They were daunted.
They compared it to their own towns, even to their own ruined cities. These didn’t measure up to it at all.
What arrogance to attack anything like that.
They were so awestruck and impressed they hadn’t even been looking at the transshipment rig of Psychlo. They missed the beginning and had to track back.
They adjusted the projector lens and position to get the transshipment platform of Psychlo more centered and enlarged.
And then they saw the whole sequence, just as it had occurred right after Jonnie and Windsplitter had raced across the Earth platform.
First, there were the Psychlo workers racing out to leave the platform clear for the incoming semiannual from Earth. There were flatbeds lined up to receive coffins and personnel.
There was the first shimmer of arrival of the Psychlos Jonnie and Windsplitter had knocked down.
Then a small puff.
There were the Psychlo workmen flinching back.
A force screen had gone on! A dome over the platform had closed instantly to contain that small explosion. It could not have been an atmosphere-armor cable. Some sort of shimmering, sparkling screen. Transparent but very much there.
Trucks had time to start up before anything else occurred. One huge emergency truck had lunged nearer the platform, evidently to handle the minor blast. A whole minute went by.
Then the first lethal coffin exploded! A big “planet buster” nuclear bomb, nestled into a bed of dirty mines.
The force screen held.
The holocaust was contained. The boiling, ferocious blast had not even bulged the screen.
Then another shock as the second coffined “planet buster” went off.
The screen held! Good Lord, what technology to build a screen like that. What power it must take to hold it.
Another shock inside that dome. The third planet buster. It and all its ancient, very dirty atomic bombs.
The screen held.
Psychlos were racing toward it from far off. Those near the platform were flattened by concussion transmitting through the screen.
The fourth contained bomb went off.
The screen still held.
But the transmitted concussion had hurled the emergency truck backward. Nearby buildings lost their glass.
The ground was shaking as though hit by gigantic earthquakes.
A nearby building suddenly dropped downward as though sucked from below. Other buildings began to go the same way.
The fifth bomb went off!
And seen in slow motion, first narrowly, then more broadly, the entire scene went into a churning, boiling mass of atomic fire.
No, something more! Molten, flaming fire was erupting in spots all over the plain.
They widened the angle quickly.
The whole Imperial City of Psychlo was sinking and all about it sprayed up rolling oceans of molten fire.
The circular trams, the mobs, the buildings, and even the towering cliffs were drowning in a tumult of liquid, yellow green flame.
They hastily widened the view.
And they saw the entire planet of Psychlo turn into a radioactive sun!
The recording ended. They sat limp.
“My God,” said Angus.
Jonnie felt a little sick. Psychlos or not, he had just watched the end product of all their planning and risk a year ago, and he was hit with a feeling of guilt. It was not easy to take responsibility for that much destruction.
He had thought the bombs would wipe out the company headquarters and perhaps the Imperial City. But they had created a new sun.
“What happened?” said Angus.
Jonnie looked at his feet. “I pulled ten tabs out of those coffins. We didn’t want to set a time fuse and then have them go off on Earth. We knew the bombs were a bit contaminated. Had radiation leaks. They were old and their cases were old. We handled them in radiation suits.”
He made a dropping gesture with his hand. “In the fight, I dropped the fuse tabs on the platform. I forgot them. They must have been slightly radioactive, and when they hit the Psychlo platform, they made a small puff of explosion. They are what caused the minor recoil last year.
“They triggered the force screen on Psychlo that the Chamcos mentioned. And that force screen was good enough and strong enough to contain the blasts.
“I read in a book Char had that the crust of Psychlo is riddled with abandoned mine shafts and tunnels, a complete sieve. They call it semicore mining. The blasts went down. One after another they pounded deeper and deeper toward the molten core of Psychlo.
“The fifth explosion penetrated the core. The next five exploded in that.
“I think all a nuclear weapon does is stimulate a chain reaction into existence. And in addition to blowing out the planet crust, the fusion continued. And is probably still going on and may well go on for millions of years.
