Subspace Explorers Part 17

"Good going, Bun!" Deston applauded. Then, after a quick probe, he went on. "New Russia! That's really one for the book. First thing, let's get those Company Agents up here-those two there, I think, are going to be the answer to Maynard's prayer. Their language has been sort of-censored?-let's see how they take to telepathy."

A C B A and A C B D, being very strong latents and well on the way to making psiontists of themselves without even knowing that such a science as psiontcs existed, learned telepathy in seconds. More, they went into a hammer-and-tongs mind-to-mind session with the Funny Four even while the six leaders were arguing with the other ex-Agents. All these were latents, however; hence, after the University of Psionics had been explained to them, they were more or less eager to go. They knew less of reality than even the little that the two "hunchers" knew; but, like latents everywhere, they did want to learn.

Wherefore, after Barbara had had a flashing exchange of thought with Stella Adams, the new recruits were delivered to her in her office in the University. Beedy was still bruised and battered, but no one-except his new wife, of course-paid any more attention to that than he did himself. Everyone knew all about what had happened, and they all approved of him and he knew it.

"Babe!" Barbara burst out then. "What's on your mind? You've been blocking solid-give!"

"I didn't mean to, actually, but I wouldn't wonder. I don't like the only possible answer a bit, and you won't either. We never even heard of that planet New Russia. And how did they find this world? I've been racking my brains and the only possible answer I can come up with is that Feodr Ilyowicz has always been a double agent -suckering us but good, all along."

"Oh, no!" came a storm of protest, and Jones added, "I can't buy that bundle, Babe. There isn't a psiontist in the outfit. He'd be here himself-no, he couldn't, at that-but he'd have somebody on the job here."

"You're wrong, Here, he couldn't." Cecily shook her head. "Perfect Commie technique. When did a commissar ever trust a psychic as far as he could throw him? He'd use his knowledge, yes, but he wouldn't let him get out of sight."

"That's true, Curly," Deston said. "Anyway, all..." "But just look at what he's doing to Communist Russia!" Bernice broke in.

"He has to, or he wouldn't last an hour," Jones said, grimly. "All that means is that, compared to a planet and years of time, EastHem's expendable-for as many years as is necessary. So I'll buy it after all. What do we do next? Scout New Russia?"

"I don't think so, we need dope first, and, as I started to say, we can find out. Flit us to one of Jupiters's moons, you Trains, and we'll put..."

"High it, fly-boy, and find the beam!" Jones snapped. "We can't 'port those jaspers down there back to New Russia and we can't leave 'em here and we can't very well kill 'em in cold blood."

"Okay, Control Six, I'll try it again," Deston agreed. "Um... um... mm. How about putting 'em-being sure we get 'em all, of course-into an empty hold here in the Explorer? Keep 'em in durance vile for the duration? Intern 'em?"

"That's a cogent thought, friend," Barbara said, and the others agreed. "I wish we could do a lot worse to 'em than that."

It was done.

"Can I land now, Control Six?" Deston asked, plaintively, and the others laughed.

"Okay, fly-boy, you're on the beam now."

"Thank you, Control Six. As I was saying when I was so rudely interrupted, let's flit to somewhere near Tellus: and put the s.n.a.t.c.h on Ilyowicz and see if our guesses are any good. No, better let me do the grabbing alone if he has any warning whatever we'll never get him, and if I'm wrong about him I'll apologize abjectly."

The Russian had no warning whatever. Before he could begin to thing about setting up the psionic barrier through which no psionic force could act, he was in the Explorer. Nor did Deston have occasion to apologize. It became evident instantly that Ilyowicz would fight to the death, and in another instant six of the most powerful minds known to man were tearing at his mental shields.

He held those shields with everything he had, but he did not have enough. No human mind could have had enough. His shields failed; and, a moment after their failure, such was the irresistible flood of mental energy driving inward, Feodr Ilyowicz died. In that moment before death, however, the six learned much.

He had always been a double agent. He had always lived for Russia, he was dying for Russia. Not the Russia of Earth-that was expendable-no one cared what happened there for a few years or a few decades-but the great New Russia that already possessed one whole planet, was taking possession of another at this moment, and would very soon possess all the populated planets of civilization. Everything he had learned he had pa.s.sed on to New Russia. It had a University of Psionics that would soon surpa.s.s that of Newmars. He had traced Punsunby to The World long ago, and had advised the Premier himself as to what should be done about it. If it had not been for that stupid oaf Ovlovetski he would have gone to The World himself and made such arrangements as to...

