Galactic Patrol

19: Judge, Jury, and Executioner

It had taken the lensman a long time to work out in his mind exactly what it was that he had wanted from the Arisians, and from no single source had the basic idea come. Part of it had come from his own knowledge of ordinary hypnosis, part from the ability of the Overlords of Delgon to control from a distance the minds of others, part from Worsel, who, working through Kinnison's own mind, had done such surprising things with a Lens, and a great—part indeed from the Arisians themselves, who had the astounding ability literally and completely to superimpose their own mentalities upon those of others, wherever situation. Part by part and bit by bit the Tellurian Lensman had built up his plan, but he had not had the sheer power of intellect to make it work. Now he had that, and was ready to go.

Where? His first impulse was to return to Aldebaran I and to invade again the stronghold of the Wheelmen, who had routed him so ignominiously in his one encounter with them. Ordinary prudence, however, counseled against that course.

"You'd better lay off them a while, Kim, old boy," he told himself quite frankly. "They've got a lot of jets and you don't know how to use this new stuff of yours yet. Better pick out something easier to take!''

Ever since leaving Arisia he had been subconsciously aware of a difference in his eyesight. He was seeing things much more clearly than he had ever seen them before, more sharply and in greater detail. Now this awareness crept into his consciousness and he glanced toward his tube–lights. They were out—except for the tiny lamps and bulls–eyes of his instrument board the vessel must be in complete darkness. He remembered then with a shock that when he entered the speedster he had not turned on his lights—he could see and had not thought of them at all.

This, then was the first of the surprises the Arisian had promised him. He now had the sense of perception of the Rigellians. Or was it that of the Wheelmen? Or both? Or were they the same sense? Intently aware now, he focused his attention upon a meter before him. First upon its dial, noting that the needle was exactly upon the green hair–line of normal operation. Then deeper. Instantly the face of the instrument disappeared—moved behind his point of sight, or so it seemed—so that he could see its coils, pivots, and other interior parts. He could look into and study the grain and particlesize of the dense, hard condensite of the board itself. His vision was limited, apparently, only by his will to see.

"Well—ain't that something?" he demanded of the universe at large, then, as a thought struck him, "I wonder if they blinded me in the process?"

He switched on his lamps, discovering that his vision was unimpaired and normal in every respect, and a rigid investigation proved to him conclusively that in addition to ordinary vision he now had an extra sense—or perhaps two of them—and that he could change from one to the other, or use them simultaneously, at will! But the very fact of this discovery gave Kinnison pause.

He hadn't better go anywhere, or do anything, until he had found out something about his new equipment. The fact was that he didn't even know what he had, to say nothing of knowing how to use it. If he had the sense of a Zabriskan fontema he would go somewhere where he could do a little experimenting without getting his jets burned off in case something slipped at a critical moment. Where was the nearest Patrol base? A big one, fully defended .

Let's see…Radelix would be about the closest Sector Base, he guessedhe'd find out if he could raid that outfit without getting caught at it.

Off he shot, and in due course a fair, green, Earthlike planet lay beneath his vessel's keel. Since it was Earthlike in climate, age, atmosphere, and mass, its people were of course more or less similar to humanity in general characteristics, both of body and of mind. If anything, they were even more intelligent than Earthlings, and their Patrol base was a very strong one indeed. His spy–ray would be useless, since all Patrol bases were screened thoroughly and continuously—he would see what a sense of perception would do. From Tregonsee's explanation, it ought to work at this range.

It did. When Kinnison concentrated his attention upon the base he saw it. He advanced toward it at the speed of thought and entered it, passing through screens and metal walls without hindrance and without giving alarm. He saw men at their accustomed tasks and heard, or rather sensed, their conversation, the everyday chat of their professions. A thrill shot through him at a dazzling possibility thus revealed.

If he could make one of those fellows down there do something without his knowing that he was doing it, the problem was solved. That computer, say, make him uncover that calculator and set up a certain integral on it. It would be easy enough to get into touch with him and have him do it, but this was something altogether different.

Kinnison got into the computer's mind easily enough, and willed intensely what he was to do, but the officer did not do it. He got up, then, staring about him in bewilderment, sat down again.

