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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/22629-h.zip b/22629-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..db08848 --- /dev/null +++ b/22629-h.zip diff --git a/22629-h/22629-h.htm b/22629-h/22629-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..32c574b --- /dev/null +++ b/22629-h/22629-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1432 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml' xml:lang='en' lang='en'> +<head> +<meta http-equiv='Content-Type' content='text/html;charset=iso-8859-1' /> +<meta http-equiv='Content-Style-Type' content='text/css' /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Vortex Blasters, by E. E. Smith.</title> +<style type='text/css' media='screen'> + +body { margin:5% 10%; } + +p { margin-top: 1em; +margin-bottom: 0; +line-height: 1.4em; +font-size: 105%; +} + +img { display:block; margin:0 auto; } + +hr { width:50%; margin:5% auto; } + +p.caption { font-weight:bold; +font-size:larger; +line-height: 1em; +text-align:center; +} + +.frontmatter { text-align:center; +margin:5% 0% 10%; +font-weight:bold; +font-size:larger; +} + +h1 { font-size: 300%; } + +.byline, .author { font-size: larger; } + +.smcap { font-variant: small-caps; } + +.transnote { font-size: 80%; +text-align:center; +border:1px solid; +margin:10% 15%; +padding:1%; +background: #cccccc; +} + +.cover { margin:0 auto 10%; } +.logo { text-align:center; font-size:2em; margin-bottom:1em; } +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vortex Blaster, by Edward Elmer Smith + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Vortex Blaster + +Author: Edward Elmer Smith + +Release Date: September 16, 2007 [EBook #22629] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VORTEX BLASTER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, V. L. Simpson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class='logo'>Comet, July 1941</p> + +<div class='cover' style='width:393px;'> +<img src='images/comet.jpg' alt='Cover image, Comet Magazine, July 1941' +width='393' height='550' /> +</div> + +<div style='margin:0 auto 10%;'> +<img class='center' src='images/i-01.png' alt='' /> + +<p class='caption'><i>The Lensman and the observer helped Storm into his +heavily padded armor. Their movements were automatic—the ointment, the +devices—</i></p> +</div> + +<div class='frontmatter'> +<p><i>INTRODUCING "Storm" Cloud, who, through tragedy, is +destined to become the most noted figure in the +galaxy—THE</i></p> + +<h1 class="smcap">Vortex Blaster</h1> + +<p>(<i>Complete in this issue!</i>)</p> + +<p class='byline'>by<br /> +<span class='author'>E. E. SMITH, Ph.D.</span></p> + +<p><i>Author of "The Skylark," "Skylark Three," "The Skylark<br /> of +Valeron," the Lensman stories, etc.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>Safety devices that do not protect.</p> + +<p>The "unsinkable" ships that, before the days of Bergenholm and of atomic +and cosmic energy, sank into the waters of the earth.</p> + +<p>More particularly, safety devices which, while protecting against one +agent of destruction, attract magnet-like another and worse. Such as the +armored cable within the walls of a wooden house. It protects the +electrical conductors within against accidental external shorts; but, +inadequately grounded as it must of necessity be, it may attract and +upon occasion has attracted the stupendous force of lightning. Then, +fused, volatilized, flaming incandescent throughout the length, breadth, +and height of a dwelling, that dwelling's existence thereafter is to be +measured in minutes.</p> + +<p>Specifically, four lightning rods. The lightning rods protecting the +chromium, glass, and plastic home of Neal Cloud. Those rods were +adequately grounded, grounded with copper-silver cables the bigness of a +strong man's arm; for Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, knew his lightning +and he was taking no chances whatever with the safety of his lovely wife +and their three wonderful kids.</p> + +<p>He did not know, he did not even suspect, that under certain conditions +of atmospheric potential and of ground-magnetic stress his perfectly +designed lightning-rod system would become a super-powerful magnet for +flying vortices of atomic disintegration.</p> + +<p>And now Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, sat at his desk in a strained, +dull apathy. His face was a yellowish-gray white, his tendoned hands +gripped rigidly the arms of his chair. His eyes, hard and lifeless, +stared unseeingly past the small, three-dimensional block portrait of +all that had made life worth living.</p> + +<p>For his guardian against lightning had been a vortex-magnet at the +moment when a luckless wight had attempted to abate the nuisance of a +"loose" atomic vortex. That wight died, of course—they almost always +do—and the vortex, instead of being destroyed, was simply broken up +into an indefinite number of widely-scattered new vortices. And one of +these bits of furious, uncontrolled energy, resembling more nearly a +handful of material rived from a sun than anything else with which +ordinary man is familiar, darted toward and crashed downward to earth +through Neal Cloud's new house.</p> + +<p>That home did not burn; it simply exploded. Nothing of it, in it, or +around it stood a chance, for in a fractional second of time the place +where it had been was a crater of seething, boiling lava—a crater which +filled the atmosphere to a height of miles with poisonous vapors; which +flooded all circumambient space with lethal radiations.</p> + +<p>Cosmically, the whole thing was infinitesimal. Ever since man learned +how to liberate intra-atomic energy, the vortices of disintegration had +been breaking out of control. Such accidents had been happening, were +happening, and would continue indefinitely to happen. More than one +world, perhaps, had been or would be consumed to the last gram by such +loose atomic vortices. What of that? Of what real importance are a few +grains of sand to an ocean beach five thousand miles long, a hundred +miles wide, and ten miles deep?</p> + +<p>And even to that individual grain of sand called "Earth"—or, in modern +parlance, "Sol Three," or "Tellus of Sol", or simply "Tellus"—the +affair was of negligible importance. One man had died; but, in dying, he +had added one more page to the thick bulk of negative results already on +file. That Mrs. Cloud and her children had perished was merely +unfortunate. The vortex itself was not yet a real threat to Tellus. It +was a "new" one, and thus it would be a long time before it would become +other than a local menace. And well before that could happen—before +even the oldest of Tellus' loose vortices had eaten away much of her +mass or poisoned much of her atmosphere, her scientists would have +solved the problem. It was unthinkable that Tellus, the point of origin +and the very center of Galactic Civilization, should cease to exist.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But to Neal Cloud the accident was the ultimate catastrophe. His +personal universe had crashed in ruins; what was left was not worth +picking up. He and Jo had been married for almost twenty years and the +bonds between them had grown stronger, deeper, truer with every passing +day. And the kids.... It <i>couldn't</i> have happened ... fate COULDN'T do +this to him ... but it had ... it could. Gone ... gone ... GONE....</p> + +<p>And to Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, sitting there at his desk in torn, +despairing abstraction, with black maggots of thought gnawing holes in +his brain, the catastrophe was doubly galling because of its cruel +irony. For he was second from the top in the Atomic Research Laboratory; +his life's work had been a search for a means of extinguishment of +exactly such loose vortices as had destroyed his all.</p> + +<p>His eyes focussed vaguely upon the portrait. Clear, honest gray eyes ... +lines of character and of humor ... sweetly curved lips, ready to smile +or to kiss....</p> + +<p>He wrenched his eyes away and scribbled briefly upon a sheet of paper. +Then, getting up stiffly, he took the portrait and moved woodenly across +the room to a furnace. As though enshrining it he placed the plastic +block upon a refractory between the electrodes and threw a switch. After +the flaming arc had done its work he turned and handed the paper to a +tall man, dressed in plain gray leather, who had been watching him with +quiet, understanding eyes. Significant enough to the initiated of the +importance of this laboratory is the fact that it was headed by an +Unattached Lensman.</p> + +<p>"As of now, Phil, if it's QX with you."</p> + +<p>The Gray Lensman took the document, glanced at it, and slowly, +meticulously, tore it into sixteen equal pieces.</p> + +<p>"Uh, uh, Storm," he denied, gently. "Not a resignation. Leave of +absence, yes—indefinite—but not a resignation."</p> + +<p>"Why?" It was scarcely a question; Cloud's voice was level, +uninflected. "I won't be worth the paper I'd waste."</p> + +<p>"Now, no," the Lensman conceded, "but the future's another matter. I +haven't said anything so far, because to anyone who knew you and Jo as I +knew you it was abundantly clear that nothing could be said." Two hands +gripped and held. "For the future, though, four words were uttered long +ago, that have never been improved upon. 'This, too, shall pass.'"</p> + +<p>"You think so?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, Storm—I know so. I've been around a long time. You +are too good a man, and the world has too much use for you, for you to +go down permanently out of control. You've got a place in the world, and +you'll be back—" A thought struck the Lensman, and he went on in an +altered tone. "You wouldn't—but of course you wouldn't—you couldn't."</p> + +<p>"I don't think so. No, I won't—that never was any kind of a solution to +any problem."</p> + +<p>Nor was it. Until that moment, suicide had not entered Cloud's mind, and +he rejected it instantly. His kind of man did not take the easy way out.</p> + +<p>After a brief farewell Cloud made his way to an elevator and was whisked +down to the garage. Into his big blue DeKhotinsky Sixteen Special and +away.</p> + +<p>Through traffic so heavy that front-, rear-, and side-bumpers almost +touched he drove with his wonted cool skill; even though, consciously, +he did not know that the other cars were there. He slowed, turned, +stopped, "gave her the oof," all in correct response to flashing signals +in all shapes and colors—purely automatically. Consciously, he did not +know where he was going, nor care. If he thought at all, his numbed +brain was simply trying to run away from its own bitter imaging—which, +if he had thought at all, he would have known to be a hopeless task. But +he did not think; he simply acted, dumbly, miserably. His eyes saw, +optically; his body reacted, mechanically; his thinking brain was +completely in abeyance.</p> + +<p>Into a one-way skyway he rocketed, along it over the suburbs and into +the transcontinental super-highway. Edging inward, lane after lane, he +reached the "unlimited" way—unlimited, that is, except for being +limited to cars of not less than seven hundred horsepower, in perfect +mechanical condition, driven by registered, tested drivers at speeds not +less than one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour—flashed his +registry number at the control station, and shoved his right foot down +to the floor.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Now everyone knows that an ordinary DeKhotinsky Sporter will do a +hundred and forty honestly-measured miles in one honestly measured hour; +but very few ordinary drivers have ever found out how fast one of those +brutal big souped-up Sixteens can wheel. They simply haven't got what it +takes to open one up.</p> + +<p>"Storm" Cloud found out that day. He held that two-and-a-half-ton +Juggernaut on the road, wide open, for two solid hours. But it didn't +help. Drive as he would, he could not outrun that which rode with him. +Beside him and within him and behind him. For Jo was there. Jo and the +kids, but mostly Jo. It was Jo's car as much as it was his. "Babe, the +big blue ox," was Jo's pet name for it; because, like Paul Bunyan's +fabulous beast, it was pretty nearly six feet between the eyes. +Everything they had ever had was that way. She was in the seat beside +him. Every dear, every sweet, every luscious, lovely memory of her was +there ... and behind him, just out of eye-corner visibility, were the +three kids. And a whole lifetime of this loomed ahead—a vista of +emptiness more vacuous far than the emptiest reaches of intergalactic +space. Damnation! He couldn't stand much more of—</p> + +<p>High over the roadway, far ahead, a brilliant octagon flared red. That +meant "STOP!" in any language. Cloud eased up his accelerator, eased +down his mighty brakes. He pulled up at the control station and a +trimly-uniformed officer made a gesture.