XI.
Cliff Lane and Stellor Downing faced one another. They had spent hours in complete slumber after the incident, and their awakening had been almost simultaneous. They were both in a mental tizzy; they knew that Something Must Be Done but were slightly foggy as to what. Their former animosity seemed gone, or at least secondary to the urgency of the present situation.
They did not ask the usual question upon awakening, they knew that they had been removed from Toralen Ki's ship and hospitalized.
They did not mention Toralen Ki—not openly. But they felt it. Perhaps it was a sort of mental maturity, this Transformation. They kept their counsel until they could discuss it together—and they seemed to know that the other preferred it that way.
They sought the eyes of the people in the room and asked, almost simultaneously: "Can this be explained now?"
Hotang Lu nodded agreeably. He explained the story in full, and completely. As he concluded Hotang Lu smiled again. "Before—you had not the ability to understand, nor had I the ability to express myself in your terms. The Transformation has made it possible for all of us to partly speak in the other's language, and partly convey thoughts."
"That should be helpful."
"You will find it so. No matter which race of whatever sun you visit in the future, you will find that faculty helpful. You will even be able to mingle with the Loard-vogh."
"'Mangle' sounds better," gritted Lane.
"That will come in time."
"Well, let's hit it," said Lane. "What do we do first?"
"First," said Hotang Lu, "is to beware. The Loard-vogh are warned. Knowing their psychology, attack will be imminent."
"Then we'd best prepare to repel boarders?"
"Yes."
"Hotang Lu has the right idea," said Lane. "If they're warned, they'll clip us first."
Kennebec objected. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you expect them to hit us? After all, they're swarming through the galaxy in this direction. If they are that powerful, why should they attack Terra?"
"We constitute a threat," said Downing. "We are a powerful threat, or I miss my guess."
"Terra is a most powerful threat," said Hotang Lu. "Terra, well, it is known to the Loard-vogh as the Planet of Terror."
"Gratifying in a nice, lethal way," smiled Kennebec. "Mind telling us why?"
"Not at all. Terra is the center of the mutation area."
"Meaning what?"
"Sol is one of a vast trinary, astronomically speaking. Or was once. It is now one of an extended binary. You have no reference to this?"
"Not that I know of," said Lane. "And I've been a student of astronomy."
"Well, it is so vast that you may probably not come to the astronomical proof for thousands of years. Sol, however, is one of a binary that used to be a trinary. The third sun was alien—contraterrene. Thirty million years ago it was struck by a stellar wanderer—of terrene matter. The explosion was mighty. It was vast. It scattered particles of the third member far and wide. A great swarm of bits of contraterrene matter range this sector of the Galaxy. They fall into Sol, into Alpha, into Procyon, into Sirius, into the other stars within thirty to forty light-years from Sol. Even Arcturus, forty light-years away, has his small share, and so it goes.
"The resulting radiation from this drift of contraterrene matter falling into the star dispersion of this sector has bathed this entire portion of the Galaxy in hard radiation. Mutation has been rapid, and evolution has taken swift advances."
"Meaning exactly what?" demanded Stellor Downing.
"I can tell you that one," laughed Thompson. "We are tougher than hell."
"Terra's evolution has been vicious and swift," said Hotang Lu. "The natural enemies of life have also evolved rapidly. Clifford Lane destroyed one of the minor animals of Sscantoo by merely holding it—so did Stellor Downing. The things that Terrans live with in peace—or even symbiosis—are feared by the rest of the Galaxy. Insect life—many thousands of kinds of insects. Fungus—a myriad of types, all hardy. I've heard of a mollusk that secretes strontium metal for a shell rather than the usual calcium, and micro-animalcules that thrive in a bath of chemically pure sulphuric acid. Terrans drink a most foul poison—ethanol—for pleasure, and inhale the combustion-products—tar and worse—of a dried weed as a fairly common habit. This habit, by the way, seems to have absolutely no effect upon life or mentality. Terrans go anywhere with immunity, and those who come here must prepare to die."
"You're not dead," objected Lane.
"No, but I expected death. I was prepared. I was innoculated and sterilized and given all sorts of treatments. I irradiate myself daily with the micro-organism killing radiations known to our doctors and scientists. Otherwise I would—well, in your slang terms—grow green hair in an hour.
"In fact," continued Hotang Lu thoughtfully, "Toralen Ki and myself were the last of several expeditions to contact Terra. We sent a first to investigate and sample the upper stratosphere. They did—and they died painfully. But they succeeded in preparing artificial antimeasures against the bacteria and fungus-spores that roam that altitude. The second expedition landed, but took only samples of the surface-atmosphere. They died, learning the secrets of the mutant microlife of Terra. They prepared antimeasures for the third expedition who emerged from the ship, protected against air-borne death, and gave their lives learning how to control the microlife that abounds and is transmitted by contact.