That was all. Feodor Ilyowicz was dead.

Thoughts flew for minutes; then Deston said, "There may not have to be any scandal. I'll yank his first a.s.sistant-his nephew, Stepan Ilyowicz, you know-and we'll see what he's like."

The nephew was deeply shocked at what had happened, but he opened his mind fully and completely.

While his uncle had always been a solitary, secretive sort of man, one who never opened his screens fully to anyone, he had always believed him to be thoroughly loyal to the Galaxian cause. He had always acted that way; had never given any grounds whatever for suspicion.

Yes, he himself believed fully in Galaxianism and was completely loyal to it. Yes, if acceptable to the Board, he would be very glad indeed to take his uncle's place on the Board.

It was agreed that Maynard would have to know the whole truth, and would have to decide what to do with it.

Maynard was shocked, too; and for minutes deeply thoughtful. "Well," he said, finally, "that teaches us something. There'll be no more gentlemanliness or courtesy on the Board with respect to mental privacy. Never again. No, we can't have a scandal at this point; it would be disastrous. I'll take care of it. Thanks, all of you both for this and for the fine job you've done on the whole project."

And Maynard did take care of it. It was announced with due pomp that Feodr Ilyowicz, the beloved, revered, and highly honored Second Tellurian Member of the Directorate of the Galactic Federation, had died almost instantly in his sleep of a ma.s.sive cerebral hemorrhage.

Chapter 20 THE ELECTION.

"On, Babe, look!" Barbara laughed delightedly and hugged Deston's arm against her side. "And she's four months pregnant, too."

Deston "looked." Cecily Train was romping like a schoolgirl with Teddy and Babbsy. She was on her hands and knees on the rug in the main lounge, shaking her head and growling deep in her throat; the kids, with all four hands buried in her thick red mop of curls, were tugging at it and shrieking with glee.

"Uh-huh; nice," Deston agreed. "And you aren't quite as sylph-like yourself as you were a while back." He glanced down at a slight bulge.

"Uh-huh. Bun, too. It's catching, I guess. There's some kind of a germ around, must be. S'pose we'd better fumigate the ship or something'?" Her voice was solemn, but her eyes danced. "But that wasn't what I meant, that she might hurt herself-I'm so happy for her. Who'd ever have thought that such an out-and-out stinker as she used to be would turn out to be such a wonderful person? Why, even Bun loves her now."

"Something made her change her ways, that's for sure. Love? Psionics? It's a shame to break that joyous roughhouse up, but we've got a lot of..."

"We don't have to yet, my sweet and impetuous. It can wait a few minutes. I'm going to join that roughhouse myself-the kids need exercise, you big dope."

Wherefore it was fifteen minutes later that the Big Six went to work. The fleet englobing Earth was the first thing on the agenda, and disposing of the mult.i.tude of People aboard those hundreds of huge starships was a problem. So Deston shot a thought across s.p.a.ce and -much to his surprise-Bee-ay and Beedy materialized beside him in the Explorer.

"You're that good already?" Deston marveled. The two were in perfect fusion. He had recovered fully from his fight with the Russians. Her face was no longer hard; it was beautiful. Both were again wearing platinum headbands mounting shining green jewels, but no lockets. "And those? Reasonable facsimiles, I suppose?"

"No, duplicates. We felt-well, undressed-so the Four-we won't call those wonderful people funny even in fun-showed us all about 'em and we made 'em in about a minute. We aren't charged, though, now, of course; but we could be. On most things we're getting to be pretty good-the Fourth Nume, even. We can't do long-distance 'porting yet, except on ourselves, but Stella says we'll be ready for anything in a couple of weeks. Then Mr. Maynard says we can go back to The World. He said, 'See if you can work out a program of rehabilitation that will begin to show results in the generation now being born.' He's wonderful, isn't he?"

"He's wonderful at putting people to work, that's for sure. But what we wanted to know is, how can we put all those people back on your world without lousing everything up over there?"