"What's the matter?" asked one of his fellows. "Forget something?"

"Not ,exactly," the computer still stared. "I was going to set up an integral. I didn't want it, either—I could swear that somebody told me to set it up."

"Nobody did," grunted the other, "and you'd better start staying home nights—then maybe you wouldn't get funny ideas."

This wasn't so good, Kinnison reflected. The guy should have done it, and shouldn't have remembered a thing about it. Well, he hadn't really thought he could put it across at that distance, anyway—he didn't have the brain of an Arisian. He'd have to follow his original plan, of close–up work.

Waiting until the base was well into the night side of the planet and making sure that his flare–baffles were in place, he allowed the speedster to drop downward, landing at some little distance from the fortress. There he left the ship and made his way toward his objective in a rapid series of long, inertialess hops. Lower and shorter became the hops. Then he cut off his power entirely and walked until he saw before him, rising from the ground and stretching interminably upward, an almost invisibly shimmering web of force. This, the prowler knew, was the curtain which marked the border of the Reservation, the trigger upon which a touch, either of solid object or of beam, would initiate a succession of events which he was in no position to stop.

To the eye that base was not impressive, being merely a few square miles of level ground, outlined with low, broad pill–boxes and studded here and there with harmless–looking, bulging domes. There were a few clusters of buildings. That was allto the eye—but Kinnison was not deceived. He knew that the base itself was a thousand feet underground, that the pill–boxes housed lookouts and detectors, and that those domes were simply weathershields which, rolled back, would expose projectors second in power not even to those of Prime Base itself.

Far to the right, between two tall pylons of metal, was a gate, the nearest opening in the web. Kinnison had avoided it purposely, it was no part of his plan to subject himself yet to the scrutiny of the all–inclusive photocells of that entrance. Instead, with his new sense of perception, he sought out the conduits leading to those cells and traced them down, through concrete and steel and masonry, to the control room far below. He then superimposed his mind upon that of the man at the board and flew boldly toward the entrance. He now actually had a dual personality, since one part of his mind was in his body, darting through the the air toward the portal, while the other part was deep in the base below, watching him come and acknowledging his signals.

A trap lifted, revealing a sloping, tunneled ramp, down which the Lensman shot. He soon found a convenient storeroom, and, slipping within it, he withdrew his control carefully from the mind of the observer, wiping out all traces of that control as he did so. He then watched apprehensively for a possible reaction. He was almost sure that he had performed the operation correctly, but he had to be absolutely certain, more than his life depended upon the outcome of this test. The observer, however, remained calm and placid at his post, and a close reading of his thoughts showed that he had not the faintest suspicion that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

One more test and he was through. He must find out how many minds he could control simultaneously, but he'd better do that openly. No use making a man feel like a fool needlessly—he'd done that once already, and once was one time too many.

Therefore, reversing the procedure by which he had come, he went back to his speedster, took her out into the ether, and slept. Then, when the light of morning flooded the base, he cut his detector nullifier and approached it boldly.

"Radelix base! Lensman Kinnison of Tellus, Unattached, asking permission to land. I wish to confer with your commanding officer, Lensman Gerrond."

A spy–ray swept through the speedster, the web disappeared, and Kinnison landed, to be greeted with a quiet and cordial respect. The base–commander knew that his visitor was not there purely for pleasure—Gray Lensmen did not take pleasure jaunts. Therefore he led the way into his private office and shielded it.

"My announcement was not at all informative," Kinnison admitted then, "but my errand is nothing to be advertised. I've got to try out something, and I want to ask you and three of your best and—æstubbornness', if I may use the term– officers to cooperate with me for a few minutes. QX?"

"Of course."

Three officers were called in and Kinnison explained. "I've been working for a long time on a mind–controller, and I want to see if it works. I'll put your books on this table, one in front of each of you. Now I would like to try to make two or three of youall four of you if I can—each bend over, pick up his book, and hold it. Your part of the game will be for each of you to try not to pick it up, and to put it back as soon as you possibly can if I do make you obey. Will you?"

"Sure!" three of them chorused, and "There will be no mental damage, of course?" asked the commander.

"None whatever, and no after–effects. I've had it worked on myself, a lot."

