"Hell's—jingling—bells!" he wrenched out, finally, and waved a hand at the points of light crowding so thickly his tactical tank. 'A thing that the whole damned Grand Fleet couldn't do, and he does it alone, and then he apologizes for it as though he ought to be stood up in a corner or sent to bed without any supper!"
"Uh–huh, that's the way he is," Kinnison breathed, in awe. "What a brain!… what a man!"
Nadreck's black speedster arrived and a three–way conference was held. Both Haynes and Kinnison pressed him for the details of his really stupendous achievement, but he refused positively even to mention any phase of it "The matter is closed—finished," he declared, in a mood of anger and self–reproach which neither of the Tellurians had ever supposed that the gently scientific monster could assume, "I practically failed. It is the poorest piece of work of which I have been guilty since cubhood, and I desire and I insist that it shall not be mentioned again. If you wish to4ay plans for the future, I will be very glad indeed to place at your disposal my small ability–which has now been shown to be even smaller than I had supposed—but if you insist upon discussing my fiasco, I shall forthwith go home. I will not discuss it. The record of it will remain permanently under Lensman's Seal. That is my last word."
And it was. Neither of the two Tellurians mentioned the subject, of course, either then or ever, but many other persons—including your historian—have done so, with no trace whatever of success. It is a shame, it is positively outrageous, that no details are available of the actual fall of Onlo. No human mind can understand why Nadreck will not release his seal, but the bitter fact of his refusal to do so has been made all too plain.
Thus, in all probability, it never will become publicly known how those monstrous Onlonians destroyed each other, nor how Nadreck penetrated the defensive screens of Onlo's embattled domes, nor in what fashions he warred upon the three surviving commanders. These matters, and many others of perhaps equal interest and value, must have been of such an epic nature that it is a cosmic crime that they cannot be recorded here; that this, one of the most important incidents of the campaign, must be mentioned merely and baldly as having happened. But, unless Nadreck relents—and he apparently never does—that is the starkly tragic fact.
Other Lensmen were called in then, and admirals and generals and other personages. It was decided to man the fortifications of Onlo immediately, from the several fleets of frigid–blooded poison–breathers which made up a certain percentage of Civilization's forces. This decision was influenced markedly by Nadreck, who said in part:
"Onlo is a beautiful planet. Its atmosphere is perfect, its climate is ideal; not only for us of Palain VII, but also for the inhabitants of many other planets, such as…" and he mentioned some twenty names. "While I personally am not a fighter, there are some who are; and while those of a more warlike disposition man Onlo's defenses and weapons, my fellow researchers and I might very well be carrying on with the same type of work which you fire–blooded oxygen–breathers are doing elsewhere."
This eminently sensible suggestion was adopted at once. The conference broke up. The selected sub–fleets sailed. Kinnison went to see Haynes.
"Well, sir, that's it…I hope…what do you think? Am I, or am I not, due for a spot of free time?" The Gray Lensman's face was drawn and grim.
"I wish I knew, son…but I don't." Eyes and voice were deeply troubled. "You ought to be…I hope you are…but you're the only judge of that, you know."
"Uh–huh…that is, I know how to find out…but I'm afraid to—afraid he'll say no. However, I'm going to see Cris first—talk it over with her. How about having a gig drop me down to the hospital?"
For he did not have to travel very far to find his fiancee. From the time of leaving Lyrane until the taking over of Thrale she had as a matter of course been chief nurse of the hospital ship Pasteur, and with the civilizing of that planet she had as automatically become chief nurse of the Patrol's Base Hospital there.
"Certainly, Kim—anything you want, whenever you please."
"Thanks, chief…Now that this fracas is finally over—if it is—I suppose you'll have to take over as president of the Galactic Council?"
"I suppose so—after we clean up Lyrane VIII, that you've been holding me away from so long—but I don't relish the thought. And you'll be Coordinator Kinnison."
"Uh–huh," gloomily. "By Klono, I hate to put my Grays away! I'm not going to do it, either, until after we're married and I'm really settled down onto the job."
"Of course not. You'll be wearing them for some time yet, I'm thinking." Haynes' tone was distinctly envious. "Getting your job reduced to routine will take a long, long time…It'll probably take years even to find out what it's really going to be."
"That's so, too," Kinnison brightened visibly. "Well, clear ether, President Haynes!" and he turned away, whistling unmelodiously—in fact, somewhat raucously—through his teeth.
23: Attainment
At base hospital it was midnight. the two largest of Thrale's four major moons were visible, close together in the zenith, almost at the fulclass="underline" shining brilliantly from a cloudless, star–besprinkled sky upon the magnificent grounds.
Fountains splashed and tinkled musically. Masses of flowering shrubs, bordering meandering walks, flooded the still air with a perfume almost cloying in its intensity. No one who has once smelled the fragrance of Thralian thorn– flower at midnight will ever forget it—it is as though the poignant sweetness of the mountain syringa has been blended harmoniously with the heavy, entrancing scent of the jasmine and the appealing pungency of the lily–of–the– valley. Statues of gleaming white stone and of glinting metal were spaced infrequently over acres and acres of springy, close– clipped turf. Trees, not over–high but massive of bole and of tremendous spread and thickness of foliage, cast shadows of impenetrable black.
"QX, Cris?" Kinnison Lensed the thought as he entered the grounds: she had known that he was coming. "Kinda late, I know, but I wanted to s^e you, and you don't have to punch the clock."
"Surely, Kim," and her low, infectious chuckle welled out. "What's the use of being a Red Lensman, else? This is just right—you couldn't make it any sooner and tomorrow would have been too late—much too late."
They met at the door and with arms around each other strolled wordless down a walk. Across the resilient sward they made their way and to a bench beneath one of the spreading trees.
Kinnison swept her into both arms, hers went eagerly around his neck. How long, how unutterably long it had been since they had stood thus, nurse's white crushed against Lensman's Gray!
They had no need, these Lensmen, of sight. Nor of language. Hence, since words are so pitifully inadequate, no attempt will be made to chronicle the ecstasy of that reunion. Finally, however:
"Now that we're together again I'll never let you go," the man declared aloud.
"If they separate us again it will simply break my heart," Clarrissa agreed. Then, woman–like, she faced the facts and made the man face them, too. "Let's sit down, Kim, and have this out. You know as well as I do that we can't go on if…if we can't…that's all."
"I do not," Kinnison said, flatly. "We've got a right to some happiness, you and I. They, can't keep us apart forever, sweetheart—we're going straight through with it this time."
"Uh–uh, Kim," she denied gently, shaking her spectacular head. "What would have happened if we'd have gone ahead before, leaving those horrible Thralians free to ruin Civilization?"
"But Mentor stopped us then," Kinnison argued. Deep down, he knew that if the Arisian called he would have to answer, but he argued nevertheless. "If the job wasn't done, he would have stopped us before we got this far—I think."
"You hope, you mean," the girl contradicted. "What makes you think—if you really do—that he might not wait until the ceremony has actually begun?"