'Oh, easy-that'll be perfect! It won't bother them a bit= Acts of the Company,' you know. There'll he enough of them, maybe..." the fusion scanned the fleet, "... almost enough, anyway, to put everything back to normal. The Three-A's will instruct and take care of caste, and the Aceys will give them all job transfers, housing coupon books, and so on. Everything will be perfect. And that was a good idea, putting a psionic shield around The World, in case the Russians-but wouldn't it be a good idea to release it long enough to blow up their headquarters?"

"It would indeed..." Deston began. "But no atomics!" Barbara said, sharply.

"Maybe not, at that. Half a dozen two-thousand pound charges of cyclodetonite will do the trick, with no more jar than a very small earthquake, and I know where they keep the demolition stuff..."

They placed the bombs; then watched a small mountain on The World erupt and then subside. They could find no trace of what had once been there.

"That's it," Deston said then. "Now if you two will show us exactly where to put each one of-but listen! There are thousands of 'em-your Aceys will be running themselves ragged-and those three-A's will smell-h.e.l.l, everybody will smell a rat-they can't help but smell such a rough job as that."

"Oh, no, the two a.s.sured him, but they did grin at each other. "The Ways of The Company are just as inscrutable to them as to everyone else. And after such a mal-such a disaster-it would be perfectly natural, wouldn't it, for The Company to do whatever is necessary to get its World right back into full production?"

"My... G.o.d..." Cecily breathed. "But that does make a weird kind of sense, at that."

"Another thing," the Aceys went on. "It'd take simply forever to 'port them one at a time to the homes they used to have, even if they still have 'em. There's a great big recreation park back of our house-I'll show you where-so you can 'port 'em there in what you call job lots. That would be even more impressive and Company-like, don't you think?"

"I'll tell that whole c.o.c.keyed world it would," Deston agreed, and that was how the job was done.

After it was done Train, who had been looking around on his own, laughed, suddenly. "Somebody did smell your rat, Babe. Cantwell. He called Punsunby and they're both having litters of kittens all over the place."

They all looked, and Jones and Deston laughed, too; but the girls didn't think it was funny to see even two such men as those suffer so much.

"Well, whatever they decide to do, it'll keep 'em out of mischief for a while," Deston said, "so let's clean it up. Thanks a lot, you two," and the Aceys 'ported themselves back to the University.

Then the six turned the entire fleet, together with its Tellurian officers-and also together with the whole group of Russian saboteurs to be interned-over to Fleet Admiral Guerdon Dann. All this, of course, was very much contrary to International and Interplanetary Law -but what else could they have done?

Deston turned then to Bernice. "Bun, you're our supersensitive. We'd like to have you find out all you possibly can about New Russia without touching off any psychic alarms-I doubt very much if they've got anybody in your cla.s.s for delicacy of touch. The rest of us will go along, to cover you if we have to, but you'll do all the feeling around. Okay?"

"I'll give it the good old college try, Babe," silver haired Bernice said, and Operation New Russia was begun.

While all these things were going on, and for some time before, the political campaign throughout all WestHem had been waxing warmer and warmer. It was now in full, hot swing. With full prosperity restored-and everyone who could either see or hear knew how that had come about and who had brought it about-the Galaxians were really making hay.

They had made so much hay that the Sociocrats and the Consercans, the two major parties before this unprecedented break-up, had merged as the only way of beating the s...o...b..lling Galaxians; and the Communists and the Liberals had joined them after being promised a place at the trough. This fusion party, the Party of Freedom and Liberty, was called the "FreeLibs."

"That old cliche about 'strange bedfellows' was never truer," Spehn said to Maynard one day. "I never thought I'd live long enough to see renegade capital, labor, Commies, gangsters, radicals, and facists all eating out of the same dish. How long can such an alliance as that last, even if they beat us this time?"

"It's up to us to see to it that they don't beat us even this time," Maynard replied, comfortably, and lit another cigar.

Time went on; the campaign grew hotter and hotter, and at the calculated time the Galaxians filed criminal charges against almost a hundred Big Names of the opposition.

