When Kandron called his minion in that small and nameless base to learn

whether or not he had succeeded in trapping the Palainian Lensman, Nadreck's relay

station functioned so perfectly, and Nadreck was so completely in charge of his

captive's mind, that the caller could feel nothing out of the ordinary. Ultra-suspicious

though Kandron was, there was nothing whatever to indicate that anything had changed

at that base since he had last called its commander. That individual's subconscious

mind reacted properly to the key stimulus. The conscious mind took over, remembered,

and answered properly a series of trick questions.

     These things occurred because the minion was still alive. His ego, the pattern

and matrix of his personality, was still in existence and had not been changed. What

Kandron did not and could not suspect was that that ego was no longer in control of

mind, brain, or body; that it was utterly unable, of its own volition, either to think any iota

of independent thought or to stimulate any single physical cell. The Onlonian's ego was

present—just barely present—but that was all. It was Nadreck who, using that ego as a

guide and, in a sense, as a helplessly impotent transformer, received the call. Nadreck

made those exactly correct replies. Nadreck was now ready to render a detailed and

fully documented—and completely mendacious—report upon his own destruction!

     Nadreck's special tracers were already out, determining line and intensity.

Strippers and analyzers were busily at work on the fringes of the beam, dissecting out,

isolating, and identifying each of the many scraps of extraneous thought accompanying

the main beam. These side-thoughts, in fact, were Nadreck's prime concern. The

Second-Stage Lensman had learned that no being—except possibly an Arisian—could

narrow a beam of thought down to one single, pure sequence. Of the four, however,

only Nadreck recognized in those side-bands a rich field; only he had designed and

developed mechanisms with which to work that field.

     The stronger and clearer the mind, the fewer and less complete were the

extraneous fragments of thought; but Nadreck knew that even Kandron's brain would

carry quite a few such nongermane accompaniments, and from each of those bits he

could reconstruct an entire sequence as accurately as a competent paleontologist

reconstructs a prehistoric animal from one fossilized piece of bone.

     Thus Nadreck was completely ready when the harshly domineering Kandron

asked his first real question.

     "I do not suppose that you have succeeded in killing the Lensman?"

     "Yes, Your Supremacy, I have." Nadreck could feel Kandron's start of surprise;

could perceive without his instruments Kandron's fleeting thoughts of the hundreds of

unsuccessful previous attempts upon his life. It was clear that the Onlonian was not at

all credulous.

     "Report in detail!" Kandron ordered.

     Nadreck did so, adhering rigidly to the truth up to the moment in which his probes

of force had touched off the Boskonian alarms. Then:

     "Spy-ray photographs taken at the instant of alarm show an indetectable

speedster, with one, and only one occupant, as Your Supremacy anticipated. A careful

study of all the pictures taken of that occupant shows: first, that he was definitely alive at

that time, and was neither a projection nor an artificial mechanism; and second, that his

physical measurements agree in every particular with the specifications furnished by

Your Supremacy as being those of Nadreck of Palain VII.

     "Since Your Supremacy personally computed and supervised the placement of

those projectors," Nadreck went smoothly on, "you know that the possibility is

vanishingly small that any material thing, free or inert, could have escaped destruction.

As a check, I took seven hundred twenty nine samples of the circumambient space,

statistically at random, for analysis. After appropriate allowances for the exactly-

observed elapsed times of sampling, diffusion of droplets and molecular and atomic

aggregates, temperatures, pressures, and all other factors known or assumed to be

operating, I determined that there had been present in the center of action of our beams

a mass of approximately four thousand six hundred seventy eight point zero one metric

tons. This value, Your Supremacy will note, is in close agreement with the most efficient

mass of an indetectable speedster designed for long distance work."

     That figure was in fact closer than close. It was an almost exact statement of the

actual mass of Nadreck's ship.

     "Exact composition?" Kandron demanded.

     Nadreck recited a rapid-fire string of elements and figures. They, too, were

correct within the experimental error of a very good analyst. The base commander had

not known them, but it was well within the bounds of possibility that the insidious

Kandron would. He did. He was now practically certain that his ablest and bitterest

enemy had been destroyed at last, but there were still a few lingering shreds of doubt.

     "Let me look over your work," Kandron directed.

     "Yes, Your Supremacy." Nadreck the Thorough was ready for even that extreme

test. Through the eves of the ultimately enslaved monstrosity Kandron checked and

rechecked Nadreck's pictures, Nadreck's charts and diagrams, Nadreck's more than

four hundred pages of mathematical, physical, and chemical notes and determinations;

all without finding a single flaw.

     In the end Kandron was ready to believe that Nadreck had in fact ceased to exist.

However, he himself had not done the work. There was no corpse. If he himself had

killed the Palainian, if he himself had actually felt the Lensman's life depart in the grasp

of his own tentacles; then, and only then, would he have known that Nadreck was dead.

