E.E. 'Doc' Smith SF Gateway Omnibus: The Skylark of Space, Skylark Three, Skylark of Valeron, Skylark DuQuesne (47 page)

‘But it’ll fly off and we can’t stop it with anything,’ Seaton protested, and it did indeed dart rapidly upward.

The old man shook his head as he manipulated still more controls, and Seaton gasped as nine stupendous beams of force hurled themselves upon that brilliant spherical mirror of pure energy, seized it in mid-flight, and shaped it resistlessly, under his bulging eyes, into a complex geometrical figure of precisely the desired form.

Intense violet light filled the room, and Seaton turned toward the bar. That two-hundred-pound mass of copper was shrinking visibly, second by second, so vast were the forces being drawn from it, and the searing, blinding light would have been intolerable but for the protective color-filters of his helmet. Tremendous flashes of lightning ripped and tore from the relief-points of the bench to the ground-rods, which flared at blue-white temperature under the incessant impacts. Knowing that this corona-loss was but an infinitesimal fraction of the power being used, Seaton’s mind staggered as he strove to understand the magnitude of the forces at work upon that stubborn sphere of energy.

The aged scientist used no tools whatever, as we understand the term. His laboratory was a power-house; at his command were the stupendous forces of a battery of planetoid accumulators, and added to these were the fourth-order, ninth-magnitude forces of the disintegrating copper bar. Electricity and protelectricity, under millions upon millions of kilovolts of pressure, leaped to do the bidding of that wonderful brain, stored with the accumulated knowledge of countless thousands of years of scientific research. Watching the ancient physicist work, Seaton compared himself to a schoolboy mixing chemicals indiscriminately and ignorantly, with no knowledge whatever of their properties, occasionally obtaining a reaction by pure chance. Whereas he had worked with atomic energy schoolboy fashion, the master craftsman before him knew every reagent, every reaction, and worked with known and thoroughly familiar agencies to bring about his exactly predetermined ends – just as calmly certain of the results as Seaton himself would have been in his own laboratory, mixing equivalent quantities of solutions of barium chloride and of sulphuric acid to obtain a precipitate of barium sulphate.

Hour after hour Rovol labored on, oblivious to the
passage of time in his zeal of accomplishment, the while carefully instructing Seaton, who watched every step with intense interest and did everything possible for him to do. Bit by bit a towering structure arose in the middle of the laboratory. A metal foundation supported a massive compound bearing, which in turn carried a tubular network of latticed metal, mounted like an immense telescope. Near the upper, outer end of this openwork tube a group of nine forces held the field of force rigidly in place in its axis; at the lower extremity were mounted seats for two operators and the control panels necessary for the operation of the intricate system of forces and motors which would actuate and control that gigantic projector. Immense hour and declination circles could be read by optical systems from the operators’ seats – circles fully forty feet in diameter, graduated with incredible delicacy and accuracy into decimal fractions of seconds of arc, and each driven by variable-speed motors through gear-trains and connections having the absolute minimum of backlash.

While Rovol was working upon one of the last instruments to be installed upon the controlling panel a mellow note sounded throughout the building, and he immediately ceased his labors and opened the master switches of his power plant.

‘You have done well, youngster,’ he congratulated his helper as he began to take off his protective covering. ‘Without your aid I could not have accomplished nearly this much during one period of labor. The periods of exercise and of relaxation are at hand – let us return to the house of Orlon, where we all shall gather to relax and to refresh ourselves for the labors of tomorrow.’

‘But it’s almost done!’ protested Seaton. ‘Let’s finish it up and shoot a little juice through it, just to try it out.’

‘There speaks the rashness and impatience of youth,’ rejoined the scientist, calmly removing the younger man’s suit and leading him out to the waiting airboat. ‘I read in your mind that you are often guilty of laboring continuously until your brain loses its keen edge. Learn now that such conduct is worse than foolish – it is criminal. We have labored the full period. Laboring for more than that length of time without recuperation results in a loss of power which, if persisted in, wreaks permanent injury to the mind, and by it you gain nothing. We have more than ample time to do that which must be done – the fifth-order projector shall be completed before the warning torpedo shall have reached the planet of the Fenachrone – therefore overexertion is unwarranted. As for testing, know now that only mechanisms built by bunglers require testing. Properly-built machines work properly.’

