Kallatra was too tired to reply.
"Can we try again, Kallatra?" Worsel asked. All his eyes studied the perspiring face behind the bandage in search of her emotions; his disengaged mind gently brushed the tumultuous unreadable thoughts of a drained and exhausted young girl.
"Not now," she said. "Perhaps soon-perhaps never." Though he could feel her strength gently rebuilding, he sensed fear, but not for herself.
"What did you see?" she asked.
He told her his impressions, of the trip and of the vague vision of infinity. So did Tong, identical in every way. And she herself confirmed what they had all seen, "What do you fear?" Worsel asked.
"I don't know," Kallatra said in an unruffled, matter-of-fact way. "We were some place I've never been before. It is not bad-it is not good-I simply know it is wrong. I also know it is a place of danger."
"Another dimension?" Worsel suggested, and an alarming image of billions upon undetermined billions of creatures invading the galaxy swept like a lightning flash across his mind.
"Possibly another dimension," Kallatra replied. "But not a physical one."
"Not physical?" Worsel snorted in instinctive denial of a supernatural phenomenon. "A dream world?"
"We had a psychic encounter," Kallatra said, in shock. "The realm we saw is not a dream. It is real, inhabited by a multitude of non-existent entities."
"A spirit world?" Worsel said, thunderstruck. "That must be where the Black Lensman dwells."
"No, no," Kallatra protested. "That can't be. You must be wrong, Worsel. Perhaps his psyche travels there, as ours just did, but his body must be somewhere along the line we traveled."
"I hope you're right, Kallatra. Otherwise we'll never catch him. If we missed him in our headlong pursuit, then the only way we can catch him is to make him come to us."
Worsel, without warning or invitation, suddenly pressed into the young Lensman's upper brain, as tightly as possible for utmost security. "Perhaps it's not the Black Lensman we seek( It may be his master we fought and pursue! You're close to death, my young friend. Examine yourself. This is no simple Black Lensman we're fighting-it's a demon or a fiend. It's like a ghost from the worst of the nine hells of Valeria. You're the exorcist it has to fear. It will-I'm utterly convinced-it will come back and strike at you any moment now. You're marked for death."
Kallatra's mind blazed high in a surge of energy, with an intensity Worsel had not felt before. "You're right, Worsel! I'm vulnerable now! Look at my Lens!" The appearance of her Lens of Arisia was startling. Instead of the lustrous, gleaming wholesomeness of crystals rippling with pseudo life, there were sullen purple patches over half the surface.
"Life has been drained from it despite the transfusion of our combined life-forces. Beyond some point the crystals will wither to death. And you others may soon afterwards be destroyed, too."
"Lalla Kallatra." The big, solemn Velantian hesitantly spoke. "We must risk our lives here and now. We've broken through to a place of death. It has touched us, especially you. All who wear the Lens of Arisia are now threatened by an immaterial force. All of Civilization is exposed to destruction."
"You are right, dear dragon," Kallatra said, choking with emotion, which she always so determinedly avoided. "This fiendish Boskonian thing stalks us. I don't fear death for myself, but for you and Deuce and the others. My death will take away from you the best weapon Civilization has, my el-sike power. I sense that if we fail and fall, each and every Lens could become a sinkhole into another dimension and drain away the vitality of the Patrol and Civilization itself."
The agony in Worsel's mind was great, intensified by the unexpected sentimental youth.
To think that even the Lens might fail!
"Mentor is here!" Mentor!
There flooded into Worsel's mind the calming presence of the Mentor fusion, so high in frequency and so finely tuned that . the others, not even Kallatra, suspected it was there.
"So, Worsel of Velantia, your foe draws you into its web" Worsel's spirits rose; Mentor had come unbidden, all-knowing the moment of greatest need.