“Psychlo is no longer a planet. It’s a flaming sun!”
Angus nodded. “And all the transshipment rigs in the whole Psychlo empire, keeping schedule, not knowing about it, fired into that radioactive sun and blew themselves to bits!”
Jonnie nodded, a bit spent. “Just like we did in Denver a year later.” He shuddered. “Terl fired himself into a holocaust. Poor Terl.”
That’s what it took to yank Angus out of it. “Poor Terl! After all the rotten things the demon did? Jonnie, I sometimes wonder about you. You can be cool as ice and then all of a sudden you come out with something like ‘poor Terl’!”
“It would be an awful way to die,” said Jonnie.
Angus straightened up. “Well!” he said, just like he had popped up out of a dive in the lake. “Psychlo is gone! The empire is gone! And that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about anymore! Good riddance!”
2
Despite emotional reactions, Jonnie had been raised a hunter. His had been a life in the mountains, much of it spent alone on trails where pumas and grizzlies and wolves could lurk. There were times when you could feel a planning predator behind you, watching for a false move, concentrated on intentions of its own.
For the last fifteen seconds he had had that feeling. Danger!
He spun about, tensed for action.
The small gray man behind him said, “Oh, didn’t you know?”
Jonnie let his hand fall away from his gun butt.
The small gray man appeared not to have noticed. “A lot adds up now that I didn’t understand before. Yes, I fear Psychlo is gone. We knew that, of course. We weren’t sure how.”
Angus said, “Are there any Psychlos left? Anywhere?”
The small gray man shook his head.
The other small gray man, who had arrived by teleportation, had been lurking in the shadows. He came forward now. “We checked it and checked it. Probes told us Psychlo was gone only a couple of weeks after it happened. We’ve had ships out everywhere. . . .”
The first small gray man had glanced at him. A cautionary glance?
The other small gray man smoothly shifted what he was going to say. “The transshipment rigs were all at minesite centrals or at regency palaces: that was company custom. All their executive personnel and high-ranking officers on planets were quartered near the platforms—pure laziness, really, so they wouldn’t have far to walk and could get dispatches sooner. And the bulk of their breathe-gas storage was also in the same area.
“The first word they got—they never went in much for space travel as such, since they had a monopoly on teleportation, and it wouldn’t have gotten back to them soon enough anyway—was when they fired into Psychlo.
“We of course couldn’t examine all universes, but knowing Psychlos, we are positive there are no transshipment rigs or central compounds or executives left. We ourselves gave it up over five months ago. The time limit would have been six months for breathe-gas to last. And that expired six months ago.”
Jonnie had been watching them carefully. These men were hiding something. And th
ey wanted something. They were a threat. Down deep he knew that. Their manner was easy. They were very pleasant and smooth. But their frankness was a pose.
“How can you be sure,” said Jonnie, “that some Psychlo engineer didn’t build a transshipment rig?”
“Oh,” said the second small gray man, “he would have fired straight to us at once if he avoided firing into Psychlo. The rig nearest us blew to bits. Took half a city with it. Horrible. Just by a freak, I was out sailing with my family that day, miles away. However, our own offices are fifteen levels underground.”
Was the original small gray man giving him a warning sign? In any case, he got interested in his pointed fingernails.
Angus said, “I don’t see any planets listed that have the same atmosphere as Psychlo. Are there any other planets that have that breathe-gas?”
The two small gray men thought it over. Then the one who had come latest said, “Fobia. I don’t think they’d list it.” The two of them laughed about something.
