Masters Of The Vortex Part 10

'Joanie, my not-so-bright old friend,' she had been thinking, 'you've simply got to cut out this silly d.a.m.n foolishness and act your age. You must not must not fall in love with him; there'd be nothing in it for either of you. You are thirty-four years old and he has had his Jo.' fall in love with him; there'd be nothing in it for either of you. You are thirty-four years old and he has had his Jo.'

'Storm!' she snapped. 'Answer me! Or did ...' Her tone changed remarkably: '... did something ... happen to you?'

'No, Joanie.' He shook his head and wrenched his attention back to reality. 'But first, is whatever I'm doing really a mind-block, and is it really holding?'

'Yes-to both-curse it! And "Joanie", eh? You did did get in. get in.

How did it go?'

'Not so good. Barely a touch. It didn't spread after we,got it started. Just one flash and it went out."

'Hm ... m ... m. That's funny ... Not the way it worked with me at all. However, I don't see that it makes any difference whether you get it by drips and driblets or all at once, just so you get the full ability eventually. What was it you picked up the first time, Storm?'

'That's one thing you'll never know, if I have to hold this block forever.'

'Oh.' Joan blushed, vividly. 'I know what it was, then, I think. But don't you see ... ?'

'No, I don't see," Cloud interrupted. 'All I see is that it's worse than being a Peeping Tom in a girls' dormitory. I don't like it.

112.

I don't like any part of it.'

'You wouldn't, of course-at first. Nevertheless, Storm, you and I have got got to work together, whether either of us likes what happens or not. So let's get at it. Bring it out and look at it- let's see if it's so bad, really. It was just that I was afraid maybe I was going to fall in love with you and get burned to a crisp around the edges, wasn't it?' to work together, whether either of us likes what happens or not. So let's get at it. Bring it out and look at it- let's see if it's so bad, really. It was just that I was afraid maybe I was going to fall in love with you and get burned to a crisp around the edges, wasn't it?'

'That was part of it. You were wrong in two things, though. No matter how much I loved Jo-and I really did love her, you know ...'

'I know, Storm." Her voice was very gentle. 'Everybody knows you did. Not only did-you still do.'

'Yes. So much so that I thought I'd never be able to talk about her without going off the deep end. But I can, now. I'm beginning to think that perhaps Phil Strong was right. Perhaps a man can love twice in his life, in exactly the same way.'

The woman caught her breath and started to say something, then changed her mind. The man went on: 'The second point in error is that a woman at age thirty-four is not necessarily a doddering wreck with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.'

'Oh ... I'm so glad, Storm!' she breathed; then changed mood with an almost audible snap. 'There! It's done and your guard is down. It wasn't too bad, was it?'

'Not a bit.' Cloud was surprised at how easily the thing had been ironed out. 'You're a prime number, Joanie-a slick, smooth operator. As smooth as five feet and two inches of tan velvet.'

'Uh-uh. Not me, so much; it's just that we're a very nicely-matched pair. But I think we'd better lay off a while before trying it again, don't you?'

'Check. Let our minds-mine, anyway-get over the jitters and collywobbles.'

'Mine, too, brother; and I've got a sort of feeling that what that mind of yours is going to develop into, little by little, is something slightly different from ordinary telepathy. But in the meantime, you'd better get back to work.'

'I don't know whether I can work up much enthusiasm for work right now or not.'

'Sure you can, if you try. What were you doing to that chart when I came in? What have you got there, anyway?'

113.

'Come on over and I'll show you.' They bent over the work-table, heads almost touching. 'The pink area is the explored part of the First Galaxy. The marks represent all the loose vortices I know of. I've been applying all the criteria I can think of to give me some kind of a toe-hold, but up to the present moment I'm completely baffled.'

'Have you tried chronology yet? Peeling 'em off in layers- by centuries, say?'

'Not exactly, although I did run a correlation against time. Mostly been studying 'em either singly or en ma.s.se up to now. Might be worth a fling, though. Why? Got a hunch?'

'No. And no particular reason; just groping for more detailed data. Before you can solve any problem, you know, you must know exactly what the problem is-must be able to state it clearly. You can't do that yet, can you?'