"And now," Mentor continued, unruffled, "you distrust the Lens. Be reassured. The Lens of Arisia can never, even unwittingly, harm you or Civilization. As for your foe, you will find it because it will find you. You are right about it. It is not a Black Lensman whom you fight. You fight a Lensman illusion. A lensman-Fiend. It is a frightful force for evil from a realm where even we cannot go. Wearers of the Lens and all of Civilization are indeed in great peril. As for help from Arisia, Mentor can give no special help because it is not within our plan or scope. Frightful things are destined to happen, so be it. You will, of course, confront and fight again because you must. Kallatra the psychic, in our trust, will find the way. Indications are that a costly victory will be yours."
The deep, soundless voice was gone. Snap! without a further thought or word, so typical of the Arisians. "Kallatra," Worsel said, "I've heard from Mentor. Our Lenses will not be the means of our destruction. We're not fighting the Black Lensman, we're up against the real Boskonian power, that which Mentor calls a lensman-Fiend. " Kallatra had been slumped against a headless robot, on guard, but as Worsel turned to her she roused herself to blazing life, nodding as if she knew now that Mentor had been there. They exchanged quick thoughts and began the vigil which they knew would not be long.
Worsel contacted Kinnison and briskly reported the recent events including Mentor's disembodied voice. Kinnison, upset by the idea of a lensman-Fiend manipulating a Black Lensman, nevertheless, because he understood the stress the Boskonian-hunters were undergoing, made no comments and asked no questions. Instead he casually mentioned that he had contacted Nadreck and Tregonsee, who were ready to help, and skipped on to say that exploration of the Ranggi System was underway. Perception-sweeps indicated that there would be much information about Boskonia and the Bosko-Spawn.
Moreover, several score of Patrolmen had surfaced, spies with much to tell about old mysteries and ship disappearances, and the unhappy news of Patrolmen missing in action who were dead. Kinnison made one oblique reference to the Black Lensman affair "There's a sense of strange, intangible mental optimism among the minor leaders we've captured. I suspect your quarry is responsible. I hope you get him-or it-sooon. Better luck this time."
As Kinnison's mind departed Worsel's head, 24of6, who had returned to the room, himself mentally entered Worsel. "Kallatra's had it bad. I'll join with you this time. My psychic powers are latent, but their potential is enormous.
Now I will release them. Remember, I'm more pure mind now than any of you. Let's entice our opponent back to face us." The paraman had straightened his clothing and stiffened his posture in the manner of a recruit reporting for duty.
"QX, Deuce. Let's see if Kallatra is willing"
Worsel bent down and studied the girl's tense face. She gave a start but didn't break her mental concentration, unconsciously touching the bandage with her hand. "I understand, and I'm ready, Worsel," she said. In a gesture not expected of him, he picked her up with his gigantic hands and set her on her feet.
The four of them stood in the center of the alien room. A dozen warrior-robots, their heads disconnected, were scattered about the floor. The two robots 24of6 had demonstrated were seated on opposite ends of the low black table, like mismatched bookends, their chests open, parts missing. 24of6, the newcomer, stood on one side of the table, the other three together on the opposite side, a strange sandwich of a petite girl between two tall dragons.
Kallatra pressed her hand to her forehead and the linkup began. In her one hand she held a thought projector. The others knew she was using it like a lightning rod, offering the same situation as the last time the Black Lensman, or lensman-Fiend, had struck them, but although they feared for her safety they made no comment.
The thing unquestionably was lying in wait for them. It immediately launched its assault.
The projector in Kallatra's hand burned like a fireball, spinning Worsel around, dropping him to one knee. He heard Tong's distorted, gurgling hiss through Kallatra's ears and the soundless cry, "The Black Lensman is here-in this room!" And then he felt a blow on his head which further stunned him; his consciousness was slipping away. But a voice within his brain said, "Wake up, Worsel, or you will die!" Worsel, clearing his head, rose and turned.
He saw Kallatra attacking Tong. The incongruity of their sizes did not, at that moment, appear ludicrous. It was the giant Tong who was in trouble. Lalla had her left wrist against her bandaged forehead, Lens pointing at Tong's Lens in his own forehead. The power she was emitting was so intense that little worms of fire crept along Tong's crystals and made his long head jerk convulsively, banging his slack jaws against his chest. His arms flew up across his face to fend off the scalding pain.