The "Ins" screamed and howled, of course. They'd been framed. They'd been jobbed. Swivel-tongued demagogues ranted and raved about freedom and liberty and patriotism and motherhood; about tyranny and oppression and muzzling and dictatorship and fascism and slavery and corruption and soullessness and greed. They accused the "upstairs" of everything they themselves had been doing and were still doing.

The Galaxian psiontists, however, had the facts. Events, names, dates, places, and amounts. They knew exactly what had been done, who had done it, and for how much, and they could prove their every allegation.

Truth and honesty and facts are much easier to present and to prove than are lies. Wherefore the Galaxians, in addition to publicizing their facts in newspapers, magazines, tapes, brochures, pamphlets, and flyers, also took a lot of time on the communications networks of vast InStell. According to law, InStell had to allot as much time to the FreeLibs as to the Galaxians-but it was probably neither accidental nor coincidental that little or no "network" trouble ever developed on Galaxian time.

Psiontist-lawyers took solid facts to court and inserted them solidly into jurors' heads. Corruptionists, extortioners, boodlers, political and legal, and big-shot racketeers -lords of vice and crime-began to go one by one behind bars.

And the vast, lethargic, unorganized public began to stir... began finally to move...

As Election Day drew near, the "fuss" predicted by Spehn did indeed develop. Nor was it merely "some" fuss; there was a lot of it. There was a great deal of violence; there were more than a few deaths. Intrenched and corrupt power does not yield easily to displacement. The deeper it is intrenched and the more corrupt it is, the more difficult its ouster is, and WestHem's government had been corrupt to the core for a very long time. Thus, while some of the former inc.u.mbents were now in jail and more were on the way, the vacancies had been filled by people of the same stripe and the lower echelons, the boys and girls who got out the vote, had not been touched.

It was a thoroughly dirty campaign; nor were the Galaxians exactly lily-white. While most of the mud they threw was true-even though some of it could not be proved except by psionic evidence, which of course was not admissible in court-they did at times do quite a little extrapolating: but not when they could get caught at it very easily.

The Galaxians had another great advantage in that every important political meeting was attended by at least one high-powered psiontist; and at these rallies, Galaxian or FreeLib, those experts inserted the truth into minds theretofore closed to reason. These minds thought, of course, that they had perceived the truth for themselves.

Registration soared to an all-time high of ninety eight point nine percent of all eligible voters.

Maynard knew that the Galaxians would lose every stronghold of organized Labor and every district controlled by ward heelers. He knew that they would win in all suburbs and "out in the sticks." It was in the middle regions that the issue would be decided, and he knew exactly where those regions were. He also knew that, in spite of all the illegal work the Galaxians had done in those regions, they would lose a lot of them. The decision would be close: altogether too close.

On the morning of Election Day, then, especially in those doubtful regions, tension hit its peak. Voting was far from clean, on both sides, but in that skullduggery the Galaxians again had two great advantages. First, their ringers and repeaters had been set up so far in advance and so carefully as to avoid suspicion. Second, they had the psiontists. Not one in every precinct, of course, but one could 'port to any polling-place in less than one second of time.

And whenever a mind-reader stared into an imposter's eyes and told him who he really was, where he really lived, when and where and who had paid him how much, and dared him to sign that false name, the impostor ran: but fast.

Even so, it was very close. It see-sawed back and forth all night. Maynard and his staff were worn and drawn when, at ten o'clock next morning, it became mathematically certain that the Galaxians had lost the presidency and had not won control of either the Senate or the House.

"I can't say that I'm not disappointed," Maynard said then, "but-considering the lethargy of John and Mary Public, that we are a completely new party, and what the FreeLibs promised everybody-we did very well. We elected such a strong minority that the opposition will have to maintain a solid front, which will be very hard for them to do. If we keep on working, and we will, we should be able to win next time."

Chapter 21 THE BATTLE OF NEW RUSSIA.

Bernice sat on the rostrum, at Maynard's right, when he called the Board to order and said, aloud for the record: "Mrs. Jones, who is by far the most sensitive perceiver known to us, has made an intensive psionic study of New Russia. Her report is already on tape; but, since you are all psiontists, I have asked her to give you, mind to mind, everything she found out, so that you will be able to perceive and to fee! the many sidebands, connotations, and implications that can not possibly be put into words. Mrs. Jones, will you take the floor, please?"