‘But I’d’ve liked to’ve seen it work just once, anyway,’ lamented Seaton as the small airship tore through the air on its way back to the observatory.

‘You must cultivate calmness, my son, and the art of relaxation. With those qualities your race can easily double its present span of useful life. Physical exercise to maintain the bodily tissues at their
best, and mental relaxation following mental toil – these things are the secrets of a long and productive life. Why attempt to do more than can be accomplished efficiently? There is tomorrow. I am more interested in that which we are now building than you can possibly be, since many generations of the Rovol have anticipated its construction; yet I realize that in the interest of our welfare and for the progress of civilization today’s labors must not be prolonged beyond today’s period of work. Furthermore, you yourself realize that there is no optimum point at which any task may be interrupted. Short of final completion of any project, one point is the same as any other. Had we continued, we would have wished to continue still farther, and so on without end.’

‘I suppose so – you’re probably right, at that,’ the impetuous chemist conceded, as their craft came to earth before the observatory.

Crane and Orlon were already in the common room, as were the scientists Seaton already knew, as well as a group of women and children still strangers to the Terrestrials. In a few minutes Orlon’s companion, a dignified, white-haired woman, entered; accompanied by Dorothy, Margaret, and a laughing, boisterous group of men and women from the Country of Youth. Introductions over, Seaton turned to Crane.

‘How’s every little thing, Mart?’

‘Very well indeed. We are building an observatory in space – or rather, Orlon is building it and I am doing what little I can to help him. In a few days we shall be able to locate the system of the Fenachrone. How is your work progressing?’

‘Smoother’n a kitten’s ear. Got the big fourth-order projector about done. We’re going to project a fourth-order force out to grab us some dense material, a pretty close approach to pure neutronium. There’s nothing dense enough around here, even in the core of the central sun, so we’re going out to a white dwarf star – one a good deal like the companion star to Sirius – get some material of the proper density from its core, and convert our sender into a fifth-order machine. Then we can really get busy – go places and do things.’

‘Neutronium? Pure mass? I have been under the impression that it does not exist. Of what use can such a substance be to you?’

‘Not pure neutronium – quite. Close, though – specific gravity about two and a half million. Got to have it for lenses and controls for the fifth-order forces. Those rays go right through anything less dense without measurable refraction. But I see Rovol’s giving me a nasty look. He’s my boss on this job, and I imagine this kind of talk’s barred during the period of relaxation, as being work. That so, chief?’

‘You know that it is barred,’ answered Rovol, with a smile.

‘All right, boss; one more little infraction and I’ll shut up like a clam. I’d like to know what the girls’ve been doing.’

‘We’ve been having a wonderful time!’ Dorothy declared. ‘We’ve been designing fabrics and ornaments and jewels and things.
Wait ’til you see ’em – they’ll knock you cold!’

‘Fine! All right, Orlon, it’s your party.’

‘This is the time of exercise. We have many forms, most of which are unfamiliar to you. You all swim, however, and as that is one of the best of exercises, I suggest that we all swim.’

‘Lead us to it!’ Seaton exclaimed, then his voice changed abruptly. ‘Wait a minute – I don’t know about our swimming in copper sulphate solution.’

‘We swim in fresh water as often as in salt, and the pool is now filled with distilled water.’

The Terrestrials quickly donned their bathing suits and all went through the observatory and down a winding path, bordered with the peculiarly beautiful scarlet and green shrubbery, to the ‘pool’ – an artificial lake covering a hundred acres, its polished metal bottom and sides strikingly decorated with jewels and glittering tiles in tasteful yet contrasting inlaid designs. Any desired depth of water was available and plainly marked, from the fenced-off shallows where the smallest children splashed to the twenty feet of liquid crystal which received the diver who cared to try his skill from one of the many spring-boards, flying rings, and catapults which rose high into the air a short distance away from the entrance.

