“Want me, Jill?” His Lensed thought touched only the outer fringes of her mind. Full rapport is more intimate than a kiss: no one except her father had ever really put a Lens on Virgilia Samms. Nevertheless:
“Want you! I never wanted anybody so much in my life! Come in, Mase—quick—please!”
Diffidently enough, he came; but at the first inkling of the girl’s news all thought of diffidence or of privacy vanished.
“Jack! Spud! Mr. Kinnison! Mr. Samms!” he Lensed sharp, imperative, almost frantic thoughts. “Listen in!”
“Steady, Mase, I’ll take over,” came Roderick Kinnison’s deeper, quieter mental voice. “First, the matter of guns. Anybody except me wearing a pistol? You are, Spud?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You would be. But you and Mase, Jack?”
“We’ve got our Lewistons!”
“You would have. Blasters, my sometimes-not-quite-so-bright son, are fine weapons indeed for certain kinds of work. In emergencies, it is of course permissible to kill a few dozen innocent bystanders. In such a crowd as this, though, it is much better technique to kill only the one you are aiming at. So skip out to my car, you two, right now, and change—and make it fast.” Everyone knew that Roderick Kinnison’s car was at all times an arsenal on wheels. “Wish you were in uniform, too, Virge, but it can’t be helped now. Work your way—slowly—around to the northwest corner. Spud, do the same.”
“It’s impossible—starkly unthinkable!” and “I’m not sure of anything, really …” Samms and his daughter began simultaneously to protest.
“Virgil, you talk like a man with a paper nose. Keep still until after you’ve used your brain. And I’m sure enough of what you know, Jill, to take plenty of steps. You can relax now—take it easy. We’re covering Virgil and I called up support in force. You can relax a little, I see. Good! I’m not trying to hide from anybody that the next few minutes may be critical. Are you pretty sure, Jill, that Herkimer is a key man?”
“Pretty sure, Pops.” How much better she felt, now that the Lensmen were on guard! “In this one case, at least.”
“Good! Then let him talk you into giving him every dance, right straight through until something breaks. Watch him. He must know the signal and who is going to operate, and if you can give us a fraction of a second of warning it will help no end. Can do?”
“I’ll say I can—and I would love to, the big, slimy, stinking skinker!” As transliterated into words, the girl’s thought may seem a trifle confused, but Kinnison knew exactly what she meant.
“One more thing, Jill; a detail. The boys are coming back in and are working their partners over this way. See if Herkimer notices that they have changed their holsters.”
“No, he didn’t notice,” Jill reported, after a moment. “But I don’t notice any difference, either, and I’m looking for it.”
“Nevertheless, it’s there, and the difference between a Mark Seventeen and a Mark Five is something more than that between Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” Kinnison returned, dryly. “However, it may not be as obvious to nonmilitary personnel as it is to us. That’s far enough, boys, don’t get too close. Now, Virge, keep solidly en rapport with Jill on one side and with us on the other, so that she won’t have to give herself and the show away by yelling and pointing, and …”
“But this is preposterous!” Samms stormed.
“Preposterous, hell,” Roderick Kinnison’s thought was still coldly level; only the fact that he was beginning to use non-ballroom language revealed any sign of the strain he was under. “Stop being so goddam heroic and start using your brain. You turned down fifty billion credits. Why do you suppose they offered that much, when they can get anybody killed for a hundred? And what would they do about it?”
“But they couldn’t get away with it, Rod, at an Ambassadors’ Ball. They couldn’t, possibly.”
“Formerly, no. That was my first thought, too. But it was you who pointed out to me, not so long ago, that the techniques of crime have changed of late. In the new light, the swankier the brawl the greater the confusion and the better the chance of getting away clean. Comb that out of your whiskers, you redheaded mule!”
“Well … there might be something in it, after all …” Samms’ thought showed apprehension at last.
“You know damn well there is. But you boys—Jack and Mase especially—loosen up. You can’t do good shooting while you’re strung up like a couple of cocoons. Do something—talk to your partners or think at Jill …”
“That won’t be hard, sir.” Mason Northrop grinned feebly. “And that reminds me of something, Jill. Mentor certainly bracketed the target when he—or she, or it, maybe—said that you would never need a Lens.”
“Huh?” Jill demanded, inelegantly. “I don’t see the connection, if any.”
“No? Everybody else does, I’ll bet. How about it?” The other Lensmen, even Samms, agreed enthusiastically. “Well, do you think that any of those characters, particularly Herkimer Herkimer Third, would let a harness bull in harness—even such a beautiful one as you—get close enough to him to do such a Davey the Dip act on his mind?”
“Oh … I never thought of that, but it’s right, and I’m glad … but Pops, you said something about ‘support in force.’ Have you any idea how long it will be? I hope I can hold out, with you all supporting me, but …”
“You can, Jill. Two or three minutes more, at most.”
“Support? In force? What do you mean?” Samms snapped.
“Just that. The whole damned army,” Kinnison replied. “I sent Two-Star Commodore Alexander Clayton a thought that lifted him right out of his chair. Everything he’s got, at full emergency blast. Armor—mark eighty fours—six by six extra heavies—a ninety sixty for an ambulance—full escort, upstairs and down—way-friskers—’copters—cruisers and big stuff—in short, the works. I would have run with you before this, if I dared; but the minute the relief party shows up, we do a flit.”
“If you dared?” Jill asked, shaken by the thought.
“Exactly, my dear. I don’t dare. If they