"Worsel!" Tong's call was feeble. "She's possessed! Save me, save me!" Then Worsel, his mind touching Kallatra's, saw the real enemy: it had sharp red teeth, bright green scales, large black wrinkled wings-a Velantian? A Delgonian? An Overlord? No, none of those--it was more like a spiny, many-tentacled octopus. A winged, reptilian spider? The pictures flew through his brain cells in a milli-second. And then he knew: an Eich! From the hierarchy of Boskonia came a defeated enemy who had not been destroyed. Evil personified. As ruthlessly cold as its frigid body. An Eich!
Tongs arms flashed down as he tottered one step forward, his taloned claws, with the speed of desperation, raking across the slender body of Kallatra. The girl staggered back, almost severed across her slim waist by the slicing blow. Tong tottered one more step toward Worsel, pitifully begging, "Help me, Worsel!"
Worsel was frozen by the vision of the Eich. Kallatra had struck him down with the force of her mind when his back was turned, possessed by the Eich. So it seemed. Struck him down? Mentally? That had been a physical blow. From a human female whose left hand was gone and whose right arm was now gone to the elbow? "The Black Lensman is here -in this room!" Tong had said. "Wake up, Worsel, or you will die!"-Tong had not said that; Kallatra had!
Lalla Kallatra was lying on the floor, her blood already soaking into the gown of her paraman father, who had been knocked down and unconscious, spattered by the ex- ploding flesh of his daughter. Lalla Kallatra was dying. Poor girl, commented one part of Worsel's compartmented mind; poor girl! There's no hope for her-will the Black Lensman die with her? But the other parts of his mind were racing to make a judgment and to formulate an action-so they instantly acted upon the thoughts that came through: Tong had known better. Mentor had told them that it was not a Black Lensman they fought.
Mentor said they fought a Fiend. Worsel saw the great bright Light of Understanding ...
Tong is the one!
Worsel saw the Lens in Tong's forehead squirming now, under the relentless pressure of the dying Lensman. Squirming. He threw every electron of his power, magnified by his own Lens, into Kallatra's courageous mind. He felt his projection slide once more, as if along a tube, and strike Tong's Lens in a crushing blow. There was a soft and feathery sensation and there was the Eich, a huge grotesque face inches away from his.
Chapter14.Into the Other Plane Far, far away in the depths of the Second Galaxy, on a planet defiantly called Je-Jarnevon, or "Jarnevon Again," a number of Eich, as was their wont, had formed a council. They were not survivors of their home planet of Jarnevon, which had been so ignominiously crushed by Kinnison between two colliding planets in his famous nutcracker weapon. They had been away, bent on fomenting evil, when the calamity took place. So they survived. But they had crept away into the far reaches of their Second Galaxy and vowed to continue the destructive work of Boskone. They were not discouraged, although they had lost an entire galaxy-the Second-just as they were about to capture, so they thought, another-the First. They would start over, and it might take a few thousand years, but they would win again. They were ruthless and cold-hearted in their attitudes as well as their blood; their ethics were as twisted and bizarre as their multidimensional bodies, a mixture of loathsome serpent and obscene vulture somewhat resembling a siphonophorous purple-bladdered man-of-war. They would never believe that Boskone could go on without them, despite the fact that it seemed another echelon of control, the Ploor, had taken over. They had, in short, arrogantly formed another Council of Boskone, which had no real power but which served to make their ambitions seem logical and real. But they did have one important ally-a secret weapon which, conceivably, could turn their humbling defeat into a genuine struggle and, doubtless, devastating victory.
The hope of the New Council of Boskone was a ghost.