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, sir," the policeman said, "but you'll have to detour here. +There's a loose atomic vortex beside the road up ahead—</p> + +<p>"Oh! It's Dr. Cloud!" Recognition flashed into the guard's eyes. "I +didn't recognize you at first. You can go ahead, of course. It'll be two +or three miles before you'll have to put on your armor; you'll know when +better than anyone can tell you. They didn't tell us they were going to +send for <i>you</i>. It's just a little new one, and the dope we got was that +they were going to shove it off into the canyon with pressure."</p> + +<p>"They didn't send for me." Cloud tried to smile. "I'm just driving +around—haven't my armor along, even. So I guess I might as well go +back."</p> + +<p>He turned the Special around. A loose vortex—new. There might be a +hundred of them, scattered over a radius of two hundred miles. Sisters +of the one that had murdered his family—the hellish spawn of that +accursed Number Eleven vortex that that damnably incompetent bungling +ass had tried to blow up.... Into his mind there leaped a picture, +wire-sharp, of Number Eleven as he had last seen it, and simultaneously +an idea hit him like a blow from a fist.</p> + +<p>He thought. <i>Really</i> thought, now; cogently, intensely, clearly. If he +could do it ... could actually blow out the atomic flame of an atomic +vortex ... not exactly revenge, but.... By Klono's brazen bowels, it +would work—it'd <i>have</i> to work—he'd <i>make</i> it work! And grimly, +quietly, but alive in every fiber now, he drove back toward the city +practically as fast as he had come away.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>If the Lensman was surprised at Cloud's sudden reappearance in the +laboratory he did not show it. Nor did he offer any comment as his +erstwhile first assistant went to various lockers and cupboards, +assembling meters, coils, tubes, armor, and other paraphernalia and +apparatus.</p> + +<p>"Guess that's all I'll need, Chief," Cloud remarked, finally. "Here's a +blank check. If some of this stuff shouldn't happen to be in usable +condition when I get done with it, fill it out to suit, will you?"</p> + +<p>"No," and the Lensman tore up the check just as he had torn up the +resignation. "If you want the stuff for legitimate purposes, you're on +Patrol business and it is the Patrol's risk. If, on the other hand, you +think that you're going to try to snuff a vortex, the stuff stays here. +That's final, Storm."</p> + +<p>"You're right—and wrong, Phil," Cloud stated, not at all sheepishly. +"I'm going to blow out Number One vortex with duodec, yes—but I'm +<i>really</i> going to blow it out, not merely make a stab at it as an excuse +for suicide, as you think."</p> + +<p>"How?" The big Lensman's query was skepticism incarnate. "It can't be +done, except by an almost impossibly fortuitous accident. You yourself +have been the most bitterly opposed of us all to these suicidal +attempts."</p> + +<p>"I know it—I didn't have the solution myself until a few hours ago—it +hit me all at once. Funny I never thought of it before; it's been right +in sight all the time."</p> + +<p>"That's the way with most problems," the Chief admitted. "Plain enough +after you see the key equation. Well, I'm perfectly willing to be +convinced, but I warn you that I'll take a lot of convincing—and +someone else will do the work, not you."</p> + +<p>"When I get done you'll see why I'll pretty nearly have to do it myself. +But to convince you, exactly what is the knot?"</p> + +<p>"Variability," snapped the older man. "To be effective, the charge of +explosive at the moment of impact must match, within very close limits, +the activity of the vortex itself. Too small a charge scatters it +around, in vortices which, while much smaller than the original, are +still large enough to be self-sustaining. Too large a charge simply +rekindles the original vortex—still larger—in its original crater. And +the activity that must be matched varies so tremendously, in magnitude, +maxima, and minima, and the cycle is so erratic—ranging from seconds to +hours without discoverable rhyme or reason—that all attempts to do so +at any predetermined instant have failed completely. Why, even Kinnison +and Cardynge and the Conference of Scientists couldn't solve it, any +more than they could work out a tractor beam that could be used as a +tow-line on one."</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," Cloud demurred. "They found that it could be forecast, +for a few seconds at least—length of time directly proportional to the +length of the cycle in question—by an extension of the calculus of +warped surfaces."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" the Lensman snorted. "So what? What good is a ten-second +forecast when it takes a calculating machine an hour to solve the +equations.... Oh!" He broke off, staring.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he repeated, slowly, "I forgot that you're a lightning +calculator—a mathematical prodigy from the day you were born—who never +has to use a calculating machine even to compute an orbit.... But there +are other things."</p> + +<p>"I'll say there are; plenty of them. I'd thought of the calculator angle +before, of course, but there was a worse thing than variability to +contend with...."</p> + +<p>"What?" the Lensman demanded.</p> + +<p>"Fear," Cloud replied, crisply. "At the thought of a hand-to-hand battle +with a vortex my brain froze solid. Fear—the sheer, stark, natural +human fear of death, that robs a man of the fine edge of control and +brings on the very death that he is trying so hard to avoid. That's what +had me stopped."</p> + +<p>"Right ... you may be right," the Lensman pondered, his fingers drumming +quietly upon his desk. "And you are not afraid of death—now—even +subconsciously. But tell me, Storm, please, that you won't invite it."</p> + +<p>"I will not invite it, sir, now that I've got a job to do. But that's as +far as I'll go in promising. I won't make any superhuman effort to avoid +it. I'll take all due precautions, for the sake of the job, but if it +gets me, what the hell? The quicker it does, the better—the sooner I'll +be with Jo."</p> + +<p>"You believe that?"</p> + +<p>"Implicitly."</p> + +<p>"The vortices are as good as gone, then. They haven't got any more +chance than Boskone has of licking the Patrol."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so," almost glumly. "The only way for it to get me is for me +to make a mistake, and I don't feel any coming on."</p> + +<p>"But what's your angle?" the Lensman asked, interest lighting his eyes. +"You can't use the customary attack; your time will be too short."</p> + +<p>"Like this," and, taking down a sheet of drafting paper, Cloud sketched +rapidly. "This is the crater, here, with the vortex at the bottom, +there. From the observers' instruments or from a shielded set-up of my +own I get my data on mass, emission, maxima, minima, and so on. Then I +have them make me three duodec bombs—one on the mark of the activity +I'm figuring on shooting at, and one each five percent over and under +that figure—cased in neocarballoy of exactly the computed thickness to +last until it gets to the center of the vortex. Then I take off in a +flying suit, armored and shielded, say about here...."</p> + +<p>"If you take off at all, you'll take off in a suit, inside a one-man +flitter," the Lensman interrupted. "Too many instruments for a suit, to +say nothing of bombs, and you'll need more screen than a suit can +deliver. We can adapt a flitter for bomb-throwing easily enough."</p> + +<p>"QX; that would be better, of course. In that case, I set my flitter +into a projectile trajectory like this, whose objective is the center of +the vortex, there. See? Ten seconds or so away, at about this point, I +take my instantaneous readings, solve the equations at that particular +warped surface for some certain zero time...."</p> + +<p>"But suppose that the cycle won't give you a ten-second solution?"</p> + +<p>"Then I'll swing around and try again until a long cycle <i>does</i> show +up."</p> + +<p>"QX. It will, sometime."</p> + +<p>"Sure. Then, having everything set for zero time, and assuming that the +activity is somewhere near my postulated value...."</p> + +<p>"Assume that it isn't—it probably won't be," the Chief grunted.</p> + +<p>"I accelerate or decelerate—"</p> + +<p>"Solving new equations all the while?"</p> + +<p>"Sure—don't interrupt so—until at zero time the activity, extrapolated +to zero time, matches one of my bombs. I cut that bomb loose, shoot +myself off in a sharp curve, and Z-W-E-E-E-T—POWIE! She's out!" With an +expressive, sweeping gesture.</p> + +<p>"You hope," the Lensman was frankly dubious. "And there you are, right +in the middle of that explosion, with two duodec bombs outside your +armor—or just inside your flitter."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. I've shot them away several seconds ago, so that they explode +somewhere else, nowhere near me."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> hope. But do you realize just how busy a man you are going to be +during those ten or twelve seconds?"</p> + +<p>"Fully." Cloud's face grew somber. "But I will be in full control. I +won't be afraid of anything that can happen—<i>anything</i>. And," he went +on, under his breath, "that's the hell of it."</p> + +<p>"QX," the Lensman admitted finally, "you can go. There are a lot of +things you haven't mentioned, but you'll probably be able to work them +out as you go along. I think I'll go out and work with the boys in the +lookout station while you're doing your stuff. When are you figuring on +starting?"</p> + +<p>"How long will it take to get the flitter ready?"</p> + +<p>"A couple of days. Say we meet you there Saturday morning?"</p> + +<p>"Saturday the tenth, at eight o'clock. I'll be there."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>And again Neal Cloud and Babe, the big blue ox, hit the road. And as he +rolled the physicist mulled over in his mind the assignment to which he +had set himself.</p> + +<p>Like fire, only worse, intra-atomic energy was a good servant, but a +terrible master. Man had liberated it before he could really control it. +In fact, control was not yet, and perhaps never would be, perfect. Up to +a certain size and activity, yes. They, the millions upon millions of +self-limiting ones, were the servants. They could be handled, fenced in, +controlled; indeed, if they were not kept under an exciting bombardment +and very carefully fed, they would go out. But at long intervals, for +some one of a dozen reasons—science knew <i>so</i> little, fundamentally, of +the true inwardness of the intra-atomic reactions—one of these small, +tame, self-limiting vortices flared, nova-like, into a large, wild, +self-sustaining one. It ceased being a servant then, and became a +master. Such flare-ups occurred, perhaps, only once or twice in a +century on Earth; the trouble was that they were so utterly, damnably +<i>permanent</i>. They never went out. And no data were ever secured: for +every living thing in the vicinity of a flare-up died; every instrument +and every other solid thing within a radius of a hundred feet melted +down into the reeking, boiling slag of its crater.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, the rate of growth was slow—as slow, almost, as it was +persistent—otherwise Civilization would scarcely have had a planet +left. And unless something could be done about loose vortices before +too many years, the consequences would be really serious. That was why +his laboratory had been established in the first place.</p> + +<p>Nothing much had been accomplished so far. The tractor beam that would +take hold of them had never been designed. Nothing material was of any +use; it melted. Pressors worked, after a fashion: it was by the use of +these beams that they shoved the vortices around, off into the waste +places—unless it proved cheaper to allow the places where they had come +into being to remain waste places. A few, through sheer luck, had been +blown into self-limiting bits by duodec. Duodecaplylatomate, the most +powerful, the most frightfully detonant explosive ever invented upon all +the known planets of the First Galaxy. But duodec had taken an awful +toll of life. Also, since it usually scattered a vortex instead of +extinguishing it, duodec had actually caused far more damage than it had +cured.