As it was, even though the work had been done in exact accordance with his own

instructions, there remained an infinitesimal uncertainty. Wherefore:

     "Shift your field of operations to cover X-174, Y-240, Z-16. Do not relax your

vigilance in the slightest because of what has happened." He considered briefly the idea

of allowing the underling to call him, in case anything happened, but decided against it.

"Are the men standing up?"

     "Yes, Your Supremacy, they are in very good shape indeed."

     And so on. "Yes, Your Supremacy, the psychologist is doing a very fine job. Yes,

Your Supremacy . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . ."

     Very shortly after the characteristically Kandronesque ending of that interview,

Nadreck had learned everything he needed to know. He knew where Kandron was and

what he was doing. He knew much of what Kandron had done during the preceding

twenty years; and, since be himself figured prominently in many of those sequences,

they constituted invaluable checks upon the validity of his other reconstructions. He

knew the construction, the armament, and the various ingenious mechanisms, including

the locks, of Kandron's vessel; he knew more than any other outsider had ever known of

Kandron's private life. He knew where Kandron was going next, and what he was going

to do there. He knew in broad what Kandron intended to do during the coming century.

     Thus well informed, Nadreck set his speedster into a course toward the planet of

Civilization which was Kandron's next objective. He did not hurry; it was no part of his

plan to interfere in any way in the horrible program of planet-wide madness and

slaughter which Kandron had in mind. It simply did not occur to him to try to save the

planet as well as to kill the Onlonian; Nadreck, being Nadreck, took without doubt or

question the safest and surest course.

     Nadreck knew that Kandron would set his vessel into an orbit around the planet,

and that he would take a small boat —a flitter—for the one personal visit necessary to

establish his lines of communication and control. Vessel and flitter would be alike

indetectable, of course; but Nadreck found the one easily enough and knew when the

other left its mother-ship. Then, using his lightest, stealthiest spy-rays, the Palainian set

about the exceedingly delicate business of boarding the Boskonian craft.

     That undertaking could be made a story in its own right, for Kandron did not

leave his ship unguarded. However, merely by thinking about his own safety, Kandron

had all unwittingly given away the keys to his supposedly impregnable fortress. While

Kandron was wondering whether or not the Lensman was really dead, and especially

after he had been convinced that he most probably was, the Onlonian's thoughts had

touched fleetingly upon a multitude of closely-related subjects. Would it be safe to

abandon some of the more onerous precautions he had always taken, and which had

served him so well for so many years? And as he thought of them, each one of his

safeguards flashed at least partially into view; and for Nadreck, any significant part was

as good as the whole. Kandron's protective devices, therefore, did not protect.

Projectors, designed to flame out against intruders, remained cold. Ports opened; and

as Nadreck touched sundry buttons various invisible beams, whose breaking would

have produced unpleasant results, ceased to exist. In short, Nadreck knew all the

answers. If he had not been coldly certain that his information was complete, he would

not have acted at all.

     After entry, his first care was to send out spotting devices which would give

warning in case Kandron should return unexpectedly soon. Then, working in the

service-spaces behind instrument-boards and panels, in junction boxes, and in various

other out-of-the-way places, he cut into lead after lead, ran wire after wire, and installed

item after item of apparatus and equipment upon which he had been at work for weeks.

He finished his work undisturbed. He checked and rechecked the circuits, making

absolutely certain that every major one of the vessel's controlling leads ran to or through

at least one of the things he had just installed. With painstaking nicety he obliterated

every visible sign of his visit. He departed as carefully as he had come; restoring to full

efficiency as he went each one of Kandron's burglar-alarms.

     Kandron returned, entered his ship as usual, stored his flitter, and extended a

tentacular member toward the row of switches on his panel.

     "Don't touch anything, Kandron," he was advised by a thought as cold and as

deadly as any one of his own; and upon the Onlonian equivalent of a visiplate there

appeared the one likeness which he least expected and least desired to perceive.

     "Nadreck of Palain VII—Star A Star—THE Lensman!" The Onlonian was

physically and emotionally incapable of gasping, but the idea is appropriate. "You have,

then, wired and mined this ship."

     There was a subdued clicking of relays. The Bergenholm came up to speed, the

speedster spun about and darted away under a couple of kilodynes of drive.

     "I am Nadreck of Palain VII, yes. One of the group of Lensmen whose collective

activities you have ascribed to Star A Star and the Lensman. Your ship is, as you have

deduced, mined. The only reason you did not die as you entered it is that I wish to be

really certain, and not merely statistically so, that it is Kandron of Onlo, not someone,

else, who dies."

     "That unutterable fool!" Kandron quivered in helpless rage. "Oh, that I had taken

the time and killed you myself!"