The ghost was an Eich, disembodied and supernatural and claiming to be the spirit of Eichlan, the former First of the old Council. None of the New Council believed the lie or cared. They bad no concern that Eichwoor [the Woor of Eich, or the Ghost of Eich, as they chose to call it] maintained he came from another existence, or, more correctly, was suspended between this existence and the next, a purgatory in which so many Eich and others from Boskone seemed to have found themselves. They neither cared, because of their pride and vanity, from where he came, nor the circumstances of his situation. They cared only that he could help them. Actually they believed he was a gifted Eich living on some uncharted planet, who came into their thoughts because eventually he would try to assassinate one of the New Council and offer himself as a replacement, perhaps even as the First. All Eich had extraordinary mental powers. All Eich were expected to be able to manipulate other creatures mentally without any physical contact. But Eichwoor was certainly exceptional. Lately his exploits, if they were to be believed, and there was good evidence that they should be, had been very remarkable.
Eichwoor had nearly destroyed several Lensmen. And he had wrestled down a Second Stage Lensman. He had eavesdropped into a galactic-wide Lens-to-Lens conference called by the coordinator of the First Galaxy, Kimball Kinnison himself. Now he was about to switch from the one Lensman who had harbored him to that Second Stage Lensman called Worsel. With him in the Galactic Patrol as one of the elite officers, the New Council would not find it too difficult to recover some of their lost worlds.
Eichwoor explained how he was so fortunate as to be able to come back, at least to some degree, to a temporal existence. He had been locked in a deathly struggle with a Lensman called Samuel O'Stead-a very distant relative of the very First Lensman-and they had both died, killed by each other's tenacious savagery of mental power. But by a strange quirk, and a bit of help from another Lensman who was Second Stage, the Lensman O'Stead was brought back to life, what was left of his body encased in a series of mechanical containers. An ethereal thread between them had been spun at the moment of their simultaneous deaths; by this thread Eichlan had become Eichwoor, able to drift through the real plane of existence and touch the minds of those whose psyches were most susceptible. O'Stead never knew of his shadow, the evil which came and went like a devil's halo above O'Stead's boxed brain.
Eichwoor had no limits in time or space. He claimed the New Council of Boskone as his kin and adapted to his new existence of the spirit by adopting their goals-and he was equally involved with O'Stead's activities, worrying for a while that the thread would be broken each time O'Stead underwent another operation. He was relieved and exultant when O'Stead improved enough to become both 24of6 and Deuce O'Sx with the regaining of his Lensman status.
The Woor of Eich had grown more knowledgeable and bolder with the passing years.
More and more confidential papers were passing into his possession and on to the New Council. It was unfortunate that the New Council of Boskone was so pitifully weak and ineffectual, unable to make good use of such material. He had contemplated leaving his Eich kin to cooperate with others more capable, but the pride and arrogance of a true Eich would not let him. Things were bound to get better; his evil deeds certainly would begin to prosper and magnify.
That feeling was strengthened by his greatest achievement: slipping into Kimball Kinnison's Lens-to-Lens conference and embarking on his carefully nurtured plan to take over and possess a Lensman. His present host, the paraman 24of6, would not be risked; that Lensman was his guarantee of continued subsistence among the living. Using 24of6 as a base, he could seek and find someone important to appropriate. At first he might share its possession, but eventually he would completely occupy and own both mind and body. However, there was first one creature who was a threat and needed to be destroyed.
Lalla Kallatra, daughter of O'Stead-24of6-O'Sx, was of great concern to Eichwoor, because she possessed a power which could track him down and destroy him. Her father was a latent psychic whom, by great good fortune, no one recognized as such, but she had the active power, and was trained to use it. As long as she did not suspect the Eich's presence, he was safe. And as long as he hid within and around the unknowing mind of her father, whom she would never suspect or violate with scans, she would never suspect his presence. The risk, however, was an intolerable burden lalla Kallatra had to be destroyed.