</p> + +<p>No end of fantastic schemes had been proposed, of course; of varying +degrees of fantasy. Some of them sounded almost practical. Some of them +had been tried; some of them were still being tried. Some, such as the +perennially-appearing one of building a huge hemispherical hull in the +ground under and around the vortex, installing an inertialess drive, and +shooting the whole neighborhood out into space, were perhaps feasible +from an engineering standpoint. They were, however, potentially so +capable of making things worse that they would not be tried save as +last-ditch measures. In short, the control of loose vortices was very +much an unsolved problem.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Number One vortex, the oldest and worst upon Tellus, had been pushed out +into the Badlands; and there, at eight o'clock on the tenth, Cloud +started to work upon it.</p> + +<p>The "lookout station," instead of being some such ramshackle structure +as might have been deduced from the Lensman's casual terminology, was in +fact a fully-equipped observatory. Its staff was not large—eight men +worked in three staggered eight-hour shifts of two men each—but the +instruments! To develop them had required hundreds of man-years of time +and near-miracles of research, not the least of the problems having been +that of developing shielded conductors capable of carrying truly through +five-ply screens of force the converted impulses of the very radiations +against which those screens were most effective. For the observatory, +and the one long approach to it as well, had to be screened heavily; +without such protection no life could exist there.</p> + +<p>This problem and many others had been solved, however, and there the +instruments were. Every phase and factor of the vortex's existence and +activity were measured and recorded continuously, throughout every +minute of every day of every year. And all of these records were summed +up, integrated, into the "Sigma" curve. This curve, while only an +incredibly and senselessly tortuous line to the layman's eye, was a +veritable mine of information to the initiate.</p> + +<p>Cloud glanced along the Sigma curve of the previous forty-eight hours +and scowled, for one jagged peak, scarcely an hour old, actually punched +through the top line of the chart.</p> + +<p>"Bad, huh, Frank?" he grunted.</p> + +<p>"Plenty bad, Storm, and getting worse," the observer assented. "I +wouldn't wonder if Carlowitz were right, after all—if she ain't getting +ready to blow her top I'm a Zabriskan fontema's maiden aunt."</p> + +<p>"No periodicity—no equation, of course." It was a statement, not a +question. The Lensman ignored as completely as did the observer, if not +as flippantly, the distinct possibility that at any moment the +observatory and all that it contained might be resolved into their +component atoms.</p> + +<p>"None whatever," came flatly from Cloud. He did not need to spend hours +at a calculating machine; at one glance he <i>knew</i>, without knowing how +he knew, that no equation could be made to fit even the weighted-average +locus of that wildly-shifting Sigma curve. "But most of the cycles cut +this ordinate here—seven fifty-one—so I'll take that for my value. +That means nine point nine oh six kilograms of duodec basic charge, with +one five percent over and one five percent under that for alternates. +Neocarballoy casing, fifty-three millimeters on the basic, others in +proportion. On the wire?"</p> + +<p>"It went out as you said it," the observer reported. "They'll have 'em +here in fifteen minutes."</p> + +<p>"QX—I'll get dressed, then."</p> + +<p>The Lensman and the observer helped him into his cumbersome, +heavily-padded armor. They checked his instruments, making sure that the +protective devices of the suit were functioning at full efficiency. Then +all three went out to the flitter. A tiny speedster, really; a torpedo +bearing the stubby wings and the ludicrous tail-surfaces, the +multifarious driving-, braking-, side-, top-, and under-jets so +characteristic of the tricky, cranky, but ultra-maneuverable breed. But +this one had something that the ordinary speedster or flitter did not +carry; spaced around the needle beak there yawned the open muzzles of a +triplex bomb-thrower.</p> + +<div style='margin-top:1em;'> +<img src='images/i-02a.png' alt='Cloud’s ship approaching vortex' style='float:left;'/> +<img src='images/i-02b.png' alt='The Vortex' style='float:right;'/> + +<p class='caption center' style='clear:left;padding-top:1em; + font-size:1em;font-weight:normal;'> +<i>Ten seconds in which to solve the equation—to +choose, fire, move clear—the flitter bucked.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>More checking. The Lensman and the armored Cloud both knew that every +one of the dozens of instruments upon the flitter's special board was +right to the hair; nevertheless each one was compared with the +master-instrument of the observatory.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The bombs arrived and were loaded in; and Cloud, with a casually-waved +salute, stepped into the tiny operating compartment. The massive +door—flitters have no airlocks, as the whole midsection is scarcely +bigger than an airlock would have to be—rammed shut upon its fiber +gaskets, the heavy toggles drove home. A cushioned form closed in upon +the pilot, leaving only his arms and lower legs free.</p> + +<p>Then, making sure that his two companions had ducked for cover, Cloud +shot his flitter into the air and toward the seething inferno which was +Loose Atomic Vortex Number One. For it was seething, no fooling; and it +was an inferno. The crater was a ragged, jagged hole a full mile from +lip to lip and perhaps a quarter of that in depth. It was not, however, +a perfect cone, for the floor, being largely incandescently molten, was +practically level except for a depression at the center, where the +actual vortex lay. The walls of the pit were steeply, unstably +irregular, varying in pitch and shape with the hardness and +refractoriness of the strata composing them. Now a section would glare +into an unbearably blinding white puffing away in sparkling vapor. +Again, cooled by an inrushing blast of air, it would subside into an +angry scarlet, its surface crawling in a sluggish flow of lava. +Occasionally a part of the wall might even go black, into pock-marked +scoriae or into brilliant planes of obsidian.</p> + +<p>For always, somewhere, there was an enormous volume of air pouring into +that crater. It rushed in as ordinary air. It came out, however, in a +ragingly-uprushing pillar, as—as something else. No one knew—or knows +yet, for that matter—exactly what a loose vortex does to the molecules +and atoms of air. In fact, due to the extreme variability already +referred to, it probably does not do the same thing for more than an +instant at a time.</p> + +<p>That there is little actual combustion is certain; that is, except for +the forced combination of nitrogen, argon, xenon, and krypton with +oxygen. There is, however, consumption: plenty of consumption. And what +that incredibly intense bombardment impinges up is ... is altered. +Profoundly and obscuredly altered, so that the atmosphere emitted from +the crater is quite definitely no longer air as we know it. It may be +corrosive, it may be poisonous in one or another of a hundred fashions, +it may be merely new and different; but it is no longer the air which we +human beings are used to breathing. And it is this fact, rather than the +destruction of the planet itself, which would end the possibility of +life upon Earth's surface.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It is difficult indeed to describe the appearance of a loose atomic +vortex to those who have never seen one; and, fortunately, most people +never have. And practically all of its frightful radiation lies in those +octaves of the spectrum which are invisible to the human eye. Suffice it +to say, then, that it had an average effective surface temperature of +about fifteen thousand degrees absolute—two and one-half times as hot +as the sun of Tellus—and that it was radiating every frequency possible +to that incomprehensible temperature, and let it go at that.</p> + +<p>And Neal Cloud, scurrying in his flitter through that murky, +radiation-riddled atmosphere, setting up equations from the readings of +his various meters and gauges and solving those equations almost +instantaneously in his mathematical-prodigy's mind, sat appalled. For +the activity level was, and even in its lowest dips remained, far above +the level he had selected. His skin began to prickle and to burn. His +eyes began to smart and to ache. He knew what those symptoms meant; even +the flitter's powerful screens were not stopping all the radiation; even +his suit-screens and his special goggles were not stopping what leaked +through. But he wouldn't quit yet; the activity might—probably +would—take a nose-dive any instant. If it did, he'd have to be ready. +On the other hand, it might blow up at any instant, too.</p> + +<p>There were two schools of mathematical thought upon that point. One held +that the vortex, without any essential change in its physical condition +or nature, would keep on growing bigger. Indefinitely, until, uniting +with the other vortices of the planet, it had converted the entire mass +of the world into energy.</p> + +<p>The second school, of which the forementioned Carlowitz was the loudest +voice, taught that at a certain stage of development the internal energy +of the vortex would become so great that generation-radiation +equilibrium could not be maintained. This would, of course, result in an +explosion; the nature and consequences of which this Carlowitz was wont +to dwell upon in ghoulishly mathematical glee. Neither school, however, +could prove its point—or, rather, each school proved its point, by +means of unimpeachable mathematics—and each hated and derided the +other, loudly and heatedly.</p> + +<p>And now Cloud, as he studied through his almost opaque defenses that +indescribably ravening fireball, that esuriently rapacious monstrosity +which might very well have come from the deepest pit of the hottest hell +of mythology, felt strongly inclined to agree with Carlowitz. It didn't +seem possible that anything <i>could</i> get any worse than that without +exploding. And such an explosion, he felt sure, would certainly blow +everything for miles around into the smitheriest kind of smithereens.</p> + +<p>The activity of the vortex stayed high, 'way too high. The tiny control +room of the flitter grew hotter and hotter. His skin burned and his eyes +ached worse. He touched a communicator stud and spoke.</p> + +<p>"Phil? Better get me three more bombs. Like these, except up around...."</p> + +<p>"I don't check you. If you do that, it's apt to drop to a minimum and +stay there," the Lensman reminded him. "It's completely unpredictable, +you know."</p> + +<p>"It may, at that ... so I'll have to forget the five percent margin and +hit it on the nose or not at all. Order me up two more, then—one at +half of what I've got here, the other double it," and he reeled off the +figures for the charge and the casing of the explosive. "You might break +out a jar of burn-dressing, too. Some fairly hot stuff is leaking +through."</p> + +<p>"We'll do that. Come down, fast!"</p> + +<p>Cloud landed. He stripped to the skin and the observer smeared his every +square inch of epidermis with the thick, gooey stuff that was not only a +highly efficient screen against radiation, but also a sovereign remedy +for new radiation burns. He exchanged his goggles for a thicker, darker, +heavier pair. The two bombs arrived and were substituted for two of the +original load.</p> + +<p>"I thought of something while I was up there," Cloud informed the +observers then. "Twenty kilograms of duodec is nobody's firecracker, but +it may be the least of what's going to go off. Have you got any idea of +what's going to become of the energy inside that vortex when I blow it +out?"</p> + +<p>"Can't say that I have." The Lensman frowned in thought. "No data."</p> + +<p>"Neither have I. But I'd say that you better go back to the new +station—the one you were going to move to if it kept on getting worse."</p> + +<p>"But the instruments...." the Lensman was thinking, not of the +instruments themselves, which were valueless in comparison with life, +but of the records those instruments would make. Those records were +priceless.</p> + +<p>"I'll have everything on the tapes in the flitter," Cloud reminded.</p> + +<p>"But suppose...."</p> + +<p>"That the flitter stops one, too—or doesn't stop it, rather? In that +case, your back station won't be there, either, so it won't make any +difference." How mistaken Cloud was!