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long
since been solved. Atomic powered counter-generators were in place, ready at
the
touch of a button to neutralize the mechanically-generated screens of the
enemy and
thus to make the engagement a mind-to-mind combat. They were as close to
Eddore's
star-cluster as they could be without giving alarm. They had had nothing to do
for hours
except wait. They were probably keyed up higher than any other five Lensmen in
all of
space.
Kit, son of his father, was pacing the floor, chain-smoking.
Constance was alternately getting up and sitting downùupù downùup. She,
too, was smoking; or, rather, she was lighting cigarettes and throwing them
away.
Kathryn was sitting, stiffly still, manufacturing Lenses which, starting at
her wrists, raced
up both bare arms to her shoulders and disappeared. Karen was meticulously
sticking
holes in a piece of blank paper with a pin, making an intricate and
meaningless design.
Only Camilla made any pretense of calmness, and it was as transparent as
glass. She
was pretending to read a novel; but instead of absorbing its full content at
the rate of
one glance per page, she had read half of it word by word and still had no
idea of what
the story was about.
"Are you ready, children?" Mentor's thought came in at last.
"Ready!" Without knowing how they got there, the Five found themselves
standing in the middle of the room, packed tight.
"Oh, Kit, I'm shaking like a torso-tosser!" Constance wailed. "I just
know I'm going
to louse up this whole damn war!"
"QX, baby, we're all in the same fix. Can't you hear my teeth chatter?
Doesn't
mean a thing. Good teamsùchampions ùall feel the same way before a big game
starts . . . and this is the biggest game ever . . . steady down, kids. We'll
be QX as soon
as the whistle blowsùI hope . . ."
"P-s-s-t!" Kathryn hissed. "Listen!"
"Lensmen of the Galactic Patrol!" Mentor's resonant pseudo-voice filled
all space.
"I, Mentor of Arisia, am calling upon you because of a crisis in which no
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lesser force can
be of use. You have been informed upon the matter of Floor. It is true that
Floor has
been destroyed; that the Ploorans, physically, are no more. You of the Lens,
however,
already know dimly that the physical is not the all. Know now that there is a
residuum of
non-material malignancy against which all the physical weapons of all the
universes
would be completely impotent. That evil effluvium, intrinsically vicious, is
implacably
opposed to every basic concept and idea of your Patrol. It has been on the
move ever
since the destruction of the planet Floor. Unaided, we of Arisia are not
strong enough to
handle it, but the massed and directed force of your collective mind will be
able to
destroy it completely. If you wish me to do so, I will supervise the work of
so directing
your mental force as to encompass the complete destruction of this menace,
which I tell
you most solemnly is the last weapon of power with which Boskonia will be able
to
threaten Civilization. Lensmen of the Galactic Patrol, met as one for the
first time in
Civilization's long history, what is your wish?"
A tremendous wave of thought, expressed in millions of variant
phraseologies,
made the wish of the Lensmen very clear indeed. They did not know how such a
thing
could be done, but they were supremely eager to have Mentor of Arisia lead
them
against the Boskonians, whoever and wherever they might be.
"Your verdict is unanimous, as I had hoped and believed that it would be.
It is
well. The part of each of you will be simple, but not easy. You will all of
you, individually,
think of two things, and of only two. First, of your love for and your pride
in and your
loyalty to your Patrol. Second, of the clear fact that Civilization must and
shall triumph
over Boskonia. Think these thoughts, each of you with all the strength that in
him lies.
"You need not consciously direct those thoughts. Being attuned to my
pattern,
the force will flow at my direction. As it passes from you, you will replenish
it, each
according to his strength. You will find it the hardest labor you have ever
performed, but
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