The opportunity came when she went to Pok. He tried to kill her then. It was easy to steer the Boskonian warship against the Pok supply ship. [He would never use the de- featist term of Spawn.] He experimented with Tong, and found the Velantian could be taken over by him for a period of time, although he was not skilled enough to be able to remain. He was even able to move in and out of the mind of the famous Worsel without revealing who he was, for the pathological fear of Overlords was enough to mislead the Second Stage Lensman. His attempts to kill Kallatra with the pirate ship, and then through Tong, were done without disclosing himself or his true objective. His involvement with Worsel thrilled him, but it also shook his egotistical confidence, for he recognized that Worsel had the power of mind to destroy him-and Kallatra could be the catalyst. And so Eichwoor had little choice, as he saw it, to undertake nothing less than the destruction of both Kallatra first, then Worsel. That was what he now spent the time brooding over.
He didn't care that 24of6 suspected the truth about his theft of the paraman's research.
He found it unimportant that a project of warrior-robots whose development he had subtly influenced in the Ekron system had been wiped out. He found no significance in the spontaneous generation of robotic intelligence on Pok, because there was no connection with him so far as he could see, and, besides, the unliving Arrow thing had left the galaxy and disappeared. He worried only that the hour of reckoning with the psychic Kallatra was inevitably approaching.
Eichwoor was a ghost who was doomed to haunt the temporal plane, and saw only the life he had lost. He did not see the other opportunity because he did not look that way. It was providential for Civilization that he did not. It was likewise providential that the race of Eichs were one level removed from the all-highest evilness of the galaxies, the implacable enemy of the Arisians, the ruthless Eddorians. The Eddorians, therefore, were not aware of Eichwoor, although even if they had been, it is possible-because of their obsession with mechanisms-they may not have looked that other way, either. In Arisia, however, there was a discomforting awareness of Eichwoor's ghostly potential. It was theoretically possible for that abominable spirit to be the funnel down which could pour, into the Civilization he hated, all the evilness of the purgatory he partially inhabited.
If he ever found that he had that power ... 1 It was all Mentor could do to keep from losing his composure, to keep from violating his rule against psychological meddling, and thundering, Lensmen, the Universe is on the razor's edge of disaster! Mentor did not, because Mentor-omnipresent, virtually omnipotent -expected Worsel to destroy the threat, to render it unbegotten, and therefore null.
And so the supreme moment had come. Worsel confronted the Eich spirit. Two divergent existennces clashed as two super powers dueled. Worsel instinctively comprehended the enormity of his role, and the absolute necessity for success.
Worsel of Velantia, Second Stage Lensman, unsurpassed High-Tension Thinker, now the most powerful mind of Civilization, stood rigidly in the center of the Cheenus room, his teeth glinting between thin lips frozen into a snarl. Only one tiny part of his brain was in touch with his surroundings. The only movement detected by his perception and his eyes, extended for full sphere vision, was from the mammoth room next door visible through the archway. There, beyond the huge, transparent cargo door against the far wall, a sky of stars and sparking wreckage rolled steadily sideways. The cluster of three Ranggi suns, white and orange and yellow, slid by slowly. Everywhere, mechanisms, robots, and robotic parts littered the glossy floors. The figures of the paraman and the wounded young Lensman, soiled machine bending over torn flesh, were a soundless, motionless tableau to his eyes. Stale oil vapors tickled his nostrils and contaminated the protruding tip of his sensitive tongue. The one tiny part of his brain registered all this. All the rest of him was fixed on the specter which seemed to dangle, disembodied, inches from his nose.
The hideous face of the Eich was as sharp as a hologram, but its equally repulsive thoughts were amorphous and unclear. Worsel had the mental sensation of drowning in a bubbling vat of putrescence, prevented only by the unyielding, shielding, psychic umbilical tube which was Kallatra's own spirit. The battleground was the empty shell which had been Tong's brain. Tong, the ego, was gone. The Eich gloated with the knowledge of Tong's destruction. The Eich had leapt in and overpowered Tong because it had already been in the room, invisibly interfused with the aura of the paraman Lensman. It had mutilated Kallatra, but not destroyed her. Tong's ego had been dispatched to the next plane of existence, but his life force had been absorbed by the ghost, much as an Overlord might do. And yet Kallatra had not succumbed. The Eich had smashed down Worse! with one of Tong's great hands, attempting to neutralize Worsel physically, using every mental quality to annihilate Kallatra. Kallatra had not failed; she had, instead, revived Worsel and had counterattacked. Worsel had nearly made the mistake of aiding the wrong entity.