</p> + +<p>"QX," the Chief decided. "We'll leave when you do—just in case."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Again in air, Cloud found that the activity, while still high, was not +too high, but that it was fluctuating too rapidly. He could not get even +five seconds of trustworthy prediction, to say nothing of ten. So he +waited, as close as he dared remain to that horrible center of +disintegration.</p> + +<p>The flitter hung poised in air, motionless, upon softly hissing +under-jets. Cloud knew to a fraction his height above the ground. He +knew to a fraction his distance from the vortex. He knew with equal +certainty the density of the atmosphere and the exact velocity and +direction of the wind. Hence, since he could also read closely enough +the momentary variations in the cyclonic storms within the crater, he +could compute very easily the course and velocity necessary to land the +bomb in the exact center of the vortex at any given instant of time. The +hard part—the thing that no one had as yet succeeded in doing—was to +predict, for a time far enough ahead to be of any use, a usably close +approximation to the vortex's quantitative activity. For, as has been +said, he had to over-blast, rather than under-, if he could not hit it +"on the nose:" to under-blast would scatter it all over the state.</p> + +<p>Therefore Cloud concentrated upon the dials and gauges before him; +concentrated with every fiber of his being and every cell of his brain.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, the Sigma curve gave signs of flattening +out. In that instant Cloud's mind pounced. Simultaneous equations: nine +of them, involving nine unknowns. An integration in four dimensions. No +matter—Cloud did not solve them laboriously, one factor at a time. +Without knowing how he had arrived at it, he knew the answer; just as +the Posenian or the Rigellian is able to perceive every separate +component particle of an opaque, three-dimensional solid, but without +being able to explain to anyone how his sense of perception works. It +just <i>is</i>, that's all.</p> + +<p>Anyway, by virtue of whatever sense or ability it is which makes a +mathematical prodigy what he is, Cloud knew that in exactly eight and +three-tenths seconds from that observed instant the activity of the +vortex would be slightly—but not too far—under the coefficient of his +heaviest bomb. Another flick of his mental trigger and he knew the exact +velocity he would require. His hand swept over the studs, his right foot +tramped down, hard, upon the firing lever; and, even as the quivering +flitter shot forward under eight Tellurian gravities of acceleration, he +knew to the thousandth of a second how long he would have to hold that +acceleration to attain that velocity. While not really long—in +seconds—it was much too long for comfort. It took him much closer to +the vortex than he wanted to be; in fact, it took him right out over the +crater itself.</p> + +<p>But he stuck to the calculated course, and at the precisely correct +instant he cut his drive and released his largest bomb. Then, so rapidly +that it was one blur of speed, he again kicked on his eight G's of drive +and started to whirl around as only a speedster or a flitter can whirl. +Practically unconscious from the terrific resultant of the linear and +angular accelerations, he ejected the two smaller bombs. He did not care +particularly where they lit, just so they didn't light in the crater or +near the observatory, and he had already made certain of that. Then, +without waiting even to finish the whirl or to straighten her out in +level flight, Cloud's still-flying hand darted toward the switch whose +closing would energize the Bergenholm and make the flitter inertialess.</p> + +<p>Too late. Hell was out for noon, with the little speedster still inert. +Cloud had moved fast, too; trained mind and trained body had been +working at top speed and in perfect coordination. There just simply +hadn't been enough time. If he could have got what he wanted, ten full +seconds, or even nine, he could have made it, but....</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In spite of what happened, Cloud defended his action, then and +thereafter. Damnitall, he <i>had</i> to take the eight-point-three second +reading! Another tenth of a second and his bomb wouldn't have fitted—he +didn't have the five percent leeway he wanted, remember. And no, he +couldn't wait for another match, either. His screens were leaking like +sieves, and if he had waited for another chance they would have picked +him up fried to a greasy cinder in his own lard!</p> + +<p>The bomb sped truly and struck the target in direct central impact, +exactly as scheduled. It penetrated perfectly. The neocarballoy casing +lasted just long enough—that frightful charge of duodec exploded, if +not exactly at the center of the vortex, at least near enough to the +center to do the work. In other words, Cloud's figuring had been +close—very close. But the time had been altogether too short.</p> + +<p>The flitter was not even out of the crater when the bomb went off. And +not only the bomb. For Cloud's vague forebodings were materialized, and +more; the staggeringly immense energy of the vortex merged with that of +the detonating duodec to form an utterly incomprehensible whole.</p> + +<p>In part the hellish flood of boiling lava in that devil's cauldron was +beaten downward into a bowl by the sheer, stupendous force of the blow; +in part it was hurled abroad in masses, in gouts and streamers. And the +raging wind of the explosion's front seized the fragments and tore and +worried them to bits, hurling them still faster along their paths of +violence. And air, so densely compressed as to be to all intents and +purposes a solid, smote the walls of the crater. Smote them so that they +crumbled, crushed outward through the hard-packed ground, broke up into +jaggedly irregular blocks which hurtled, screamingly, away through the +atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Also the concussion wave, or the explosion front, or flying fragments, +or something, struck the two loose bombs, so that they too exploded and +added their contribution to the already stupendous concentration of +force. They were not close enough to the flitter to wreck it of +themselves, but they were close enough so that they didn't do her—or +her pilot—a bit of good.</p> + +<p>The first terrific wave buffeted the flyer while Cloud's right hand was +in the air, shooting across the panel to turn on the Berg. The impact +jerked the arm downward and sidewise, both bones of the forearm snapping +as it struck the ledge. The second one, an instant later, broke his left +leg. Then the debris began to arrive.</p> + +<p>Chunks of solid or semi-molten rock slammed against the hull, knocking +off wings and control-surfaces. Gobs of viscous slag slapped it +liquidly, freezing into and clogging up jets and orifices. The little +ship was hurled hither and yon, in the grip of forces she could no more +resist than can the floating leaf resist the waters of a cataract. And +Cloud's brain was as addled as an egg by the vicious concussions which +were hitting him from so many different directions and so nearly all at +once. Nevertheless, with his one arm and his one leg and the few cells +of his brain that were still at work, the physicist was still in the +fight.</p> + +<p>By sheer force of will and nerve he forced his left hand across the +gyrating key-bank to the Bergenholm switch. He snapped it, and in the +instant of its closing a vast, calm peace descended, blanket-like. For, +fortunately, the Berg still worked; the flitter and all her contents and +appurtenances were inertialess. Nothing material could buffet her or +hurt her now; she would waft effortlessly away from a feather's lightest +possible touch.</p> + +<p>Cloud wanted to faint then, but he didn't—quite. Instead, foggily, he +tried to look back at the crater. Nine-tenths of his visiplates were out +of commission, but he finally got a view. Good—it was out. He wasn't +surprised; he had been quite confident that it would be. It wasn't +scattered around, either. It <i>couldn't</i> be, for his only possibility of +smearing the shot was on the upper side, not the lower.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>His next effort was to locate the secondary observatory, where he had to +land, and in that too he was successful. He had enough intelligence left +to realize that, with practically all of his jets clogged and his wings +and tail shot off, he couldn't land his little vessel inert. Therefore +he would have to land her free.</p> + +<p>And by dint of light and extremely unorthodox use of what jets he had +left in usable shape he did land her free, almost within the limits of +the observatory's field; and having landed, he inerted her.</p> + +<p>But, as has been intimated, his brain was not working so well; he had +held his ship inertialess quite a few seconds longer than he thought, +and he did not even think of the buffetings she had taken. As a result +of these things, however, her intrinsic velocity did not match, anywhere +near exactly, that of the ground upon which she lay. Thus, when Cloud +cut his Bergenholm, restoring thereby to the flitter the absolute +velocity and inertia she had had before going free, there resulted a +distinctly anti-climactic crash.</p> + +<p>There was a last terrific bump as the motionless vessel collided with +the equally motionless ground; and "Storm" Cloud, vortex blaster, went +out like the proverbial light.</p> + +<p>Help came, of course; and on the double. The pilot was unconscious and +the flitter's door could not be opened from the outside, but those were +not insuperable obstacles. A plate, already loose, was sheared away; the +pilot was carefully lifted out of his prison and rushed to Base Hospital +in the "meat-can" already in attendance.</p> + +<p>And later, in a private office of that hospital, the gray-clad Chief of +the Atomic Research Laboratory sat and waited—but not patiently.</p> + +<p>"How is he, Lacy?" he demanded, as the Surgeon-General entered the room. +"He's going to live, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Phil—definitely yes," Lacy replied, briskly. "He has a good +skeleton, very good indeed. The burns are superficial and will yield +quite readily to treatment. The deeper, delayed effects of the radiation +to which he was exposed can be neutralized entirely effectively. Thus he +will not need even a Phillips's treatment for the replacement of damaged +parts, except possibly for a few torn muscles and so on."</p> + +<p>"But he was smashed up pretty badly, wasn't he? I know that he had a +broken arm and a broken leg, at least."</p> + +<p>"Simple fractures only—entirely negligible." Lacy waved aside with an +airy gesture such small ills as broken bones. "He'll be out in a few +weeks."</p> + +<p>"How soon can I see him?" the Lensman-physicist asked. "There are some +important things to take up with him, and I've got a personal message +for him that I must give him as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>Lacy pursued his lips. Then:</p> + +<p>"You may see him now," he decided. "He is conscious, and strong enough. +Not too long, though, Phil—fifteen minutes at most."</p> + +<p>"QX, and thanks," and a nurse led the visiting Lensman to Cloud's +bedside.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Stupe!" he boomed, cheerfully. "'Stupe' being short for stupendous, +not 'stupid'."</p> + +<p>"Hi, Chief. Glad to see somebody. Sit down."</p> + +<p>"You're the most-wanted man in the Galaxy," the visitor informed the +invalid, "not excepting even Kimball Kinnison. Look at this spool of +tape, and it's only the first one. I brought it along for you to read at +your leisure. As soon as any planet finds out that we've got a +sure-enough vortex-blower-outer, an expert who can really call his +shots—and the news travels mighty fast—that planet sends in a +double-urgent, Class A-Prime demand for first call upon your services.</p> + +<p>"Sirius IV got in first by a whisker, it seems, but Aldebaran II was so +close a second that it was a photo finish, and all the channels have +been jammed ever since. Canopus, Vega, Rigel, Spica. They all want you. +Everybody, from Alsakan to Vandemar and back. We told them right off +that we would not receive personal delegations—we had to almost throw a +couple of pink-haired Chickladorians out bodily to make them believe +that we meant it—and that the age and condition of the vortex +involved, not priority of requisition, would govern, QX?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely," Cloud agreed. "That's the only way it could be, I should +think."