The original one said, “Excuse us. It’s kind of a joke. The best-kept state secrets of Psychlo are all a kind of open book in our business. That they would omit listing ‘Fobia’ is so typically Psychlo. It’s where they exiled King Hak about 261,000 years ago. It’s the only other planet in that system, and it is so much further out than Psychlo, you can’t even see it from the home planet with an unaided eye. It is so cold, its atmosphere has liquefied and lies in lakes on the surface. They built a little dome there and exiled Hak and his fellow conspirators and then got so scared he’d escape, they sent assassins in and killed them all. Typically Psychlo. They cut the whole thing out of their schoolbooks. Let’s see your astrographic tables.” He took them, looked a while, and then laughed and showed his companion. “Not there! An omitted planet right in their own system!”
In response to Jonnie’s look, the second one said, “No, not even any Psychlos there, and nothing going on there either. It’s nothing but breathe-gas ice and very tiny anyway. As of a couple of weeks ago, probes showed it totally deserted. No, you can be certain that’s the end of the Psychlos. I saw on scans I reviewed here that you have a very few still alive, but you didn’t get them to build this!” He patted the side of the console dragon. “For reasons best known to Psychlos, they’d kill themselves first!” He shook his head. “There were a few alive. Engineers in branch minesites. And don’t think one didn’t try to persuade them! They’re all dead now.”
Was the original one trying to turn the other one off? But the new one was a bit better dressed and appeared to be the superior of the other.
“I think,” said the original one, “that we really ought to get together for a formal conference. There are some things to take up.”
Ah, thought Jonnie. Now we get to it. “I’m not a member of the government,” he hedged.
The newest arrival said, “We’re aware of that. But you do enjoy its confidence. We were thinking that possibly if you and the two of us could have a talk, you might assist us to arrange a conference with your government.”
“A talk about having a serious talk,” said the other.
Jonnie had an inspiration. He recalled the first gray man had drunk yarb tea. “I’ll be having dinner in half an hour. If you can eat our food, I’d be pleased to have you join me.”
“Oh, we eat anything,” said the newest small gray man. “Anything there is. We would be so pleased.”
“Half an hour it is,” said Jonnie. And he left to tell Chong-won he had dinner guests after all.
Now maybe he’d find out the threat that these two posed. He wasn’t imagining it. These two were dangerous!
3
The small gray men could really eat.
Jonnie had been surprised at how well the chief had decorated the main room of the spare apartment. Colored paper lanterns—with mine lamps in them—had been hung about; two paintings, one of a tiger coming toward you in the snow, the other of a bird in flight, decorated the walls; side tables for serving had been set up; the large center table where they sat even had a cloth on it.
Mr. Tsung had insisted Jonnie don a gold brocade tunic—after Jonnie refused to wear a robe of green satin—and Jonnie looked quite nice.
Some very subdued but kind of squeaky music was coming from someplace. It and the click of dishes that Chief Chong-won kept hauling in and the jaws of the small gray men were the only sounds.
Jonnie had tried to invite Angus, but he had said he had to keep an eye on that moon gyro. He had wanted Stormalong to come but the pilot was dead tired and catching naps in the ops room. He had asked Chief Chong-won and Mr. Tsung to also eat with them but they said no, they had to serve. So just Jonnie and the two small gray men had wound up as the diners. Jonnie felt that this was a pity for there was an awful lot of food. And Jonnie, so far, had no one to talk to. The small gray men just ate. And ate and ate!
The dinner had begun with appetizers—egg rolls, barbecued loin ribs and paper-wrapped chicken; these had been served in mounds and had all been eaten up by the small gray men. Then various noodles had been served—pancake noodles, yat ga mein, mun yee noodles, war won ton, beef lo mein, yee fu noodles, and gorn lo won ton, tubs of them! And the small gray men had eaten them all up. Large platters of chicken had been served—almond chicken, cashew chicken, button mushroom chicken and lichee chicken. And the small gray men had eaten all that up. Then there had been beef dishes—Mongolian beef, sauteed eggplant with beef, tomato beef and chili pepper steak. And they had gotten around that! Massive platters of Peking duck, cooked in three ways, had, in its turn, disappeared down their gullets. They were working now on egg dishes—chicken egg foo yung, precious flower egg and mushroom egg foo yung.