The greatest brain in the galaxy did not make errors; Worsel had hit the Eich with unexpected suddenness and power. Worsel's irresistible dart through Kallatra's salient defense shook the Eich loose from control of the Velantian body it possessed. It tried to drench and smother Kallatra's etheric needle and couldn't.
The stream of force from Worsel burrowed into it and forced it out of Worsel's head. It was floundering, now, in limbo, seeking to make its stand in some other mind or from some other base.
Both Worsel and Kallatra expected it to return to the mind of the Black Lensman, assuming it had such a base. It did not. Instead, like smoke through fine mesh, it slipped into the next plane of existence and hovered there; Worsel could sense its presence, although he could not follow. Kallatra could have followed, but, weakened as she was, it would have been foolhardy to try. The Eich was in its sanctuary.
"It cannot come out," Kallatra said, "as long as I'm on guard."
For a long time Worsel searched the ether. There was no trace of a Black or Boskonian Lensman, evil Velantian or otherwise. There was nothing of significance he could find anywhere, even with Kallatra's weak but still effective help; moreover, he touched Nadreck's and Tregonsee's alert subconsciouses, receiving negative replies. He would have continued his futile probes much longer, but he was drawn back to the little room by the tiny, repetitious shocks emanating from NOW The paraman was moaning over Kallatra, in great emotional distress. Worsel was also startled to find that the sense of tranquility and composure which Kallatra had been exhibiting was deceptively optimistic.
"Lalla is dying," 24of6 said when Worsel knelt down beside the father and daughter.
Worsel had to agree. The paraman's logic was unimpaired, but the turbulence of his emotions was painful for Worsel to feel, even as resistant as he was to the intensity of human personality. "There's no more I can do for her here, Worsel, beyond my first aid.
We must get her back to the Dauntless. Or to Dyaddub. Right away." Worsel could read what 24of6 had in mind; freeze her and save her, as the paraman had been saved.
What Worsel was reluctant to say did not have to be said. Kallatra herself summarized the situation.
"You can't freeze me," she said matter-of-factly. "That would let the Eich out.
Remember, I'm on guard."
"But you'll die," the paraman protested, arms moving jerkily in gestures of frustration.
"Not before I do what has to be done," she replied. "A psychic force must stay on guard.
You, Deuce, can be that force. You have the latent power. I'll teach you my essential techniques. With Worsel's help, you'll succeed. You'll hold back the Eich. And some day you'll cage it permanently."
Worsel wanted not to hear 24of6's thoughts, but it was his duty to listen. Something had to be done with Kallatra and her father, and it had to be done soon. 24of6 seemed para- lyzed with indecision; the choice lay between the life of his daughter and the doubtful development of his abnormal powers for the sake of Civilization.
"There's an important fact," Worsel said, "which neither of you know." He gently stripped away the torn and bloody gown from 24of6's mechanical body and threw it into a corner.
"Deuce happens to be the unwitting medium for the Eich ghost. The Eich has been Deuce's companion for years. In fact, I believe there is some sort of psychic connection through Deuce's mind which permits the Eich to enter this temporal world of ours."
"By all the Gods of the Ancients!" 24of6 exclaimed in horror. "You must be mistaken, Worsel!" Kallatra protested the charge, too. But then, when Worsel said nothing, 24of6 said, "When I was first killed, the Boskonian who died with me at that precise moment was an Eich. I was returned from the dead. Perhaps something strange did happen."
Kallatra fell silent as her father added. "I believe you, Worsel."
"That may not continue," she said, "if Deuce becomes stronger. We have no other choice. I can linger for days, if I'm not moved. I can resist sleep. There's time to train him."
"And perhaps to make the danger greater," her father said. "If I'm not already the Black Lensman, I may become one."
"You're not the Black Lensman," the girl said. "I've no doubt. We must get started. We've very little time. There is no other way, is there, Worsel?"