'You know I can't. I've got some coloured pins here somewhere ... here they are. Read me the dates and I'll stick colors accordingly.'

They soon ran out of colors; then continued with num- bered-head thumb-tacks.

The job finished, they stood back and examined the results.

'See anything, Joan?'

'I see something, something, but before I mention it, give me a quick briefing on what you know already.' but before I mention it, give me a quick briefing on what you know already.'

Cloud thought for a minute. 'Well, the distribution in s.p.a.ce is not random, but there is no significant correlation with location, age, size, power, load-factor, or actual number of power-plants. Nor with nature, condition, or age of the civilization of any planet. Nor with anything else I've been able to dream up.

'They aren't random in time, either; but there again there's no correlation with the age of the power-plant affected, the age-status of atomic power of any particular planet, or any other thing except one-there is an extremely high correlation-practically unity-with time itself.' 'I thought so.' Joan nodded. 'That was what I noticed. The older, the fewer.'

'Exactly. But with your new cla.s.sification, Joan, I think I see something else.' Cloud's mathematical-prodigy's mind pounced. 'And how! how! Until very recently, Joan, the data will plot exactly on the ideal-growth-of-population curve.', Until very recently, Joan, the data will plot exactly on the ideal-growth-of-population curve.', 114.

'Oh, they breed, some way or other. Nice-that gives us a...'

'You said that, woman, I didn't. I stated a fact; if you wish to extrapolate it, that's your privilege-but it's also your responsibility.'

'Huh! Don't go pedantic on me. Haven't you got any guesses?'

'Except for this recent jump, which we can probably ascribe to Fairchild and explosives, nary a guess. I can't see any possible point of application.'

'Neither can I. But if that's the only positive correlation you can find, and it's just about unity, it must mean something.' something.'

'Check. It's got got to mean something. All we have to do is find out what... I think maybe I see something else.' Bending over, he sighted across the chart from various angles. 'Too many pins. Let's clear a belt through here.' They did so. 'Will you read 'em to me in order, beginning with the oldest?' to mean something. All we have to do is find out what... I think maybe I see something else.' Bending over, he sighted across the chart from various angles. 'Too many pins. Let's clear a belt through here.' They did so. 'Will you read 'em to me in order, beginning with the oldest?'

'At your service, sir. Sol.'

Cloud stuck a pin in Sol.

'Galien- Salvador- DuPont- Eastman- Mercator- Cen-tralia Tressilia- Chickladoria- Crevenia- DeSilva- Wynor -Aldebaran ...'

'Hold it! Don't want Aldebaran-can't use it. Take a look at this!' For the first time Cloud's voice showed excitement.

She looked, and saw a gently curving line of pins running three-quarters of the way across the chart. 'Why-that's a smooth curve-looks as though it could be the arc of a circle -clear across all explored s.p.a.ce!' She exclaimed.

Cloud's mind pounced again. 'It is a circle-pretty close, that is, according to these rough figures. Will you read me the exact coordinates-spatial-from the book?'

She did so, and through Cloud's mind raced the appropriate equations of solid a.n.a.lytic geometry.

'Even closer. Now let's apply a final refinement. From their proper motions we can put each star back to where it was at the vortex date. It'll take a little time, but it may be worth it.'

It was. Cloud's mien was solemn as he announced his final figures. 'Those twelve suns all lay on the surface of a sphere. Radius, 53,327 pa.r.s.ecs, with a probable error of one point three zero pa.r.s.ecs-which, since the average density of the stars along that line is about point zero four five per cubic pa.r.s.ec, makes it 115.

as perfect a spherical surface as it is physically possible for it to be. The center of that sphere is almost exactly on the ecliptic; its coordinates are: Theta, 225-12'-31.2647"; distance, 107.2259.'.

'Good heavens! It's that that exact? And exact? And that that far outside the Rim? That spoils my original idea of radiation from a center. But all of the twelve oldest vortices are on that surface, and far outside the Rim? That spoils my original idea of radiation from a center. But all of the twelve oldest vortices are on that surface, and none none of them are anywhere else!' of them are anywhere else!'

