The Greatest Works of E. E. Smith. E. E. Smith

Why?” Kinnison knew that he could, but did not wish to seem cocksure.

      “There’s been a murder.” The other three glanced at each other in understanding and sighed with profound relief. “A particularly fiendish murder of a woman—a girl, rather. Two men stand accused. Each has a perfect alibi, supported by honest witnesses; but you know how much an alibi means now. Both men tell perfectly straight stories, even under a lie-detector, but neither will let me—or any other Lensman so far—touch his mind.” Gerrond paused.

      “Uh-huh.” Kinnison understood. “Lots of innocent people simply can’t stand Lensing and have mighty strong blocks.”

      “Glad you’ve seen such. One of those men is lying with a polish I wouldn’t have believed possible, or else both are innocent. And one of them must be guilty; they are the only suspects. If we try them now we make fools of ourselves, and we can’t put the trial off very much longer without losing face. If you can help us out you’ll be doing a lot for the Patrol, throughout this whole sector.”

      “I can help you,” Kinnison declared. “For this, though, better have some props. Make me a box—double Burbank controls, with five baby spots on it—orange, blue, green, purple, and red. The biggest set of headphones you’ve got, and a thick, black blindfold. How soon can you try ’em?”

      “The sooner the better. It can be arranged for this afternoon.”

      The trial was announced, and long before the appointed hour the great court-room of that world’s largest city was thronged. The hour struck. Quiet reigned. Kinnison, in his somber gray, strode to the judge’s desk and sat down behind the peculiar box upon it. In dead silence two Patrol officers approached. The first invested him reverently with the headphones, the second so enwrapped his head in black cloth that it was apparent to all observers that his vision was completely obscured.

      “Although from a world far distant in space, I have been asked to try two suspects for the crime of murder,” Kinnison intoned. “I do not know the details of the crime nor the identity of the suspects. I do know that they and their witnesses are within these railings. I shall now select those who are about to be examined.”

      Piercing beams of intense, vari-colored light played over the two groups, and the deep, impressive voice went on:

      “I know now who the suspects are. They are about to rise, to walk, and to seat themselves as I shall direct.”

      They did so; it being plainly evident to all observers that they were under some awful compulsion.

      “The witnesses may be excused. Truth is the only thing of importance here; and witnesses, being human and therefore frail, obstruct truth more frequently than they further its progress. I shall now examine these two accused.”

      Again the vivid, weirdly distorting glares of light lashed out; bathing in intense monochrome and in various ghastly combinations first one prisoner, then the other; the while Kinnison drove his mind into theirs, plumbing their deepest depths. The silence, already profound, became the utter stillness of outer space as the throng, holding its very breath now, sat enthralled by that portentous examination.

      “I have examined them fully. You are all aware that any Lensman of the Galactic Patrol may in case of need serve as judge, jury, and executioner. I am, however, none of these; nor is this proceeding to be a trial as you may have understood the term. I have said that witnesses are superfluous. I will now add that neither judge nor jury are necessary. All that is required is to discover the truth; since truth is all-powerful. For that same reason no executioner is needed here—the discovered truth will in and of itself serve us in that capacity.

      “One of these men is guilty, the other is innocent. From the mind of the guilty one I am about to construct a composite, not of this one fiendish crime alone, but of all the crimes he has ever committed. I shall project that composite into the air before him. No innocent mind will be able to see any iota of it. The guilty man, however, will perceive its every revolting detail; and, so perceiving, he will forthwith cease to exist in this plane of life.”

      One of the men had nothing to fear—Kinnison had told him so, long since. The other had been trembling for minutes in uncontrollable paroxysms of terror. Now this one leaped from his seat, clawing savagely at his eyes and screaming in mad abandon.

      “I did it! Help! Mercy! Take her away! Oh . . . h . . h!!” he shrieked, and died, horribly, even as he shrieked.

      Nor was there noise in the court-room after the thing was over. The stunned spectators slunk away, scarcely daring even to breathe until they were safely outside.

      Nor were the Radeligian officers in much better case. Not a word was said until the five were back in the base commander’s office. Then Kinnison, still white of face and set of jaw, spoke. The others knew that he had found the guilty man, and that he had in some peculiarly terrible fashion executed him. He knew that they knew that the man was hideously guilty. Nevertheless:

      “He was guilty,” the Tellurian jerked out. “Guilty as all the devils in hell. I never had to do that before and it gripes me—but I couldn’t shove the job off onto you fellows. I wouldn’t want anybody to see that picture that didn’t have to, and without it you could never begin to understand just how atrociously and damnably guilty that hell-hound really was.”

      “Thanks, Kinnison,” Gerrond said, simply. “Kinnison. Kinnison of Tellus. I’ll remember that name, in case we ever need you as badly again. But, after what you just did, it will be a long time—if ever. You didn’t know, did you, that all the inhabitants of four planets were watching you?”

      “Holy Klono, no! Were they?”

      “They were; and if the way you scared me is any criterion, it will be a long, cold day before anything like that comes up again in this system. And thanks again, Gray Lensman. You have done something for our whole Patrol this day.”

      “Be sure to dismantle that box so thoroughly that nobody will recognize any of its component parts,” and Kinnison managed a rather feeble grin. “One more thing and I’ll buzz along. Do you fellows happen to know where there’s a good, strong pirate base around here anywhere? And, while I don’t want to seem fussy, I would like it all the better if they were warm-blooded oxygen-breathers, so I won’t have to wear armor all the time.”

      “What are you trying to do, give us the needle, or something?” This is not precisely what the Radeligian said, but it conveys the thought Kinnison received as the base commander stared at him in amazement.

      “Don’t tell me that there is such a base around here!” exclaimed the Tellurian in delight. “Is there, really?”

      “There is. So strong that we haven’t been able to touch it; manned and staffed by natives of your own planet, Tellus of Sol. We reported it to Prime Base some eighty-three days ago, just after we discovered it. You’re direct from there .” He fell silent. This was no way to be talking to a Gray Lensman.

      “I was in the hospital then, fighting with my nurse because she wouldn’t give me anything to eat,” Kinnison explained with a laugh. “When I left Tellus I didn’t check up on the late data—didn’t think I’d need it quite so soon. If you’ve got it, though .”

      “Hospital! You?” queried one of the younger Radeligians.

      “Yeah—bit off more than I could chew,” and the Tellurian described briefly his misadventure with the Wheelmen of Aldebaran I. “This other thing has come up since then, though, and I won’t be sticking my neck out that way again. If you’ve got such a made-to-order base as that in this region, it’ll save me a long trip. Where is it?”

      They gave him its coordinates and what little information they had been able to secure concerning it. They did not ask him why he wanted that data. They may have wondered at his temerity in daring to scout alone a fortress whose strength had kept at bay the massed Patrol forces of the sector: but if they did so they kept their thoughts well screened. For this was a Gray Lensman, and very evidently a super-powered individual, even of that select group whose weakest members were powerful indeed.