,but we cannot use it, as they have crushed our screens and are fusingour outer walls. Two out of seven chances, and we drew one of them. Weare still working on the infra band, over across on the Second's board,but we won't last long...."
* * * * *
As he spoke, the mighty fabric lurched under them, and only their quickand powerful tails, darting in lightning loops about the bars, savedthem from being battered to death against the walls as the heptagon washurled end over end by a stupendous force. With a splintering crash itcame to rest upon the ground.
"I wonder how that happened? They should have rayed us out or explodedus," Kromodeor pondered. The Vorkuls, with their inhumanly powerful,sinuous bodies, were scarcely affected by the shock of that frightfulfall.
"They must have had a whole battery of pressors on us when our greenswent out--they threw us half-way across the city, almost into the gatewe made first," Wixill replied, studying the situation of the vessel inthe one small screen still in action. "We aren't hurt very badly--only afew holes that they are starting to weld already. When the absorber anddissipator crews get them cooled down enough so that we can use poweragain, we'll go back."
But they were not to resume their place in the attack. Through theholes in the still-glowing walls, hexan soldiery were leaping insteady streams, fighting with the utmost savagery of their bloodthirstynatures, urged on by the desperation born of the knowledge of imminentdefeat and total destruction. Hand-weapons roared, flashed, andsparkled; heavy bars crashed and thudded against crunching bones;mighty bodies and tails whipped crushingly about six-limbed forms whichwrenched and tore with monstrously powerful hands and claws. Fiercelyand valiantly the Vorkuls fought, but they were outnumbered by hundredsand only one outcome was possible.
Kromodeor was one of the last to go down. Weapons long since exhausted,he unwrapped his deadly coils from about a dead hexan and darted towarda storeroom, only to be cut off by a horde of enemies. Throwing himselfdown a vertical shaft, he flew toward a tiny projector-locker, in thelowermost part of one of the great star's points, the hexans in hotpursuit. He wrenched the door open, and even while searing planes offorce were riddling his body, he trained the frightful weapon he hadsought. He pressed the contact, and bursts of intolerable flame sweptthe entire passage clear of life. Weakly he struggled to go out into theaisle, but his muscles refused to do the bidding of his will and he laythere, twitching feebly.
In the power room of the heptagon a hexan officer turned fiercely toanother, who was offering advice.
"Vorkuls? Bah!" he snarled, viciously. "Our race is finished. Die wemust, but we shall take with us the one enemy, who above all othersneeds destruction!" and he hurled the captured Vorkulian fortress intothe air.
As the heptagon lurched upward, the massive door of a lower projectorlocker clanged shut and Kromodeor collapsed in a corner, hisconsciousness blotted out.
* * * * *
"Well, that certainly tears it! That's a ... I...." Stevens' readyvocabulary failed him and he turned to Brandon, who was still staringnarrow-eyed into the plate, watching the destruction of the hexan city.
"They've got something, all right--you've got to hand it to them,"Brandon replied. "And we thought we knew something about forces andphysical phenomena in general. Those birds have forgotten more than weever will know. Just one of those things could take the whole I-P fleet,armed as we are now, any morning before breakfast, just for setting-upexercises. We've got to do something about it--but what?"
"It's okay--whatever you say. There may be an out somewhere, but I don'tsee it," and Stevens' gloomy tone matched his words.
Highly trained scientists both, they had been watching that whichtranscended all the science of the inner planets and knew themselvesoutclassed immeasurably.
"Only one thing to do, as I see it," Brandon cogitated. "That's to keepon going straight out, the way we're headed now. We'd better call acouncil of war, to dope out a line of action."