</p> + +<p>"So forget about this psychic trauma.... No, I don't mean that," the +Lensman corrected himself hastily. "You know what I mean. The will to +live is the most important factor in any man's recovery, and too many +worlds need you too badly to have you quit now. Not?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," Cloud acquiesced, but somberly. "I'll get out of here in +short order. And I'll keep on pecking away until one of those vortices +finishes what this one started."</p> + +<p>"You'll die of old age then, son," the Lensman assured him. "We got full +data—all the information we need. We know exactly what to do to your +screens. Next time nothing will come through except light, and only as +much of that as you feel like admitting. You can wait as close to a +vortex as you please, for as long as you please; until you get exactly +the activity and time-interval that you want. You will be just as +comfortable and just as safe as though you were home in bed."</p> + +<p>"Sure of that?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely—or at least, as sure as we can be of anything that hasn't +happened yet. But I see that your guardian angel here is eyeing her +clock somewhat pointedly, so I'd better be doing a flit before they toss +me down a shaft. Clear ether, Storm!"</p> + +<p>"Clear ether, Chief!"</p> + +<p>And that is how "Storm" Cloud, atomic physicist, became the most +narrowly-specialized specialist in all the annals of science: how he +became "Storm" Cloud, Vortex Blaster—the Galaxy's only vortex blaster.</p> + +<p class="transnote">Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced +from <i>Comet</i>, July 1941. Extensive research did not uncover any +evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + +Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Vortex Blaster, by Edward Elmer Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VORTEX BLASTER *** + +***** This file should be named 22629-h.htm or 22629-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/6/2/22629/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, V. L. Simpson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Vortex Blaster + +Author: Edward Elmer Smith + +Release Date: September 16, 2007 [EBook #22629] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VORTEX BLASTER *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, V. L. Simpson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + [Illustration: _The Lensman and the observer helped + Storm into his heavily padded armor. Their movements + were automatic--the ointment, the devices--_] + + + _INTRODUCING "Storm" Cloud, who, through tragedy, is + destined to become the most noted figure in the + galaxy--THE_ + + + VORTEX BLASTER + + (_Complete in this issue!_) + + by + E. E. SMITH, Ph.D. + + +_Author of "The Skylark," "Skylark Three," "The Skylark + of Valeron," the Lensman stories, etc._ + + + + +Safety devices that do not protect. + +The "unsinkable" ships that, before the days of Bergenholm and of atomic +and cosmic energy, sank into the waters of the earth. + +More particularly, safety devices which, while protecting against one +agent of destruction, attract magnet-like another and worse. Such as the +armored cable within the walls of a wooden house. It protects the +electrical conductors within against accidental external shorts; but, +inadequately grounded as it must of necessity be, it may attract and +upon occasion has attracted the stupendous force of lightning. Then, +fused, volatilized, flaming incandescent throughout the length, breadth, +and height of a dwelling, that dwelling's existence thereafter is to be +measured in minutes. + +Specifically, four lightning rods. The lightning rods protecting the +chromium, glass, and plastic home of Neal Cloud. Those rods were +adequately grounded, grounded with copper-silver cables the bigness of a +strong man's arm; for Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, knew his lightning +and he was taking no chances whatever with the safety of his lovely wife +and their three wonderful kids. + +He did not know, he did not even suspect, that under certain conditions +of atmospheric potential and of ground-magnetic stress his perfectly +designed lightning-rod system would become a super-powerful magnet for +flying vortices of atomic disintegration. + +And now Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, sat at his desk in a strained, +dull apathy. His face was a yellowish-gray white, his tendoned hands +gripped rigidly the arms of his chair. His eyes, hard and lifeless, +stared unseeingly past the small, three-dimensional block portrait of +all that had made life worth living. + +For his guardian against lightning had been a vortex-magnet at the +moment when a luckless wight had attempted to abate the nuisance of a +"loose" atomic vortex. That wight died, of course--they almost always +do--and the vortex, instead of being destroyed, was simply broken up +into an indefinite number of widely-scattered new vortices. And one of +these bits of furious, uncontrolled energy, resembling more nearly a +handful of material rived from a sun than anything else with which +ordinary man is familiar, darted toward and crashed downward to earth +through Neal Cloud's new house. + +That home did not burn; it simply exploded. Nothing of it, in it, or +around it stood a chance, for in a fractional second of time the place +where it had been was a crater of seething, boiling lava--a crater which +filled the atmosphere to a height of miles with poisonous vapors; which +flooded all circumambient space with lethal radiations. + +Cosmically, the whole thing was infinitesimal. Ever since man learned +how to liberate intra-atomic energy, the vortices of disintegration had +been breaking out of control. Such accidents had been happening, were +happening, and would continue indefinitely to happen. More than one +world, perhaps, had been or would be consumed to the last gram by such +loose atomic vortices. What of that? Of what real importance are a few +grains of sand to an ocean beach five thousand miles long, a hundred +miles wide, and ten miles deep? + +And even to that individual grain of sand called "Earth"--or, in modern +parlance, "Sol Three," or "Tellus of Sol", or simply "Tellus"--the +affair was of negligible importance. One man had died; but, in dying, he +had added one more page to the thick bulk of negative results already on +file. That Mrs. Cloud and her children had perished was merely +unfortunate. The vortex itself was not yet a real threat to Tellus. It +was a "new" one, and thus it would be a long time before it would become +other than a local menace. And well before that could happen--before +even the oldest of Tellus' loose vortices had eaten away much of her +mass or poisoned much of her atmosphere, her scientists would have +solved the problem. It was unthinkable that Tellus, the point of origin +and the very center of Galactic Civilization, should cease to exist. + + * * * * * + +But to Neal Cloud the accident was the ultimate catastrophe. His +personal universe had crashed in ruins; what was left was not worth +picking up. He and Jo had been married for almost twenty years and the +bonds between them had grown stronger, deeper, truer with every passing +day. And the kids.... It _couldn't_ have happened ... fate COULDN'T do +this to him ... but it had ... it could. Gone ... gone ... GONE.... + +And to Neal Cloud, atomic physicist, sitting there at his desk in torn, +despairing abstraction, with black maggots of thought gnawing holes in +his brain, the catastrophe was doubly galling because of its cruel +irony. For he was second from the top in the Atomic Research Laboratory; +his life's work had been a search for a means of extinguishment of +exactly such loose vortices as had destroyed his all. + +His eyes focussed vaguely upon the portrait. Clear, honest gray eyes ... +lines of character and of humor ... sweetly curved lips, ready to smile +or to kiss.... + +He wrenched his eyes away and scribbled briefly upon a sheet of paper. +Then, getting up stiffly, he took the portrait and moved woodenly across +the room to a furnace. As though enshrining it he placed the plastic +block upon a refractory between the electrodes and threw a switch. After +the flaming arc had done its work he turned and handed the paper to a +tall man, dressed in plain gray leather, who had been watching him with +quiet, understanding eyes. Significant enough to the initiated of the +importance of this laboratory is the fact that it was headed by an +Unattached Lensman. + +"As of now, Phil, if it's QX with you." + +The Gray Lensman took the document, glanced at it, and slowly, +meticulously, tore it into sixteen equal pieces. + +"Uh, uh, Storm," he denied, gently. "Not a resignation. Leave of +absence, yes--indefinite--but not a resignation." + +"Why?" It was scarcely a question; Cloud's voice was level, +uninflected. "I won't be worth the paper I'd waste." + +"Now, no," the Lensman conceded, "but the future's another matter. I +haven't said anything so far, because to anyone who knew you and Jo as I +knew you it was abundantly clear that nothing could be said." Two hands +gripped and held. "For the future, though, four words were uttered long +ago, that have never been improved upon. 'This, too, shall pass.'" + +"You think so?" + +"I don't think so, Storm--I know so. I've been around a long time. You +are too good a man, and the world has too much use for you, for you to +go down permanently out of control. You've got a place in the world, and +you'll be back--" A thought struck the Lensman, and he went on in an +altered tone. "You wouldn't--but of course you wouldn't--you couldn't." + +"I don't think so. No, I won't--that never was any kind of a solution to +any problem." + +Nor was it. Until that moment, suicide had not entered Cloud's mind, and +he rejected it instantly. His kind of man did not take the easy way out. + +After a brief farewell Cloud made his way to an elevator and was whisked +down to the garage. Into his big blue DeKhotinsky Sixteen Special and +away. + +Through traffic so heavy that front-, rear-, and side-bumpers almost +touched he drove with his wonted cool skill; even though, consciously, +he did not know that the other cars were there. He slowed, turned, +stopped, "gave her the oof," all in correct response to flashing signals +in all shapes and colors--purely automatically. Consciously, he did not +know where he was going, nor care. If he thought at all, his numbed +brain was simply trying to run away from its own bitter imaging--which, +if he had thought at all, he would have known to be a hopeless task. But +he did not think; he simply acted, dumbly, miserably. His eyes saw, +optically; his body reacted, mechanically; his thinking brain was +completely in abeyance. + +Into a one-way skyway he rocketed, along it over the suburbs and into +the transcontinental super-highway. Edging inward, lane after lane, he +reached the "unlimited" way--unlimited, that is, except for being +limited to cars of not less than seven hundred horsepower, in perfect +mechanical condition, driven by registered, tested drivers at speeds not +less than one hundred and twenty-five miles an hour--flashed his +registry number at the control station, and shoved his right foot down +to the floor. + + * * * * * + +Now everyone knows that an ordinary DeKhotinsky Sporter will do a +hundred and forty honestly-measured miles in one honestly measured hour; +but very few ordinary drivers have ever found out how fast one of those +brutal big souped-up Sixteens can wheel. They simply haven't got what it +takes to open one up. + +"Storm" Cloud found out that day. He held that two-and-a-half-ton +Juggernaut on the road, wide open, for two solid hours. But it didn't +help. Drive as he would, he could not outrun that which rode with him. +Beside him and within him and behind him. For Jo was there. Jo and the +kids, but mostly Jo. It was Jo's car as much as it was his. "Babe, the +big blue ox," was Jo's pet name for it; because, like Paul Bunyan's +fabulous beast, it was pretty nearly six feet between the eyes. +Everything they had ever had was that way. She was in the seat beside +him. Every dear, every sweet, every luscious, lovely memory of her was +there ... and behind him, just out of eye-corner visibility, were the +three kids. And a whole lifetime of this loomed ahead--a vista of +emptiness more vacuous far than the emptiest reaches of intergalactic +space. Damnation! He couldn't stand much more of-- + +High over the roadway, far ahead, a brilliant octagon flared red. That +meant "STOP!" in any language. Cloud eased up his accelerator, eased +down his mighty brakes. He pulled up at the control station and a +trimly-uniformed officer made a gesture. + +"Sorry, sir," the policeman said, "but you'll have to detour