"Do you want any apparatus?"

"No, I have everything necessary. Remember, I want top resistance."

"Let her come! You'll get plenty of resistance. If you can make any one of us pick up a book, after all this warning, I'll say you've got something."

Officer after officer, in spite of strainingly resisting mind and body, lifted his book from the table, only to drop it again as Kinnison's control relaxed for an instant. He could control two of them—any two of them—but he could not quite handle three. Satisfied, he ceased his efforts, and, as the base commander poured long, cold drinks for the sweating five, one of his fellows asked.

"What did you do, anyway, Kinnison—oh, pardon me, I shouldn't have asked."

"Sorry," the Tellurian replied uncomfortably, "but it isn't ready yet. You'll all know about it as soon as possible, but not just now."

"Sure," the Radeligian replied. "I knew I shouldn't have blasted off as soon as I spoke."

"Well, thanks a lot, fellows." Kinnison set his empty glass down with a click. "I can make a nice progress report on this do—jig now. And one more thing. I did a little long range experimenting on one of your computers last night.

"Desk Twelve? The one who thought he wanted to integrate something?"

"That's the one. Tell him I was using him for a mind–ray subject, will you, and give him this fifty–credit bill? Don't want the boys needling him too much."

"Yes, and thanks…and…I wonder…the Radeligian Lensman had something on his mind. "Well…can you make a man tell the truth with that? And if you can, will you?"

"I think so. Certainly I will, if I can. Why?" Kinnison knew that he could, but did not wish to seem cocksure.

"There's been a murder." The other three glanced at each other in understanding and sighed with profound relief. "A particularly fiendish murder of a woman—a girl, rather. Two men stand accused. Each has a perfect alibi, supported by honest witnesses, but you know how much an alibi means now. Both men tell perfectly straight stories, even under a lie–detector, but neither will let me—or any other Lensman so fartouch his mind." Gerrond paused.

"Uh–huh," Kinnison understood. "Lots of innocent people simply can't stand Lensing and have mighty strong blocks."

"Glad you've seen such. One of those men is lying with a polish I wouldn't have believed possible, or else both are innocent. And one of them must be guilty, they are the only suspects. If we try them now. we make fools of ourselves, and we can't put the trial off very much longer without losing face. If you can help us out you'll be doing a lot for the Patrol, throughout this whole sector."

"I can help you," Kinnison declared. "For this, though, better have some props. Make me a box—double Burbank controls, with five baby spots on it— orange, blue, green, purple, and red. The biggest set of headphones you've got, and a thick, black blindfold. How soon can you try 'em?"

"The sooner the better. It can be arranged for this afternoon."

The trial was announced, and long before the appointed hour the great court room of that world's largest city was thronged. The hour struck. Quiet reigned. Kinnison, in his somber gray, strode to the judge's desk and sat down behind the peculiar box upon it. In dead silence two Patrol officers approached. The first invested him reverently with the headphones, the second so enwrapped his head in black cloth that it was apparent to all observers that his vision was completely obscured.

"Although from a world far distant in space, I have been asked to try two suspects for the crime—of murder,"' Kinnison son intoned. "I do not know the details of the crime nor the identity of the suspects. I do know that they and their witnesses are within these railings. I shall now select those who are about to be examined."

Piercing beams of intense, vari–colored light played over the two groups, and the deep, impressive voice went on.

"I know now who the suspects are. They are about to rise, to walk, and to seat themselves as I shall direct."

They did so, it being plainly evident to all observers that they were under some awful compulsion.

"The witnesses may be excused. Truth is the only thing of importance here, and witnesses, being human and therefore frail, obstruct truth more frequently than they further its progress. I shall now examine these two accused."

Again the vivid, weirdly distorting glares of light lashed out, bathing in intense monochrome and in various ghastly combinations first one prisoner, then the other, all the while Kinnison drove his mind into theirs, plumbing their deepest depths. The silence, already profound, became the utter stillness of outer space as the throng, holding its very breath now, sat enthralled by that portentous examination.

