17. Ky-El MOKAK THE WILDER

THE first thing Seaton and Crane had to do, of course, was to figure out how to get back somewhere near Galaxy DW-427-LU, within fourth-order range of that one particular extremely powerful Chloran system, without using enough sixth-order stuff to touch off any alarms — but still enough to make the trip in days instead of in months.

Some sixth-order emanations could be neutralized by properly phased and properly placed counter-generators; the big question being, how much?

The answer turned out to be, according to Crane, “Not enough” — but, according to Seaton, “Satisfactory”. At least, it did make the trip not only possible, but feasible. And during the days of that trip each Skylarker worked — with the Brain or with a computer or with pencil and paper or with paint or India ink and a brush, each according to his bent — on the problem of what could be done about the Chlorans.

They made little headway, if any at all. They did not have enough data. Inescapably, the attitude of each was very strongly affected by what he or she knew about the Chlorans they had already encountered. They were all smart enough to know that this was as indefensible as it was inevitable.

Thus, while each of them developed a picture completely unlike anyone else’s as to what the truth probably was, none of them was convinced enough of the validity of his theory to defend it vigorously. Thus it was discussion, not argument, that went on throughout the cautious approach to the forbidden territory and the ultra-cautious investigation of the Tellus-type planet the Brain had selected through powerful optical telescopes and by means of third and fourth-order apparatus. Then they fell silent, appalled; for that world was inhabited by highly intelligent human beings and what had been done to it was shocking indeed.

They had seen what had been done to the planet Valeron. This was worse; much worse. On Valeron the ruins had been recognizable as having once been cities. Even those that had been blown up or slagged down by nuclear energies had shown traces of what they had once been. There had been remnants and fragments of structural members, unfused portions of the largest buildings, recognizable outlines and traces of thoroughfares and so on. But here, where all of the big cities and three-fourths or more of the medium-sized ones had been, there were now only huge sheets of glass.

Sheets of glass ranging in area from ten or fifteen square miles up to several thousands of square miles, and variously from dozens up to hundreds of feet thick; level sheets of cracked and shattered, almost transparent, vari-colored glass. The people of the remaining cities and towns and villages were human. In fact, they were white Caucasians, as white and as Caucasian as the citizens of Tampa or of Chicago or of Portland, Oregon or of Portland, Maine. Neither Seaton nor Shiro, search as they would, could find any evidence that any Oriental types then lived or ever had lived on that world — to Shiro’s lasting regret. He, at least, was eliminated as a spy.

“Well, Dottie?” Seaton asked.

She gnawed her lip. “Well… I suppose we’ll have to do something — but hey!” she exclaimed, voice and expression changing markedly. “How come you think you have to go down there at all to find out what the score is? You’ve snatched people right and left all over the place with ordinary beams and things, long before anybody ever heard of that sixth-order, fourth-dimensional gizmo.”

Seaton actually blushed. “That’s right, my pet,” he admitted. “Once again you’ve got a point. I’ll pick one out that’s so far away from everybody else that he won’t be missed for a while. Maybe two’d be better.”

Since it was an easy matter to find isolated specimens of the humanity of that world, it was less than an hour later that two men — one from a town, one found wandering alone in the mountains — were being examined by the Brain.

And what an examination! Everything in their minds — literally everything, down to the last-least-tiniest coded “bit” of every long-chain proteinoid molecule of every convolution of their brains — everything was being transferred to the Valeron’s Great Brain; was being filed away in its practically unfillable memory banks.

When the transfer was complete, Sitar drew her pistol, very evidently intending to do away with the natives then and there. But Dorothy of course would not stand for that.

Instead, she herself put them back into a shell of force and ran them through the Valeron’s locks and down into a mountain cave, which she then half-filled with food. “I’d advise you two,” she told them then, in their own language, “to stay put here for a few days and keep out of trouble. If you really want to get yourselves killed, though, that’s all right with me. Go ahead any time.”

When Dorothy brought her attention back into the control room, the Brain had finished its analysis of the data it had just secured from the natives, had correlated it with all their pertinent data it had in its banks, and was beginning to put out its synthesized report.

That report came in thought; in diamond-sharp, diamond-clear thought that was not only super-intelligible and super-audible, but also was more starkly visible than any possible tri-di. It gave, as no possible other form of report could give, the entire history of the race to which those two men belonged. It described in detail and at length the Chlorans and the relationship between the two races, and went on to give, in equal detail, the most probable course of near-term events. It told Seaton that he should investigate this planet Ray-See-Nee in person. It told him in fine detail what to wear, where to go, and practically every move to make for the ensuing twenty-four hours.

At that point the report stopped, and when Seaton demanded more information, the Brain balked. “Data in sufficient,” it thought, and everyone there would have sworn that the Great Brain actually had a consciousness of self as it went on, “This construct — ?” it actually meant “I” — “is not built to guess, but deals only in virtual certainties; that is, with probabilities that approximate unity to twelve or more nines. With additional data, this matter can be explored to a depth quite strictly proportional to the sufficiency of the data. That is all.”

“That’s the package, Dottie,” Seaton said then. “If we want to reach the Chlorans without them reaching us first, there’s how. That makes it a force, wouldn’t you say?”

Dorothy wasn’t sure. “For twenty-four hours, I guess,” she agreed, dubiously. “After which time I think I’ll be screaming for you to come back here and feed that monster some more data. So be mighty darn sure to get some.”

“I’ll try to, that’s for sure. But the really smart thing to do might be to take this wreckage half a dozen galaxies away and put the Brain to work rebuilding her while I’m down there investigating.”

“D’you think I’ll sit still for that?” Dorothy blazed. “If you do, you’re completely out of your mind!”

And even Crane did not subscribe to the idea. “Why?” he asked, “just to tear her down again after you’ve found out what we’ll have to have?”

“That’s so, too.” Seaton thought for a moment, gray eyes narrowed and focused on infinity, translating the imperatives of the Brain into practical measures. Then he nodded. “All right. I admit I’ll feel better about the deal with you people and the Brain standing by.”

And Seaton, now lean and hard and deeply tanned, sat down in his master controller and began to manufacture the various items he would need; exactly as the Brain told him to make them.

And next morning, as the sun began to peer over the crest of the high mountain ridge directly below the Skylark of Valeron, Seaton came to ground, hid his tiny landing craft in a cave at the eighteen-thousand-foot level, and hiked the fifteen miles down-mountain to the nearest town.