here. +There's a loose atomic vortex beside the road up ahead-- + +"Oh! It's Dr. Cloud!" Recognition flashed into the guard's eyes. "I +didn't recognize you at first. You can go ahead, of course. It'll be two +or three miles before you'll have to put on your armor; you'll know when +better than anyone can tell you. They didn't tell us they were going to +send for _you_. It's just a little new one, and the dope we got was that +they were going to shove it off into the canyon with pressure." + +"They didn't send for me." Cloud tried to smile. "I'm just driving +around--haven't my armor along, even. So I guess I might as well go +back." + +He turned the Special around. A loose vortex--new. There might be a +hundred of them, scattered over a radius of two hundred miles. Sisters +of the one that had murdered his family--the hellish spawn of that +accursed Number Eleven vortex that that damnably incompetent bungling +ass had tried to blow up.... Into his mind there leaped a picture, +wire-sharp, of Number Eleven as he had last seen it, and simultaneously +an idea hit him like a blow from a fist. + +He thought. _Really_ thought, now; cogently, intensely, clearly. If he +could do it ... could actually blow out the atomic flame of an atomic +vortex ... not exactly revenge, but.... By Klono's brazen bowels, it +would work--it'd _have_ to work--he'd _make_ it work! And grimly, +quietly, but alive in every fiber now, he drove back toward the city +practically as fast as he had come away. + + * * * * * + +If the Lensman was surprised at Cloud's sudden reappearance in the +laboratory he did not show it. Nor did he offer any comment as his +erstwhile first assistant went to various lockers and cupboards, +assembling meters, coils, tubes, armor, and other paraphernalia and +apparatus. + +"Guess that's all I'll need, Chief," Cloud remarked, finally. "Here's a +blank check. If some of this stuff shouldn't happen to be in usable +condition when I get done with it, fill it out to suit, will you?" + +"No," and the Lensman tore up the check just as he had torn up the +resignation. "If you want the stuff for legitimate purposes, you're on +Patrol business and it is the Patrol's risk. If, on the other hand, you +think that you're going to try to snuff a vortex, the stuff stays here. +That's final, Storm." + +"You're right--and wrong, Phil," Cloud stated, not at all sheepishly. +"I'm going to blow out Number One vortex with duodec, yes--but I'm +_really_ going to blow it out, not merely make a stab at it as an excuse +for suicide, as you think." + +"How?" The big Lensman's query was skepticism incarnate. "It can't be +done, except by an almost impossibly fortuitous accident. You yourself +have been the most bitterly opposed of us all to these suicidal +attempts." + +"I know it--I didn't have the solution myself until a few hours ago--it +hit me all at once. Funny I never thought of it before; it's been right +in sight all the time." + +"That's the way with most problems," the Chief admitted. "Plain enough +after you see the key equation. Well, I'm perfectly willing to be +convinced, but I warn you that I'll take a lot of convincing--and +someone else will do the work, not you." + +"When I get done you'll see why I'll pretty nearly have to do it myself. +But to convince you, exactly what is the knot?" + +"Variability," snapped the older man. "To be effective, the charge of +explosive at the moment of impact must match, within very close limits, +the activity of the vortex itself. Too small a charge scatters it +around, in vortices which, while much smaller than the original, are +still large enough to be self-sustaining. Too large a charge simply +rekindles the original vortex--still larger--in its original crater. And +the activity that must be matched varies so tremendously, in magnitude, +maxima, and minima, and the cycle is so erratic--ranging from seconds to +hours without discoverable rhyme or reason--that all attempts to do so +at any predetermined instant have failed completely. Why, even Kinnison +and Cardynge and the Conference of Scientists couldn't solve it, any +more than they could work out a tractor beam that could be used as a +tow-line on one." + +"Not exactly," Cloud demurred. "They found that it could be forecast, +for a few seconds at least--length of time directly proportional to the +length of the cycle in question--by an extension of the calculus of +warped surfaces." + +"Humph!" the Lensman snorted. "So what? What good is a ten-second +forecast when it takes a calculating machine an hour to solve the +equations.... Oh!" He broke off, staring. + +"Oh," he repeated, slowly, "I forgot that you're a lightning +calculator--a mathematical prodigy from the day you were born--who never +has to use a calculating machine even to compute an orbit.... But there +are other things." + +"I'll say there are; plenty of them. I'd thought of the calculator angle +before, of course, but there was a worse thing than variability to +contend with...." + +"What?" the Lensman demanded. + +"Fear," Cloud replied, crisply. "At the thought of a hand-to-hand battle +with a vortex my brain froze solid. Fear--the sheer, stark, natural +human fear of death, that robs a man of the fine edge of control and +brings on the very death that he is trying so hard to avoid. That's what +had me stopped." + +"Right ... you may be right," the Lensman pondered, his fingers drumming +quietly upon his desk. "And you are not afraid of death--now--even +subconsciously. But tell me, Storm, please, that you won't invite it." + +"I will not invite it, sir, now that I've got a job to do. But that's as +far as I'll go in promising. I won't make any superhuman effort to avoid +it. I'll take all due precautions, for the sake of the job, but if it +gets me, what the hell? The quicker it does, the better--the sooner I'll +be with Jo." + +"You believe that?" + +"Implicitly." + +"The vortices are as good as gone, then. They haven't got any more +chance than Boskone has of licking the Patrol." + +"I'm afraid so," almost glumly. "The only way for it to get me is for me +to make a mistake, and I don't feel any coming on." + +"But what's your angle?" the Lensman asked, interest lighting his eyes. +"You can't use the customary attack; your time will be too short." + +"Like this," and, taking down a sheet of drafting paper, Cloud sketched +rapidly. "This is the crater, here, with the vortex at the bottom, +there. From the observers' instruments or from a shielded set-up of my +own I get my data on mass, emission, maxima, minima, and so on. Then I +have them make me three duodec bombs--one on the mark of the activity +I'm figuring on shooting at, and one each five percent over and under +that figure--cased in neocarballoy of exactly the computed thickness to +last until it gets to the center of the vortex. Then I take off in a +flying suit, armored and shielded, say about here...." + +"If you take off at all, you'll take off in a suit, inside a one-man +flitter," the Lensman interrupted. "Too many instruments for a suit, to +say nothing of bombs, and you'll need more screen than a suit can +deliver. We can adapt a flitter for bomb-throwing easily enough." + +"QX; that would be better, of course. In that case, I set my flitter +into a projectile trajectory like this, whose objective is the center of +the vortex, there. See? Ten seconds or so away, at about this point, I +take my instantaneous readings, solve the equations at that particular +warped surface for some certain zero time...." + +"But suppose that the cycle won't give you a ten-second solution?" + +"Then I'll swing around and try again until a long cycle _does_ show +up." + +"QX. It will, sometime." + +"Sure. Then, having everything set for zero time, and assuming that the +activity is somewhere near my postulated value...." + +"Assume that it isn't--it probably won't be," the Chief grunted. + +"I accelerate or decelerate--" + +"Solving new equations all the while?" + +"Sure--don't interrupt so--until at zero time the activity, extrapolated +to zero time, matches one of my bombs. I cut that bomb loose, shoot +myself off in a sharp curve, and Z-W-E-E-E-T--POWIE! She's out!" With an +expressive, sweeping gesture. + +"You hope," the Lensman was frankly dubious. "And there you are, right +in the middle of that explosion, with two duodec bombs outside your +armor--or just inside your flitter." + +"Oh, no. I've shot them away several seconds ago, so that they explode +somewhere else, nowhere near me." + +"_I_ hope. But do you realize just how busy a man you are going to be +during those ten or twelve seconds?" + +"Fully." Cloud's face grew somber. "But I will be in full control. I +won't be afraid of anything that can happen--_anything_. And," he went +on, under his breath, "that's the hell of it." + +"QX," the Lensman admitted finally, "you can go. There are a lot of +things you haven't mentioned, but you'll probably be able to work them +out as you go along. I think I'll go out and work with the boys in the +lookout station while you're doing your stuff. When are you figuring on +starting?" + +"How long will it take to get the flitter ready?" + +"A couple of days. Say we meet you there Saturday morning?" + +"Saturday the tenth, at eight o'clock. I'll be there." + + * * * * * + +And again Neal Cloud and Babe, the big blue ox, hit the road. And as he +rolled the physicist mulled over in his mind the assignment to which he +had set himself. + +Like fire, only worse, intra-atomic energy was a good servant, but a +terrible master. Man had liberated it before he could really control it. +In fact, control was not yet, and perhaps never would be, perfect. Up to +a certain size and activity, yes. They, the millions upon millions of +self-limiting ones, were the servants. They could be handled, fenced in, +controlled; indeed, if they were not kept under an exciting bombardment +and very carefully fed, they would go out. But at long intervals, for +some one of a dozen reasons--science knew _so_ little, fundamentally, of +the true inwardness of the intra-atomic reactions--one of these small, +tame, self-limiting vortices flared, nova-like, into a large, wild, +self-sustaining one. It ceased being a servant then, and became a +master. Such flare-ups occurred, perhaps, only once or twice in a +century on Earth; the trouble was that they were so utterly, damnably +_permanent_. They never went out. And no data were ever secured: for +every living thing in the vicinity of a flare-up died; every instrument +and every other solid thing within a radius of a hundred feet melted +down into the reeking, boiling slag of its crater. + +Fortunately, the rate of growth was slow--as slow, almost, as it was +persistent--otherwise Civilization would scarcely have had a planet +left. And unless something could be done about loose vortices before +too many years, the consequences would be really serious. That was why +his laboratory had been established in the first place. + +Nothing much had been accomplished so far. The tractor beam that would +take hold of them had never been designed. Nothing material was of any +use; it melted. Pressors worked, after a fashion: it was by the use of +these beams that they shoved the vortices around, off into the waste +places--unless it proved cheaper to allow the places where they had come +into being to remain waste places. A few, through sheer luck, had been +blown into self-limiting bits by duodec. Duodecaplylatomate, the most +powerful, the most frightfully detonant explosive ever invented upon all +the known planets of the First Galaxy. But duodec had taken an awful +toll of life. Also, since it usually scattered a vortex instead of +extinguishing it, duodec had actually caused far more damage than it had +cured. + +No end of fantastic schemes had been proposed, of course; of varying +degrees of fantasy. Some of them sounded almost practical. Some of them +had been tried; some of them were still being tried. Some, such as the +perennially-appearing one of building a huge hemispherical hull in the +ground under and around the vortex, installing an inertialess drive, and +shooting the whole neighborhood out into space, were perhaps feasible +from an engineering standpoint. They were, however, potentially so +capable of making things worse that they would not be tried save as +last-ditch measures. In short, the control of loose vortices was very +much an unsolved problem. + + * * * * * + +Number One vortex, the oldest and worst upon Tellus, had been pushed out +into the Badlands; and there, at eight o'clock on the tenth, Cloud +started to work upon it. + +The "lookout station," instead of being some such ramshackle structure +as might have been deduced from the Lensman's casual terminology, was in +fact a fully-equipped observatory. Its staff was