"The fourth expedition came to roam the planet at will, and they died because there had been a mutation in one form of spore in the years between the third expedition and the fourth. The fifth came and were safe.
"Toralen Ki and myself were the fifth expedition."
"Um-m-m, what a nice bunch of little stinkers Terrans must be," smiled Lane.
"Terrans and Venusites," amended Downing.
"Don't be bitter," laughed Lane. "You're tarred with this brush too, you know."
Kennebec smiled. "I'll be afraid of myself from now on."
Hotang Lu looked at Kennebec seriously. "That is your main concern," he said. "You—and all Solarians—have but that to fear."
"What?"
"You need fear only yourselves. All your other enemies fall like the wheat before the scythe. From the most minute to the most gigantic. Micro-organisms that defy your best instruments can not defy your evolution. Giants that defy your imagination can not defy your science. The cold and forbidding planets themselves bow to Terran domination. Lane, born on Venus; a world of violent insect life and rife with micro-organisms is populated by Terrans. Downing was born of Mars. Mars is cold and forbidding. Life cannot survive there. Life cannot, gentlemen. Oh, life in the sense that regeneration and self-sustenance is life, can. After all, Mars is bathed in the same radiation that produces hardy mutations. But Terran life is intelligent. Martian life can not be—"
"See?" chortled Cliff Lane.
Hotang Lu swung upon the Venusite. "Stellor Downing is Terran," he said stoutly. "Venus can not support intelligent life either," he added in a mollifying tone.
"They do," objected Kennebec.
"By support I mean spawn," said Hotang Lu. "To support does not mean to 'be converted to'."
"Oh."
"Terra controls. Terra takes over. Terra is the Planet of Terror. Her minions rule the Galaxy, her mutants are the fear and the death of all. Linzete of Sscantoo capitulated because of two things. One was Lane's ability to carry, without self-destruction, microlife that destroyed their minor animals in a matter of minutes. The other was Downing's ability to read the radiation of their weapons and return in less than a month with an improvement on them. And what is your favorite dish?" he asked Kennebec.
"Filet mignon with mushrooms."
Hotang Lu shivered visibly. "Tender, of course?"
"Tender and very, very rare."
Hotang Lu shivered again.
"Why?"
"What makes a steak tender?" he asked with an air of innocence.
"Brutally speaking, it is a matter of semiputrefication."
"Precisely. You hang it in a warm, smoky, damp place until it 'grows hair'. Then you partially cook it—not really enough to destroy the enzymes—and smother it with one of the most pernicious forms of fungi. It is served hot—a condition that enhances most chemical reactions. And you fall to, eating this deadly mixture with appetite, relish, appreciation, and, by the most holy, you complain bitterly if the tenderness is not right. You object if the micro-organisms have not had their chance to break down the toughness of the meat. About the only disease that Terrans really need fear is the ulcer, which is a case of the adaptable beginning to eat itself, or perhaps carcinoma, where local mutation takes place."
"That makes us feel very good," said Kennebec dryly. "But from what you've told us, we are on the brink of invasion by a super-race that is slowly engulfing the Galaxy."
"The Loard-vogh must be defeated."
"I should think so," remarked Kennebec.
"Our work is through," said Hotang Lu. "Tlembo is surpassed. Sscantoo was one hope of Tlembo, but the catmen are almost at the peak of their evolution, and cannot be increased in mental stature more than twice or thrice. Tlembo reached their mental ultimate ten thousand years ago and were far surpassed by the Loard-vogh. Terra now surpasses the Loard-vogh. But remember, Co-ordinator Kennebec, you have mental ability not real mentality. You have the capability to increase a thousandfold above your present mental stature. But you have not increased in fact."
"I do not follow."
"Your infants have the ability to become the mentally great. Until that ability is exploited, they are mentally lower than the most unintelligent of animals. They cannot even feed themselves without help.
"Terra now has the ability," he continued. "If Terra is to rule the Galaxy—and well she might for her adaptability—she must exploit the latent mental capability."
"And the next plan?" suggested Kennebec.
Thompson looked at Hotang Lu. "What's yours?" he asked.
"You will be the co-ordinator. The Extremes will co-operate in gathering information and you will direct them, and all of Sol, in this effort."
Kennebec frowned. "You must know what you're doing," he said. "But I was under the impression that Lane and Downing—?"