Bernice took Maynard's place in the speaker's box and an almost absolute silence fell; a silence that, even at the speed of thought, lasted almost half an hour. When she sat down, all two-hundred-odd members of the Board breathed gustily and stared at each other with emotions and expressions that simply cannot be described. Maynard resumed his place at the speaker's stand and spoke into the microphone: "You see that Communism has not changed one iota in over two hundred years. It is a rule based solely upon violence and fear. It is a rule of terror, of spies, of informers, of secret police of the lowest, most brutal type -police who use by choice the most callous, the most hideous techniques of all the older regimes of the iron heel; those of the GESTAPO and the OGPU and the SLRESK and the KARSH. There are no civil liberties, no rights of any kind except those based upon the power to kill. There have been, there are now, and there will continue to be a.s.sa.s.sinations and purges; slaughter at the whim of one power-mad man or of a group of such men.

"It is my considered opinion that Communism should have been wiped out before atomic energy was developed. It has never been willing to cooperate with any decent civilization. It was forced into a kind of coexistence by the certain knowledge that if it did not at least pretend to accept coexistence it itself would be destroyed in the world-wide holocaust that would inevitably follow any attempt at conquest by armed force. Its basic drive, its prime tenet, however, has not changed. Not in any particular. Its insane l.u.s.t for dominance will never be satisfied until all civilization lies prostrate under its spike-studded clubs. Before colonization, it devoted its every effort, fair and foul, to the mastery of the entire Earth; since the first planet was colonized its innate compulsion was, now is, and will continue to be the complete mastery of civilization everywhere; where ever in total s.p.a.ce our civilization may go.

"It is my carefully-considered personal opinion that this cancer in the body politic, if it is not extirpated now, will soon become inoperable. At the time when we acquired the fleet that had been englobing Earth, the Communists had built on their hidden planet a warfleet almost as large as our own. They were and still are building more superdreadnoughts. They intended to attack us as soon as their superiority was sufficient to warrant an all-out bid for supremacy. It was only the acquirement of that fleet that gave us overwhelming superiority as of now. How long will our superiority last? They are building much faster than we can without converting to a war footing. Shall we do that, and try to perpetuate the cold war? An attempt that will certainly fail sooner or later? The only question, as I see it, is: Do we want war now, while by luck we have the means to win; or later, when we very probably will not have?

"I use the words 'very probably will not' advisedly; with reference to our ultra-high-acceleration screened battle torpedoes, against which we ourselves have no defense except a planet-based repulsor. It is practically certain that the Russians do not have them in production yet. Ilyowicz knew about there and pa.s.sed the information along; but he himself was neither an engineer nor a scientist, and-fortunately-we kept the whole TIMPS project top secret and under psionic guard. The Russians will develop them in time, certainly; possibly in months, or even weeks. If we wait until they have them in production we may still be able to vin, but I need not tell you at what appalling cost in lives.

"Mrs. Jones showed you the large portions of certain munitions plants, and entire areas that are probably munitions plants, that are hidden under psionic shields. The meaning of that is clear.

"I now ask the supremely vital question: Ladies and gentlemen of the Board- Shall we fight now or not?" There was some discussion, but not very much. Every person in the hall knew the whole story with psionic certainty, and the spirit of Patrick Henry still lived. The vote was unanimous for immediate war.

The Galaxians' Grand Fleet, six hundred thirty five superdreadnoughts strong, was in subs.p.a.ce on its way to New Russia. Fleet Admiral Dann, in his flagship Terra, felt happy, proud, and confident. Since bombs could not be teleported though competent psionic screening and the Communists had plenty of competent psiontists, the battle would have to be fought along conventional lines. However, that was all right. He now had overwhelming superiority. He also had the TIMPS; which, he was sure, would win the battle. The worst that could happen was that he couldn't get them all. A lot of them would get away by immerging... unless that thing Deston and Adams were working on would... maybe...

That was the only thing about this whole operation he didn't like. He called Adams, aboard the Explorer; which subs.p.a.ce-going laboratory, while traveling in the same direction as the fleet and at the same velocity, was in no sense any part of it.