not large--eight men +worked in three staggered eight-hour shifts of two men each--but the +instruments! To develop them had required hundreds of man-years of time +and near-miracles of research, not the least of the problems having been +that of developing shielded conductors capable of carrying truly through +five-ply screens of force the converted impulses of the very radiations +against which those screens were most effective. For the observatory, +and the one long approach to it as well, had to be screened heavily; +without such protection no life could exist there. + +This problem and many others had been solved, however, and there the +instruments were. Every phase and factor of the vortex's existence and +activity were measured and recorded continuously, throughout every +minute of every day of every year. And all of these records were summed +up, integrated, into the "Sigma" curve. This curve, while only an +incredibly and senselessly tortuous line to the layman's eye, was a +veritable mine of information to the initiate. + +Cloud glanced along the Sigma curve of the previous forty-eight hours +and scowled, for one jagged peak, scarcely an hour old, actually punched +through the top line of the chart. + +"Bad, huh, Frank?" he grunted. + +"Plenty bad, Storm, and getting worse," the observer assented. "I +wouldn't wonder if Carlowitz were right, after all--if she ain't getting +ready to blow her top I'm a Zabriskan fontema's maiden aunt." + +"No periodicity--no equation, of course." It was a statement, not a +question. The Lensman ignored as completely as did the observer, if not +as flippantly, the distinct possibility that at any moment the +observatory and all that it contained might be resolved into their +component atoms. + +"None whatever," came flatly from Cloud. He did not need to spend hours +at a calculating machine; at one glance he _knew_, without knowing how +he knew, that no equation could be made to fit even the weighted-average +locus of that wildly-shifting Sigma curve. "But most of the cycles cut +this ordinate here--seven fifty-one--so I'll take that for my value. +That means nine point nine oh six kilograms of duodec basic charge, with +one five percent over and one five percent under that for alternates. +Neocarballoy casing, fifty-three millimeters on the basic, others in +proportion. On the wire?" + +"It went out as you said it," the observer reported. "They'll have 'em +here in fifteen minutes." + +"QX--I'll get dressed, then." + +The Lensman and the observer helped him into his cumbersome, +heavily-padded armor. They checked his instruments, making sure that the +protective devices of the suit were functioning at full efficiency. Then +all three went out to the flitter. A tiny speedster, really; a torpedo +bearing the stubby wings and the ludicrous tail-surfaces, the +multifarious driving-, braking-, side-, top-, and under-jets so +characteristic of the tricky, cranky, but ultra-maneuverable breed. But +this one had something that the ordinary speedster or flitter did not +carry; spaced around the needle beak there yawned the open muzzles of a +triplex bomb-thrower. + + [Illustration: _Ten seconds in which to solve the + equation--to choose, fire, move clear--the flitter + bucked._] + +More checking. The Lensman and the armored Cloud both knew that every +one of the dozens of instruments upon the flitter's special board was +right to the hair; nevertheless each one was compared with the +master-instrument of the observatory. + + * * * * * + +The bombs arrived and were loaded in; and Cloud, with a casually-waved +salute, stepped into the tiny operating compartment. The massive +door--flitters have no airlocks, as the whole midsection is scarcely +bigger than an airlock would have to be--rammed shut upon its fiber +gaskets, the heavy toggles drove home. A cushioned form closed in upon +the pilot, leaving only his arms and lower legs free. + +Then, making sure that his two companions had ducked for cover, Cloud +shot his flitter into the air and toward the seething inferno which was +Loose Atomic Vortex Number One. For it was seething, no fooling; and it +was an inferno. The crater was a ragged, jagged hole a full mile from +lip to lip and perhaps a quarter of that in depth. It was not, however, +a perfect cone, for the floor, being largely incandescently molten, was +practically level except for a depression at the center, where the +actual vortex lay. The walls of the pit were steeply, unstably +irregular, varying in pitch and shape with the hardness and +refractoriness of the strata composing them. Now a section would glare +into an unbearably blinding white puffing away in sparkling vapor. +Again, cooled by an inrushing blast of air, it would subside into an +angry scarlet, its surface crawling in a sluggish flow of lava. +Occasionally a part of the wall might even go black, into pock-marked +scoriae or into brilliant planes of obsidian. + +For always, somewhere, there was an enormous volume of air pouring into +that crater. It rushed in as ordinary air. It came out, however, in a +ragingly-uprushing pillar, as--as something else. No one knew--or knows +yet, for that matter--exactly what a loose vortex does to the molecules +and atoms of air. In fact, due to the extreme variability already +referred to, it probably does not do the same thing for more than an +instant at a time. + +That there is little actual combustion is certain; that is, except for +the forced combination of nitrogen, argon, xenon, and krypton with +oxygen. There is, however, consumption: plenty of consumption. And what +that incredibly intense bombardment impinges up is ... is altered. +Profoundly and obscuredly altered, so that the atmosphere emitted from +the crater is quite definitely no longer air as we know it. It may be +corrosive, it may be poisonous in one or another of a hundred fashions, +it may be merely new and different; but it is no longer the air which we +human beings are used to breathing. And it is this fact, rather than the +destruction of the planet itself, which would end the possibility of +life upon Earth's surface. + + * * * * * + +It is difficult indeed to describe the appearance of a loose atomic +vortex to those who have never seen one; and, fortunately, most people +never have. And practically all of its frightful radiation lies in those +octaves of the spectrum which are invisible to the human eye. Suffice it +to say, then, that it had an average effective surface temperature of +about fifteen thousand degrees absolute--two and one-half times as hot +as the sun of Tellus--and that it was radiating every frequency possible +to that incomprehensible temperature, and let it go at that. + +And Neal Cloud, scurrying in his flitter through that murky, +radiation-riddled atmosphere, setting up equations from the readings of +his various meters and gauges and solving those equations almost +instantaneously in his mathematical-prodigy's mind, sat appalled. For +the activity level was, and even in its lowest dips remained, far above +the level he had selected. His skin began to prickle and to burn. His +eyes began to smart and to ache. He knew what those symptoms meant; even +the flitter's powerful screens were not stopping all the radiation; even +his suit-screens and his special goggles were not stopping what leaked +through. But he wouldn't quit yet; the activity might--probably +would--take a nose-dive any instant. If it did, he'd have to be ready. +On the other hand, it might blow up at any instant, too. + +There were two schools of mathematical thought upon that point. One held +that the vortex, without any essential change in its physical condition +or nature, would keep on growing bigger. Indefinitely, until, uniting +with the other vortices of the planet, it had converted the entire mass +of the world into energy. + +The second school, of which the forementioned Carlowitz was the loudest +voice, taught that at a certain stage of development the internal energy +of the vortex would become so great that generation-radiation +equilibrium could not be maintained. This would, of course, result in an +explosion; the nature and consequences of which this Carlowitz was wont +to dwell upon in ghoulishly mathematical glee. Neither school, however, +could prove its point--or, rather, each school proved its point, by +means of unimpeachable mathematics--and each hated and derided the +other, loudly and heatedly. + +And now Cloud, as he studied through his almost opaque defenses that +indescribably ravening fireball, that esuriently rapacious monstrosity +which might very well have come from the deepest pit of the hottest hell +of mythology, felt strongly inclined to agree with Carlowitz. It didn't +seem possible that anything _could_ get any worse than that without +exploding. And such an explosion, he felt sure, would certainly blow +everything for miles around into the smitheriest kind of smithereens. + +The activity of the vortex stayed high, 'way too high. The tiny control +room of the flitter grew hotter and hotter. His skin burned and his eyes +ached worse. He touched a communicator stud and spoke. + +"Phil? Better get me three more bombs. Like these, except up around...." + +"I don't check you. If you do that, it's apt to drop to a minimum and +stay there," the Lensman reminded him. "It's completely unpredictable, +you know." + +"It may, at that ... so I'll have to forget the five percent margin and +hit it on the nose or not at all. Order me up two more, then--one at +half of what I've got here, the other double it," and he reeled off the +figures for the charge and the casing of the explosive. "You might break +out a jar of burn-dressing, too. Some fairly hot stuff is leaking +through." + +"We'll do that. Come down, fast!" + +Cloud landed. He stripped to the skin and the observer smeared his every +square inch of epidermis with the thick, gooey stuff that was not only a +highly efficient screen against radiation, but also a sovereign remedy +for new radiation burns. He exchanged his goggles for a thicker, darker, +heavier pair. The two bombs arrived and were substituted for two of the +original load. + +"I thought of something while I was up there," Cloud informed the +observers then. "Twenty kilograms of duodec is nobody's firecracker, but +it may be the least of what's going to go off. Have you got any idea of +what's going to become of the energy inside that vortex when I blow it +out?" + +"Can't say that I have." The Lensman frowned in thought. "No data." + +"Neither have I. But I'd say that you better go back to the new +station--the one you were going to move to if it kept on getting worse." + +"But the instruments...." the Lensman was thinking, not of the +instruments themselves, which were valueless in comparison with life, +but of the records those instruments would make. Those records were +priceless. + +"I'll have everything on the tapes in the flitter," Cloud reminded. + +"But suppose...." + +"That the flitter stops one, too--or doesn't stop it, rather? In that +case, your back station won't be there, either, so it won't make any +difference." How mistaken Cloud was! + +"QX," the Chief decided. "We'll leave when you do--just in case." + + * * * * * + +Again in air, Cloud found that the activity, while still high, was not +too high, but that it was fluctuating too rapidly. He could not get even +five seconds of trustworthy prediction, to say nothing of ten. So he +waited, as close as he dared remain to that horrible center of +disintegration. + +The flitter hung poised in air, motionless, upon softly hissing +under-jets. Cloud knew to a fraction his height above the ground. He +knew to a fraction his distance from the vortex. He knew with equal +certainty the density of the atmosphere and the exact velocity and +direction of the wind. Hence, since he could also read closely enough +the momentary variations in the cyclonic storms within the crater, he +could compute very easily the course and velocity necessary to land the +bomb in the exact center of the vortex at any given instant of time. The +hard part--the thing that no one had as yet succeeded in doing--was to +predict, for a time far enough ahead to be of any use, a usably close +approximation to the vortex's quantitative activity. For, as has been +said, he had to over-blast, rather than under-, if he could not hit it +"on the nose:" to under-blast would scatter it all over the state. + +Therefore Cloud concentrated upon the dials and gauges before him; +concentrated with every fiber of his being and every cell of his brain. + +Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, the Sigma curve gave signs of flattening +out. In that instant Cloud's mind pounced. Simultaneous equations: nine +of them, involving nine unknowns. An integration in