LITMIR.BIZ

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“is to clean out that den of Overlords. Then Worsel will be free to help us get going about our own business.”

      “You speak lightly indeed of the impossible,” Worsel, all glum despondency, reproved him. “I have already explained why the task is, and must remain, beyond our power.”

      “Yes, but you don’t quite grasp the possibilities of the stuff we’ve got now to work with,” the Tellurian replied. “Listen: you could never do anything because you couldn’t see through or work through your thought-screens. Neither we nor you could, even now, enslave a Delgonian and make him lead us to the cavern, because the Overlords would know all about it ’way ahead of time and the slave would lead us anywhere else except to the cavern. However, one of us can cut his screen and surrender; possibly keeping just enough screen up to keep the enemy from possessing his mind fully enough to learn that the other two are coming along. The big question is—which of us is to surrender?”

      “That is already decided,” Worsel made instant reply. “I am the logical—in fact, the only one—to do it. Not only would they think it perfectly natural that they should overpower me, but also I am the only one of us three sufficiently able to control his thoughts as to keep from them the knowledge that I am being accompanied. Furthermore, you both know that it would not be good for your minds, unaccustomed as they are to the practice, to surrender their control voluntarily to an enemy.”

      “I’ll say it wouldn’t!” Kinnison agreed, feelingly. “I might do it if I had to, but I wouldn’t like it and I don’t think I’d ever quite get over it. I hate to put such a horrible job off onto you, Worsel, but you’re undoubtedly the best equipped to handle it—and even you may have your hands full.”

      “Yes .” the Velantian said, thoughtfully. “While the undertaking is no longer an absolute impossibility, it is difficult . . . very. In any event you will probably have to beam me yourselves if we succeed in reaching the cavern . The Overlords will see to that. If so, do it without regret—know that I expect it and am well content to die in that fashion. Any one of my fellows would be only too glad to be in my place; meaning what it does to all Velantia. Know also that I have already reported what is to occur, and that your welcome to Velantia is assured, whether or not I accompany you there.”

      “I don’t think I’ll have to kill you, Worsel,” Kinnison replied, slowly, picturing in detail exactly what that steel-hard reptilian body would be capable of doing when, unshackled, its directing mind was completely taken over by an utterly soulless and conscienceless Overlord. “If you can’t keep from going off the deep end, of course you’ll get tough and I know you’re mighty hard to handle. However, as I told you back there, I think I can beam you unconscious without killing you. I may have to burn off a few scales, but I’ll try not to do any damage that can’t be repaired.”

      “If you can so stop me it will be wonderful indeed. Are we ready?”

      They were ready. Worsel opened the door and in a moment was hurtling through the air, his giant wings arrowing him along at a pace no winged creature of Earth could even approach. And, following him easily at a little distance, floated the two Patrolmen upon their inertialess drives.

      During that long flight scarcely a thought was exchanged, even between Kinnison and vanBuskirk. To direct a thought at the Velantian was of course out of the question. All lines of communication with him had been cut; and furthermore his mind, able as it was, was being taxed to the ultimate cell in doing what he had set out to do. And the two Patrolmen were reluctant to converse with each other, even upon their tight-beams, radios, or sounders, for fear that some slight leakage of thought-energy might reveal their presence to the everwatchful Overlords. If this opportunity were lost, they knew, another chance to wipe out that hellish horde might never present itself.

      Land was traversed, and sea; but finally a stupendous range of mountains reared before them and Worsel, folding back his tireless wings, shot downward in a screaming, full-weight dive. In his line of flight Kinnison saw the mouth of a cave, a darker spot of blackness in the black rock of the mountain’s side. Upon the ledged approach there lay a Delgonian—a guard or lookout, of course.

      The Lensman’s DeLameter was already in his hand, and at sight of the guardian reptile he sighted and fired in one fast motion. But, rapid as it was, it was still too slow—the Overlords had seen that the Velantian had companions of whom he had been able to keep them in ignorance theretofore.

      Instantly Worsel’s wings again began to beat, bearing him off at a wide angle; and, although the Patrolmen were insulated against his thought, the meaning of his antics was very plain. He was telling them in every possible way that the hole below was not the cavern of the Overlords; that it was over this way; that they were to keep on following him to it. Then, as they refused to follow him, he rushed upon Kinnison in mad attack.

      “Beam him down, Kim!” vanBuskirk yelled. “Don’t take any chances with that bird!” and leveled his own DeLameter.

      “Lay off, Bus!” the Lensman snapped. “I can handle him—a lot easier out here than on the ground.”

      And so it proved. Inertialess as he was, the buffetings of the Velantian affected him not at all; and when Worsel coiled his supple body around him and began to apply pressure, Kinnison simply expanded his thought-screen to cover them both, thus releasing the mind of his temporarily inimical friend from the Overlord’s grip. Instantly the Velantian became himself, snapped on his own shield, and the three continued as one their interrupted downward course.

      Worsel came to a halt upon the ledge, beside the practically incinerated corpse of the lookout; knowing, unarmored as he was, that to go further meant sudden death. The armored pair, however, shot on into the gloomy passage. At first they were offered no opposition—the Overlords had had no time to muster an adequate defense. Scattering handfuls of slaves rushed them, only to be blasted out of existence as their hand-weapons proved useless against the armor of the Galactic Patrol. Defenders became more numerous as the cavern itself was approached, but neither were they allowed to stay the Patrolman’s progress. Finally a palely shimmering barrier of metal appeared to bar their way. Its fields of force neutralized or absorbed the blasts of the DeLameters, but its material substance offered but little resistance to a thirty-pound sledge, swung by one of the strongest men ever produced by any planet colonized by the humanity of Earth.

      Now they were in the cavern itself—the sanctum sanctorum of the Overlords of Delgon. There was the hellish torture screen; now licked clean of life. There was the audience which had been so avid, now milling about in a mob frenzy of panic. There, upon a raised balcony, were the “big shots” of this nauseous clan; now doing their utmost to marshal some force able to cope effectively with this unheard-of violation of their ages-old immunity.

      A last wave of Delgonian slaves hurled themselves forward, futile projectors furiously aflame, only to disappear in the DeLameters’ fans of force. The Patrolmen hated to kill those mindless slaves, but it was a nasty job that had to be done. The slaves out of the way, those ravening beams bored on into the massed Overlords.

      And now Kinnison and vanBuskirk killed, if not joyously, at least relentlessly, mercilessly, and with neither sign nor sensation of compunction. For this unbelievably monstrous tribe needed killing, root and branch—not a scion or shoot of it should be allowed to survive, to continue to contaminate the civilization of the galaxy. Back and forth, to and fro, up and down swept the raging beams; playing on until in all the vast volume of that gruesome chamber nothing lived save the two grim figures in its portal.

      Assured of this fact, but with DeLameters still in hand, the two destroyers retraced their way to the tunnel’s mouth, where Worsel anxiously awaited them. Lines of communication again established, Kinnison informed the Velantian of all that had taken place and the latter gradually cut down the power of his thought-screen. Soon it was at zero strength and he reported jubilantly that for the first time in untold ages, the Overlords of Delgon were off the air!

      “But surely the danger isn’t over yet!” protested Kinnison. “We couldn’t have got them all in this one raid. Some of them must have escaped, and there must be other dens of them on this planet somewhere?”

      “Possibly,

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