"Doc," Dann thought at him, "I'm going to try again. I know there are only fourteen of you aboard this time, but G.o.d d.a.m.n it, there's only one Andrew Adams. You're the most important man alive, and n.o.body in his right mind would call the Big Six expendable, either. The rest of us are-that's our business-but if you get killed there'll be h.e.l.l to pay and no pitch hot. I'd probably have to take cyanide or face a firing squad. So won't you please, please go back home and stay there?"

"We will not," Adams replied. "Your solicitude for us does not impress me, and that for yourself is absurd it is on record that we are working independently of your fleet and against your wishes. We are conducting a scientific investigation, which may or may not result in the destruction of one or more Communist warships. It may or may not result in the loss of one or all of our lives, although we believe that we have a rather high probability of safety. In any case, the data we obtain will be preserved, which is all that is important. Whatever else happens is immaterial-the results of this investigation, young man, are necessary to science," and Adams cut the telepathic line.

Dann sat back appalled. He had heard of selfless devotion to a cause, but this... and not only himself, but also his wife and the other twelve top psiontists of all known s.p.a.ce...

But Admiral Dann had very little time to ponder abstractions. Grand Fleet emerged. Not in tight formation, of course-really fine control was to come later but most of the subs.p.a.cers came out within a few thouand miles of where they had intended to. And every Galaxian ship, as it emerged, hurled death and destruction. The TIMPS were launched first, of course; they were the Sunday punch. Thousands of killers erupted, too, and hundreds of ordinary torps. They were not expected to do much damage-and they didn't-but they would fill the ether full of fireworks and they might keep the Communist needlemen busy enough with their lasers so that some of them might get through. At least, they'd give the enemy sharpshooters something to do. Then, long before the end of the fifteen seconds it would take for the first TIMPS and killers to reach their targets, the big Galaxian battlewagons put out their every course of battle screen, torched up their every battle beam, and tore in at full drive to englobe the Commie ships and blast them out of the ether.

All s.p.a.ce became filled with the unbearable brilliance, the incomprehensible energies of hundred-megaton warheads exploding as thick as sparks from a forging ram, and eight of the Communist ships of war were volatilized at that first blast.

But fifteen seconds at battle tension is a long time; plenty of time for a smart commander-especially one who has been warned that the enemy may have a weapon against which he has no defense-to push his IMMERSE b.u.t.ton and flit for the protection of an umbrella. Therefore, five seconds after the first Commie ship had been blown to atoms-twenty seconds after the battle's beginning and long before Grand Fleet could begin englobing tactics against individual Communist ships-the Battle of New Russia was over. Not one Communist warship remained in s.p.a.ce.

There was some defensive action, of course. The Commies had launched a lot of long-range stuff, too, but it was all ordinary stuff; stuff that could be handled. Defensive and repulsor screens flared white and beamers and lasermen were very busy men indeed for a few minutes, but not one Galaxian vessel was very badly damaged or had to immerse.

Admiral Dann had followed the last few Commies into subs.p.a.ce with his sense of perception, but they had simply disappeared-with no sign of damage or of violence. Okay: if they re-emerged to continue the battle that would be all right; if they never re-emerged that would be still better. Wherefore, after ordering full detection alert, both up and down, he relaxed-still strapped down at his con-board-and waited to hear from Maynard.

It is exceedingly difficult, as all psiontists know, to work the Fourth Nume of Total Reality. What, then, of the Fifth? It had been known, theoretically, for many years, as the realm of two abysmally fundamental and irreconcilably opposed aspects of that Reality.

First, there was DISCONTINUITY. This was the aspect of complete unpredictability. The infinity-to-the-infinitieth power of all possible and impossible events could and would happen; simultaneously, in regular or in irregular sequence, or at complete random, or in all of these ways at once; completely without justification, reason, or cause.

Second, there was something that was called, for lack of a better term, CREATIVITY. This was the hyper volume locus of the basic male principle, although s.e.x as such was only an infinitesimal part of it. It was the aspect or phase-Quality? Ability? Primal Urge? Power? Force?-backing and binding all being and all doing. It was the-the Will? The Drive? The Compulsion?to be, to do, to develop, to grow-TO CREATE. It was the enormous "natural tendency" toward the continuing existence of a universe of order and of law. Call it what you please, it is that without which-or without the application of which: language is so helpless in psionicsl -this our universe could not have come into being and would not even momentarily endure.