'So they are. Which gets us where, lady?' 'Nowhere that I can see, with a stupendous velocity.' 'You and me both. Another thing, why that particular time-s.p.a.ce relations.h.i.+p in the first twelve? I can accept Tellus being first, because we had atomics first, but that logic doesn't follow through. Instead the time order goes from Sol through Galien and so on to Eastman-to the very edge of unexplored territory along that arc-then, jumping back to the other side of Sol, goes straight on to the edge of Civilization in the opposite direction. Can you play that that on any one of your brains, from Alice to Margie?' on any one of your brains, from Alice to Margie?'

'I don't see how.'

'I don't either. That relations.h.i.+p certainly means something, too, but I'm d.a.m.ned if I can make any sense out of it. And what sense is there in a spherical surface that big? And why so unG.o.dly accurate? Alphacent, there, is less than one pa.r.s.ec outside the surface, but it didn't have a blow-up for over seven hundred years. How come? Anybody or anything capable of traveling that far could certainly travel half a pa.r.s.ec farther if he wanted to. And look at the time involved-over a thousand years! a.s.suming some purpose, what could it be? Human operations, or any other kind I know anything about, simply are not geared up to that kind of scope, either in s.p.a.ce or in time. None of it makes any kind of sense.'

'So you consider it purely fortuitous that this surface is as truly spherical as the texture of the medium will permit?' she asked, loftily.

'No, I don't, and you know I don't-and don't misquote me, woman! It's too fantastically accurate to be accidental. And that ties right in with the previous paradox-that vortices can't possibly be either accidental or deliberate,'

'From a semantic viewpoint, your phraseology is deplorable. The term "paradox" is inadmissible-meaningless. We simply 116.

haven't enough data. I simply can't can't believe, Storm, that those horrible things were set off on purpose.' believe, Storm, that those horrible things were set off on purpose.'

'Deplorable phraseology or not, I've got enough data to put the probability out beyond the nine-sigma point-the same probability as that an automatic screw-machine running six-thirty-two bra.s.s hex nuts would accidentally turn out a thirty-six-inch jet-ring made of pure t.i.tanite, diamond ground, finished, and fitted. We're getting nowhere faster and faster- with an acceleration of about 12 G's instead of any simple velocity.'

He fell silent; remained silent so long that the woman spoke. 'Well... what do you think we'd better do next?'

'All I can think of is to find out what's out there at the center of that sphere ... and then to see if we can find any other leads in this mess on the chart. I'll call Phil.'

117.

12: Vesta Practices s.p.a.ceal

The connection was made and he brought Lensman Strong up to date, concluding: 'So will you please get hold of Planetography with a crash priority on anything they know about that point?'

Til do that, Storm. I'll call you back.'

Since Lensmen are potent beings, the call came soon.

'There's one sun there,' Strong reported, 'but it doesn't amount to much. A red dwarf-it may or may not be a single. Unexplored. Astronomical data only.'

'How close did I come to it?'

'Allowing for proper motion, you speared it. Less than two hundredths of a pa.r.s.ec off. And there's nothing else within twelve pa.r.s.ecs-stars are mighty thin out beyond the Rim, you know.'

'I know. That nails it, Phil. They don't know, of course, whether it has any planets or not?'

'No ... I see what you mean ... shall I get a special on it for you?'

'I wish you would. It'd be worth while, I think.' 'So do I. I'll call Haynes and ask him to rush a s.h.i.+p out there to get us a fine-tooth on it.' 'Thanks, Phil.'

'And there was something else ... Oh yes, your friend Fair-child. Narcotics wants him, badly.'

'I'm not surprised. Alive? That might take some doing.' 'Or dead. No difference, as long as they have his head for positive identification,' and at Cloud's surprised expression Strong went on: "They don't want him planting any more Trenconian broadleaf, is all, which he'll keep on doing as long as he's alive and loose.'

'I see. Wish I'd known sooner; we probably could have caught him on Tominga.'

'I doubt it. They've been checking back on him, and he's a very, very very sharp operator. He makes long flits, fast ... in peculiar directions. But if you stumble across him again, grab him or blast...' sharp operator. He makes long flits, fast ... in peculiar directions. But if you stumble across him again, grab him or blast...'

118.

'Just a minute, chief. You mean to say the Patrol Patrol can't can't find find him?' him?'

'Just that. He's in with a big, strong mob; probably heads it. They've been looking for him ever since you found out that he wasn't killed on Deka.'