four dimensions. No +matter--Cloud did not solve them laboriously, one factor at a time. +Without knowing how he had arrived at it, he knew the answer; just as +the Posenian or the Rigellian is able to perceive every separate +component particle of an opaque, three-dimensional solid, but without +being able to explain to anyone how his sense of perception works. It +just _is_, that's all. + +Anyway, by virtue of whatever sense or ability it is which makes a +mathematical prodigy what he is, Cloud knew that in exactly eight and +three-tenths seconds from that observed instant the activity of the +vortex would be slightly--but not too far--under the coefficient of his +heaviest bomb. Another flick of his mental trigger and he knew the exact +velocity he would require. His hand swept over the studs, his right foot +tramped down, hard, upon the firing lever; and, even as the quivering +flitter shot forward under eight Tellurian gravities of acceleration, he +knew to the thousandth of a second how long he would have to hold that +acceleration to attain that velocity. While not really long--in +seconds--it was much too long for comfort. It took him much closer to +the vortex than he wanted to be; in fact, it took him right out over the +crater itself. + +But he stuck to the calculated course, and at the precisely correct +instant he cut his drive and released his largest bomb. Then, so rapidly +that it was one blur of speed, he again kicked on his eight G's of drive +and started to whirl around as only a speedster or a flitter can whirl. +Practically unconscious from the terrific resultant of the linear and +angular accelerations, he ejected the two smaller bombs. He did not care +particularly where they lit, just so they didn't light in the crater or +near the observatory, and he had already made certain of that. Then, +without waiting even to finish the whirl or to straighten her out in +level flight, Cloud's still-flying hand darted toward the switch whose +closing would energize the Bergenholm and make the flitter inertialess. + +Too late. Hell was out for noon, with the little speedster still inert. +Cloud had moved fast, too; trained mind and trained body had been +working at top speed and in perfect coordination. There just simply +hadn't been enough time. If he could have got what he wanted, ten full +seconds, or even nine, he could have made it, but.... + + * * * * * + +In spite of what happened, Cloud defended his action, then and +thereafter. Damnitall, he _had_ to take the eight-point-three second +reading! Another tenth of a second and his bomb wouldn't have fitted--he +didn't have the five percent leeway he wanted, remember. And no, he +couldn't wait for another match, either. His screens were leaking like +sieves, and if he had waited for another chance they would have picked +him up fried to a greasy cinder in his own lard! + +The bomb sped truly and struck the target in direct central impact, +exactly as scheduled. It penetrated perfectly. The neocarballoy casing +lasted just long enough--that frightful charge of duodec exploded, if +not exactly at the center of the vortex, at least near enough to the +center to do the work. In other words, Cloud's figuring had been +close--very close. But the time had been altogether too short. + +The flitter was not even out of the crater when the bomb went off. And +not only the bomb. For Cloud's vague forebodings were materialized, and +more; the staggeringly immense energy of the vortex merged with that of +the detonating duodec to form an utterly incomprehensible whole. + +In part the hellish flood of boiling lava in that devil's cauldron was +beaten downward into a bowl by the sheer, stupendous force of the blow; +in part it was hurled abroad in masses, in gouts and streamers. And the +raging wind of the explosion's front seized the fragments and tore and +worried them to bits, hurling them still faster along their paths of +violence. And air, so densely compressed as to be to all intents and +purposes a solid, smote the walls of the crater. Smote them so that they +crumbled, crushed outward through the hard-packed ground, broke up into +jaggedly irregular blocks which hurtled, screamingly, away through the +atmosphere. + +Also the concussion wave, or the explosion front, or flying fragments, +or something, struck the two loose bombs, so that they too exploded and +added their contribution to the already stupendous concentration of +force. They were not close enough to the flitter to wreck it of +themselves, but they were close enough so that they didn't do her--or +her pilot--a bit of good. + +The first terrific wave buffeted the flyer while Cloud's right hand was +in the air, shooting across the panel to turn on the Berg. The impact +jerked the arm downward and sidewise, both bones of the forearm snapping +as it struck the ledge. The second one, an instant later, broke his left +leg. Then the debris began to arrive. + +Chunks of solid or semi-molten rock slammed against the hull, knocking +off wings and control-surfaces. Gobs of viscous slag slapped it +liquidly, freezing into and clogging up jets and orifices. The little +ship was hurled hither and yon, in the grip of forces she could no more +resist than can the floating leaf resist the waters of a cataract. And +Cloud's brain was as addled as an egg by the vicious concussions which +were hitting him from so many different directions and so nearly all at +once. Nevertheless, with his one arm and his one leg and the few cells +of his brain that were still at work, the physicist was still in the +fight. + +By sheer force of will and nerve he forced his left hand across the +gyrating key-bank to the Bergenholm switch. He snapped it, and in the +instant of its closing a vast, calm peace descended, blanket-like. For, +fortunately, the Berg still worked; the flitter and all her contents and +appurtenances were inertialess. Nothing material could buffet her or +hurt her now; she would waft effortlessly away from a feather's lightest +possible touch. + +Cloud wanted to faint then, but he didn't--quite. Instead, foggily, he +tried to look back at the crater. Nine-tenths of his visiplates were out +of commission, but he finally got a view. Good--it was out. He wasn't +surprised; he had been quite confident that it would be. It wasn't +scattered around, either. It _couldn't_ be, for his only possibility of +smearing the shot was on the upper side, not the lower. + + * * * * * + +His next effort was to locate the secondary observatory, where he had to +land, and in that too he was successful. He had enough intelligence left +to realize that, with practically all of his jets clogged and his wings +and tail shot off, he couldn't land his little vessel inert. Therefore +he would have to land her free. + +And by dint of light and extremely unorthodox use of what jets he had +left in usable shape he did land her free, almost within the limits of +the observatory's field; and having landed, he inerted her. + +But, as has been intimated, his brain was not working so well; he had +held his ship inertialess quite a few seconds longer than he thought, +and he did not even think of the buffetings she had taken. As a result +of these things, however, her intrinsic velocity did not match, anywhere +near exactly, that of the ground upon which she lay. Thus, when Cloud +cut his Bergenholm, restoring thereby to the flitter the absolute +velocity and inertia she had had before going free, there resulted a +distinctly anti-climactic crash. + +There was a last terrific bump as the motionless vessel collided with +the equally motionless ground; and "Storm" Cloud, vortex blaster, went +out like the proverbial light. + +Help came, of course; and on the double. The pilot was unconscious and +the flitter's door could not be opened from the outside, but those were +not insuperable obstacles. A plate, already loose, was sheared away; the +pilot was carefully lifted out of his prison and rushed to Base Hospital +in the "meat-can" already in attendance. + +And later, in a private office of that hospital, the gray-clad Chief of +the Atomic Research Laboratory sat and waited--but not patiently. + +"How is he, Lacy?" he demanded, as the Surgeon-General entered the room. +"He's going to live, isn't he?" + +"Oh, yes, Phil--definitely yes," Lacy replied, briskly. "He has a good +skeleton, very good indeed. The burns are superficial and will yield +quite readily to treatment. The deeper, delayed effects of the radiation +to which he was exposed can be neutralized entirely effectively. Thus he +will not need even a Phillips's treatment for the replacement of damaged +parts, except possibly for a few torn muscles and so on." + +"But he was smashed up pretty badly, wasn't he? I know that he had a +broken arm and a broken leg, at least." + +"Simple fractures only--entirely negligible." Lacy waved aside with an +airy gesture such small ills as broken bones. "He'll be out in a few +weeks." + +"How soon can I see him?" the Lensman-physicist asked. "There are some +important things to take up with him, and I've got a personal message +for him that I must give him as soon as possible." + +Lacy pursued his lips. Then: + +"You may see him now," he decided. "He is conscious, and strong enough. +Not too long, though, Phil--fifteen minutes at most." + +"QX, and thanks," and a nurse led the visiting Lensman to Cloud's +bedside. + +"Hi, Stupe!" he boomed, cheerfully. "'Stupe' being short for stupendous, +not 'stupid'." + +"Hi, Chief. Glad to see somebody. Sit down." + +"You're the most-wanted man in the Galaxy," the visitor informed the +invalid, "not excepting even Kimball Kinnison. Look at this spool of +tape, and it's only the first one. I brought it along for you to read at +your leisure. As soon as any planet finds out that we've got a +sure-enough vortex-blower-outer, an expert who can really call his +shots--and the news travels mighty fast--that planet sends in a +double-urgent, Class A-Prime demand for first call upon your services. + +"Sirius IV got in first by a whisker, it seems, but Aldebaran II was so +close a second that it was a photo finish, and all the channels have +been jammed ever since. Canopus, Vega, Rigel, Spica. They all want you. +Everybody, from Alsakan to Vandemar and back. We told them right off +that we would not receive personal delegations--we had to almost throw a +couple of pink-haired Chickladorians out bodily to make them believe +that we meant it--and that the age and condition of the vortex +involved, not priority of requisition, would govern, QX?" + +"Absolutely," Cloud agreed. "That's the only way it could be, I should +think." + +"So forget about this psychic trauma.... No, I don't mean that," the +Lensman corrected himself hastily. "You know what I mean. The will to +live is the most important factor in any man's recovery, and too many +worlds need you too badly to have you quit now. Not?" + +"I suppose so," Cloud acquiesced, but somberly. "I'll get out of here in +short order. And I'll keep on pecking away until one of those vortices +finishes what this one started." + +"You'll die of old age then, son," the Lensman assured him. "We got full +data--all the information we need. We know exactly what to do to your +screens. Next time nothing will come through except light, and only as +much of that as you feel like admitting. You can wait as close to a +vortex as you please, for as long as you please; until you get exactly +the activity and time-interval that you want. You will be just as +comfortable and just as safe as though you were home in bed." + +"Sure of that?" + +"Absolutely--or at least, as sure as we can be of anything that hasn't +happened yet. But I see that your guardian angel here is eyeing her +clock somewhat pointedly, so I'd better be doing a flit before they toss +me down a shaft. Clear ether, Storm!" + +"Clear ether, Chief!" + +And that is how "Storm" Cloud, atomic physicist, became the most +narrowly-specialized specialist in all the annals of science: how he +became "Storm" Cloud, Vortex Blaster--the Galaxy's only vortex blaster. + + + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + _Comet_, July 1941. Extensive research did not uncover + any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this + publication was renewed. + + Obvious typographic errors and misspellings have been + corrected.] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Vortex Blaster, by Edward Elmer Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VORTEX BLASTER *** + +***** This file should be named 22629.txt or 22629.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/6/2/22629/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, V. L. Simpson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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