Kit wanted to get back to normal space as soon as possible, in order to help his

sisters pull themselves together, just as they had helped him. Think as he would, he had

not been able to find any flaw in any of them; but he knew that Mentor would; and he

stood aside and watched while Mentor did.

     Kinnison had to get back because he had a lot of business, all of it pressing.

Finally, however, he took time to call a conference of all the Second-Stage Lensmen

and his children; a conference which, bizarrely enough, was to be held in person and

not via Lens.

     "Not strictly necessary, of course," the Gray Lensman half-apologized to his son

as their speedsters approached the Dauntless. "I still think it was a good idea, though,

especially since we were all so close to Lyrane anyway."

     "So do I. It's been mighty long since we were all together."

     They boarded. Clarrissa met Kinnison head-on just inside the portal. The girls

hung back a bit, with a trace, almost, of diffidence; even while Kit was attempting the

physically impossible feat of embracing all four of them at once.

     By common consent the Five used only their eyes. Nothing showed.

Nevertheless, the girls blushed vividly and Kit's face twisted into a dry, wry grin.

     "It was good for what ailed us, though, at that—I guess." Kit did not seem at all

positive. "Mentor, the lug, told me no less than six times that I had arrived—or at least

made statements which I interpreted as meaning that. And Eukonidor told me I was a

"finished tool", whatever that means. Personally, I think they were sitting back and

wondering how long it was going to take us to realize that we never could be half as

good as we used to think we were. Suppose?"

     "Something like that, probably. We've shivered more than once, wondering

whether we're finished products yet or not."

     "We've learned—I hope." Karen, hard as she was, did shiver, physically. "If we

aren't, it'll be . . . p-s-s-t—dad's starting the meeting!"

     ". . . so settle down, all of you, and we'll get going."

     What a group! Tregonsee of Rigel IV—stolid, solid, blocky, immobile; looking as

little as possible like one of the profoundest thinkers Civilization had ever produced—did

not move. Worsel, the ultra-sensitive yet utterly implacable Velantian, curled out three or

four eyes and looked on languidly while Constance kicked a few coils of his tail into a

comfortable chaise lounge, reclined unconcernedly in the seat thus made, and lighted

an Alsakanite cigarette. Clarrissa Kinnison, radiant in her Grays and looking scarcely

older than her daughters, sat beside Kathryn, each with an arm around the other. Karen

and Camilla, neither of whom could ordinarily be described by the adjective

"cuddlesome," were on a davenport with Kit, snuggling as close to him as they could

get. And in the farthest corner the heavily-armored, heavily-insulated space-suit which

contained Nadreck of Palain VII chilled the atmosphere for yards around.

     "QX?" Kinnison began. "We'll take Nadreck first, since he isn't any too happy

here, and let him flit—he'll keep in touch from outside after he leaves. Report, please,

Nadreck."

     "I have explored Lyrane IX thoroughly." Nadreck made the statement and

paused. When he used such a thought at all, it meant much. When he emphasized it,

which no one there had ever before known him to do, it meant that he had examined the

planet practically atom by atom. "There was no life of the level of intelligence in which

we are interested to be found on, beneath, or above its surface. I could find no evidence

that such life has ever been there, either as permanent dwellers or as occasional

visitors."

     "When Nadreck settles anything as definitely as that, it stays settled," Kinnison

remarked as soon as the Palainian had left. "I'll report next. You all know what I did

about Kalonia, and so on. The only significant fact that I've been able to find—the only

lead to the Boskonian higher-ups— is that Black Lensman Melasnikov got his Lens on

Lyrane IX. There were no traces of mental surgery. I can see two, and only two,

alternatives. Either there was mental surgery which I could not detect, or there were

visitors to Lyrane IX who left no traces of their visits. More reports may enable us to

decide. Worsel?"

     The other Second-Stage Lensmen reported in turn. Each had uncovered leads to

Lyrane IX, but Worsel and Tregonsee, who had also studied that planet with care,

agreed with Nadreck that there was nothing to be found there.