     "If you had done your own work, the techniques I used here could not have been

employed, and you might have been in no danger at the present moment," Nadreck

admitted, equably enough. "My powers are small, my intellect feeble, and what might

have been has no present bearing. I am inclined, however, to question the validity of

your conclusions, due to the known fact that you have been directing a campaign

against me for over twenty years without success; whereas I have succeeded against

you in less than half a year. . . . My analysis is now complete. You may now touch any

control you please. By the way, you do not deny that you are Kandron of Onlo, do you?"

     Neither of those monstrous beings mentioned or even thought of mercy. In

neither of their languages was there any word for or concept of such a thing.

     "That would be idle. You know my pattern as well as I know yours. . . . I cannot

understand how you got through that. . ."

     "It is not necessary that you should. Do you wish to close one of those switches

or shall I?"

     Kandron had been thinking for minutes, studying every aspect of his

predicament. Knowing Nadreck, he knew just how desperate the situation was. There

was, however, one very small chance—just one. The way he had come was clear. That

was the only clear way. Wherefore, to gain an extra instant of time, he reached out

toward a switch; but even while he was reaching he put every ounce of his tremendous

strength into a leap which hurled him across the room toward his flitter.

     No luck. One of Nadreck's minor tentacles was already Curled around a switch,

tensed and ready. Kandron was still in air when a relay snapped shut and four canisters

of duodec detonated as one. Duodecaplylatomate, that frightful detonant whose

violence is exceeded only by that of nuclear disintegration!

     There was an appalling flash of viciously white light, which expanded in

milliseconds into an enormous globe of incandescent gas. Cooling and darkening as it

expanded rapidly, into the near-vacuum of interplanetary space, the gases and vapors

soon became invisible. Through and throughout the entire volume of volatilization

Nadreck drove analyzers and detectors, until he knew positively that no particle of

material substance larger in diameter than five microns remained of either Kandron or

his space-ship. He then called the Gray Lensman.

     "Kinnison? Nadreck of Palain VII calling, to report that my assignment has been

completed. I have destroyed Kandron of Onlo."

     "Good! Fine business, ace! What kind of a picture did you get? He must have

known something about the higher echelons—or did he? Was he just another dead

end?"

     "I did not go into that."

     "Huh? Why not?" Kinnison demanded, exasperation in every line of his thought.

     "Because it was not included in the project," Nadreck explained, patiently. "You

already know that one must concentrate in order to work efficiently. To secure the

requisite minimum of information it was necessary to steer his thoughts into one, and

only one, set of channels. There were some foreign side-bands, of course, and it may

be that some of them touched upon this new subject which you have now, too late,

introduced . . . no, there were no such."

     "Damnation!" Kinnison exploded; then by main strength shut himself up. "QX,

ace; skip it. But listen, my spiny and murderous friend. Get this—engrave it in big type

right on the top-side inside of your thick skull—what we want is INFORMATION, not

mere liquidation. Next time you get hold of such a big shot as Kandron must have been,

don't kill him until either: first, you get some leads as to who or what the real head of the

outfit is; or, second, you make sure that he doesn't know. Then kill him all you want to,

but FIND OUT WHAT HE KNOWS FIRST. Have I made myself clear this time?"

     "You have, and as coordinator your instructions should and will govern. I point

out, however, that the introduction of a multiplicity of objectives into a problem not only

destroys its unity, but also increases markedly both the time necessary for, and the

actual personal danger involved in, its solution."

     "So what?" Kinnison countered, as evenly as he could. "That way, we may be

able to get the answer some day. Your way, we never will. But the thing's done—there's

no use yapping and yowling about it now. Have you any ideas as to what you should do

next?"

     "No. Whatever you wish, that I shall try to do."

     "I'll check with the others." He did so, receiving no helpful ideas until he consulted

his wife.

     "Hi, Kim, my dear!" came Clarrissa's buoyant thought; and, after a brief but

intense greeting: "Glad you called. Nothing definite enough yet to report to you officially,

but there are indications that Lyrane IX may be an important . . .

     "Nine?" Kinnison interrupted. "Not Eight again?"

     "Nine," she confirmed. "A new item. So I may be doing a flit over there one of

these days."

     "Uh-uh," he denied. "Lyrane Nine would be none of your business. Stay away

from it."

     "Says who?" she demanded. "We went into this once before, Kim, about you

telling me what I could and couldn't do."

     "Yeah, and I came out second best." Kinnison grinned. "But now, as coordinator,

I make suggestions to even Second-Stage Lensmen, and they follow them—or else. I

therefore suggest officially that you stay away from Lyrane IX on the grounds that since

it is colder than a Palainian's heart, it is definitely not your problem, but Nadreck's. And

I'm adding this—if you don't behave yourself I'll come over there and administer

appropriate physical suasion."

     "Come on over—that'd be fun!" Clarrissa giggled, then sobered quickly. "But

seriously, you win, I guess—this time. You'll keep me informed?"

     "I'll do that. Clear ether, Cris!" and he turned back to the Palainian.

     ". . . so you see this is your problem. Go to it, little chum."