Worsel surprised them both by saying, "There is another way." After some silence, he added, "I'd rather I didn't suggest it."
"Well," said 24of6, "if we can't move her, if we can't get her to a life support machine--"
He broke off, an idea sharp in his head. So sharp that Kallatra cried out, "No!"
"Yes," said Worsel. "That's a way."
There was much rapid discussion between father and daughter on a very emotional level, but they came to the conclusion that Worsel knew was inevitable. The father would give up his body so that his daughter might live.
"Its feasible, Worsel! It will work! The only doubt I have concerns those clumsy hands of yours. But I'll do the surgery, and you can make the exchange and tighten up the bolts."
He immediately visualized a detailed plan for Worsel to follow; the way the paraman's brain case should be opened and the fluids drained, the manner in which Kallatra's brain should be lifted with a flimsy, sterile plastic sheet from the medical pack, the positioning and the replacement of the fluids. To 24of6 it was simple, and he made it that way for Worsel.
Kallatra had been patient throughout the briefing of Worsel, her mind isolated from preparations and fixed upon the transmission line she had plotted between 24of6 and the gateway the Eich had used into the psychic plane. But when the preparations were complete for the operation to begin, she spoke into both their minds. "Deuce must not die. It's not necessary. I know you both believe a danger will be eliminated if Deuce does die. It's true he's been used by Eichwoor. But now that we know the danger, Eichwoor will never be able to function that way again. In fact, Deuce can become an Eich detector. Don't let him die." The effort to express herself while maintaining her vigilance was physically overtaxing, and a fit of coughing wracked her mangled body.
"I've no wish to let him die, young one," Worsel replied. "I've been observing him. There's no evilness in him-nor any abnormal weakness. He'd never wear the Arisian Lens if he weren't deserving." Worsel sat the paraman on the floor and wrapped one of Tong's stiff arms around his mechanical body to hold him upright, "As soon as his brain's removed, I'll freeze it. He'll live again in another body." Worsel, all the tools and instruments from the medical chest spread out on a sterile sheet on the floor, gently pulled Kallatra onto the sheet and at the feet of 24of6. He knelt lower, his elbows supporting his body, holding laser scalpels in both hands. "Here we go."
With 24of6's direct guidance of his muscular system, he had Kallatra's brain exposed and severed in minutes. Next, the paraman's own brain was out and wrapped in another sheet. Kallatra's was mounted in the prosthedon immediately, the dismounted Lens crystals pressed against her frontal lobe, and the cover was tightly replaced.
Although 24of6's brain had functioned during the entire operation and was still awake and alert, conditioned for years to existence without a normal body and able to endure short periods without nourishment or oxygen, Kallatra blacked out.
So, at the moment of her greatest vulnerability, the Eich struck.
Her temporarily suspended consciousness left her helpless. But her father, all his powers intact though limited in his reserves of energy, fought off the thunderbolt which was being driven through his mind to destroy her.
At his first mental cry of anguish, Worsel applied his own powers to blunt the attack.
Eichwoor almost possessed 24of6. Almost, but not quite. Worsel hung on, refusing to be driven from the contact with 24of6's ego. Never had the Velantian Lensman experienced more excruciating mental agony. Burning strands of pure energy encircled sections of his brain; hot wires tightened against his membranes. A thousand slasher worms were burrowing into his vital substance, dissolving it from his material body. Worsel's eye stalks twisted in torment from the flames consuming their muscle, roots.
A cooling wave of concordant energy washed over him and extinguished the fire-Kallatra was aroused, her mind now supporting his, reviving her father's. Worsel felt father and daughter blending into a transcendent psychic force, two disembodied minds united in an extraordinary mental phenomenon. No physical limitation held back either Lalla Kallatra or Deuce O'Sx. The Eich was outmatched.
With a swiftness which Worsel had hardly hoped for, the struggle was over and Eichwoor retreating. The combined minds of Kallatra and 24of6 were in full pursuit. Worsel followed close behind, now only an observer.