     "Kit?" Kinnison asked then. "How about you and the girls?"

     "We believe that Lyrane IX was visited by beings having sufficient power of mind

to leave no traces whatever as to who they were or where they came from. We also

believe that there was no surgery, but an infinitely finer kind of work— an indetectable

subconscious compulsion—done on the minds of the Black Lensmen and others who

came into physical contact with the Boskonians. These opinions are based upon

experiences which we five have had and upon deductions we have made. If we are

right, Lyrane is actually, as well as apparently, a dead end and should be abandoned.

Furthermore, we believe that the Black Lensmen have not been and cannot become

important."

     The coordinator was surprised, but after Kit and his sisters had detailed their

findings and their deductions, he turned to •the Rigellian.

     "What next, then, Tregonsee?"

     "After Lyrane IX, it seems to me that the two most promising subjects are those

entities who think upon such a high band, and the phenomenon which has been called

'The Hell-Hole in Space.' Of the two, I preferred the first until Camilla's researches

showed that the available data could not be reconciled with the postulate that the life-

forms of her reconstruction were identical with those reported to you as coordinator.

This data, however, was scanty and casual. While we are here, therefore, I suggest that

we review this matter much more carefully, in the hope that additional information will

enable us to come to a definite conclusion, one way or the other. Since it was her

research, Camilla will lead."

     "First, a question," Camilla began. "Imagine a sun so variable that it periodically

covers practically the entire possible range. It has a planet whose atmosphere, liquid,

and distance are such that its surface temperature varies from approximately two

hundred degrees Centigrade in mid-summer to about five degrees absolute in

midwinter. In the spring its surface is almost completely submerged. There are terrible

winds and storms in the spring, summer, and fall; but the fall storms are the worst. Has

anyone here ever heard of such a planet having an intelligent life-form able to maintain

a continuing existence through such varied environments by radical changes in its

physical body?"

     A silence ensued, which Nadreck finally broke.

     "I know of two such planets. Near Palain there is an extremely variable sun, two

of whose planets support life. All of the higher life-forms, the highest of which are quite

intelligent, undergo regular and radical changes, not only of form, but of organization."

     "Thanks, Nadreck. That will perhaps make my story believable. From the

thoughts of one of the entities in question, I reconstructed such a solar system. More,

that entity himself belonged to just such a race. It was such a nice reconstruction,"

Camilla went on, plaintively, "and it fitted all those other life-forms so beautifully,

especially Kat's 'fourcycle periods.' And to prove it, Kat—put up your block, now —you

never told anybody the classification of your pet to more than seven places, did you, or

even thought about it?"

     "No." Kathryn's mind, since the moment of warning, had been unreadable.

     "Take the seven, RTSL and so on. The next three were S-T-R. Check?"

     "Check."

     "But that makes it solid, sis!" Kit exclaimed.

     "That's what I thought, for a minute—that we had Boskone at last. However,

when Tregonsee and I first felt 'X', long before you met yours, Kat, his classification was

TUUV. That would fit in well enough as a spring form, with Kat's as the summer form.

What ruins it, though, is that when he killed himself, just a little while ago and long after

a summer form could possibly exist—to say nothing of a spring form— his classification

was still TUUV. To ten places it was TUUVWYXXWT."

     "Well, go on," Kinnison suggested. "What do you make of it?"

     "The obvious explanation is that one or all of those entities were planted or

primed—not specifically for us, probably, since we are relatively unknown, but for any

competent observer. If so, they don't mean a thing." Camilla was not now

overestimating her own powers or underestimating those of Boskonia. "There are a few

other things, less obvious, leading to the same conclusion. Tregonsee is not ready to

believe any of them, however, and neither am I. Assuming that our data was not biased,

we must also account for the fact that the locations in space were . . ."

     "Just a minute, Cam, before you leave the classifications," Constance

interrupted. "I'm guarded—what was my friend's, to ten places?"

     "VWZYTXSYZY," Camilla replied, unhesitatingly.

     "Right; and I don't believe it was planted, either, so there . . ."