Jonnie wondered where Chief Chong-won had gotten all the ingredients until he recalled that game had been plentiful, including lots of fowl in the lake, and that the Chinese had had time to plant and harvest gardens, using an area protected by the dam armor cable to keep the wild beasts out of it.
He himself had not eaten very much. Mr. Tsung had had it relayed to him disparagingly that most of these dishes were southern Chinese cookery and that true cookery had evolved in the north during the Ch’ing Dynasty when his family took care of things. The Peking duck and Mongolian beef should get his main attention. Jonnie had complied. It was pretty good food. Not as good, of course, as his Aunt Ellen’s venison stew, but quite edible. The nurse had sent in word he was not to have any rice wine because of the sulfa, but that was fine—Jonnie didn’t much care for drinking anyway.
These small gray men were eating the entire banquet that had been planned for thirty people! Where did they put it all?
Jonnie took the time to study them. Their skin was gray and kind of rough. Their eyes were a dull gray blue, maybe like the sea, and had heavy lids. Their heads were round and hairless. Their noses took a sharp upturn just at the tip. The ears were a bit odd—reminded one more of gills than ears. They had four fingers and a thumb on each hand, though the nails were very pointed. They really looked quite like men. The main difference was their teeth: they had two rows of teeth, the second set just behind the first.
Watching them eat so voraciously and hugely, Jonnie tried to figure out what genetic lines such creatures might come from. They reminded him of something and he sought to place it. Then he recalled a fish that a pilot who was passing through Victoria had shown them. The pilot had been downed by fuel failure in the Indian Ocean and had ejected with a life raft. While waiting to be picked up he was attacked by these fish. When he was rescued, they had shot one of the fish with a cannon and picto-recorded it. It had been pretty big. What had he called it? Jonnie tried to think. They had looked it up in a man-book. Ah, a shark! That had been the name! Yes. These small gray men had a similar skin, similar teeth. Maybe they were evolved from sharks that had become sentient.
It finally came down to tea. It wasn’t that the small gray men couldn’t eat any more. It was that Chief Chong-won had run out of food! The tea was served, and
the first small gray man asked with just a trace of worry whether this was “yarb tea.” He was reassured that it was just plain green tea, a fact that seemed to bring relief.
They sat back and smiled at Jonnie. They said that was the best dinner they had had in some time, maybe ever, and Chong-won slid out to tell and please the cook.
Under their gaze, Jonnie thought to himself that now they were finished with all the food in sight, they were going to try to eat him! But no, that was vaporing. They were quite pleasant, really. Now maybe he could find out what they were all about, what they really wanted.
“You know,” said the original small gray man, “about these hostile forces—your trouble here was really your defenses. Cheap trash. But that’s the Psychlos for you. They never put their money in good defenses. Personnel were cheap. They’d rather buy half a dozen new females or a ton or two of kerbango than proper armaments.”
He looked at Jonnie as though about to apprise him of something utterly devastating. “You know how much those anti-aircraft guns you use cost? Less than five thousand credits. Cheap trash! They won’t even shoot up to two hundred thousand feet. Bargain-basement, rummage-sale armaments. They probably bought them from some war surplus, used. And some executive put the new price on the books and pocketed the difference.”
“What should a proper antiaircraft gun cost?” said Jonnie to keep it going.
The newest small gray man thought a moment. Then he brought a small gray book out of his vest pocket and opened it. The page seemed to get bigger and he scanned down it with a little reader glass. “Ah, here’s one. ‘Surface/space combination repulsion, multicomputer firing defense cannon: maximum range 599 miles, 15,000 shots a minute, simultaneous tracking of 130 vessels or 2,300 bombs, destruction potential A-13 (that’s capital ship penetration), cost before discounts, C123,475 plus freight and installation.’ Now batteries of those located around your strong points would have handled that entire combined force or kept them so high up they could not have launched atmosphere crafts.”