Hotang Lu nodded. "That was the original plan. But due to a rather peculiar set of circumstances out near Sscantoo, Thompson now has the superior mind of all Solarians. You see, he did not achieve twinship with a Terran. He achieved a ... er ... tripletship with Toralen Ki, and the Loard-vogh known as Kregar, who was high in their councils. Since he is aware of the Loard-vogh mind, his decisions can be expected to take into account what they are likely to do."
"One of the main jobs in fighting an alien culture is to try to outguess them," added Thompson. "Having a bit of Loard-vogh psychology for inspection will enable me to handle the outguessing process somewhat better."
"Reasonable," agreed Kennebec. "My job now will be to convince the superior officers of these three that their ability warrants giving orders instead of taking them."
"It should be easy. Their ability will speak for itself. Besides, you may issue statements to the effect that mental activity between these three have placed them—"
"Hotang Lu, a thousand years from now we might. But you told us that all we now have is the mental ability without the training necessary to use it."
"Yes?"
"My small friend, all that means is that men will now be able to use the whole of their minds to indulge in power-grabbing, connivery, and politics."
Hotang Lu smiled. "I know," he said. "The end-product of it all will be that little change is visible. You see, the avaricious of your race will be of greater mental power, true enough. But those of you who try to see that things are run right will have the same increase in mental stature. When I spoke of the human race as a slumbering giant, I meant that all facets of human nature were equally smothered."
"Hm-m-m. I see what you mean. But jealousy isn't good, and if I make a statement to the effect that the minds of these three are superior, every mother's son on all three planets and nine colonies a-stellar will be sharpshooting for them. Ah-hah," he finished, shaking his head.
"Their ability will take hold. Their individual characteristics will show. Let it be known that Lane and Downing are each doubly capable because of the mental twinship. That all Solarians know now. Let it also be known that Toralen Ki and the Loard-vogh Kregar fought the same type of mental battle for Thompson's mind—and that he has the triple ability. Regardless of jealousy, they will come out on top."
"Well," said Thompson, "at this point I think we'd best be thinking about our skins, Cliff, like to scout the catmen again?"
"What for?"
"Take a look at their stuff. That snatcher they had might be the stuff for trouble in a large scale. Might see what they've got, and what you can make of it."
"Think there's any chance we might grab a hunk out of the middle of a sun and hurl it at the enemy?"
"Yes, but it is remote, and wasteful to boot."
"Why?
"Anything you might grab out of any sun would be more difficult than grabbing the planet itself—the one you want to annihilate, I mean. Better do it directly by just taking the planet, stopping it in its orbit, and hurling it to its sun itself. The forces present in a sun would be more difficult to handle. And besides, what would you anchor it to?"
"Space itself," suggested Downing. "With a driver beam."
"You'd end up by warping space. Nope, I can think of easier ways of beating out my brains. But Cliff, if you'll see what they have, we can use it, perhaps. Stellor, any suggestions you'd like to make?"
"Someone better start converting the manufacturers. Hotang Lu's picture isn't at all good, you know. The Loard-vogh have conquered about a quarter of the Galaxy now. Their numbers are legion and they are a conquistadorial outfit at best. They'll fight to the last one, and they outnumber us thousands to one."
"Millions," corrected Hotang Lu.
"Looks futile right there."
"Let's not quit before we're licked," snapped Thompson. "Before they collect Sol in their list, they're going to have to kill each and every Terran."
"Um-m-m—not a bright prospect."
"Makes us as tough as they are," mused Kennebec.
"Tough, but not as nasty," offered Billy. "They want conquest for the sake of conquest. They'll die to the last man fighting for the sake of fighting. We'll die to the last man fighting for peace."
"Right."
"So," offered Downing, "I'll take a scout of the Loard-vogh if you want."
"O.K.," said Thompson. "This is going to keep us all busy for a long time. We'd best relax tonight—tomorrow we can all leave."
"You'll take my crew?" asked Stellor Downing.
"Since spying can't be done with twenty-five ships at your back, I will," agreed Lane.
"You can handle 'em," said Downing. "After all, you do have my ability now."
Lane smiled cheerfully. "O.K. I'll see you later."
"Right," said Downing.
"And keep this under your hat, fellows. Terra has one great secret weapon that the Loard-vogh can never get nor use. It is a weapon that must wait until the time is ripe. It must never be disclosed, until it is in use. Then—it will be too late for the Loard-vogh to stop it."
"What is it?"
"If you don't know, I'll not tell you yet."
"But why tell us at all?"
"The idea of fighting a race that has conquered the Galaxy is staggering. Especially a race that, until lately, has been Terra's mental superior. The knowledge of a secret weapon of definite capability tends to make our battle less foolish. We will win.”