     "Let me in a second!" Kit demanded. "I didn't know you were on that band at all. I

got that RTSL thing even before I graduated . . ."

     "Huh? What RTSL?" Cam broke in, sharply.

     "My fault," Kinnison put in then. "Skipped my mind entirely, when she asked me

for the dope. None of us thought any of this stuff important until just now, you know. Tell

her, Kit."

     Kit repeated his story, concluding:

     "Beyond four places was pretty dim, but Q P arms and legs—Dhilian,

eh?—would fit, and so would an R-type hide. Both Kat's and mine, then, could very well

have been summer forms, one of their years apart. The thing I felt was on its own

planet, and it died there, and credits to millos the thought I got wasn't primed. And the

location . . ."

     "Brake down, Kit," Camilla instructed. "Let's settle this thing of timing first. I've got

a theory, but I want some ideas from the rest of you."

     "Maybe something like this?" Clarrissa asked, after a few minutes of silence. "In

many forms which metamorphose completely the change depends on temperature. No

change takes place as long as the temperature stays constant. Your TUUV could have

been flitting around in a space-ship at constant temperature. Could this apply here,

Cam, do you think?"

     "Could it?" Kinnison exclaimed. "That's it, Cris, for all the tea in China!"

     "That was my theory," Camilla said, still dubiously, "but there is no proof that it

applies. Nadreck, do you know whether or not it applies to your neighbors?"

     "Unfortunately, I do not; but I can find out—by experiment if necessary."

     "It might be a good idea," Kinnison suggested. "Go on, Cam."

     "Assuming its truth, there is still left the problem of location, which Kit has just

made infinitely worse than it was before. Con's and mine were so indefinite that they

might possibly have been reconciled with any precisely-known coordinates; but yours,

Kit, is almost as definite as Kat's, and cannot possibly be made to agree with it. After all,

you know, there are many planets peopled by races similar to ten places. And if there

are four different races, none of them can be the one we want."

     "I don't believe it," Kit argued. "Not that thing on that peculiar band. I'm sure

enough of my dope so that I want to cross-question Kat on hers. QX, Kat?"

     "Surely, Kit. Any questions you like."

     "Those minds both had plenty of jets—how do you know he wasn't lying to you?

Did you drive in to see? Are you sure even that you saw his real shape?"

     "Certainly I'm sure of his shape!" Kathryn snapped. "If there had been any zones

of compulsion around, I would have known it and got suspicious right then."

     "Maybe, and maybe not," Kit disagreed. "That might depend, you know, on how

good the guy was who was putting out the zone."

     "Nuts!" Kathryn snorted, inelegantly. "But as to his telling the truth about his

home planet . . . urn . . . I'm not sure of that, no. I didn't check his channels. I was

thinking about other things then." The Five knew that she had just left Mentor. "But why

should he want to lie about a thing like that—he would have, though, at that. Good

Boskonian technique."

     "Sure. In your official capacity of coordinator, dad, what do you think?"

     "The probability is that all those four forms of life belong on one planet. Your

location must be wrong, Kat—he gave you the wrong galaxy, even. Too close to

Trenco, too— Tregonsee and I both know that region like a book and no such variable

is anywhere near there. We've got to find out all about that.planet—and fast. Worsel, will

you please get the charts of Kit's region? Kit, will you check with the planetographers of

Klovia as to the variable stars anywhere near where you want them, and how many

planets they've got? I'll call Tellus."

     The charts were studied, and in due time the reports of the planetographers were

received. The Klovian scientists reported that there were four long-period variables in

the designated volume of space, gave the spatial coordinates and catalogue numbers of

each, and all available data concerning their planets. The Tellurians reported only three,

in considerably less detail; but they had named each sun and each planet.

     "Which one did they leave out?" Kinnison wondered audibly as he fitted the two

transparencies together. "This one they call Artonon, no planets. Dunlie, two planets,

Abab and Dunster. Descriptions, and so on. Rontieff, one planet that they don't know

anything about except the name they have given it. Silly-sounding names—suppose

they assemble them by grabbing letters at random?—Floor . . ."