"I have examined them fully. You are all aware that any Lensman of the Galactic Patrol may in case of need serve as judge, jury, and executioner. I am, however, none of these, nor is this proceeding to be a trial as you may have understood the term. I have said that witnesses are superfluous. I will now add that neither judge nor jury are necessary. All that is required is to discover the truth, since truth is all–powerful. For that same reason no executioner is needed here—the discovered truth will in and of itself serve us in that capacity.

"One of these men is guilty, the other is innocent. From the mind of the guilty one I am about to construct a composite, not of this one fiendish crime alone, but of all the crimes he has ever committed. I shall project that composite into the air before him. No innocent mind will be able to see any iota of it. The guilty man, however, will perceive its every revolting detail, and, so perceiving, he will forthwith cease to exist in this plane of life."

One of the men had nothing to fear—Kinnison had told him so, long since. The other had been trembling for minutes in uncontrollable paroxysms of terror. Now this one leaped from his seat, clawing savagely at his eyes and screaming in mad abandon.

"I did it! Help! Mercy! Take her away! Oh–h–h!" he shrieked, and died, horribly, even as he shrieked.

Nor was there noise in the court–room after the thing was over. The stunned spectators slunk away, scarcely daring even to breathe until they were safely outside.

Nor were the Radeligian officers in much better case. Not a word was said until the five were back in the base commander's office. Then Kinnison, still white of face and set of jaw, spoke. The others knew that he had found the guilty man, and that he had in some peculiarly terrible fashion executed him. He knew that they knew that the man was hideously guilty. Nevertheless.

"He was guilty," the Tellurian jerked out. "Guilty as all the devils in hell. I never had to do that before and it gripes me—but I couldn't shove the job off onto you fellows.

wouldn't want anybody to see that picture that didn't have to, and without it you could never begin to understand just how atrociously and damnably guilty that hell–hound really was."

"Thanks, Kinnison," Gerrond said, simply. "Kinnison. Kinnison of Tellus. I'll remember that name, in case we ever need you as badly again. But, after what you just did, it will be a long time—if ever. You didn't know, did you, that all the inhabitants of four planets were watching you?"

"Holy Klono, no! Were they?"

"They were, and if the way you scared me is any criterion, it will be a long, cold day before anything like that comes up again in this system. And thanks again, Gray Lensman. You have done something for our whole Patrol this day."

"Be sure to dismantle that box so thoroughly that nobody will recognize any of its component parts," and Kinnison managed a rather feeble grin. "One more thing and I'll buzz along. Do you fellows happen to know where there's a good, strong pirate base around here anywhere? And, while I don't want to seem fussy, I would like it all the better if they were warm–blooded oxygen– breathers, so I won't have to wear armor all the time."

"What are you trying to do, give us the needle, or something?" This is not precisely what the Radeligian said, but it conveys the thought Kinnison received as the base commander stared at him in amazement.

"Don't tell me that there is such a base around here!" exclaimed the Tellurian in delight. "Is there, really?"

"There is. So strong that we haven't been able to touch it, manned and staffed by natives of your own planet, Tellus of Sol. We reported it to Prime Base some eightythree days ago, just after we discovered it. You're direct from there… " He fell silent. This was no way to be talking to a Gray Lensman.

"I was in the hospital then, fighting with my nurse because she wouldn't give me anything to eat," Kinnison explained with a laugh. "When I left Tellus I didn't check up on the late data—didn't think I'd need it quite so soon. If you've got it, though….

"Hospital! You?" queried one of the younger Radeligians.

"Yeah—bit off more than I could chew," and the Tellurian described briefly his misadventure with the Wheelmen of Aldebaran I. "This other thing has come up since then, though, and I won't be sticking my neck out that way again. If you've got such a made–to–order base as that in this region, it'll save me a long trip. Where is it?"

They gave him its coordinates and what little information they had been able to secure concerning it. They did not ask him why he wanted that data. They may have wondered at his temerity in daring to scout alone a fortress whose strength had kept at bay the massed Patrol forces of the sector, but if they did so they kept their thoughts well screened. For this was a Gray Lensman, and very evidently a super–powered individual, even of that select group whose weakest members were powerful indeed. If he felt like talking they would listen, but Kinnison did not talk. He listened, then, when he had learned everything they knew of the Boskonian base.

Well, I'd better be flitting. Clear ether, fellows!" and he was gone.