Orlon and the others of the older generation plunged into the water without ado and struck out for the other shore, using a fast double-overarm stroke. Swimming in a wide circle they came out upon the apparatus and went through a series of methodical dives and gymnastic performances. It was evident that they swam, as Orlon had intimated, for exercise. To them, exercise was a necessary form of labor – labor which they performed thoroughly and well – but nothing to call forth the whole-souled enthusiasm they displayed in their chosen fields of mental effort.

The visitors from the Country of Youth, however, locked arms and sprang to surround the four Terrestrials, crying, ‘Let’s do a group dive.’

‘I don’t believe that I can swim well enough to enjoy what’s coming,’ whispered Margaret to Crane, and they slipped into the pool and turned around to watch. Seaton and Dorothy, both strong swimmers, locked arms and laughed as they were encircled by the green phalanx and swept out to the end of a dock-like structure and upon a catapult.

‘Hold tight, everybody!’ someone yelled, and interlaced, straining arms and legs held the green and white bodies in one motionless group as a gigantic force hurled them fifty feet into the air and out over the deepest part of the pool. There was a mighty splash and a miniature tidal wave as that mass of humanity struck the water headfirst and disappeared beneath the surface, still as though one multiple body. Many feet they went down before the cordon was broken and the individual units came
to the surface. Then pandemonium reigned. Vigorous, informal games, having to do with floating and sinking balls and effigies; pushball, in which the players never seemed to know, or to care, upon which side they were playing; water-fights and ducking contests – all in a gale of unrestrained merriment. A green mermaid, having felt the incredible power of Seaton’s arms as he tossed her away from a goal he was temporarily defending, put both her small hands around his biceps wonderingly, amazed at a strength unknown and impossible upon her world; then playfully tried to push him under. Failing, she called for help.

‘He’s needed a good ducking for ages!’ Dorothy cried, and she and several other girls threw themselves upon him. Over and around him the lithe forms flashed, while the rest of the young people splashed water impartially over all the combatants and cheered them on. In the midst of the battle the signal sounded to end the period of exercise.

‘Saved by the bell,’ Seaton laughed as, almost half drowned, he was allowed to swim ashore.

When all had returned to the common room of the observatory and had seated themselves Orlon took out his miniature ray-projector, no larger than a fountain pen, and flashed it briefly upon one of the hundreds of button-like lenses upon the wall. Instantly each chair converted itself into a form-fitting divan, inviting complete repose.

‘I believe that you of Earth would perhaps enjoy some of our music during this, the period of relaxation and repose – it is so different from your own,’ Orlon remarked, as he again manipulated his tiny force-tube.

Every light was extinguished and there was felt a profoundly deep vibration – a note so low as to be palpable rather than audible: and simultaneously the utter darkness was relieved by a tinge of red so dark as to be barely perceptible, while a peculiar somber fragrance pervaded the atmosphere. The music rapidly ran the gamut to the limit of audibility and, in the same tempo, the lights traversed the visible spectrum and disappeared. Then came a crashing chord and a vivid flare of blended light; ushering in an indescribable symphony of sound and color, accompanied by a slower succession of shifting, blending colors.

The quality of tone was now that of a gigantic orchestra, now that of a full brass band, now that of a single unknown instrument – as though the composer had had at his command every overtone capable of being produced by any possible instrument, and with them had woven a veritable tapestry of melody upon an incredibly complex loom of sound. As went the harmony, so accompanied the play of light. Neither music nor illumination came from any apparent source; they simply pervaded the entire room. When the music was fast – and certain passages were of a rapidity impossible for any human fingers to attain – the lights flashed in vivid, tiny pencils, intersecting each other in sharply-drawn, brilliant figures which changed
with dizzying speed: when the tempo was slow the beams were soft and broad, blending into each other to form sinuous, indefinite, writhing patterns whose very vagueness was infinitely soothing.

‘What do you think of it, Mrs Seaton?’ Orlon asked, when the symphony was ended.

‘Marvelous!’ breathed Dorothy, awed. ‘I never imagined anything like it. I can’t begin to tell you how much I like it. I never dreamed of such absolute perfection of execution, and the way the lighting accompanies the theme is just too perfectly wonderful for words! It was wonderfully, incredibly brilliant.’