     FLOOR! At last! Only their instantaneous speed of reaction enabled the Five to

conceal from the linkage the shrieked thought of what Floor really meant. After a

flashing exchange of thought, Kit smoothly took charge of the conference.

     "The planet Floor should be investigated first, I think," he resumed

communication with the group as though his attention had not wavered. "It is the planet

nearest the most probable point of origin of that thought-burst. Also, the period of the

variable and the planet's distance seem to fit our observations and deductions better

than any of the others. Any arguments?"

     No arguments. They all agreed. Kinnison, however, demanded action; direct and

fast.

     "We'll investigate it!" he exclaimed. "With the Dauntless, the Z9M9Z, and Grand

Fleet; and with our very special knick-knack as an ace up our sleeve!"

     "Just a minute, dad!" Kit protested. "If, as some of this material seems to indicate,

the Ploorans actually are the top echelon of Boskonia, even that array may not be

enough."

     "You may be right—probably are. What, then? What do you say, Tregonsee?"

     "Fleet action, yes," the Rigellian agreed. "Also, as you implied, but did not clearly

state, independent but correlated action by us five Second-Stage Lensmen, with our

various skills. I would suggest, however, that your children be put first—very definitely

first—in command."

     "We object—we haven't got jets enough to . . ."

     "Over-ruled!" Kinnison did not have to think to make that decision. He knew. "Any

other objections? . . . Approved. I'll call Cliff Maitland right now, then, and get things

going."

     That call, however, was never sent; for at that moment the mind of Mentor of

Arisia flooded the group.

     "Children, attend." This intrusion is necessary because a matter has come up

which will permit of no delay. Boskonia is now launching the attack which has been in

preparation for over twenty years. Arisia is to be the first point of attack. Kinnison,

Tregonsee, Worsel, and Nadreck will take immediate steps to assemble the Grand Fleet

of the Galactic Patrol in defense. I will confer at length with the younger Kinnisons.

     "The Eddorians, as you know," Mentor went on to the Children of the Lens,

"believe primarily in the efficacy of physical, material force. While they possess minds of

real power, they use them principally as tools in the development of more and ever

more efficient mechanical devices. We of Arisia, on the other hand, believe in the

superiority of the mind. A fully competent mind would have no need of material devices,

since it could control all material substance directly. While we have made some

progress toward that end, and you will make more in the cycles to come, Civilization is,

and for some time will be, dependent upon physical things. Hence the Galactic Patrol

and its Grand Fleet.

     "The Eddorians have succeeded finally in inventing a mechanical generator able

to block our most penetrant thoughts. They believe implicitly that their vessels, so

protected, will be able to destroy our planet. They may believe that the destruction of

our planet would so weaken us that they would be able to destroy us. It is assumed that

you children have deduced that neither we nor the Eddorians can be slain by physical

force?"

     "Yes—the clincher being that no suggestion was made about giving Eddore a

planet from Nth space."

     "We Arisians, as you know, have been aiding Nature in the development of

minds much abler than our own. While your minds have not yet attained their full

powers, you will be able to use the Patrol and its resources to defend Arisia and to

destroy the Boskonian fleet. That we cannot do it ourselves is implicit in what I have

said."

     "But that means . . . this is the big show, then, that you have been hinting at so

long?"

     "Far from it. An important engagement, of course, but only preliminary to the real

test, which will come when we invade Eddore. Do you agree with us that if Arisia were

to be destroyed now, it would be difficult to repair the damage done to the morale of the

Galactic Patrol?"

     "Difficult? It would be impossible!"

     "Not necessarily. We have considered the matter at length, however, and have

decided that a Boskonian success at this time would not be for the good of Civilization."

     "I'll say it wouldn't—that's a masterpiece of understatement if there ever was one!

Also, a successful defense of Arisia would be about the best thing that the Patrol could

possibly do for itself."

     "Exactly so. Go then, children, and work to that end."

     "But how, Mentor—how?"

     "Again I tell you that I do not know. You have powers— individually, collectively,