'I'm ... I'm speechless. But Graves ... but Graves was dead, of course ... didn't anybody anybody know Fairchild's personal pattern?' 'That's exactly it; n.o.body that they could get hold of knows his know Fairchild's personal pattern?' 'That's exactly it; n.o.body that they could get hold of knows his real real pattern at all. All we've got that we can depend on are his retinals. That shows the kind of operator he is. So if you get a chance, blast him, but leave at least one eye whole and bring it in, in deep-freeze. Nothing else at the moment, is there?' 'Not that I know of. Clear ether, Phil!' 'Clear ether, Storm!' pattern at all. All we've got that we can depend on are his retinals. That shows the kind of operator he is. So if you get a chance, blast him, but leave at least one eye whole and bring it in, in deep-freeze. Nothing else at the moment, is there?' 'Not that I know of. Clear ether, Phil!' 'Clear ether, Storm!'

The plate went black and Cloud turned soberly to Joan.

'Well, that clears Fairchild up, but doesn't help with the real mystery. So, unless we can dig some more dope out of this stuff on the chart, we can't do much until we get that fine-tooth.'

Joan left the room, and Cloud, after racking his brain for an hour, got up, shook himself, and went down the corridor to his 'private' office-which had long since ceased to be private, as far as his friends were concerned-where he found Vesta and Thlaskin talking busily in s.p.a.ceal. Or, rather the Vegian was talking; the pilot was listening attentively.

'... think I'm I'm built, you ought to have seen built, you ought to have seen this this tomato,' Vesta was narrating blithely. 'What I mean, she's a tomato,' Vesta was narrating blithely. 'What I mean, she's a dis.h.!.+' dis.h.!.+' She went into a wrigglesome rhythm which, starting at the neck, flowed smoothly down her splendidly-modeled body to the ankles. She went into a wrigglesome rhythm which, starting at the neck, flowed smoothly down her splendidly-modeled body to the ankles. 'Stacked? 'Stacked? She's stacked like Gilroy's Tower, Buster-an honest-to-G.o.d DISH, believe me, and raring to go. She's stacked like Gilroy's Tower, Buster-an honest-to-G.o.d DISH, believe me, and raring to go. We We were on one of those long-week-end jaunts around the system-you know, one of those deals where things are pretty apt to get just a hair off the green at times ...' were on one of those long-week-end jaunts around the system-you know, one of those deals where things are pretty apt to get just a hair off the green at times ...'

'But hey!' Thlaskin protested. 'You said yourself a while back you wasn't old enough for that kind of monkey-business!' 'Oh, I wasn't" Vesta agreed, candidly enough. 'I still ain't. I just went along for the ride.'

'And your folks let let you?' Thlaskin was shocked. 'Natch.' Vesta was surprised. 'Why not? If a tomato don't learn the facts of life while she's young how's she going to decide what's good for her when she grows up?' you?' Thlaskin was shocked. 'Natch.' Vesta was surprised. 'Why not? If a tomato don't learn the facts of life while she's young how's she going to decide what's good for her when she grows up?'

119.

'With or without a license, I got to b.u.t.t into this,' Cloud announced, also in s.p.a.ceal; seating himself on a couch and crossing his legs. He, too, was shocked; but he was also intensely curious. 'Did you decide, Vesta?'

Before the girl could answer, however, Joan Janowick came strolling in.

'Is this a private brawl, or can anybody get in on it?' she asked, gaily.

'I invited myself in, so I'll invite you, too. Come in and sit down.' He made room for her beside him and went on in English, speaking for her ear alone: 'Just as well you don't know s.p.a.ceal. This story Vesta is telling would curl your hair.'

'Wake up, Junior.' Joan did not speak, but poured the thought directly into his mind. 'D'you think that cat-girl-that kitten- kitten- can block can block me me out of her mind?' out of her mind?'

'Oick! What a whiff! 'Scuse, please; my brain was out to lunch. But you'll get an earful, sister Janowick,'

'It'll be interesting in a way you haven't thought of, too,' Joan went on. 'Vegians are essentially feline, you know, and cats as a race are both fastidious and promiscuous. Thus, conflict. Is that what this is about?'